Essential Knowledge, PG
Title: Essential Knowledge
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1125
Summary: Natasha doesn't want to believe it, but her body never lies.
Notes: Based off this prompt at avengerkink
Natasha eyed the food left on the table.
“Clint decided to try his hand at cooking,” Bruce answered the unspoken question as he walked into the kitchen.
“He's not bad at it,” Natasha replied. She'd eaten some of the doctored MREs in the field with the archer and they were unusually palatable. “He likes his food spicy though.” She reached for what resembled a small dough ball, popping it into her mouth. Bruce followed suit.
“What do you think?” Clint didn't quite bound into the room and Natasha rolled her eyes. He'd clearly been lurking around, waiting for someone to be tempted by the free food. “Okay, okay, I'll let you finish.”
“Not bad,” Natasha told him and Bruce murmured his assent, reaching around her for another. “I'm not sure you used enough spice, Barton. My lips are tingling.”
Clint grinned brightly. “If you can't stand the heat-” Natasha's glare stopped him from finishing the quip.
She took two more to eat on her way to the gym just to spite him. His laughter followed her.
- -
Natasha cut her usual training short, finding herself winded quicker than normal. She paused again for breath, stilling her motion as nausea rose in her gut.
Her mind went through all the activities of the last few hours: answering emails, a three-hour debrief with Agent Hill after returning from Belgrade two days ago, trying Clint's latest kitchen concoction, training. Natasha frowned, raising a hand to her mouth.
Her lips had tingled, something she had attributed to the spices.
She didn't want to think it was something else. She knew Clint, she trusted him to have her back. Maybe that had been a mistake.
Natasha thought over the most recent mission she'd completed with Clint, a simple surveillance in a dusty European town. He hadn't said anything to make her doubt him and his actions hadn't varied in the slightest from their usual routine.
She reached her quarters and locked the door behind her, breathing in short gasps like she'd run a marathon instead of climbing six flights of stairs. Natasha leaned against the door before quickly deciding it would be better to relocate to the bathroom.
The sound of the toilet flushing was loud as Natasha stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. A quick splash of cold water to her face didn't help the sudden onset of lethargy. Her skin was paler than it normally was and she watched her mirror-self put a hand to her stomach like it could quell the abdominal pain that retching hadn't cured.
Natasha shut off the bathroom light, not wanting to think about how this had happened so suddenly, without warning and from her oldest friend in SHIELD. She curled up in her bed, tired and feeling more than physically sick.
She awoke no better than before; her bedside clock showed only an hour had passed. It was tempting to stay in bed but Natasha would not face death hiding away. She went to find Clint.
- -
Clint took one look at her and his eyes widened.
“What happened to you?” He sounded genuinely confused and Natasha snarled in wordless anger at his acting skills.
“I ate those whatever they were and you forgot to mention they were poison.” Her voice was emotionless. “If I was going to kill you, Barton, at least I'd have the decency to tell you it was coming.”
“What are you talking about?” Clint reached out for her and Natasha stepped back. Her gut roiled. “I wouldn't do anything like that, I love you-”
Natasha scoffed derisively at the declaration they seldom used. “You fed me poison, hiding it in food like a lame bitch that has to be put down.”
Clint didn't give her a choice about the embrace he wrapped her in, holding her tightly to him. “I swear to you I didn't, Natasha. We'll solve this, c'mon, let's go to Medical-”
“Bruce,” Natasha started, finally remembering he had also eaten alongside her.
“Good point. He might know how to help.” Clint let go of her, nodded at her hurried explanation and hurried the both of them along the hallway to the lab like a sheepdog.
“Doc, you gotta help!” Natasha would have laughed at the pleading tone in Clint's voice if she knew that laughing wouldn't hurt.
“I'm not a medical doctor,” Bruce reminded the both of them. He steered Natasha to sit on the kitchen table instead. The traitorous plate of food was next to her left thigh and Natasha nudged it out of sight behind her with a shove of her hand.
