FIC: The Hawk and the Spider (3/6) (for nessataleweaver) - PG-13
Title: The Hawk and the Spider (3/6)
Author: sgteam14283
A Gift For: nessataleweaver
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, violence
Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary/Prompt Used: As a bounty hunter, Clint never let it get personal. Then he met Natasha./ steampunk/western (historical) promts filled.
Authors Notes: really had fun writing this since I love steampunk but since it was also a Western I made it so that steampunk wasn't so saturated in the outer territories, but they still used all that awesome stuff. Also I tried to make everything as accurate as possible. Don't own anything, I just have fun playing in the sandbox!
Chapter Three
Clint stared into the flames of the fire and tipped his hat back, resting a hand on the back of the crown. He wasn't quite sure why they'd stopped for the night, neither were going to sleep; not trusting the other. They'd been on the road for three days now and he hadn't slept since they left town, not the longest stretch by far but he wondered when Natasha would give up.
He'd seen it before in the past, at first they'd put up a tough exterior but as they drew nearer to their destination they'd try to bargain with him. Offer him money, automatons or whatever it was he wanted if they just let them go. Clint never took the offers of course, he didn't want whatever they bargained with and what he did want they couldn't get anyways; that was forever out of his reach.
But at the same time he had a feeling that she wasn't like the others.
A log crackling broke Clint out his thoughts and he looked up to see Natasha staring back at him. She was still dressed in the attire that she'd been in when they'd captured her and looked a little chilled with the wind blowing on her nearly bare shoulders. Getting up, took off his jacket and walked over to her, despite what most thought he wasn't completely heartless. “So you don't get cold.” he said, putting it awkwardly onto her shoulders.
“Thank you.” Natasha said, glad for the sudden warmth the jacket gave her. Despite the cold and calculating nature they had tried to instill in her in the Red Room she knew when someone was being genuine towards her and Natasha could tell Clint was. He wasn't just making sure the bounty got there in one piece.
“You don't sound Russian.” Clint remarked once he had settled back into his original spot across the fire from her and reached for the shotgun to start cleaning it.
Natasha raised an eyebrow at the comment, from what she had seen over the past couple of days Clint wasn't one for conversation. “It's been a while since I've considered myself Russian.” she stated simply. The only reason she kept the Romanov surname is because it was the only name she knew and the deadly reputation it had gathered. Those who hired her knew that Natasha Romanov would get the job done fast and professionally. Glancing over towards Clint she asked a question of her own, “Why give up...our profession? From what I've heard, you never missed or got caught.” She tipped her head slightly, “You must have pissed someone off enough to warrant walking away.”
Clint paused in his ministrations and stared at Natasha. Seeing her casual expression, he could instantly see why so many underestimated her; you couldn't protect yourself against someone you thought to be completely innocuous. Just looking at her made him want to explain that his last “job” was the straw that had broken the camels back; he had always made it clear upon his hiring that if they tried to double-cross him it wouldn't end well for them. But also he knew that every inch he gave Natasha was every inch he'd end up hanging himself with.
Breaking the gaze Clint finished cleaning the rifle, “That's none of your business.” He then moved to check his bow-making sure that the gears and mechanisms were in working order. Clint knew that they were but at the same time he didn't want it to fail when he needed it the most.
“Oh c'mon. Entertain a girl here.” Natasha prodded, knowing that eventually he'd give in, flatter a man long enough and he'd spill his darkest secrets. “Or how about I guess? What made the great Hawkeye turn to the good side of the law...It was a girl wasn't it? Daughter of someone you worked for break your heart?”
Clint reacted instantly, shooting the arrow right at Natasha's feet with such force that it buried the arrowhead into the hard ground.
Natasha reacted instinctively. Grabbing the hidden blade from her boot, she quickly sliced through the binds on her feet and crouched into a defensive position; holding the blade near her face and ready to strike should the need arise.
Clint immediately drew another and aimed it at her heart, the fact that she'd freed herself so easily registering dimly in the back of his mind. “I'd be careful of speaking right now if I were you.” he said in a hard voice.
Natasha didn't back down and raised an eyebrow. “I can see that it's a touchy subject. And there's no need to get all defensive, Hawk-I was simply curious about the man who managed to capture me.”
