Three Avengers fics originally posted elsewhere:
Title: Stay With Me For A While
Pairings: Natasha/Coulson, Natasha+Cint friendship, Natasha/Coulson/Clint
Rating: PG
Word count: 1700
Summary: The three of them make the transition from friends to something else, between late night kisses, a rough mission, and Korean food
Stay With Me For A While
Natasha kisses Phil first, when he drives her back to her tiny apartment, after yet another post-Tony Stark debrief. She's already said goodbye, he's got the keys in the ignition, waiting for her to get out of the car, and he's Phil. He's been part of her for almost as long as Clint, solid and stable and safe, so much simpler than Clint will ever be.
And so she kisses him.
And he kisses her back.
And it's nice. Lovely. He's careful, telegraphs how he's going to touch her before he does it and lets her lead. She feels small and delicate in his embrace, which is weird, because he keeps his hands away from all the weapons on her person, a visceral reminder that he knows she's dangerous and will never under-estimate her.
She doesn't invite him in, and he doesn't ask, just kisses her once more as she draws slowly away from him. He's smiling, sweet and almost bashful.
Natasha wants to show that smile to Clint. She wants Phil to smile at Clint like that as well, because she knows they both want him to, and she wants it as well.
Clint's on a mission, though, three weeks in Paris, and right now, Phil is smiling sweet and kind at her. She ducks in for one more kiss.
"I'll see you at work," she says, opening the car door.
Phil blinks slowly. "Yes," he says. "Sleep well."
He looks like he's waiting for her to say that this can't happen again, or like he's thinking of saying it. Natasha gets out of the car before he can.
*
It happens again.
More than once.
*
The day before Clint's due back, Natasha pulls back from kissing Phil and says, "Do you want to come up?"
The words sound strange, because every other time she's said them has been with seduction curled around every syllable, leading a target into her trap. With Phil, she just asks.
And then adds, "You have your go bag in the car, don't you?" in case Phil isn't quite sure of her meaning.
He just raises an eyebrow at her, and takes the keys from the ignition. So, he was sure.
She kisses him down into her bed, gets him mostly naked, and brings him off with her hand on him. He says, "Thank you," after he's caught his breath, and returns the favour without asking any questions, or saying anything about how she doesn't let him penetrate her.
Natasha doesn't fall asleep in his arms. It sounds nice, in theory, but in practice, it makes her feel trapped, and she always, always wakes up struggling. She saves them both from that by sleeping curled in the big, soft chair by her window, feeling the breeze on her face and feeling safe.
*
In the morning, Phil asks her if she wants to get dinner that evening.
She's not sure exactly what expression passes over her face before she can lock it down. Whatever it is, it makes Phil turn away slightly.
"With Barton," he adds, smooth enough that Natasha could almost believe he meant it that way all along. "Assuming he's still in one piece."
"Maybe," Natasha says.
The drive into HQ is very quiet, and Phil doesn't touch her at all when they part.
*
Clint comes back with the tail end of a concussion, a sprained ankle and a broken collar bone. He's had worse injuries – they all have – but Natasha hears his footfalls in the corridor outside the tiny office she's holed up in, less than an hour after she heard he was back. That always means more than just physical injuries.
His face, when he steps into the office, is confirmation enough. He's pale, expression drawn tight, and he's got an arm wrapped around his ribs, though the medical report says he doesn't have any injuries there. He smiles like a reflex. "Hey."
"Hey." Natasha doesn't smile. It's not an expression she can make look reassuring. "Rough mission?"
Clint nods. He won't say anything more, Natasha knows. He never does, and she never usually finds out why it was bad. Sometimes, she thinks that he doesn't know either.
"Buy me a coffee," she says, and brushes his shoulder with her fingertips as they walk out.
*
Natasha loves Clint in a weird way that doesn't think the rest of the world would call love. He's her frequent mission partner, the man who brought her into SHIELD and by extension saved her life, the closest and strangest thing she's ever had to a best friend, and the star of more than one fantasy after they've sparred. She would face down anyone and anything for him, the way she knows he would for her, and she would do whatever necessary to rescue him if she ever had to.
There's maybe only one thing that she can't do for him.
The evening of his first day back, she returns to her office after a meeting and finds Clint asleep against the wall. She's not surprised. This is pretty typical for Clint after a bad mission, when he wants to be physically close to someone he feels safe with, which usually means her. Over the years, they've battled out a sort of compromise, between what he needs and what she needs.
Today, though, she hurt one of her closest friends, and maybe screwed up the nice thing they had going. Today, her tolerance for people near her – needing her – is exhausted, even for Clint.
