Fake!PFSB for Natasha

[hasthehighground]

Following on from this post.

In the rafter over her head, there's a guy in civvies reading a book (something old, battered, and by Louis L'amour) and drinking coffee out of a thermos.

Not that she doesn't know that-- one thing he likes about Natasha is that she can be trusted to look up. It's been a long couple days; it's nice to just relax. Clint figures they'll actually talk when he gets a refill, or if she gets bored.

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[hasthehighground]

"I do have a reputation to keep up," Clint agrees, breathing out an amused not-laugh.

Calves take priority over pride. At least today.

He drops his book neatly across from her on the table, shimmies along the rafter, and steps down as fast as possible. When he reaches the ground, he quirks an amused eyebrow at her, and tilts a bow with arm flourish. Ta-daaa!

[redintheledger]

"I think you miss the circus," she says, rolling her eyes a bit and leaning over to pick up his book.

And to read the blurb.

This is clearly more interesting than him.

Clearly.

[hasthehighground]

"And I think you're jealous," Clint says, amiably, walking over and dropping into the chair across from her. (He hands his thermos off to a waitrat.)

"Read it before?"

God, he's glad she's still alive.

[redintheledger]

Under the table, she stretches out a foot and rests it on the chair, next to his thigh. Above the table, she gives him a sideways glance.

How she manages to do a sideways glance while looking straight at him is anyone's guess, but she does.

"Never heard of it."

[hasthehighground]

No one's ever accused Natasha of lacking skills. (Or, well, those who have were probably otherwise convinced pretty early on.)

"It's a bunch of short stories. They're pretty good." He doesn't know where Bar got the copy, but it's kind of nice that it's all beat up like the L'amour books he started buying as a kid from second-hand stores. It makes them seem more real.

He shifts his leg, to fill the space and press lightly against her.

[redintheledger]

Idly, she leafs through it, her mouth sometimes curving in amusement.

"I'll steal it another time," she says lightly.

[hasthehighground]

He nods. What's-mine-is-yours, and so on. (Though things like that are better left unspoken, even if they're about cheap westerns.)

"What're you getting yourself into, today?"

Clint mostly wants to avoid socializing, read some books, and maybe take another nap.

[redintheledger]

"I...don't know," she admits, which is an admission.

She's not used to having nothing to do when she's not in her own apartment, her own space.

She wants, suddenly, to be in her own space, or at least in a space that isn't owned by someone else.

"All my ideas end with 'and then I fall asleep for hours'."

[hasthehighground]

"Sounds like a pretty good plan to me," Clint says, after a quiet moment.

"Want to hit up some place that isn't Tony's for a room?"

Get order-in, watch stupid movies. The usual.

[redintheledger]

She brightens.

"We wouldn't even have to walk far," she says, given their location. She doesn't trust New York right now, not given...alien invasion plus civilians and their annoying camera-phones.

"In a GI Joe kinda mood? Or...?"

[hasthehighground]

Clint grins back. "I'm always in a GI Joe kinda mood."

Something that's ludicrous even in their world? He's in!

[redintheledger]

And that, Clint Barton, is an actual grin.

"Excellent taste you have," she says.

[hasthehighground]

A quick stop at the bar for "Delicious breakfast-brunch things (the lady likes lemon)" in a set of styrofoam containers, a room-key, and DVD.

Natasha gets half the styrofoam containers, and is handed the DVD very solemnly, for safe-keeping.

The room's nice, though not like Ritz-Carlton fancy. Better than Budapest. It's got a table, a soft-looking bed, sofa and wall-TV.

Clint shucks off his shoes by the door, and sets the styrofoam containers down on the coffee table before going to poke his head into the closet. (There's no window.)

[redintheledger]

Natasha's sneakers join Clint's shoes, and then she's off to claim the couch. For a woman who is not all that big, all things considered, she takes up a lot of room when she wants to.

Like a cat.





She'll probably share, but if the secret is skritches or not, she's certainly not dignifying it by admitting it.

A little dreamily, "You hear that?"

[hasthehighground]

"The resounding lack of Black Sabbath and computerized butlers? Yeah."

'Spretty nice. Not that he values his silence as much as Natasha, but still.

Clint takes in the sofa situation, and ends up perched on the arm of the sofa, snagging one of the styrofoam containers.

"Oh, hey," he says, glancing up. "I got crepes. You want some?"

Blackberry, if he's judging right. It's like Christmas.

[redintheledger]

Natasha can appreciate Black Sabbath, but JARVIS weirds her out. There is also a distinct lack of Thor's hearty boom.

Silence.

At least until they start to play the movie, of course.

"...swap you a muffin?" she offers, generously.

[hasthehighground]

"You drive a hard bargain," he says, passing her the container after he cuts the top off to use as his plate, and serves himself some.

[redintheledger]

This? All sugar and flour and milk and fruit and piping hot? This is why people fight to defend Earth.

(of course, the question of if she fought for Earth, or fought to defend Clint, is one she's Not Thinking About.)

"Mmhmm," she says happily, biting into a crepe with blueberries, allowing herself to wallow in the taste (and ignore the opening credits).

[hasthehighground]

Clint laughs at her, almost silent, glancing up to watch.

The screen says: Whenever a new breed of evil emerges, a new breed of soldier must fight it. in epic-looking text.

"Smells like foreshadowing," he says, glancing sideways.

[redintheledger]

"The foreshadowing can't be subtle. It'd ruin the effect of the film," she says, pseudo-snobbish before she bites into an apple and cinnamon muffin.

On the screen, there is someone being Scottish and defiant.

There is more foreshadowing. Or possibly, more like 'forelighting-by-large-torch-of-a-plot-anvil'.

[hasthehighground]

"Right," he says, huffing a laugh, "we might forget that there's a plot."

Medieval Scottish defiance, medieval Scottish defiance, modern day Scottish defiance!

"God, do you think he and Stark are related?"

[redintheledger]

"The idea has a frightening level of merit," she says, sounding blank.



"We're never showing this movie to Stark."

[hasthehighground]

On-screen, nano-mites eat the metal off a tank.

"Yeah," he says. "Deal."

[redintheledger]

"At least we could shoot aliens," she says after a moment or two of silence, mostly because if she actually thought about the scene on the screen - with a young Special Forces soldier getting demoted due to newborn baby - she'd roll her eyes enough to sprain them.

[hasthehighground]

"Or stab them and steal their rides," he says, nudging her lightly with his foot, amused.

And starts snickering at the next scene. General Hawk's political acumen is pretty well-honed.

(Not.)