There was something about the way she called him 'Hawk' that sent shivers down his spine, but not in a bad way. Hawkeye knew that he shouldn't take anything the Black Widow said at face value but he could tell that she was genuinely curious about him. And he was curious about her at the same time, but he also knew that if he dared to get close then he'd be breaking all kinds of unwritten rules; if word got out he'd be done as a bounty hunter.
Lowering the bow, Clint returned the arrow to the quiver while saying, “Next time I won't shoot towards the ground.”
--
The sky threatened rain and Clint wondered (for the thousandth time) if he shouldn't of risked the wrath of Maria Hill and bought rail tickets. There was only so much flat landscape a person could stand. They'd been traveling for a week now and he'd hardly spoken a word to the Widow since he'd almost put an arrow through her for trying to pry into his life.
Looking at his back, Natasha could see that Clint was miserable. She was good at reading people and there was something in his eyes that told her that they were alike in more ways than one. Of course the most obvious was that they both took lives for hire-although he did it when only left no other choice now. But they both were wounded early in life to warrant such a path. She had heard the stories of course, Clint and his brother had been the only survivors of an Indian raid, carried off by the same tribe to be raised on the Plains where he learned how to be deadly accurate and during the War became an assassin-for-hire to whichever side paid the most, continuing after the cease fire.
But now there was a different pain he was hiding and...it intrigued her. After their stand-off, he had re-checked her for any hidden weapons and she could tell by the way his hands lingered that it'd been awhile since he'd been with anyone. She wasn't shy about sex; she'd used it more than once in order to complete the mission, but to be with someone she actually wanted to be with...it hadn't happened in a long time.
And the fact that she wanted it to be Clint scared her a little bit.
She couldn't fall for the mark, it just couldn't happen; Natasha wouldn't allow herself to fall into that trap.
Not again.
--
It was the rain turning into snow that did it. Clint hated snow. It froze up the gears in his bow and made it extra hard to shoot, not mention the flakes got into the works and caused them to start rusting. And the fact that he didn't have his sturdy poncho to block most of the wind and snow did nothing to improve his mood. He let Natasha keep his coat and didn't have a spare; Clint hadn't planned on being gone for over a month.
And to top it all off, Clint felt like he was coming down with a cold. “This is why I hate Dakota.” Clint thought to himself as he shivered. He would stop at the nearest town, but if memory served him correctly (and it always did) the closest one was twenty miles south of where they were and besides, he didn't think it a good idea to take Natasha into a populated area where she could cause a distraction and try to slip away.
Reigning in his horse, Clint surveyed the area and after glancing over the surrounding area turned to Natasha and said, “How this for camp?”
Natasha looked at the flat plain, the same landscape that they'd seen for the past three weeks with no one around and sometimes a town in the far off distance, and shrugged. “It'll do. Don't have much to choose from right?”
“Good.” Clint said as he swung out of the saddle and made his way toward her, untying her hands from the saddle so she could dismount. Once she had slid down (with his help), Clint retied her bonds and set to work making camp.
There wasn't much to it; unfurling their bedrolls, picketing the horses and unsaddling them-setting the bags near his roll. Getting a fire started was tricky in the snow, but Clint was glad that he'd taken Stark up on his offer on testing a prototype of his; an auto fire-starter that lit wood or buffalo chips almost right away (as long as they weren't too damp). It had taken some getting used to, but once he got the hang of it Clint had fallen in love with it. Only when the flames were licking the buffalo chips did Clint start heating up water from the small stream they had passed yesterday.
“We're not that different.”
Clint paused, eyebrow raising at the comment while lifting his eyes to meet Natasha's; pushing back the brim of his stetson. “How so?” he asked, wondering where the comment had come from.
“We both hunt people for the highest bidder and take them out.” she replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “And we're the best at what we do.”
“Of course we hunt people but unlike you I only kill when it's called for.” Clint replied in a hard voice after a few seconds of silence.
“Now, but before you were just like me.”
“Don't ever say that I was like you.” Clint snapped, anger growing by the second. “I'm not some cold-hearted killer unlike you.” Without waiting to hear any more of her excuses, Clint dug back into his meal-signaling that the conversation was over.