"Wake up," she says quietly, crouching in front of him.
His left hand twitches as he opens his eyes, an aborted reach out for her. They've always been able to read each other; he knows she doesn't want him there.
"You shouldn't be sitting here," she tells him. "Come on."
"Are we-" He cuts himself off, maybe because he needs to breathe through getting to his feet, maybe because it's the wrong question. "Where to?"
Phil has infinite capacity to pet and soothe anxious agents, and no plans for the evening. The first time Natasha ever saw Clint let his guard down was with Phil. "Someone safe," she says.
*
In her apartment that night, Natasha turns on the radio, because there's too much silence. Her apartment isn't big enough to dance in, but she finds a classical music station and closes her eyes, easing from stretches into ballet positions. This is her peace, a solitary sort that will never be part of her life in SHIELD.
But that night, when she closes her eyes, she sees Phil smiling at her through candlelight, the image vivid enough to be a memory.
She sees Clint, fuzzy with sleep and reaching for her hand, completely certain that she'll be there.
She sees herself, leaning in to kiss Phil, and always, always reaching back when Clint reaches for her.
Natasha doesn't make mistakes, but she thinks, perhaps, that she may have made one in sending her two boys away together. She'll see them in the morning, but in that moment, alone in her apartment with her music, she misses them.
She takes a deep breath, turns off the radio, and puts on her shoes. Natasha has always been one for action, once she's seen the action she needs to take. This is hardly an exception.
*
If Clint was doing this, he'd probably climb in through the window. Natasha isn't sure what Phil would do, other than that it would likely include a certain degree of ceremony, since Phil is a romantic at heart, as well as being a little traditional.
But it's not either of them doing it, it's Natasha, who could do ceremony or climbing through the window, but chooses instead to balance the stack of take-out cartons in her left hand, and press the buzzer for Phil's apartment with the other.
The door buzzes open. Natasha frowns as she nudges it with her hip. They can't possibly have known it was her. She shifts the boxes again, giving herself the best possible access to the gun under her jacket as she climbs the two flights of stairs to Phil's apartment.
The front door there is open as well, but before Natasha can draw her weapon, Clint's voice calls, "Hey, Natasha."
She's not at all surprised to find he's sitting, injured leg on a cushion, in Phil's bay window, the one that looks down onto the street. From street-level, with the apartment dimly lit, Natasha wouldn't have seen him.
He smiles at her, small but real, and she smiles back, matching it. Phil was a good choice; Clint looks better than he did at HQ a couple of hours ago.
"Hello," Phil says softly, from the kitchen doorway, where he's drying a glass and wearing jeans. This shouldn't be Natasha's world, but somehow it's become part of her, like her pistols and her heels and SHIELD. "Would you like to close the door?"
Phil ducks into the kitchen, getting plates by the sounds. The tiny sliver of her that worried he would be weird about the morning melts away. Neither one of them does weird, not over things like that.
"Chinese?" Clint asks.
"Korean." Natasha hands him a box, letting her fingers brush his. He smiles down at their hands, his own fingers curling over hers, not holding on, but holding. "You okay?" she asks quietly.
"Good now." He tips his head back, eyes closing. "You're staying, right?"
Natasha feels Phil watching them from across the room. When she looks, he's just waiting, patient and certain. "Yes," she says. "I'm staying."
Phil hands out plates and utensils, rolling his eyes a little when Clint shakes his head and eats straight from the carton. Natasha settles in the big, soft chair, so she can keep an eye on Clint and lean into Phil, in the corner of the couch.
The lights are low, but every shadow is familiar, like the quiet that falls as they dig into their food. Natasha curls her feet under her, breathes in the warmth and the spice of the food, and thinks that she could stay like this for a while.
Title: After-Care
Pairings: Natasha/Maria Hill
Rating: G
Word count: 800
Summary: Post-Avengers, Natasha checks in with Maria; written for![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
havoc's fandom stocking
After-care
When the door chimed an opening warning, Natasha was curled in on herself, halfway to sleep. She'd slipped down into it more easily than she'd expected, finally feeling safe, but worn down with nearly losing Clint, being chased through the Helicarrier by the Hulk, losing Coulson, and then fighting off an alien army.
She shook her hair from her face as the door slid open, but a single step was enough for her to know it was Maria coming in, which meant she didn't need to do more than lift her head slightly from the pillow.
Maria's hand twitched toward her gun, then stilled as her eyes met Natasha's, recognition and relief softening her features. "You're not supposed to be here," she said, palming the door closed and setting her sidearm down.
