humanity (n): chapter three
humanity (n): a state of grace
story rating: eventually R
genre: paranormal AU
characters: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff
story summary: There are the things that go bump in the night, and there are the people who hunt them. Natasha Romanoff is a vampire who's never been exposed. Clint Barton's the Slayer sent to destroy her. They'd kill each other, if only someone else wasn't trying to kill them first.
thanks to: workerbee73 and cybermathwitch, for their thoughts and patience. :)
author's note: I apologize for not updating this in over two months. All I can say is that I will do my best to stay on schedule in the future, and if you'd like, in the meantime I can post snippets of post-humanity (n) stories to make it up to you!
Prologue. One. Two.
Chapter Three
Мир праху твоему, trans.: rest in peace.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t register anything but the next step and the refrain of not again, not again, not again running through her mind.
She curled up around the small body in her arms, taking as much of the impact as she could. It hurt, of course it hurt - alive or undead, pain had always been a constant - but the shock and a wave of heat couldn’t stop her from holding onto Lily, from pressing her face into the singed curls and wishing, with all of her infected heart, that this had never happened.
That a fire hadn’t torn apart a little girl’s life for a second time.
A thin moan forced Natasha into motion, terrible and almost inaudible over her own harsh breathing and the sound of footsteps and two sharp gunshots. She pushed herself up slowly to avoid jostling her burden, folding her legs so she could cradle Lily with the least amount of contact. Pressure on a burn wound was excruciating, no matter how gentle or well-meant the touch was. She should know.
“Daddy…”
Natasha’s heart wrenched. Tears were sliding over the seared skin on Lily’s face as she wept, mercifully close to unconsciousness. Even knowing she was probably too far gone to hear anything, the vampire forced herself to take a shaky breath before replying.
“He’s okay,” she told Lily, her voice almost level. The hoarseness could have even been from the scalding air. “He’s fine. You’re fine.”
“H-hurt…”
She swallowed; pulled her mouth into a smile.
“I know. But not for long, okay? Daddy’s coming to get you. You’ll be fine.”
There was a lonely hope in the shadowed eyes trying to focus on Natasha’s face as the vampire wove a compulsion over the fading girl. No pain. No fear. Sleep.
And Lily did.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, couldn’t force her rib cage to press against the body she was holding. Desperate, aching, she closed her eyes and tried to think past the heavy grief in her chest.
Not again. Not again. Not her, please, Graceful One.
But such prayers were useless, helpless against the awful lightness of her burden.
After an uncountable length of time, Natasha straightened and opened her eyes, turning her head to meet the gaze of the hunter by her side. They looked at each other for a long moment, the light of the fire playing over the gun in his hands, the sides of their faces.
“Bullets won’t do anything against a Salamander, especially of that size,” she said, her voice perfectly level.
“It was worth a try,” the hunter replied, lifting a shoulder in a minute shrug. “Kept it from coming after you when you landed.”
She shivered involuntarily. That explained the heat wave, then.
“Thank you.” They were words she had never said to a hunter before, at least not one who knew what she was. After what he had seen - and how much had he seen? - there could be no doubt about that.
He considered her for another moment, and she couldn’t tell what was going on behind the set lines in his face. She could force him to tell her, now, if she wanted; to put the gun away, or to put in his own mouth…
“You’re welcome.”
Natasha was faintly surprised. Courtesy was one thing, even between natural enemies, but he sounded as though he meant it. Unwillingly, perhaps, even unintentionally - she harbored no illusions about whether he would have helped her if she hadn’t been carrying Lily - but without regret, at least.
Her flinch at the thought of the child must have shown on her face, because the hunter frowned.
“It didn’t get you, did it?”
“Vampires don’t have souls for Salamanders to eat, hunter,” she told him, the matter-of-fact tone an instinctive cover.
“You don’t believe that,” he said slowly, and Natasha blinked, startled.
“But you do.”
The human’s gaze traveled to her burden, then the massive inferno that had been a home not ten minutes before.
“Yeah, I did,” he admitted, staring at the flames, and she didn’t look away from his face until the girl in her arms sighed once… and was still.
