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.

Comments

[redintheledger]

There is a ghost of a smile.

"Got asked to mind the neighbour's kids once, a few years back. I thought the TV would distract them. It was...illuminating."

Pause.

"So, sometimes, I...turn on the TV in the mornings and...watch in morbid fascination."

[hasthehighground]

Clint knows, from books he's read, how people think master assassins probably think-- that how to kill someone is always at the forefront of their minds. It's not, really. It comes up pretty rarely; the knowledge is there, immediately accessible, but not important unless it's important.

Despite that, Clint's well aware even now that 24 hours ago he wouldn't have hesitated in this position. Same Natasha, same Clint (Loki-bound, but same brain same instincts same memories, just totally other). He can still see the thought patterns even though they're not the ones he's settled in.

It rattles him.

"I'll have to keep that in mind," he says, and presses his lips against the corner of her smile.

[redintheledger]

There is a quip to be said, right there on the tip of her tongue.

She kisses him instead, brief and not quite so gentle.




"Let's go some place. Once he's gone. Let's just...take off some place for a few weeks."

[hasthehighground]

"Yeah," he says, after a moment. "Yeah, that would be -- great."

The boss won't mind. Probably. If he does, ... Clint's just about ready to say 'tough'.

"Hate t'say it, 'Tasha," he says, straightening up from her and covering a yawn with his hand, "but if you give me like two more minutes I'm going to pass out, here."

[redintheledger]

Her smile is crooked, amused, but the worry has faded from her eyes. The emotion itself hasn't vanished, but it's not visible.

"Good thing we rented a room with an actual bed, then."

She's too wired to sleep, but she can curl up next to him and be still for a while.

[hasthehighground]

Yeah yeah yeah, see what she'd be like if she'd been up 72 hours before her last night's sleep. And was like five years older. (It matters!)

"I love it when we think ahead," he agrees, breathing out a laugh.

He stands, snagging his muffin to set on the bedside table as a waking-up snack, and grins at her, traipsing backwards and bedwards until he hits the side, tosses the muffin lightly and accurately to the bedside table, and flops backwards.

Give him a moment, he'll regain his dignity.

Any second now.

[redintheledger]

"Uh-uh, bad move there, Barton," she says, a little mocking as she puts her foot up on the bed to take off her ankle-holster.

"Unless you want to sleep with a knife in your back."

Unlike Natasha, who is sensibly taking off her weapons and her belt, putting some away in the drawer. Leaving out her gun, within very easy and automatic reach.

It's not paranoia if people really do want to kill you.

[hasthehighground]

"The mattress is so soft, though," Clint says, sitting up.

He's really not very armed, compared to her. One gun, on his dresser, and a couple of knives. (And his utility knife, of course, but that doesn't really count as a weapon. Except when it does.)

The holsters get tucked into the drawer, as do the knives. Have you ever got grasping for a weapon on the bed side table and damn near cut your fingers off? Clint hasn't, but that's because he learns from other people's mistakes.

He moves the pillows out, and lays down, watching her. Louis L'amour's on the coffee table, but if she'd wanted him she would've picked him up.

Also, he's not really feeling like sleeping under the covers at the moment, but there's a loose blanket if Natasha wants it.

[redintheledger]

She pulls the blanket within easy reach, but doesn't cover herself with it yet. Instead, she lays down on the bed, stomach to the mattress and forehead resting on her arms, and groans.

"Ohhhh, god. Remind me to tell Stark that I've found something better than his couch," she says, talking into the mattress.

[hasthehighground]

Clint's totally not laughing at her. Nope. "It would break his heart," he informs her. "Or start a soft-things race, which we could only benefit from, so yeah okay."

He yawns, and blinks a few times, before turning his head towards her and smiling.

[redintheledger]

She turns her head and smiles back, lazy and happy and, she fears, damn well foolish.

"Although Pepper might hunt me down," she muses, and then wriggles her way so she's closer to him. There, Clint, your arm is being claimed as a pillow.

[hasthehighground]

"Pepper is terrifying. I suggest sidetracking her with files."

He's totally cool with being a pillow. It's his second calling.

Pretty soon after, he drops off smoothly into sleep.

[redintheledger]

Natasha hears the change in his breathing, and smiles a bit. Faintly. The expression soon fades. Turning her head so she faces the door instead of him, she shifts a little so she's comfortable, but able to move if she has to.

If anyone wants to mess with Clint, they are going to have to come through her.