"Medical wanted Clint back for more tests." Natasha watched as Maria removed her jacket and boots, her movements slow with exhaustion and probably pain – Natasha had checked in with her contact in medical while waiting for Clint to wake up, and gotten a report on Maria's injuries, amongst others. "And my apartment key is still here, so I caught a ride."
Maria stopped, one hand resting on the small desk as she turned. "Right. I forgot you were on a mission before all this."
Natasha very carefully didn't say that Coulson wouldn't accept fighting off an alien invasion as an excuse for turning in her mission report late. He'd been her handler since the beginning, as well as Maria's good friend and close to equal in SHIELD's command structure since long before either she or Clint had been on SHIELD's radar.
Maria might have heard the missing words anyway, from the way she slumped slightly. "It would help if you could submit your report when you have time. We won't be able to look at it for a while, but I'm assuming you got useful intel."
Natasha gave her the raised eyebrow of 'who do you think you're talking to again?' and held out a hand. "Do you have a concussion?"
When Maria didn't answer, Natasha sat up, letting the blankets pool in her lap, and incidentally showing Maria that she was only wearing a training vest-top, one sleeve slipping off her shoulder. "Come here," she said softly, holding her hand out again.
For a moment, Maria still not coming closer, Natasha felt too much like this was a performance. It was the same way she'd felt, right at the beginning of trying to have this thing, when 'Natasha, girlfriend of Maria' was as much a cloak as any of her cover identities. Now, she hated it, a splinter of her past in the soft, natural present that she'd fought so hard to make real.
Maria took her hand, letting Natasha draw her closer, and the moment passed. She was just Natasha again, holding Maria's hand in her girlfriend's Helicarrier crash room. "Do you have a concussion?"
"No." Maria's smile was strained. "Just a terrible headache, and a lot of bruises." She reached up with her free hand to comb through Natasha's hair, her smile becoming more natural when Natasha leaned into it. "How about you? You saved the world earlier today."
Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, letting the memories flow through her: flying away from Maria and the Helicarrier and not knowing if it would still be whole when she could go back; watching the sky and waiting for Stark to fall back to earth; closing the portal and realizing she didn't know where Clint was and couldn't raise him on the radio. Checking back in with SHIELD after it was all over, and the rush of relief when it was Maria's voice on the other end of the connection.
"Mostly bruises." She tugged gently at Maria's hand and kissed her lightly when she was close enough.
Maria sighed, resting her forehead against Natasha's. "I could sleep for a week."
"How long did Fury give you?"
"Twenty-four hours," Maria said, laughing a little. "You want to go home?"
Natasha shook her head, careful not to dislodge Maria. "Take your clothes off, we can just sleep here."
Maria looked at her for a long moment, and Natasha looked back, letting Maria see whatever it was she was looking for. Maria had always done that, looked at Natasha like she knew she'd see something real; for a long time, Maria had been the only person who did that, and she'd never once stopped.
Natasha didn't wholly believe in love, but she'd believed in Maria before she'd believed in anyone else – before she'd felt any sort of affection, desire, friendship for her.
"Okay," Maria said quietly, her hand still in Natasha's, an article of unspoken faith in a world that hadn't ended, and maybe wouldn't yet. For twenty-four hours, it could be enough, and more than she deserved.
Title: Starting Something
Pairings: pre-Natasha/Pepper, Natasha+Clint friendship, background Pepper/Tony
Rating: G
Word count: 1100
Summary: Post-Avengers, Pepper has an unexpected, but not unwanted, conversation with Natasha; written for fandom stocking
To say that Pepper's gotten used to sharing the Tower with six super-heroes, one of whom she's dating, and the accompanying roster of scientists and not-as-dead-as-advertised SHIELD agents, would be an exaggeration. On the other hand, it would also be a lie to say that she doesn't like it.
She'd figured they'd all keep to their own floors, once it became obvious that they really were sticking around, and that even if they didn't, she probably wouldn't see much of them, since she was busy, and they mostly either had or created jobs to do when they weren't saving the world.
As it turned out? Not so much.
Bruce, of course, spends a lot of time in the labs with Tony, which results in several mildly terrifying inventions, and also in Tony regularly appearing for meals. When she mentions this, Bruce shrugs, and says that the routine helps with his control. Since he argued for three weeks straight in the beginning about how dangerous it was for him to be there, Pepper just nods, and starts scheduling herself for longer lunch breaks.
