Phillies
Title: Phillies
Rating: All Ages
Characters: The whole team in an AU 1942.
Pairing: hints of Clint/Natasha
Summary: In an all-night dinner, a bond is formed among six individuals.
Author’s Notes: I am taking a creative writing class and our first story had to be based on one of five paintings. I chose Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. I last visited the museum in which it hangs last summer. This time, when I looked at it, all I could see was Clint and Natasha sitting at the end of the counter. This gave me the opportunity to expand on that idea. The version I turned in had all the names changed. And I want to thank the lovely veritas724 for her quick beta work and general encouragement. To her I say, HUSKS!
As diners went, Phillies was not anything special except for the fact it was open all night. The food was good but not great. The regulars would say the coffee and some of the desserts were top notch but that could have been because there was very little else to compare it to at 3:00 AM. In those late night/early morning hours, the only thing that could be seen from the street was the light pouring out of the large windows, making those that sat at the counter stand out even more.
Officer Rogers, the beat cop that would come in at 3:15 on the nose every night for his complimentary cup of Joe and piece of pie, had dubbed the others he would find there the Nighthawks. While they outwardly scoffed at the name, they came to think of themselves that way and even saw him as their unofficial leader. He was as American as the apple pie he ate. He was tall, tow-headed, blue-eyed and had a strong build. He was almost painfully polite and earnest and the others had asked why he took the graveyard shift when he was so personable. He told them he couldn't rest without knowing the streets were secure for everyone else during the day. Rogers had been too young to have fought in the Great War but after the attack on Pearl Harbor, he had been making noise of signing up for the Army. They all knew that the service would be lucky to have him.
Thor was the only one actually working at this hour. With so few customers in the overnight hours, he very easily played the parts of server, cook and busboy. He was also tall and blond but that was where the similarities ended between Rogers and him. Thor’s booming voice kept the patrons awake as much as the caffeine in the coffee. His laughter was infectious and put everyone he met at ease. His family had immigrated to America when he was young but he still held a bit of an accent. His cheerful demeanor would sometimes fade when he was reminded of the brother he had lost years ago. That sense of loss helped bond him to the group he considered his closest friends.
Dr. Bruce Banner would always slide onto the same stool when he finished his shift at the hospital. When he was first transferred to this side of the city, he tried to keep to himself. He was average height, average build, dark hair and brown eyes. Unremarkable in almost every way and he liked it like that. Unlike Officer Rogers, Dr. Banner had served in the First World War as a medic. What he saw there still haunted him. The horrific images of war burned into his eyes permanently. When he returned from Europe, he made it his life’s work to use his hands for healing instead of harm. Since then he had helped countless strangers, most of whom he never saw again. His fiancée had left him while he was away and as such, he had closed himself off from being touched, both physically and emotionally. That was until he stepped into Phillies two years earlier. The others had learned to read him and knew when they could draw him into their light conversations and when to let him be. He finally felt as if he belonged somewhere with this small group. They didn't judge him on his cheap suit that frayed under his fingers. They didn't judge him on his angry outbursts he could not always control. They didn't judge him when he seemed to be listening to sounds only he could hear. The only times they showed any signs of judgment is when he would experiment with unusual combinations of food. Those were the best nights and sometimes he did it just to get a rise out of all of them. Thor would always complain through his smile as he cooked up the dishes and the others would make joking noises of disgust when Dr. Banner would eat it all up with great flourish.
While he loved all of his team, if Dr. Banner could call any of them his best friend, it was the owner of the diner. Tony Stark was the same height as Dr. Banner but his presence made him seem several inches taller. His black hair and finely groomed facial hair gave him a menacing appearance. He had earned his money the old fashioned way; he inherited it. His father’s influence had kept him out of serving in the military even though his family’s name was on many of the weapons being used overseas. Stark would say that that was one of the few good things his old man did before his sudden death ten years earlier. The diner was part of the inheritance and it became the favorite of his father’s many properties. Stark would spend his days inventing and tinkering with gadgets that could potentially change the world if he did not destroy them in one of his fits of depression. He did not make it to the diner many nights because he had found himself in the bottom of a bottle instead. Between the issues with his father and an accident that had nearly killed him a few years after that, left him with a darkness that the burn of whatever alcohol he could get his hands on would momentarily help him forget. Those demons got along very well with Dr. Banner’s. On the nights he stayed sober; he would strut into the diner and get great joy in harmlessly antagonizing his patrons and employees. He would brag to Officer Rogers of his activities that were just on this side of legal. He would tell Thor he wasn't working hard enough and that he would create a robot that could do his job for him. He would kid Dr. Banner on a variety of topics. But his favorite targets were the pair that always sat together at the end of the table.