Natasha inhaled, struggling to control her rush of emotions, and held her breath until she could let it go with a blank face. Only then did she rise to her feet in a fluid movement, cradling Lily’s body with detached care as she turned and walked past the expressionless hunter, back to the house.
The warmth was welcome, driving off the last traces of dampness on her cheeks. A massive head emerged from the flames as she approached, gauging her with slow intelligence. No Elemental could resist the temptation of another treat, soulless or not. And children were the sweetest.
She stopped just out of the reach of the flickering jaws, feeling the air boil as it dipped down towards her. Ignoring it, she bent and pressed a kiss to Lily’s blistered forehead.
“Мир праху твоему,” she murmured, and took the last step forward.
The Salamander unhinged its jaws with deceptive ponderousness, taking the corpse she held out like an offering. Natasha lowered her arms and wrapped her hand tighter around the hunter’s wooden band as fire spread over the tiny body hanging in midair.
“I’m coming for your contractor,” the undead woman told it, staring into the burning scarlet flames. The fire lizard swung its head away, more concerned with the arms and legs dangling from its mouth than her incomprehensible words. She watched it until it vanished into the house, her fingers aching.
It had been hard to hold onto anger when the weight of her sins had been weighing her down. Now, though? Now things were different.
When she turned away, the look in her eyes would have scared even an Elemental.
“If you want to live, don’t come after me,” she said as she moved past the hunter.
“And if I want to come with you?”
Natasha didn’t stop, far beyond feeling surprise or intrigue or anything but the grief-stricken rage welling up in her chest.
“Talia.”
She halted, holding herself perfectly still.
“Natasha,” she replied in a clear voice. “My name is Natasha.” Then the ire running through her veins broke loose and she turned, all precise movements and grace. “And her name was Lily.”
And his silence seemed to say that he had known.
----
He was a hunter, a gun in his hand and a vampire’s undead heart within range, beating on under a burned shirt covered in blood and serous fluid, in the ends of a little girl's life. They called him Hawkeye because he saw with a clear line of sight, because he saw the shot and took it, no matter the consequences.
Clint put the gun back in its holster and looked up at Natasha.
“So what do we do now?”
story rating: eventually R
genre: paranormal AU
characters: Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff
story summary: There are the things that go bump in the night, and there are the people who hunt them. Natasha Romanoff is a vampire who's never been exposed. Clint Barton's the Slayer sent to destroy her. They'd kill each other, if only someone else wasn't trying to kill them first.
thanks to: workerbee73 and cybermathwitch, for their thoughts and patience. :)
author's note: I apologize for not updating this in over two months. All I can say is that I will do my best to stay on schedule in the future, and if you'd like, in the meantime I can post snippets of post-humanity (n) stories to make it up to you!
Prologue. One. Two.
Chapter Three
Мир праху твоему, trans.: rest in peace.
She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t register anything but the next step and the refrain of not again, not again, not again running through her mind.
She curled up around the small body in her arms, taking as much of the impact as she could. It hurt, of course it hurt - alive or undead, pain had always been a constant - but the shock and a wave of heat couldn’t stop her from holding onto Lily, from pressing her face into the singed curls and wishing, with all of her infected heart, that this had never happened.
That a fire hadn’t torn apart a little girl’s life for a second time.
A thin moan forced Natasha into motion, terrible and almost inaudible over her own harsh breathing and the sound of footsteps and two sharp gunshots. She pushed herself up slowly to avoid jostling her burden, folding her legs so she could cradle Lily with the least amount of contact. Pressure on a burn wound was excruciating, no matter how gentle or well-meant the touch was. She should know.
“Daddy…”
Natasha’s heart wrenched. Tears were sliding over the seared skin on Lily’s face as she wept, mercifully close to unconsciousness. Even knowing she was probably too far gone to hear anything, the vampire forced herself to take a shaky breath before replying.
“He’s okay,” she told Lily, her voice almost level. The hoarseness could have even been from the scalding air. “He’s fine. You’re fine.”
“H-hurt…”
She swallowed; pulled her mouth into a smile.
“I know. But not for long, okay? Daddy’s coming to get you. You’ll be fine.”