Captain Rogers, whom she can't call Steve no matter how many times he tells her that it's fine (whilst calling her Ms Potts, which doesn't exactly help), spends large chunks of every day out in the city. Helping with clean-up and rebuilding, Tony tells her, and Phil says that he's a good advertisement for both SHIELD and the Avengers. Pepper can't entirely argue with that (if nothing else, the man's uniform is the definition of form-fitting). She talks to some of her contacts with catering firms instead, and makes sure there's plenty of food, not just for the survivors but for the work crews as well.
Thor comes and goes according to whether he's needed on Asgard, and whether Dr Foster is at the Tower or out in the field. When he's in the Tower, Pepper grows used to finding him and Captain Rogers in the small lounge on the communal floor, watching movies with identical confused frowns. She never means to agree to watch with them, and yet she frequently finds herself humming along with the Mission: Impossible theme music, or reciting one-liners from Shrek.
And so, one Thursday evening when Tony and Bruce have been assuring her they'll be 'five more minutes, ten tops,' for the last three hours, she wanders down to the lounge, smiling a little when she hears faint classical music through the open door. She's already mentally cataloguing the Tower's movie collection for the particular piece as she steps inside, and so it takes her a moment to realise that the two people lit only by the light of the screen aren't Captain Rogers and Thor, but Natasha and Clint.
The two of them both still work for SHIELD as well as the Avengers and though they go out on missions less frequently now, they spend a lot of time at SHIELD bases, or up in the Helicarrier. Of all the Avengers, they keep to themselves the most, particularly Clint, who Pepper rarely sees without either Natasha or Phil.
Natasha puts a silent finger to her lips when she sees Pepper, but it doesn't seem to suggest Pepper should leave, so she takes her habitual chair instead. Natasha's leaning into the corner of the couch, Clint curled up small against her, his head in her lap, one of her hands resting over his left ear, the really bad one. He looks too tense to be sleeping, but he doesn't move, not even to open his eyes, which Pepper supposes means he is.
"Bad day?" she asks softly.
Natasha looks down at Clint for a moment, then back to Pepper, affection and a hint of worry fading out slowly enough for Pepper to see them. She's incredibly beautiful, her hair soft around her face, her T-shirt emphasising her strength. Not for the first time, Pepper pushes the thought away.
"Bad day," Natasha agrees, her voice barely there, and doesn't expand.
"And the ballet?" It's Swan Lake, not Pepper's favourite, but still beautiful.
Natasha smiles. "That's for me." She touches Clint's bare shoulder, very lightly, full of affection that Pepper has to look away from. Bad enough to know that she can't have, despite her and Tony's open relationship, without seeing the evidence so strongly. "We've never been, either of us. We used to – every new year, I made him promise we'd go, but..." she shrugs.
Pepper's not sure why Natasha, who's generally very private, is telling her this. Maybe because it's a bad day. Maybe because she's there. "Tony's like that," she says, returning Natasha's gesture in sharing. "You'd think controlling his schedule would make it easier, but somehow it never seems to work out like that."
Natasha goes quiet, watching the dancers. After a couple of minutes, Pepper decides they're done with conversation, and turns her own focus to the television. It's easy to lose herself in this, the familiar music and the unwinding story; so much so that when Natasha speaks again, Pepper's half-forgotten the other woman is there.
"We're not sleeping together," Natasha says. "Clint and I. We're friends."
"Thank you for telling me," Pepper says, rather than asking why Natasha is telling her. When Natasha meets her eyes, she can't look away.
"I don't do that," Natasha adds. "Sex with people I care about, or relationships with men."
She looks more uncertain than Pepper could ever have imagined her looking, which makes Pepper take a moment to sort through the implications of that sentence before replying. Some of them are terribly sad, the sorts of things she tries not to think about in the context of the SHIELD agents she knows, with their anything-for-the-mission attitudes to their work. One, though, is really good.
"I'm bisexual," Pepper says, knowing she's reading things right when Natasha relaxes a fraction. "Tony and I – we're each other's primary partner."
"Thank you for telling me," Natasha says. The corners of her mouth quirk up, and Pepper isn't sure in the dim light, but she thinks Natasha might be blushing.
"I have season tickets to the New York City Ballet." Pepper thinks she might be blushing as well. She feels a little giddy, and a little weird to be doing this while Natasha's sniper-assassin best friend may or may not be listening in. "Maybe I could take you – I mean, we could go together – sometime. If you're not saving the world."
"I won't have sex with you," Natasha says, but not like she's saying no.
"Would you kiss me?" Pepper asks. "Or let me hold your hand? It's okay if you won't. I'd still like to go to the ballet with you."
"Yes," Natasha says, soft and something that might be happy. "Yes."