Clint went a step further and threw the entire plate in the trash. “They're poisoned,” he said in a flat voice to Bruce's raised eyebrow. He looked between the trash can and Natasha once, twice and smiled.
“Clint, what was in the samosas?”
“Carrots, more chili flakes than planned, shrimp, onions-” Clint listed off as he thought of the ingredients, falling quiet at Bruce's raised hand.
“Natasha, have you eaten shrimp before?”
“They're disgusting,” Natasha let that be her answer.
“Then it's probably a case of mild food poisoning.” Bruce reasoned. “I'd go to Medical to be sure, there's allergy tests to be done just to double check.” He shrugged and walked over to the discarded shrimp-stuffed dough, looking at them forlornly. “They were tasty though.”
Clint preened at the compliment until Natasha found enough strength to elbow him in the side.
“I promise you I didn't know,” Clint started to apologize again on the elevator ride down.
Natasha gave him a flat look. “Clint, I wasn't aware. I can hardly hold you responsible.”
“You spent the whole afternoon in pain, thinking I was trying to off you! Forgive a guy for wanting some reassurance.”
Natasha took ahold of his hand and squeezed it briefly. “There? Are you reassured now?” Clint nodded mulishly. “Good, you can drive us to Medical. I probably shouldn't drive when I feel this tired.”
“Is there a reason I'm going with you, beyond driving?” Clint asked when they were on the road and Natasha's eyes flicked to his profile, lit in yellow by the passing street lights.
“I get this allergy test, so do you. Then any weakness are known.” she stated succinctly.
“I'm sure plenty of people are allergic to shrimp and tomatoes and I don't know, grass or something.” Clint tried to reassure her again. “It won't affect field assignments, if that's what you're worried about.”
“Grass?” Natasha repeated dubiously as Clint parked the car.
Clint chuckled. “Okay, that's pretty far-fetched. Just don't worry about it, okay? I got your back.”
“I know,” Natasha responded. “Now let's go get poked by the sadists in Medical.” Clint laughed again and followed her into the building.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1125
Summary: Natasha doesn't want to believe it, but her body never lies.
Notes: Based off this prompt at avengerkink
Natasha eyed the food left on the table.
“Clint decided to try his hand at cooking,” Bruce answered the unspoken question as he walked into the kitchen.
“He's not bad at it,” Natasha replied. She'd eaten some of the doctored MREs in the field with the archer and they were unusually palatable. “He likes his food spicy though.” She reached for what resembled a small dough ball, popping it into her mouth. Bruce followed suit.
“What do you think?” Clint didn't quite bound into the room and Natasha rolled her eyes. He'd clearly been lurking around, waiting for someone to be tempted by the free food. “Okay, okay, I'll let you finish.”
“Not bad,” Natasha told him and Bruce murmured his assent, reaching around her for another. “I'm not sure you used enough spice, Barton. My lips are tingling.”
Clint grinned brightly. “If you can't stand the heat-” Natasha's glare stopped him from finishing the quip.
She took two more to eat on her way to the gym just to spite him. His laughter followed her.
- -
Natasha cut her usual training short, finding herself winded quicker than normal. She paused again for breath, stilling her motion as nausea rose in her gut.
Her mind went through all the activities of the last few hours: answering emails, a three-hour debrief with Agent Hill after returning from Belgrade two days ago, trying Clint's latest kitchen concoction, training. Natasha frowned, raising a hand to her mouth.
Her lips had tingled, something she had attributed to the spices.
She didn't want to think it was something else. She knew Clint, she trusted him to have her back. Maybe that had been a mistake.
Natasha thought over the most recent mission she'd completed with Clint, a simple surveillance in a dusty European town. He hadn't said anything to make her doubt him and his actions hadn't varied in the slightest from their usual routine.
She reached her quarters and locked the door behind her, breathing in short gasps like she'd run a marathon instead of climbing six flights of stairs. Natasha leaned against the door before quickly deciding it would be better to relocate to the bathroom.
