MY DOOR IS OPEN (I'm late because my phone decided to post to my journal and not to the comm...yeah, go me.) Might be slow but you will get good candy I promise.

Edited 2014-10-25 05:27 am (UTC)

Trick or treat :D

Clint Barton is in the middle of shoveling the last of his Chinese food into his mouth when the knock interrupts him, and he pushes back his chair just as Lucky streaks by with overexcited barking.

"Hey!" Kate's voice filters out from somewhere behind him, and Clint turns in time to see one purple foot as the rest of her limps into the room. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

"Apparently, he's finished with you," Clint says as he watches her slowly make her way across the kitchen, a blue mask clutched in her right hand. "And weren't you supposed to stay off that ankle?"

"I don't know, ask the dumbass who decided to use "jumping off the roof" as part of their extraction plan," Kate responds with a glare. Clint winces internally.

"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?"

"Why do you think you got to be dressed as the most boring guy from Dog Cops?" She asks smugly, before pausing. "Hey! Lucky! LUCKY!"

Clint sighs as he moves out of the kitchen, shoving the dog's face away as he slides off the lock, coming face-to-face with the eyebrow raise of Natasha Romanoff and a scowling black cat.

"Trick or treat?" Clint asks with about as much mirth as he can muster. Natasha sighs, holding up a plastic bag.

"One Snickers, one Three Musketeers, one Milky Way," Natasha says, swinging the bag in front of his face. "And nothing is fun-size."

Clint smiles, taking the bag from her outstretched hand. "Simone's kids are going to love you. Last year, they all yelled at me."

"They should have," Natasha says, crossing her arms. "Who gives out fun-sized candy on Halloween? If it was me, I would've murdered you."

Clint ignores the comment as Natasha walks past him, staring at her clothes. "Did you seriously wear your tac suit as a Halloween costume?"

Natasha shrugs. "So?"

"So, Halloween is about real costumes!" He glances down to the ball of fur prowling around by her feet. "And I don't even see Liho dressed up."

Natasha snorts. "She's a black cat, I think that's costume enough. Hey, Kate."

The brunette grunts in response, too focused on fitting a tight mask over Lucky's head. "Finally," she mutters, sitting back and rolling to the side to avoid putting pressure on her ankle. "Hey, Nat."

Natasha stares at Lucky, before looking up again.

"You dressed your dog as Captain America?"

"Aw, come on," Clint says, motioning to the large "A" on Lucky's back. "He'd make a great Avenger!"

Awww, Lucky and Liho! This is lovely, thanks so much! I love Clint's indignation that Nat is wearing her tac suit as a halloween costume and hers at the size of the candy :D

Loved this!

Trick or treat!

When Clint emerges from the elevator bank, he finds her sitting alone in the corner of the hospital cafeteria swirling a cold cup of coffee in one hand, a half eaten pastry lying lonelily on a napkin in the middle of the table.

"Okay, next time when I say I want to try to hang decorations on my ceiling, let me have Tony fly up and do the honors," Clint says, dropping down into the seat across from her. "Or at least let me check my ladder beforehand and make sure it's not 100 years old."

She doesn't answer, and Clint frowns. "Hey, come on," he chides, cracking a small smile. "Just bruises and scrapes. It's not even anything they need to give me medication for, so by Medical's standards, I'm totally, completely ten thousand percent fine. I think."

Natasha sighs, lifting her eyes and shoving the cup away. "It's not that," she says finally, her voice soft. Clint furrows his brow.

"So what is it?"

Natasha hesitates, looking a little embarrassed. "It's nothing. Really. It's just...dumb."

"Nothing is dumb," Clint offers gently, reaching across the table and putting his hand over her wrist. Natasha manages a smile, before pulling her arms away.

"I'm not really big into this whole Halloween thing."

"No, really?" Clint asks with mock joking, and Natasha glares.

"Really," she replies flatly. "All this wearing costumes and giving out candy and going out? Special Halloween drinks and food and parties?"

Clint shrugs. "Part of the American tradition," he says. "And I know you're not generally fond of spending time with random people, but that can't be why you're sitting here looking like someone just told you there's no Santa Claus."

Natasha sighs. "Everyone dresses up," she repeats. "Pretends they're something they're not. They get to dress as witches or animals or baseball players and I..." she trails off and Clint feels a lump form in his throat as understanding dawns on him. He reaches forward again without thinking, entwining their fingers.

"I've dressed up my whole life," she continues softly. "I've been so many different people, and never by choice. I've been pretending and wearing masks for as long as I can remember. And I have to stand by and watch other people do it for fun." She smiles a little sadly and Clint gets up, pulling at her hand.

"Come on," he says when she's finally standing. "We're going home."

"To greet trick-or-treaters?" she asks a little miserably, and Clint tightens his grip on her arm as he draws her to him.

"No. Kate's going to greet trick or treaters at my place. We're going to go back to your apartment and watch really scary movies and order take-out, and you're going to rank all the stupid costumes I've had over the years and tell me which one I deserved the most grief for." He smiles. "That a good way to spend Halloween?"

Natasha smiles back and nods into his arm and Clint leads them out of the cafeteria together, one hand wrapped around her waist.

Woah. That's a take on Natasha and Hallowe'en I wasn't expecting. Good stuff! Thank you. :)

What a different take on Halloween, and a little heartbreaking for Natasha. But I adore an understanding Clint and love the fluff ending. :)

Trick or treat!

"Nat?" Clint swallows down the sleep in his voice and answers the phone on the third ring, squinting at the bedside clock.

"Clint."

"Nat?" He shoots up in bed, suddenly more alert at the sound of her voice. "What's up?"