But her words echoed in his head, “We're not that different.”
Author: sgteam14283
A Gift For: nessataleweaver
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: language, violence
Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary/Prompt Used: As a bounty hunter, Clint never let it get personal. Then he met Natasha./ steampunk/western (historical) promts filled.
Authors Notes: really had fun writing this since I love steampunk but since it was also a Western I made it so that steampunk wasn't so saturated in the outer territories, but they still used all that awesome stuff. Also I tried to make everything as accurate as possible. Don't own anything, I just have fun playing in the sandbox!
Chapter Three
Clint stared into the flames of the fire and tipped his hat back, resting a hand on the back of the crown. He wasn't quite sure why they'd stopped for the night, neither were going to sleep; not trusting the other. They'd been on the road for three days now and he hadn't slept since they left town, not the longest stretch by far but he wondered when Natasha would give up.
He'd seen it before in the past, at first they'd put up a tough exterior but as they drew nearer to their destination they'd try to bargain with him. Offer him money, automatons or whatever it was he wanted if they just let them go. Clint never took the offers of course, he didn't want whatever they bargained with and what he did want they couldn't get anyways; that was forever out of his reach.
But at the same time he had a feeling that she wasn't like the others.
A log crackling broke Clint out his thoughts and he looked up to see Natasha staring back at him. She was still dressed in the attire that she'd been in when they'd captured her and looked a little chilled with the wind blowing on her nearly bare shoulders. Getting up, took off his jacket and walked over to her, despite what most thought he wasn't completely heartless. “So you don't get cold.” he said, putting it awkwardly onto her shoulders.
“Thank you.” Natasha said, glad for the sudden warmth the jacket gave her. Despite the cold and calculating nature they had tried to instill in her in the Red Room she knew when someone was being genuine towards her and Natasha could tell Clint was. He wasn't just making sure the bounty got there in one piece.
“You don't sound Russian.” Clint remarked once he had settled back into his original spot across the fire from her and reached for the shotgun to start cleaning it.
Natasha raised an eyebrow at the comment, from what she had seen over the past couple of days Clint wasn't one for conversation. “It's been a while since I've considered myself Russian.” she stated simply. The only reason she kept the Romanov surname is because it was the only name she knew and the deadly reputation it had gathered. Those who hired her knew that Natasha Romanov would get the job done fast and professionally. Glancing over towards Clint she asked a question of her own, “Why give up...our profession? From what I've heard, you never missed or got caught.” She tipped her head slightly, “You must have pissed someone off enough to warrant walking away.”
Clint paused in his ministrations and stared at Natasha. Seeing her casual expression, he could instantly see why so many underestimated her; you couldn't protect yourself against someone you thought to be completely innocuous. Just looking at her made him want to explain that his last “job” was the straw that had broken the camels back; he had always made it clear upon his hiring that if they tried to double-cross him it wouldn't end well for them. But also he knew that every inch he gave Natasha was every inch he'd end up hanging himself with.
Breaking the gaze Clint finished cleaning the rifle, “That's none of your business.” He then moved to check his bow-making sure that the gears and mechanisms were in working order. Clint knew that they were but at the same time he didn't want it to fail when he needed it the most.
“Oh c'mon. Entertain a girl here.” Natasha prodded, knowing that eventually he'd give in, flatter a man long enough and he'd spill his darkest secrets. “Or how about I guess? What made the great Hawkeye turn to the good side of the law...It was a girl wasn't it? Daughter of someone you worked for break your heart?”
Clint reacted instantly, shooting the arrow right at Natasha's feet with such force that it buried the arrowhead into the hard ground.
Natasha reacted instinctively. Grabbing the hidden blade from her boot, she quickly sliced through the binds on her feet and crouched into a defensive position; holding the blade near her face and ready to strike should the need arise.
Clint immediately drew another and aimed it at her heart, the fact that she'd freed herself so easily registering dimly in the back of his mind. “I'd be careful of speaking right now if I were you.” he said in a hard voice.
Natasha didn't back down and raised an eyebrow. “I can see that it's a touchy subject. And there's no need to get all defensive, Hawk-I was simply curious about the man who managed to capture me.”