Title: Stay With Me For A While
Pairings: Natasha/Coulson, Natasha+Cint friendship, Natasha/Coulson/Clint
Rating: PG
Word count: 1700
Summary: The three of them make the transition from friends to something else, between late night kisses, a rough mission, and Korean food
Stay With Me For A While
Natasha kisses Phil first, when he drives her back to her tiny apartment, after yet another post-Tony Stark debrief. She's already said goodbye, he's got the keys in the ignition, waiting for her to get out of the car, and he's Phil. He's been part of her for almost as long as Clint, solid and stable and safe, so much simpler than Clint will ever be.
And so she kisses him.
And he kisses her back.
And it's nice. Lovely. He's careful, telegraphs how he's going to touch her before he does it and lets her lead. She feels small and delicate in his embrace, which is weird, because he keeps his hands away from all the weapons on her person, a visceral reminder that he knows she's dangerous and will never under-estimate her.
She doesn't invite him in, and he doesn't ask, just kisses her once more as she draws slowly away from him. He's smiling, sweet and almost bashful.
Natasha wants to show that smile to Clint. She wants Phil to smile at Clint like that as well, because she knows they both want him to, and she wants it as well.
Clint's on a mission, though, three weeks in Paris, and right now, Phil is smiling sweet and kind at her. She ducks in for one more kiss.
"I'll see you at work," she says, opening the car door.
Phil blinks slowly. "Yes," he says. "Sleep well."
He looks like he's waiting for her to say that this can't happen again, or like he's thinking of saying it. Natasha gets out of the car before he can.
*
It happens again.
More than once.
*
The day before Clint's due back, Natasha pulls back from kissing Phil and says, "Do you want to come up?"
The words sound strange, because every other time she's said them has been with seduction curled around every syllable, leading a target into her trap. With Phil, she just asks.
And then adds, "You have your go bag in the car, don't you?" in case Phil isn't quite sure of her meaning.
He just raises an eyebrow at her, and takes the keys from the ignition. So, he was sure.
She kisses him down into her bed, gets him mostly naked, and brings him off with her hand on him. He says, "Thank you," after he's caught his breath, and returns the favour without asking any questions, or saying anything about how she doesn't let him penetrate her.
Natasha doesn't fall asleep in his arms. It sounds nice, in theory, but in practice, it makes her feel trapped, and she always, always wakes up struggling. She saves them both from that by sleeping curled in the big, soft chair by her window, feeling the breeze on her face and feeling safe.
*
In the morning, Phil asks her if she wants to get dinner that evening.
She's not sure exactly what expression passes over her face before she can lock it down. Whatever it is, it makes Phil turn away slightly.
"With Barton," he adds, smooth enough that Natasha could almost believe he meant it that way all along. "Assuming he's still in one piece."
"Maybe," Natasha says.
The drive into HQ is very quiet, and Phil doesn't touch her at all when they part.
*
Clint comes back with the tail end of a concussion, a sprained ankle and a broken collar bone. He's had worse injuries – they all have – but Natasha hears his footfalls in the corridor outside the tiny office she's holed up in, less than an hour after she heard he was back. That always means more than just physical injuries.
His face, when he steps into the office, is confirmation enough. He's pale, expression drawn tight, and he's got an arm wrapped around his ribs, though the medical report says he doesn't have any injuries there. He smiles like a reflex. "Hey."
"Hey." Natasha doesn't smile. It's not an expression she can make look reassuring. "Rough mission?"
Clint nods. He won't say anything more, Natasha knows. He never does, and she never usually finds out why it was bad. Sometimes, she thinks that he doesn't know either.
"Buy me a coffee," she says, and brushes his shoulder with her fingertips as they walk out.
*
Natasha loves Clint in a weird way that doesn't think the rest of the world would call love. He's her frequent mission partner, the man who brought her into SHIELD and by extension saved her life, the closest and strangest thing she's ever had to a best friend, and the star of more than one fantasy after they've sparred. She would face down anyone and anything for him, the way she knows he would for her, and she would do whatever necessary to rescue him if she ever had to.
There's maybe only one thing that she can't do for him.
The evening of his first day back, she returns to her office after a meeting and finds Clint asleep against the wall. She's not surprised. This is pretty typical for Clint after a bad mission, when he wants to be physically close to someone he feels safe with, which usually means her. Over the years, they've battled out a sort of compromise, between what he needs and what she needs.
Today, though, she hurt one of her closest friends, and maybe screwed up the nice thing they had going. Today, her tolerance for people near her – needing her – is exhausted, even for Clint.