Clint Barton, a man of average height and sandy colored hair and Natasha Romanov, a petite red head, were not a couple. They would firmly tell that to anyone who asked. They would say they were too cynical for such emotions like love. The others in Phillies had bets as to when they would get married. They worked together at a nightclub three blocks over, Clint as a doorman and Natasha as a singer. Every evening Clint would be waiting at Natasha’s door to walk her to work and every morning, after stopping at Phillies, he would walk her home. They would spend their off-time together as well as it did not occur to them to spend it with anyone else. They were not in love but Natasha could tell you Clint smelled like cheap cigarettes and expensive whiskey. Clint would tell you while Natasha’s perfume was spicy, she smelled like a crisp, cool winter’s night. He could tell you her hair felt like silk when he would hold it back so she could fasten her necklace. She could tell you his laugh was one of her favorite sounds. They would never admit that they both had wondered what the other’s mouth would taste like in a kiss. They would never admit that they would get nervous before seeing each other every day. They would not admit they both knew inevitably, Clint would also go off to war with Officer Rogers and that thinking of that was the most terrifying thing they could think of. But they were not in love.
Those few hours the Nighthawks spent together were the highlight of their days. Some nights they sat there in complete silence, others they could be heard several streets over. On the wall, behind the cash register, hung a picture taken one uneventful night. Stark had roped Officer Rogers into helping him set up a camera he had built himself. He framed the shot so that it looked like there was no entrance to the diner. Dr. Banner’s back was to the window; Clint gazed forward, forgetting about the cigarette dangling from his fingers; Natasha studied the nails of one hand while letting her fingers brush Clint’s on the other. Right as the shutter clicked, Thor turned and was caught in perfect profile.
None of them discussed the fact they all had copies of the picture hanging in their own homes. And none of the discussed it was their favorite picture and that it captured the fact they each had their own story. Their silent bond was evident in the photograph as it was seen by anyone passing by Phillies Diner in the wee hours.
Rating: All Ages
Characters: The whole team in an AU 1942.
Pairing: hints of Clint/Natasha
Summary: In an all-night dinner, a bond is formed among six individuals.
Author’s Notes: I am taking a creative writing class and our first story had to be based on one of five paintings. I chose Edward Hopper’s Nighthawks. I last visited the museum in which it hangs last summer. This time, when I looked at it, all I could see was Clint and Natasha sitting at the end of the counter. This gave me the opportunity to expand on that idea. The version I turned in had all the names changed. And I want to thank the lovely veritas724 for her quick beta work and general encouragement. To her I say, HUSKS!
As diners went, Phillies was not anything special except for the fact it was open all night. The food was good but not great. The regulars would say the coffee and some of the desserts were top notch but that could have been because there was very little else to compare it to at 3:00 AM. In those late night/early morning hours, the only thing that could be seen from the street was the light pouring out of the large windows, making those that sat at the counter stand out even more.
Officer Rogers, the beat cop that would come in at 3:15 on the nose every night for his complimentary cup of Joe and piece of pie, had dubbed the others he would find there the Nighthawks. While they outwardly scoffed at the name, they came to think of themselves that way and even saw him as their unofficial leader. He was as American as the apple pie he ate. He was tall, tow-headed, blue-eyed and had a strong build. He was almost painfully polite and earnest and the others had asked why he took the graveyard shift when he was so personable. He told them he couldn't rest without knowing the streets were secure for everyone else during the day. Rogers had been too young to have fought in the Great War but after the attack on Pearl Harbor, he had been making noise of signing up for the Army. They all knew that the service would be lucky to have him.
Thor was the only one actually working at this hour. With so few customers in the overnight hours, he very easily played the parts of server, cook and busboy. He was also tall and blond but that was where the similarities ended between Rogers and him. Thor’s booming voice kept the patrons awake as much as the caffeine in the coffee. His laughter was infectious and put everyone he met at ease. His family had immigrated to America when he was young but he still held a bit of an accent. His cheerful demeanor would sometimes fade when he was reminded of the brother he had lost years ago. That sense of loss helped bond him to the group he considered his closest friends.