There was something about the way she called him 'Hawk' that sent shivers down his spine, but not in a bad way. Hawkeye knew that he shouldn't take anything the Black Widow said at face value but he could tell that she was genuinely curious about him. And he was curious about her at the same time, but he also knew that if he dared to get close then he'd be breaking all kinds of unwritten rules; if word got out he'd be done as a bounty hunter.
Lowering the bow, Clint returned the arrow to the quiver while saying, “Next time I won't shoot towards the ground.”
--
The sky threatened rain and Clint wondered (for the thousandth time) if he shouldn't of risked the wrath of Maria Hill and bought rail tickets. There was only so much flat landscape a person could stand. They'd been traveling for a week now and he'd hardly spoken a word to the Widow since he'd almost put an arrow through her for trying to pry into his life.
Looking at his back, Natasha could see that Clint was miserable. She was good at reading people and there was something in his eyes that told her that they were alike in more ways than one. Of course the most obvious was that they both took lives for hire-although he did it when only left no other choice now. But they both were wounded early in life to warrant such a path. She had heard the stories of course, Clint and his brother had been the only survivors of an Indian raid, carried off by the same tribe to be raised on the Plains where he learned how to be deadly accurate and during the War became an assassin-for-hire to whichever side paid the most, continuing after the cease fire.
But now there was a different pain he was hiding and...it intrigued her. After their stand-off, he had re-checked her for any hidden weapons and she could tell by the way his hands lingered that it'd been awhile since he'd been with anyone. She wasn't shy about sex; she'd used it more than once in order to complete the mission, but to be with someone she actually wanted to be with...it hadn't happened in a long time.
And the fact that she wanted it to be Clint scared her a little bit.
She couldn't fall for the mark, it just couldn't happen; Natasha wouldn't allow herself to fall into that trap.
Not again.
--
It was the rain turning into snow that did it. Clint hated snow. It froze up the gears in his bow and made it extra hard to shoot, not mention the flakes got into the works and caused them to start rusting. And the fact that he didn't have his sturdy poncho to block most of the wind and snow did nothing to improve his mood. He let Natasha keep his coat and didn't have a spare; Clint hadn't planned on being gone for over a month.
And to top it all off, Clint felt like he was coming down with a cold. “This is why I hate Dakota.” Clint thought to himself as he shivered. He would stop at the nearest town, but if memory served him correctly (and it always did) the closest one was twenty miles south of where they were and besides, he didn't think it a good idea to take Natasha into a populated area where she could cause a distraction and try to slip away.
Reigning in his horse, Clint surveyed the area and after glancing over the surrounding area turned to Natasha and said, “How this for camp?”
Natasha looked at the flat plain, the same landscape that they'd seen for the past three weeks with no one around and sometimes a town in the far off distance, and shrugged. “It'll do. Don't have much to choose from right?”
“Good.” Clint said as he swung out of the saddle and made his way toward her, untying her hands from the saddle so she could dismount. Once she had slid down (with his help), Clint retied her bonds and set to work making camp.
There wasn't much to it; unfurling their bedrolls, picketing the horses and unsaddling them-setting the bags near his roll. Getting a fire started was tricky in the snow, but Clint was glad that he'd taken Stark up on his offer on testing a prototype of his; an auto fire-starter that lit wood or buffalo chips almost right away (as long as they weren't too damp). It had taken some getting used to, but once he got the hang of it Clint had fallen in love with it. Only when the flames were licking the buffalo chips did Clint start heating up water from the small stream they had passed yesterday.
“We're not that different.”
Clint paused, eyebrow raising at the comment while lifting his eyes to meet Natasha's; pushing back the brim of his stetson. “How so?” he asked, wondering where the comment had come from.
“We both hunt people for the highest bidder and take them out.” she replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “And we're the best at what we do.”
“Of course we hunt people but unlike you I only kill when it's called for.” Clint replied in a hard voice after a few seconds of silence.
“Now, but before you were just like me.”
“Don't ever say that I was like you.” Clint snapped, anger growing by the second. “I'm not some cold-hearted killer unlike you.” Without waiting to hear any more of her excuses, Clint dug back into his meal-signaling that the conversation was over.
But her words echoed in his head, “We're not that different.”