avengers: natasha and hawkeye

Avengers 2012 Comment Fic Fest

Are you overcome by all your FEELINGS? Do you have a zillion thoughts about the film and no time to write a long story? Do you feel like you will explode if you do not write something about the Avengers RIGHT NOW? Then this is the place for you!

Avengers 2012 Comment Fic Fest

How to play:
1. Leave as many prompts as you like! Please leave only one prompt per comment, and list your desired characters/pairings followed by the prompt:

Pepper Potts: Organizational skills are a superpower too.
Tony/Pepper: Your latest adventure has resulted in a great deal of paperwork.

2. This journal layout still has subject lines. Please use them to label your fills. Use the word FILL followed by your title and characters/pairings:

FILL: Recruitment (Pepper Potts, Nick Fury)

3. If your fill is sexually explicit or potentially triggery (for rape, graphic violence, etc.), include a warning in the subject line. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of your comment.

4. Prompts are not exclusive. See something you like that's already been filled? Write another fill!

5. This post is for the Avengers 2012 movie. You may reference comic stories or lead-in films if you wish, but your prompts and fills should focus on the new film.

6. Keep it positive! No character bashing, flaming, etc. Please PM me in the unlikely event that a problem arises. I will be turning off comment notifications on this post.

Pimp around! Tell your friends to come and play!

I don't think I really need to say this, but prompts and fills may contain spoilers. Read at your own risk.
Prompt: Thor/Jane
Thor/Jane: Just because they sent her to Tromso, it doesn't mean that Jane stayed there. Put Jane back in the movie! And if you can bring Darcy back too, all the better.

Edited at 2012-05-06 12:52 pm (UTC)
Minifill: Should You Choose to Accept It (Potts and Fury)
"Ms Potts."

Pepper looked over the top of her monitor at the tall, bald, gritty-voiced man standing at parade rest. His skin was a couple of shades darker than the hardwood paneling Tony had insisted on when they'd redesigned the place.

His eye patch was always disconcerting. And he never bothered to make an appointment.

"Director Fury," she replied, rising to her feet and coming around the glass-topped desk. "Always good to see you. I'm afraid Tony's in Hong Kong at the moment."

"I know exactly where Mister Stark is," Fury said, though he unbent enough to shake her hand, accepted her offer of a seat. "If I needed him, retrieval wouldn't be a problem."

She settled behind her desk, still watching him. "Then why are you here?"

He cocked his head. "You're not intimidated by me."

She gave him a puzzled look.

"You asked why I'm here."

"Oh. Kay?" Her mind raced but nothing about his body language said threat, not even in the more subtle ways Natasha had been teaching her to see.

He smiled. "I'm here to make you an offer, Ms Potts."

"You want me. To join S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm not --"

He cut her off with a brusque gesture. "You are. Exactly who we need right now. False modesty doesn't suit you any more than hubris suits your other half."

Pepper snorted, indelicately, and leaned over to set her forearms on her desk.

"Details, Director."

"And then?" He's still grinning; she knows he knows she's interested, knows he knows she knows he's reading her body language.

"We'll negotiate."
Fill: Gotta catch them all (Agent Coulson)
Among agents it was common knowledge that SHIELD knew everything about you that should be impossible for them to find out (like that stupid decision you made that night you were completely drunk and led to waking up on a beach at the other side of the country), so it was pretty obvious that they also had your dental records and knew what you bought last month with your credit card.

This is why Agent Coulson never bought anything on the internet. Never. He had enough with his employers knowing everything he did to also have to deal with them knowing what he liked, so he tried to buy everything at shops he could actually walk into, and paid with cash. He didn’t want SHIELD to know that he’d bought two packs of cookies on his way to New Mexico (they already knew about the whole robbers incident, they’d even sent a team to recover the surveillance camera tape), he didn’t want them to know how much he’d spent on flowers for his previous girlfriend (they already knew she’d left him, why should they know how much effort he put into trying to fix the relationship before it ended?) and he didn’t want them to know that he was a Captain America fan.

Correction: he didn’t want them to know he was a huge Captain America fan.

Something they’d easily find out if they discovered his collection of old comic books about him, or the scrapbook full of old newspaper clippings he’d managed to collect during his childhood, or the almost complete set of Captain America trading cards he’d been collecting over the years.

“Almost” being the key word. He had 19 cards. Nineteen out of a set of 20.

For some religious people, the Grail is the cup from the Last Meal; for thirteen year old girls, it’s a ticket to Justin Bieber’s concert; for Phil Coulson, it was the last card in the set, which showed Captain America saluting the camera, looking friendly.

He’d searched everywhere for it, at memorabilia shops, flea markets, retirement homes… it wasn’t anywhere and he was desperate. Sometimes he doubted he’d ever be able to find it again.

