I have eggnog and Disney movies, come on in. ;)

My door is open!

Trick or treat!

"So, Thor." Clint stared up at the massive creature looming over him, uncertainty every line of his expression. "When you said you had birds big enough to ride, you actually meant it."

"Aye, Barton." Thor clapped his hand on Clint's shoulder with a trace of his usual grin for his teammate's surprise. Then he executed a deep bow that was, Clint had to admit it, pretty kingly. "They have graciously agreed to take us to our destination, for the beings there have raided their nests and brought much destruction to their lands. With their aid we should be able to reach the fortress ere long, saving us the dangerous journey across the ground."

"You know, when I agreed to become an Avenger, I didn't think we'd be involved in heroic quests across alien planets," Clint told Natasha when she stepped beside him, watching Thor approach the avian giants.

"You never agreed to become an Avenger," she pointed out as she adjusted her gauntlets, clearly unconcerned by the prospect of riding the enormous beasts.

"Yeah, how'd that happen again?" He asked her, fingers running over the comforting surface of his bow. She let him see the briefest flash of a smile before Thor invited her forward to meet her guide. Transport? 'Mount' would probably get his eyes pecked out.

"So which one's yours, Stark?"

"Funnily enough, I've got my own method of flying. Looks like it's your turn to re-enact Lord of the Rings, Barton," Tony tossed back before his visor snapped shut.

"Screw you," Clint had time to say before Thor was gesturing him forward as well. Eying the gigantic aquiline alien that the God of Thunder was standing beside, he took a deep breath and told himself to man up. After all, it couldn't be worse than that emergency evac in Bogota, could it?

Turns out, it was a hell of a lot better. (And Clint, riding the currents with feathers clutched in both hands and a joyful shout caught up in his throat, couldn't help but think if the Fellowship had had any idea of what this was like, they would have skipped the whole 'walking into Mordor' idea entirely. After all, no one had said you couldn't fly there.)

Really lovely!

And I'm reminded of Harry Potter riding Buckbeak too. :)

Thank you! And while I wasn't thinking of that, there are definitely similarities. ;)

Clint would so love flying on a giant bird, with his love of heights.

clearly unconcerned by the prospect of riding the enormous beasts

Yeah, after facing down the Hulk, what's gonna scare you?

Awesome treat!

I think there might be a slight difference between a Quinjet he's flying and an alien eagle he can't, but nevertheless, I agree. :)

Thank you very much!

This was unique and wonderful and great!

PS: And yeah, that whole walking-into-Mordor thing when there is air transport available? Never did figure that one out myself.

Thank you so much; I really appreciate it! <3

I think I saw a defense of the "let's not fly" approach somewhere on Tumblr, but yeeaaah... Or we could just go to that .gif of Boromir launching Frodo with a catapult. I mean, that works for me! ;)

OMG I LOVE IT

Thank you so much!

"BIRDS."

First thing I thought of when you commented, and so birds there were! :) You are most welcome, lady!

This was great! I have such a clear picture of Clint grinning ear to ear on the back of his giant bird alien. :)

trick or treat!

They call you change, they call you famous and accomplished and murderer, they call you with Greek codewords and English tongues. They call you every name you have ever shouldered and a few you would care not to know, a few fragments of white space where you led lives you don't have a grasp on or hold of.

They called you and for a time you came at their beckoning, you sat beside the Red Room or S.H.I.E.L.D's throne like a child and left to do the deeds no one else would lay claim to.

They call you now, their voices mocking and empty and terrified, and you shut out the words like so much white static.

In a world of silence, of self-imposed exile and moving from step to step in the absence of your parent, your Red Room or your S.H.I.E.L.D., the sound of your name in this voice breaks it all like a bell.

"Natasha?"

He's standing on the sidewalk in jeans and a sweatshirt, hands tucked into his pockets, gym bag slung over his shoulder. And you know without asking that his bow is inside, that there's a burner phone in a front pocket and cash in a back one, that the easy set of his shoulders has everything to do with finding you and nothing to do with the world you've helped create.

You stay where you have stopped, his purple hoodie and worn jeans standing out like the only color in a white-washed world, and then breathe.

"I thought you'd never call," you tell him, and move forward to be by his side.

Edited 2014-10-27 12:49 am (UTC)

You are magical. And now I'm emotional (in the best way, it was like you knew I NEEDED this tonight.)

That sounds amazing! Trick or treat :D

"Where the hell are we supposed to go?" He asks, staring at the dark woods around them, the reaching branches and black shadows and the moon that is just beginning to rise above the horizon.

"Clint." She steps forward, takes his hand and folds her fingers around his. At her touch he falls silent and turns to look at her, helpless and raging and the line of his jaw tight with a tension that will break him if he does not release it.

Natasha looks down at their joined hands, studying the twining interplay of graceful flesh and sturdy bones, and lifts them up to waist-level.

