idk if this is a cliche but for some reason I'd love to see Nat afraid of spiders. Wait, that's irony, isn't it?

A sequel (of sorts) to "Big Game" (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1132231)



"Clint."

Natasha's voice is ominous. Hell, it's practically quavering. Didn't Banner say he'd taken out the last of those raptors? Clint hopes vehemently that one of them didn't follow them home. (Can you hope vehemently? The day's been pretty crappy, so yeah, Clint does.)

"Yes?"

"Emmm ... can you kill that please?"

Shit. Really? Funny thing, he can't hear anything. Then again, in Jurassic Park those kids had no clue that two of those fucking things were in the cafeteria, and that was full of dishes and plastic chairs.

Clint grabs his bow, hoping he won't need one of his explosive arrows. (Stark will have to make him some new ones, like, yesterday.) Natasha's lucky he restocked his quiver with the regular ones as soon as they'd gotten home; that T-rex had cleaned him straight out.

Clint's bare feet allow him to sneak up to the living room without a sound. The sight that greets him is one he'd thought he'd never see: The Black Widow, rooted to the ground, white as a sheet, staring at ... nothing.

Clint lowers his bow.

"Where is it?" he asks, not unreasonably, sincee her line of sight leads straight to the TV credenza and their shiny new 65" 3D beaut. Not much room for a raptor there, unless you turn it on.

"Right in front of my face," Natasha grinds out, between teeth clamped shut in what appears to be -- well, for lack of a better word, pure, unadulterated terror.

Now, there's that episode of Star Trek:Voyager, where the crew (except Janeway of course, she never gets affected by the shit everyone else succumbs to) all freeze up because of some vision-thingy that only they can see. Given the way their afternoon had gone, Clint is prepared to give Natasha the benefit of the doubt, and advances cautiously.

And then he sees it, in the light of the late afternoon sun that streams in through the window: The slightest silvery thread, suspended from the ceiling, quivering a little with Natasha's breath. And at the bottom of the thread, dangling at eye height -- a spider, minding its own business.

"You're kidding me, right?" he blurts out, realizing as the words leave his mouth that he might as well be writing his own death warrant. "That's a spider."

"I know what it is, Barton. Kill it. Now."

"But ..." Clint, it may be hard to believe, actually has real-life issues around killing things that don't really need to be dead. "You've been complaining about the mosquitoes. This thing ..."

"Just do it!"

Her tone brooks no argument -- it's one of those What the Lady wants, the Lady gets moments. Clint lifts his bow in a fluid motion and lets fly; of course, the spider isn't quite capable of stopping the arrow and it lands in the curtains.

"Did you get it?"

Coming from the woman who just a couple of hours ago relied on him to drive three successive arrows into the eye of a moving T Rex, that's a bit rich, but Clint decides not to take offence. He strides over to the curtain and pulls out the arrow; the tip has a couple of tiny legs stuck to it.

"Looks like. I s'pose you want me to sweep up the string, too, or can that wait for Dum-E when he comes tomorrow?"

"Please."

The voice is small, and almost melts his heart. How, exactly, did the Black Widow get her name? Hawkeye sure as hell didn't get his taking a broom to the ceiling, but maybe Clint Barton can do that for his partner. On one condition.

"Pizza tonight. And none of that vegetarian shit. Double ham, double pepperoni."

Natasha revives a little.

"Thin crust."

"Fine. And I get to pick the movie."

Natasha sighs, but the Barton family tree contains a long line of snake oil salesmen, and he knows when he's got a live one. Sure enough, she nods and he gets the broom.

Well-fed and suitably mellow (he'd graciously let her pick the wine) Clint zaps through Netflix, a much calmer Natasha curled in his lap. He's still on the A's when he sees a title marked Horror!, which by definition is worth a shot.

"You ever hear of something called Arachnophobia?"




Edited 2014-09-14 01:51 am (UTC)

Man is flirting with a death wish.

LOVE this. Perfection.

CLINT DO YOU WANT TO GET MURDERED
I love this oh god

Yes, Clint needs either a dictionary, or another helping of common sense.

Clint, you are ASKING to die. Horribly. XD

This is gold! I just about lost it at this: Coming from the woman who just a couple of hours ago relied on him to drive three successive arrows into the eye of a moving T Rex, that's a bit rich, but Clint decides not to take offence. XDDDD

:-) Glad you liked! (My own favourite weapon for spiders is the vacuum cleaner.)

Lol, I'm actually one of those people who pick them up with a sheet of paper and a cup, or simply let them be. Depends on size and ewww-factor. XD

Yes! We have some nasty varieties out here, like wolf, violin, and sun spiders. :shudders: Vacuums are in order!