The sound of the toilet flushing was loud as Natasha stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. A quick splash of cold water to her face didn't help the sudden onset of lethargy. Her skin was paler than it normally was and she watched her mirror-self put a hand to her stomach like it could quell the abdominal pain that retching hadn't cured.
Natasha shut off the bathroom light, not wanting to think about how this had happened so suddenly, without warning and from her oldest friend in SHIELD. She curled up in her bed, tired and feeling more than physically sick.
She awoke no better than before; her bedside clock showed only an hour had passed. It was tempting to stay in bed but Natasha would not face death hiding away. She went to find Clint.
- -
Clint took one look at her and his eyes widened.
“What happened to you?” He sounded genuinely confused and Natasha snarled in wordless anger at his acting skills.
“I ate those whatever they were and you forgot to mention they were poison.” Her voice was emotionless. “If I was going to kill you, Barton, at least I'd have the decency to tell you it was coming.”
“What are you talking about?” Clint reached out for her and Natasha stepped back. Her gut roiled. “I wouldn't do anything like that, I love you-”
Natasha scoffed derisively at the declaration they seldom used. “You fed me poison, hiding it in food like a lame bitch that has to be put down.”
Clint didn't give her a choice about the embrace he wrapped her in, holding her tightly to him. “I swear to you I didn't, Natasha. We'll solve this, c'mon, let's go to Medical-”
“Bruce,” Natasha started, finally remembering he had also eaten alongside her.
“Good point. He might know how to help.” Clint let go of her, nodded at her hurried explanation and hurried the both of them along the hallway to the lab like a sheepdog.
“Doc, you gotta help!” Natasha would have laughed at the pleading tone in Clint's voice if she knew that laughing wouldn't hurt.
“I'm not a medical doctor,” Bruce reminded the both of them. He steered Natasha to sit on the kitchen table instead. The traitorous plate of food was next to her left thigh and Natasha nudged it out of sight behind her with a shove of her hand.
Clint went a step further and threw the entire plate in the trash. “They're poisoned,” he said in a flat voice to Bruce's raised eyebrow. He looked between the trash can and Natasha once, twice and smiled.
“Clint, what was in the samosas?”
“Carrots, more chili flakes than planned, shrimp, onions-” Clint listed off as he thought of the ingredients, falling quiet at Bruce's raised hand.
“Natasha, have you eaten shrimp before?”
“They're disgusting,” Natasha let that be her answer.
“Then it's probably a case of mild food poisoning.” Bruce reasoned. “I'd go to Medical to be sure, there's allergy tests to be done just to double check.” He shrugged and walked over to the discarded shrimp-stuffed dough, looking at them forlornly. “They were tasty though.”
Clint preened at the compliment until Natasha found enough strength to elbow him in the side.
“I promise you I didn't know,” Clint started to apologize again on the elevator ride down.
Natasha gave him a flat look. “Clint, I wasn't aware. I can hardly hold you responsible.”
“You spent the whole afternoon in pain, thinking I was trying to off you! Forgive a guy for wanting some reassurance.”
Natasha took ahold of his hand and squeezed it briefly. “There? Are you reassured now?” Clint nodded mulishly. “Good, you can drive us to Medical. I probably shouldn't drive when I feel this tired.”
“Is there a reason I'm going with you, beyond driving?” Clint asked when they were on the road and Natasha's eyes flicked to his profile, lit in yellow by the passing street lights.
“I get this allergy test, so do you. Then any weakness are known.” she stated succinctly.
“I'm sure plenty of people are allergic to shrimp and tomatoes and I don't know, grass or something.” Clint tried to reassure her again. “It won't affect field assignments, if that's what you're worried about.”
“Grass?” Natasha repeated dubiously as Clint parked the car.
Clint chuckled. “Okay, that's pretty far-fetched. Just don't worry about it, okay? I got your back.”
“I know,” Natasha responded. “Now let's go get poked by the sadists in Medical.” Clint laughed again and followed her into the building.