Because he’d seen the card once, back when he’d just started his collection. He’d been surfing the web, randomly, when he reached eBay and saw it, one of the cards he wanted. He considered trying to get it, but he dismissed the idea entirely: SHIELD would find out, and SHIELD shouldn’t find out. Besides, he was sure he’d find it again; it wasn’t the only one in the world.

Now he wanted to laugh at himself as he, once again, considered the choice of looking for the card on the internet.

The last one.

He gave up after five minutes of internal debate and went to eBay.

It wasn’t there either.

Great, he thought, but every day he went to the site to search for the card, until he found it.

Out of respect for him, how much he spent on it is something that will be kept a secret forever, or, at least, until SHIELD’s archives on its agents are hacked by some bored genius-millionaire-playboy-philanthropist who’d love to have that information and use it as teasing material.

Let’s only say that it wasn’t a reasonable price.

Let’s say it included at least one zero at the right.

Let’s say that Phil Coulson’s first thought after he overcame the extreme joy of finally being the owner of a complete set of Captain America trading cards was something along the lines of “Drugs are cheaper… and infinitely easier to get” (not that he had any way to know that, of course).

Let’s say that, the following day, everyone knew about his collection, and he couldn’t care less. There’s no room for embarrassment when you’re busy feeling proud.

Edited at 2012-05-06 10:58 pm (UTC)
Fill: Big Damn (Terrified) Heroes, (Clint, Natasha)
“Slay the unholy beast!” yelled Thor, who scrambled backwards so quickly he took out three of the ultra-modern dining room chairs around their communal dining table in his haste.

The familiar hum of Mjolnir flying through the air of Avengers tower was all the warning the rest of the team had; Steve pushed Tony out of the way, but took a glancing blow to his back that sent him cannoning into Bruce and pushed them both into the nearest wall.

“What the hell…” Tony began, but his eyes widened comically when he saw what had spooked Thor. “Kill it, kill it, kill it!”

The sight of arguably the richest man in North America crab-walking across a tiled floor to hide behind a kitchen island was not one that Clint would forget any time soon. Thanks to the handy auto-video capture feature on his prototype Stark Tech phone though, he’d never have to.

“This is seriously damaging my calm,” Bruce noted, from somewhere underneath Steve.

They began to awkwardly untangle their limbs, which was when Bruce got his first look at the mighty foe in the corner of the kitchen area.

“It has to die,” he said with a rising tone of panic in his voice. “Steve, kill it…before…before…”

“Oh dear,” Steve groaned, with admirable restraint, as Bruce roared and then hulked out.

Both Steve and Thor jumped on the Hulk to try and contain him. Hulk flailed back and forth and tried to climb onto the kitchen cabinets. Predictably, the cabinets gave way underneath the combined weight of the three superheroes and took the wall down on top of them.

“All this fuss,” sighed Natasha, who had been leafing through a magazine at the dining table before, and during, the chaos. Frowning, she brushed plaster dust out of her hair.

“Do you want to take this, or shall I?” Clint asked her, taking advantage of the total carnage in the room to snaffle Thor’s closely-guarded stash of Pop Tarts.

“They do call me the Black Widow,” she deadpanned. “I think this falls under my remit.”

Stepping delicately over Tony, and skirting the groaning mound of rubble that was the rest of the team, Natasha made her way to the over sized house spider that had innocently climbed onto one of the counters and prompted what was promising to be a major renovation of their kitchen.

“Come on, sweetie,” she cooed. “I’ll find you a safer place to spin.”

She left, holding the spider carefully in her hands. Tony hid behind the island. Thor wrapped one of the Hulk’s arms protectively around himself. Even Steve eyed Natasha warily.

“Big damn heroes,” Clint snorted, and helped himself to another Pop Tart.
Fill: Social Networking (Steve, Darcy) 1/2
The television is a steady drone in his S.H.I.E.L.D.-provided apartment. At night, it spreads flickering shadows around the blackness.

"Is this a movie theater in a box?" he asks the nurse who checks in on him every day. She smiles and writes disoriented on his chart. His condition -- if that's even the right word -- is classified, and even S.H.I.E.L.D's hospital staff think he's been in a coma for five years, not frozen in time for decades.

He turns up the sound sometimes, for little snippets of how the world has changed. The news reporter says there are nine billion people in the world now. He lays awake at night and wonders if it's possible to find just one.


When S.H.I.E.L.D. invites him to their headquarters, he accepts. They would know what happened to Peggy, he's sure of it. Loosing his handler doesn't take very long.

The archives aren't hard to find. He doesn't even need security clearance to get inside. If he can just find the right file cabinet, he thinks, then stops in his track. There are no files, only rows and rows of screens with tiny typewriters in front of them.

"Are those televisions?" he asks the attendant at the desk, who phones the hospital wing and asks if any patients are missing.


He takes a computer class at the local library. The other students look at him strangely. Apparently, young-looking people are already supposed to know how to use these things.

"I grew up in the country," he says because it seems easier than trying to explain he's actually the oldest person in the room.

"Which country?" a woman asks.