"Wake up," she says quietly, crouching in front of him.
His left hand twitches as he opens his eyes, an aborted reach out for her. They've always been able to read each other; he knows she doesn't want him there.
"You shouldn't be sitting here," she tells him. "Come on."
"Are we-" He cuts himself off, maybe because he needs to breathe through getting to his feet, maybe because it's the wrong question. "Where to?"
Phil has infinite capacity to pet and soothe anxious agents, and no plans for the evening. The first time Natasha ever saw Clint let his guard down was with Phil. "Someone safe," she says.
*
In her apartment that night, Natasha turns on the radio, because there's too much silence. Her apartment isn't big enough to dance in, but she finds a classical music station and closes her eyes, easing from stretches into ballet positions. This is her peace, a solitary sort that will never be part of her life in SHIELD.
But that night, when she closes her eyes, she sees Phil smiling at her through candlelight, the image vivid enough to be a memory.
She sees Clint, fuzzy with sleep and reaching for her hand, completely certain that she'll be there.
She sees herself, leaning in to kiss Phil, and always, always reaching back when Clint reaches for her.
Natasha doesn't make mistakes, but she thinks, perhaps, that she may have made one in sending her two boys away together. She'll see them in the morning, but in that moment, alone in her apartment with her music, she misses them.
She takes a deep breath, turns off the radio, and puts on her shoes. Natasha has always been one for action, once she's seen the action she needs to take. This is hardly an exception.
*
If Clint was doing this, he'd probably climb in through the window. Natasha isn't sure what Phil would do, other than that it would likely include a certain degree of ceremony, since Phil is a romantic at heart, as well as being a little traditional.
But it's not either of them doing it, it's Natasha, who could do ceremony or climbing through the window, but chooses instead to balance the stack of take-out cartons in her left hand, and press the buzzer for Phil's apartment with the other.
The door buzzes open. Natasha frowns as she nudges it with her hip. They can't possibly have known it was her. She shifts the boxes again, giving herself the best possible access to the gun under her jacket as she climbs the two flights of stairs to Phil's apartment.
The front door there is open as well, but before Natasha can draw her weapon, Clint's voice calls, "Hey, Natasha."
She's not at all surprised to find he's sitting, injured leg on a cushion, in Phil's bay window, the one that looks down onto the street. From street-level, with the apartment dimly lit, Natasha wouldn't have seen him.
He smiles at her, small but real, and she smiles back, matching it. Phil was a good choice; Clint looks better than he did at HQ a couple of hours ago.
"Hello," Phil says softly, from the kitchen doorway, where he's drying a glass and wearing jeans. This shouldn't be Natasha's world, but somehow it's become part of her, like her pistols and her heels and SHIELD. "Would you like to close the door?"
Phil ducks into the kitchen, getting plates by the sounds. The tiny sliver of her that worried he would be weird about the morning melts away. Neither one of them does weird, not over things like that.
"Chinese?" Clint asks.
"Korean." Natasha hands him a box, letting her fingers brush his. He smiles down at their hands, his own fingers curling over hers, not holding on, but holding. "You okay?" she asks quietly.
"Good now." He tips his head back, eyes closing. "You're staying, right?"
Natasha feels Phil watching them from across the room. When she looks, he's just waiting, patient and certain. "Yes," she says. "I'm staying."
Phil hands out plates and utensils, rolling his eyes a little when Clint shakes his head and eats straight from the carton. Natasha settles in the big, soft chair, so she can keep an eye on Clint and lean into Phil, in the corner of the couch.
The lights are low, but every shadow is familiar, like the quiet that falls as they dig into their food. Natasha curls her feet under her, breathes in the warmth and the spice of the food, and thinks that she could stay like this for a while.
Title: After-Care
Pairings: Natasha/Maria Hill
Rating: G
Word count: 800
Summary: Post-Avengers, Natasha checks in with Maria; written for
havoc's fandom stockingAfter-care
When the door chimed an opening warning, Natasha was curled in on herself, halfway to sleep. She'd slipped down into it more easily than she'd expected, finally feeling safe, but worn down with nearly losing Clint, being chased through the Helicarrier by the Hulk, losing Coulson, and then fighting off an alien army.
She shook her hair from her face as the door slid open, but a single step was enough for her to know it was Maria coming in, which meant she didn't need to do more than lift her head slightly from the pillow.
Maria's hand twitched toward her gun, then stilled as her eyes met Natasha's, recognition and relief softening her features. "You're not supposed to be here," she said, palming the door closed and setting her sidearm down.