Dr. Bruce Banner would always slide onto the same stool when he finished his shift at the hospital. When he was first transferred to this side of the city, he tried to keep to himself. He was average height, average build, dark hair and brown eyes. Unremarkable in almost every way and he liked it like that. Unlike Officer Rogers, Dr. Banner had served in the First World War as a medic. What he saw there still haunted him. The horrific images of war burned into his eyes permanently. When he returned from Europe, he made it his life’s work to use his hands for healing instead of harm. Since then he had helped countless strangers, most of whom he never saw again. His fiancée had left him while he was away and as such, he had closed himself off from being touched, both physically and emotionally. That was until he stepped into Phillies two years earlier. The others had learned to read him and knew when they could draw him into their light conversations and when to let him be. He finally felt as if he belonged somewhere with this small group. They didn't judge him on his cheap suit that frayed under his fingers. They didn't judge him on his angry outbursts he could not always control. They didn't judge him when he seemed to be listening to sounds only he could hear. The only times they showed any signs of judgment is when he would experiment with unusual combinations of food. Those were the best nights and sometimes he did it just to get a rise out of all of them. Thor would always complain through his smile as he cooked up the dishes and the others would make joking noises of disgust when Dr. Banner would eat it all up with great flourish.
While he loved all of his team, if Dr. Banner could call any of them his best friend, it was the owner of the diner. Tony Stark was the same height as Dr. Banner but his presence made him seem several inches taller. His black hair and finely groomed facial hair gave him a menacing appearance. He had earned his money the old fashioned way; he inherited it. His father’s influence had kept him out of serving in the military even though his family’s name was on many of the weapons being used overseas. Stark would say that that was one of the few good things his old man did before his sudden death ten years earlier. The diner was part of the inheritance and it became the favorite of his father’s many properties. Stark would spend his days inventing and tinkering with gadgets that could potentially change the world if he did not destroy them in one of his fits of depression. He did not make it to the diner many nights because he had found himself in the bottom of a bottle instead. Between the issues with his father and an accident that had nearly killed him a few years after that, left him with a darkness that the burn of whatever alcohol he could get his hands on would momentarily help him forget. Those demons got along very well with Dr. Banner’s. On the nights he stayed sober; he would strut into the diner and get great joy in harmlessly antagonizing his patrons and employees. He would brag to Officer Rogers of his activities that were just on this side of legal. He would tell Thor he wasn't working hard enough and that he would create a robot that could do his job for him. He would kid Dr. Banner on a variety of topics. But his favorite targets were the pair that always sat together at the end of the table.
Clint Barton, a man of average height and sandy colored hair and Natasha Romanov, a petite red head, were not a couple. They would firmly tell that to anyone who asked. They would say they were too cynical for such emotions like love. The others in Phillies had bets as to when they would get married. They worked together at a nightclub three blocks over, Clint as a doorman and Natasha as a singer. Every evening Clint would be waiting at Natasha’s door to walk her to work and every morning, after stopping at Phillies, he would walk her home. They would spend their off-time together as well as it did not occur to them to spend it with anyone else. They were not in love but Natasha could tell you Clint smelled like cheap cigarettes and expensive whiskey. Clint would tell you while Natasha’s perfume was spicy, she smelled like a crisp, cool winter’s night. He could tell you her hair felt like silk when he would hold it back so she could fasten her necklace. She could tell you his laugh was one of her favorite sounds. They would never admit that they both had wondered what the other’s mouth would taste like in a kiss. They would never admit that they would get nervous before seeing each other every day. They would not admit they both knew inevitably, Clint would also go off to war with Officer Rogers and that thinking of that was the most terrifying thing they could think of. But they were not in love.
Those few hours the Nighthawks spent together were the highlight of their days. Some nights they sat there in complete silence, others they could be heard several streets over. On the wall, behind the cash register, hung a picture taken one uneventful night. Stark had roped Officer Rogers into helping him set up a camera he had built himself. He framed the shot so that it looked like there was no entrance to the diner. Dr. Banner’s back was to the window; Clint gazed forward, forgetting about the cigarette dangling from his fingers; Natasha studied the nails of one hand while letting her fingers brush Clint’s on the other. Right as the shutter clicked, Thor turned and was caught in perfect profile.
None of them discussed the fact they all had copies of the picture hanging in their own homes. And none of the discussed it was their favorite picture and that it captured the fact they each had their own story. Their silent bond was evident in the photograph as it was seen by anyone passing by Phillies Diner in the wee hours.