"You speak very good Englsh," another man adds.

He realizes that Peggy would be older than the oldest person in this room.


After class, he walks to the information desk.

"Where is the microfilm reader?" he asks. He might find an obituary, a wedding announcement, something. It will take hours, but he's got time on his hands.

The girl behind the desk has a name badge that identifies her as a high school volunteer.

"What's microfilm?" she asks.
FILL: Leave of Absence (Natasha, Clint)
Seven days later, they meet in Budapest.

It wasn't something they planned. They hardly even talked, after. Natasha stayed just long enough to make sure Clint's tracks were covered - because she wouldn't wish the S.H.I.E.L.D. psychiatrists on her worst enemy - then got out herself. This was Fury's gig: let him take care of the paperwork for once.

Budapest, though. The place S.H.I.E.L.D. would be least likely to look for them, so it made sense.

They catch each other's eye across a busy street, tourist central. Nod. Continue on pretending they're - well, Natasha is playing the American tourist. Barton gives the impression of being a little more well-blended.

It takes Natasha three days after that to track him down, to a hole-in-the-wall pub where he apparently sits in a corner by himself every night, nursing the same beer. He doesn't look up when she sits down next to him, but from the way all his muscles tense, he's not unaware.

"Where are you staying?" she asks him in Hungarian. He doesn't answer. It doesn't matter; she follows him home.

His lodgings are several steps down from Natasha's hotel, but she stays. They curl up on opposite sides of the bed, and pretend to sleep. They don't talk. They go their separate ways the next morning, and Natasha half-expects Clint not to come back, now that he's been made.

He's back the next night, though. They fall into something familiar, as close to routine as they ever could have. More often than not, they go their separate ways during the day, but sometimes they wander the city together, go out to the theatre, carefully pick their seats in restaurants so that no one can sneak up on them. One particularly bad morning, Natasha wakes to find Hawkeye sitting in a corner, staring at his hands as he flexes them. He doesn't respond to his name, and Natasha knows better not to touch him, so she drops down by the window to keep him company.

By the time she realises it's a mistake, it's too late to stop the sheer panic welling up, the flash of green beneath her eyelids as she hits the wall with spine-shattering impact, and it was lucky she didn't break anything but it doesn't matter because she still can't move, she's helpless to stop this, she's failed, she's helpless...

And then a hand is hauling her up by the arm, and Natasha blinks at the sight of Clint standing in front of her, looking determined. "Let's go to the museum," he says.

"No weapons," Natasha points out.

Clint shrugs, then leans down to pull a dagger from his boot. He tosses it on the bed, defiantly. It's a nice gesture but ultimately a meaningless one - either one of them unarmed are still more deadly than a section of machine guns.

Natasha smiles, and follows suit.

Nights are always worse. They wake each other constantly with violent twitches and screams or sobs muffled into pillows. They wake up on the floor, bruised and shivering. They wake up tangled up in each other, clutching each other so tightly it's a wonder no one's strained a rib. They wake up mid-nightmare, ready to attack. Natasha's had her legs wrapped around Clint's head, about to snap his neck, before she remembered where she was, who she was with. She's woken to Clint strangling her, and knocked him across the room before she could think about pulling her punch. They don't apologise for this. There's no point. They know the risks.

The nights that are pure hell are the ones where neither of them can sleep and neither of them will admit defeat. They lie there as still and silent as possible, listening to their neighbours fucking through the wall, the heavy tread of footsteps upstairs, the damped sounds of traffic outside, anything, anything to distract them from their own sleepless existence. They don't look at each other, and they don't say a word to each other, until...

"We're okay, Nat, aren't we?" Clint sits up, kicks off the sheets, breaking the facade.

Natasha follows suit. She stares straight ahead at the dented wall, and her voice comes out perfectly calm and level. "We have to be."

Clint nods; Natasha can feel it in the movement of the bed.

In the morning, they fly to New York.

Edited at 2012-05-07 11:51 pm (UTC)
Loki, Bruce I fancy some crack, no, not that kind!. Bruce and Loki meet at an anger management class. Make of that what you will :)

Edited at 2012-05-06 03:53 pm (UTC)
Black Widow: It's just not wise to cheat on someone called Black Widow.

Edited at 2012-05-06 03:59 pm (UTC)
Odin's Ravens, Huginn and Muninn
When Thor retrieved Loki and landed on that...mountain or hill or whatever, I noticed there were two big black birds who flew by. Who has ravens that fly around Midgard? Odin.

Tell me what Odin was thinking when he had to watch his boys fight each other and what he thought when he saw how even more fucked up Loki had become since they had last seen each other.
Natasha and Clint: they speak their own language and it annoys the hell out of Tony
Nick Fury and Maria Hill: In their downtime
(vague prompt is vague)
Darcy/Clint: She tries not to freak out about all the Avenger groupies that throw themselves at her boyfriend, but her taser trigger finger gets awfully twitchy sometimes...