There was a lonely hope in the shadowed eyes trying to focus on Natasha’s face as the vampire wove a compulsion over the fading girl. No pain. No fear. Sleep.
And Lily did.
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get enough air into her lungs, couldn’t force her rib cage to press against the body she was holding. Desperate, aching, she closed her eyes and tried to think past the heavy grief in her chest.
Not again. Not again. Not her, please, Graceful One.
But such prayers were useless, helpless against the awful lightness of her burden.
After an uncountable length of time, Natasha straightened and opened her eyes, turning her head to meet the gaze of the hunter by her side. They looked at each other for a long moment, the light of the fire playing over the gun in his hands, the sides of their faces.
“Bullets won’t do anything against a Salamander, especially of that size,” she said, her voice perfectly level.
“It was worth a try,” the hunter replied, lifting a shoulder in a minute shrug. “Kept it from coming after you when you landed.”
She shivered involuntarily. That explained the heat wave, then.
“Thank you.” They were words she had never said to a hunter before, at least not one who knew what she was. After what he had seen - and how much had he seen? - there could be no doubt about that.
He considered her for another moment, and she couldn’t tell what was going on behind the set lines in his face. She could force him to tell her, now, if she wanted; to put the gun away, or to put in his own mouth…
“You’re welcome.”
Natasha was faintly surprised. Courtesy was one thing, even between natural enemies, but he sounded as though he meant it. Unwillingly, perhaps, even unintentionally - she harbored no illusions about whether he would have helped her if she hadn’t been carrying Lily - but without regret, at least.
Her flinch at the thought of the child must have shown on her face, because the hunter frowned.
“It didn’t get you, did it?”
“Vampires don’t have souls for Salamanders to eat, hunter,” she told him, the matter-of-fact tone an instinctive cover.
“You don’t believe that,” he said slowly, and Natasha blinked, startled.
“But you do.”
The human’s gaze traveled to her burden, then the massive inferno that had been a home not ten minutes before.
“Yeah, I did,” he admitted, staring at the flames, and she didn’t look away from his face until the girl in her arms sighed once… and was still.
Natasha inhaled, struggling to control her rush of emotions, and held her breath until she could let it go with a blank face. Only then did she rise to her feet in a fluid movement, cradling Lily’s body with detached care as she turned and walked past the expressionless hunter, back to the house.
The warmth was welcome, driving off the last traces of dampness on her cheeks. A massive head emerged from the flames as she approached, gauging her with slow intelligence. No Elemental could resist the temptation of another treat, soulless or not. And children were the sweetest.
She stopped just out of the reach of the flickering jaws, feeling the air boil as it dipped down towards her. Ignoring it, she bent and pressed a kiss to Lily’s blistered forehead.
“Мир праху твоему,” she murmured, and took the last step forward.
The Salamander unhinged its jaws with deceptive ponderousness, taking the corpse she held out like an offering. Natasha lowered her arms and wrapped her hand tighter around the hunter’s wooden band as fire spread over the tiny body hanging in midair.
“I’m coming for your contractor,” the undead woman told it, staring into the burning scarlet flames. The fire lizard swung its head away, more concerned with the arms and legs dangling from its mouth than her incomprehensible words. She watched it until it vanished into the house, her fingers aching.
It had been hard to hold onto anger when the weight of her sins had been weighing her down. Now, though? Now things were different.
When she turned away, the look in her eyes would have scared even an Elemental.
“If you want to live, don’t come after me,” she said as she moved past the hunter.
“And if I want to come with you?”
Natasha didn’t stop, far beyond feeling surprise or intrigue or anything but the grief-stricken rage welling up in her chest.
“Talia.”
She halted, holding herself perfectly still.
“Natasha,” she replied in a clear voice. “My name is Natasha.” Then the ire running through her veins broke loose and she turned, all precise movements and grace. “And her name was Lily.”
And his silence seemed to say that he had known.
----
He was a hunter, a gun in his hand and a vampire’s undead heart within range, beating on under a burned shirt covered in blood and serous fluid, in the ends of a little girl's life. They called him Hawkeye because he saw with a clear line of sight, because he saw the shot and took it, no matter the consequences.
Clint put the gun back in its holster and looked up at Natasha.
“So what do we do now?”