Between their palms, generated by the life-blood in their veins and the hearts that beat, beat, beat away even in the midnight forest, a light begins to grow.

She looks back at him, the glow spilling out to touch the curve of her cheekbone as the moon illuminates the gnarled and grasping fingers of the trees, and smiles. Just the slightest bit, just the softest gentling of the skin that is too pale and sharp against her blood-red lips, but as true and kind a smile as any woman was ever capable of.

"We'll find our way out," Natasha tells Clint, the old ways of the woodcutters and wolf-trappers held in the dark of her eyes, the warmth of her hand. She does not say, We will find our way, because the story expects them to seek and to leave. But he studies her face, he knows her thoughts, and his hand tangled with hers tightens in gratitude. They need not search for a twisted path out of this forest.

They can stay here, and make it their own.

Lovely, just lovely! Your imagery is wonderful, and I love the thought of them always being able to deal with anything that comes their way, just as long as they're together. Thanks so much!

DISNEY! Trick or treat!

Natasha stared at Clint, silently, when he stepped out of the bedroom.

"What do you think?" He fixed the bright yellow hat that was perched on his head. When she still hadn't responded, he spread his hands. "The point of this party was to dress up like the Disney character you're most like, right?"

"I think we were all assuming you'd be Robin Hood," she informed him, her voice giving away nothing. Clint grinned at her.

"Where's the fun in that? Besides, I wasn't going to get you into a princess hat-thing for Maid Marian, and after last July I'm pretty sure no one wants to see me without pants on again."

"Thank you for sparing us," she replied dryly, seeming to shake herself out of her own thoughts. "If you're actually going to go in that..."

"Yup."

"...then let's go. I need more vodka to deal with this."

As it turned out, Natasha forewent the vodka in favor of a crystal-clear memory of Steve in Princess Aurora's dress (with Maria as an accompanying Prince Charming) and a lion-maned Tony arguing the fine points of Disney vs. other animation studios with a brown overall-bedecked Bruce.

The fact that no one questioned why Clint was dressed as an elephant, paper-mache ears and all, said something. But he cheerfully pointed out that Dumbo was a born circus performer who also liked to see things from a height.

Later that night he tucked the black feather behind Natasha's ear, fingertips brushing over her cheek, and gave her a smile that made her wonder when the party would be over.

"The suit looks good on you," he said, nodding towards the (i) she had carefully laid over a dyed older model of her catsuit. "Bet it looks better off."

For that Natasha gave him a 'hm' in response, watching the Grecian "half" God of Thunder leading a toga-clad Jane in a dance.

"Next year," she told him, "we should go as Eva and Wall-E."

"Want to pack a gun as part of your costume?" Clint asked, amused.

"Well, when I have a mission you always seem to be bumbling along in my trail," Natasha replied and he laughed, the sound carrying bright and merry over the music and conversations. She smiled, closing her eyes to soak in the warmth of the moment and the comfort that came from being among friends.

In another year, she couldn't say whether there would be an 'Avengers', a Tower to call home, a private and ridiculous party for fun. But Natasha hoped, and not for the first time, that there would.

(The party ended when Pepper had to step in to keep Bruce and Tony from attempting their own Pumpkin' Chunkin' from the top of the Tower, and it turned out Clint was right: Elastigirl's suit did look just as good off as her as it did on.)

Oh, my goodness, I adore this! :-)

I love everything about this. But mostly, mostly I love Steve as Aurora and Maria as Prince Charming. :D

Ooh, I am in the mood for Disney movies all right. Trick or treat!

They go apple-picking on a Tuesday, when the families are all in school and at work and the orchard is almost empty but for a handful of others. It's not a sunny day, perfect and blue and cloudless, but the gray skies never break for rain and the cool wind is soft on their faces, musical in the leaves.

She sets out the kitchen on the Sunday they get back from another Avengers mission, placing cutting board and knives and spices with precision. Clint watches the football game and sneaks slivers of Macintosh and Gala when she isn't looking, stuffing them in his cheeks and playing innocent for everything he's worth when she gives him a side-long look. After Natasha finally sends him back to the couch with a curt glance and several overly purposeful knife flips, he calls out the score and listens to the rhythm of the blade against board, swift and economical until the scent of cinnamon fills the air.

He complains about having to wait, a whole eight hours 'Tasha, why, couldn't they have made pie?, until she curls up with him on the couch and the autumn afternoon slides away in warmth and lazy hours, in the comfort of contact, of simply being.

The applesauce is sweet and spiced and still warm when the sun rises on Monday morning, a golden glow as Clint offers her a spoon standing barefoot in loose pajamas pants in her kitchen, their kitchen, and Natasha smiles.

Was it worth it? She asks, taking the spoon, and he knows she means more than just this, knows and smiles back.

Of course it was, he replies, and slides his arm around her.

Mmm, love this! It has the feeling of fall and home and warm romance that will always be in a summer place, no matter how the seasons change. Thank you!