"Medical wanted Clint back for more tests." Natasha watched as Maria removed her jacket and boots, her movements slow with exhaustion and probably pain – Natasha had checked in with her contact in medical while waiting for Clint to wake up, and gotten a report on Maria's injuries, amongst others. "And my apartment key is still here, so I caught a ride."
Maria stopped, one hand resting on the small desk as she turned. "Right. I forgot you were on a mission before all this."
Natasha very carefully didn't say that Coulson wouldn't accept fighting off an alien invasion as an excuse for turning in her mission report late. He'd been her handler since the beginning, as well as Maria's good friend and close to equal in SHIELD's command structure since long before either she or Clint had been on SHIELD's radar.
Maria might have heard the missing words anyway, from the way she slumped slightly. "It would help if you could submit your report when you have time. We won't be able to look at it for a while, but I'm assuming you got useful intel."
Natasha gave her the raised eyebrow of 'who do you think you're talking to again?' and held out a hand. "Do you have a concussion?"
When Maria didn't answer, Natasha sat up, letting the blankets pool in her lap, and incidentally showing Maria that she was only wearing a training vest-top, one sleeve slipping off her shoulder. "Come here," she said softly, holding her hand out again.
For a moment, Maria still not coming closer, Natasha felt too much like this was a performance. It was the same way she'd felt, right at the beginning of trying to have this thing, when 'Natasha, girlfriend of Maria' was as much a cloak as any of her cover identities. Now, she hated it, a splinter of her past in the soft, natural present that she'd fought so hard to make real.
Maria took her hand, letting Natasha draw her closer, and the moment passed. She was just Natasha again, holding Maria's hand in her girlfriend's Helicarrier crash room. "Do you have a concussion?"
"No." Maria's smile was strained. "Just a terrible headache, and a lot of bruises." She reached up with her free hand to comb through Natasha's hair, her smile becoming more natural when Natasha leaned into it. "How about you? You saved the world earlier today."
Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, letting the memories flow through her: flying away from Maria and the Helicarrier and not knowing if it would still be whole when she could go back; watching the sky and waiting for Stark to fall back to earth; closing the portal and realizing she didn't know where Clint was and couldn't raise him on the radio. Checking back in with SHIELD after it was all over, and the rush of relief when it was Maria's voice on the other end of the connection.
"Mostly bruises." She tugged gently at Maria's hand and kissed her lightly when she was close enough.
Maria sighed, resting her forehead against Natasha's. "I could sleep for a week."
"How long did Fury give you?"
"Twenty-four hours," Maria said, laughing a little. "You want to go home?"
Natasha shook her head, careful not to dislodge Maria. "Take your clothes off, we can just sleep here."
Maria looked at her for a long moment, and Natasha looked back, letting Maria see whatever it was she was looking for. Maria had always done that, looked at Natasha like she knew she'd see something real; for a long time, Maria had been the only person who did that, and she'd never once stopped.
Natasha didn't wholly believe in love, but she'd believed in Maria before she'd believed in anyone else – before she'd felt any sort of affection, desire, friendship for her.
"Okay," Maria said quietly, her hand still in Natasha's, an article of unspoken faith in a world that hadn't ended, and maybe wouldn't yet. For twenty-four hours, it could be enough, and more than she deserved.
Title: Starting Something
Pairings: pre-Natasha/Pepper, Natasha+Clint friendship, background Pepper/Tony
Rating: G
Word count: 1100
Summary: Post-Avengers, Pepper has an unexpected, but not unwanted, conversation with Natasha; written for fandom stocking
To say that Pepper's gotten used to sharing the Tower with six super-heroes, one of whom she's dating, and the accompanying roster of scientists and not-as-dead-as-advertised SHIELD agents, would be an exaggeration. On the other hand, it would also be a lie to say that she doesn't like it.
She'd figured they'd all keep to their own floors, once it became obvious that they really were sticking around, and that even if they didn't, she probably wouldn't see much of them, since she was busy, and they mostly either had or created jobs to do when they weren't saving the world.
As it turned out? Not so much.
Bruce, of course, spends a lot of time in the labs with Tony, which results in several mildly terrifying inventions, and also in Tony regularly appearing for meals. When she mentions this, Bruce shrugs, and says that the routine helps with his control. Since he argued for three weeks straight in the beginning about how dangerous it was for him to be there, Pepper just nods, and starts scheduling herself for longer lunch breaks.
Captain Rogers, whom she can't call Steve no matter how many times he tells her that it's fine (whilst calling her Ms Potts, which doesn't exactly help), spends large chunks of every day out in the city. Helping with clean-up and rebuilding, Tony tells her, and Phil says that he's a good advertisement for both SHIELD and the Avengers. Pepper can't entirely argue with that (if nothing else, the man's uniform is the definition of form-fitting). She talks to some of her contacts with catering firms instead, and makes sure there's plenty of food, not just for the survivors but for the work crews as well.
Thor comes and goes according to whether he's needed on Asgard, and whether Dr Foster is at the Tower or out in the field. When he's in the Tower, Pepper grows used to finding him and Captain Rogers in the small lounge on the communal floor, watching movies with identical confused frowns. She never means to agree to watch with them, and yet she frequently finds herself humming along with the Mission: Impossible theme music, or reciting one-liners from Shrek.
And so, one Thursday evening when Tony and Bruce have been assuring her they'll be 'five more minutes, ten tops,' for the last three hours, she wanders down to the lounge, smiling a little when she hears faint classical music through the open door. She's already mentally cataloguing the Tower's movie collection for the particular piece as she steps inside, and so it takes her a moment to realise that the two people lit only by the light of the screen aren't Captain Rogers and Thor, but Natasha and Clint.
The two of them both still work for SHIELD as well as the Avengers and though they go out on missions less frequently now, they spend a lot of time at SHIELD bases, or up in the Helicarrier. Of all the Avengers, they keep to themselves the most, particularly Clint, who Pepper rarely sees without either Natasha or Phil.
Natasha puts a silent finger to her lips when she sees Pepper, but it doesn't seem to suggest Pepper should leave, so she takes her habitual chair instead. Natasha's leaning into the corner of the couch, Clint curled up small against her, his head in her lap, one of her hands resting over his left ear, the really bad one. He looks too tense to be sleeping, but he doesn't move, not even to open his eyes, which Pepper supposes means he is.
"Bad day?" she asks softly.
Natasha looks down at Clint for a moment, then back to Pepper, affection and a hint of worry fading out slowly enough for Pepper to see them. She's incredibly beautiful, her hair soft around her face, her T-shirt emphasising her strength. Not for the first time, Pepper pushes the thought away.
"Bad day," Natasha agrees, her voice barely there, and doesn't expand.
"And the ballet?" It's Swan Lake, not Pepper's favourite, but still beautiful.
Natasha smiles. "That's for me." She touches Clint's bare shoulder, very lightly, full of affection that Pepper has to look away from. Bad enough to know that she can't have, despite her and Tony's open relationship, without seeing the evidence so strongly. "We've never been, either of us. We used to – every new year, I made him promise we'd go, but..." she shrugs.
Pepper's not sure why Natasha, who's generally very private, is telling her this. Maybe because it's a bad day. Maybe because she's there. "Tony's like that," she says, returning Natasha's gesture in sharing. "You'd think controlling his schedule would make it easier, but somehow it never seems to work out like that."
Natasha goes quiet, watching the dancers. After a couple of minutes, Pepper decides they're done with conversation, and turns her own focus to the television. It's easy to lose herself in this, the familiar music and the unwinding story; so much so that when Natasha speaks again, Pepper's half-forgotten the other woman is there.
"We're not sleeping together," Natasha says. "Clint and I. We're friends."
"Thank you for telling me," Pepper says, rather than asking why Natasha is telling her. When Natasha meets her eyes, she can't look away.
"I don't do that," Natasha adds. "Sex with people I care about, or relationships with men."
She looks more uncertain than Pepper could ever have imagined her looking, which makes Pepper take a moment to sort through the implications of that sentence before replying. Some of them are terribly sad, the sorts of things she tries not to think about in the context of the SHIELD agents she knows, with their anything-for-the-mission attitudes to their work. One, though, is really good.
"I'm bisexual," Pepper says, knowing she's reading things right when Natasha relaxes a fraction. "Tony and I – we're each other's primary partner."
"Thank you for telling me," Natasha says. The corners of her mouth quirk up, and Pepper isn't sure in the dim light, but she thinks Natasha might be blushing.
"I have season tickets to the New York City Ballet." Pepper thinks she might be blushing as well. She feels a little giddy, and a little weird to be doing this while Natasha's sniper-assassin best friend may or may not be listening in. "Maybe I could take you – I mean, we could go together – sometime. If you're not saving the world."
"I won't have sex with you," Natasha says, but not like she's saying no.
"Would you kiss me?" Pepper asks. "Or let me hold your hand? It's okay if you won't. I'd still like to go to the ballet with you."
"Yes," Natasha says, soft and something that might be happy. "Yes."
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