"I..." She stops, and he hears her breathe over the phone. "Liho's missing."

Clint opens his mouth to respond and then thinks better of it, because how can you be upset that your cat is gone, you don't even technically own her is something that he instinctively knows he shouldn't say. "Maybe she went trick or treating," he suggests instead, and he can almost hear Natasha roll her eyes.

"If this was Lucky, you would be calling me and begging for some trackers or one of my toys so you could find him."

"Look, she's a cat," Clint says as gently as he can. "Who hangs out on your window except for the cases where you invite her in. How did you even find out she was missing anyway?"

Natasha swallows. "We've been home for a week, and she always knows when I'm home. She usually waits at least a day before she starts prowling, but so far, she hasn't shown up at all."

"And that's cause to call me at 3 a.m.?" Clint asks, raising an eyebrow as he swings his legs out of bed, already mentally trying to locate his clothes. "On Halloween?"

"It's only been Halloween for three hours," Natasha returns firmly. "And yes." She pauses, and he can hear the change in her voice. "I don't have anyone else to call."

Clint feels himself smile slightly at that, and hits the speakerphone button as he shoves his arms into a sweatshirt.

"If I come over to join this search party, I'm bringing candy."

--

Twenty minutes later, Clint shows up on Natasha's doorstep, ducking the mock slap once she registers the witches hat on top of his head.

"Clint."

"It's Halloween!" Clint protests, stepping inside. "And if I'm going to go on a search for a black cat, I'm going in style."

"Clint," Natasha repeats, closing the door behind him. "I'm not going to search for Liho."

Clint turns, confused. "So why did you even call me in the middle of the night? Why even suggest I come over?"

Natasha shrugs, walking to the kitchen, where half a glass of wine is sitting in the sink. "When I come back from being away, she always knows when I need someone. She keeps me company." She finishes washing out the glass and puts it in the drying rack. "It makes me feel a little better, sometimes. But without her...I don't have anyone else."

"You always said you didn't need anyone else," Clint reminds her gently as he comes up behind her, and Natasha nods.

"That's what I like to tell people," she says in a voice that's almost resigned, turning around. Clint draws her into a hug, brushing one hand over the top of her head.

"You've got me," he says quietly. "And I'll always know when you need someone, even when you say you don't."

"You're a bad Hallmark card," Natasha says in a tight voice, and she tightens her arms around his body. Clint smiles.

"Maybe. But I wouldn't let you accept anything less."

aaaawwwwww! <3

I AM DEAD. YOU SLAYED ME. ♥

Clint opens his mouth to respond and then thinks better of it, because how can you be upset that your cat is gone, you don't even technically own her is something that he instinctively knows he shouldn't say. -- Hehe, smart boy. XD

I really love this, thanks for writing it!

Edited 2014-10-29 11:12 pm (UTC)

Trick or treat!

There is light, in her eyes and in her hair and on her feet, but Natalia - Natasha - Natalia doesn't slow her movements, not even when there is no more of it to guide her, to help her, to remind her. She finishes out her routine with one last slow turn, feeling the hairband slide loosely out of her curly hair as she comes to s top, closing her eyes against the dimming atmosphere and enveloping as much of herself as she can in darkness. In silence.

In clapping.

Natasha's eyes open instantly, her trained ears listening closely for what she's sure she's heard in the otherwise still room - the soft touch of hands moving against one another, a gentle yet hesitant show of affection for her (maybe not, she thinks, her heart pulsating against her chest as if it means to escape but no, it must be her, because there is no one else here, because there is no one else practices this late, because there is no one else that comes to this part of town, unless they are beggars or buyers or both.)

She stands rigidly still, quiet breaths her only company, waiting for the presence of sound again, and when she spies him moving through the shadows and down the aisles of the otherwise deserted concert hall she is quite sure that she might be dreaming.

"Natasha."

The words are like a shock to the heart, a jolt of adrenaline that brings her almost to her knees, flashes of red and black and green and scepters and quinjets and nights where bodies turned blue in the absence of one another's skin and days in each other's arms with bad television and mismatched socks and the brush of lips against white teeth and that is who she is, not Natalia. Natasha.

"Clint," she says quietly, holding out her hand as he ascends the stairs on the side of the stage. He meets her outstretched fingers, spinning her once slowly before drawing her to a halt against his chest.

"I told you I would come home."

Edited 2014-10-27 05:12 pm (UTC)

Oooooooooh. I am intrigued! What an interesting moment; so much unsaid, tucked behind the present moment to support it and yet never been seen, and so much to wonder about. :) Love it!

This is haunting. I like the sense she has of not knowing who she is, because she's so deeply into her routine and her mind. Then the sudden fast reminder of the present and where she belongs.

He meets her outstretched fingers, spinning her once slowly before drawing her to a halt against his chest.

Beautiful. Just lovely. Like the end of a ballet performance.

Trick or Treat!

You don't know her name, only that she is a terror wrapped in a horror wrapped in red, only that she has torched cities with her eyes and spilled blood with her teeth.

You don't know her name, only that she is quick with her knives and even quicker with her speed, only that she is a blur in motion that not even your best trick arrow can subdue, not even when you think you have her beat at every advantage.

You don't know her name, only that she is small and brittle and small and breaking beneath you, only that she is malnourished and feverish and shaking in your arms like an infant who doesn't know how to live in a brand new world.

You don't know her name, only that she is supposed to be a killer, only that she has names like "mother death" and "black widow" that reach far beyond the borders of Russia and Eastern Europe and even to the walls of your own workspace.

You don't know her name, only that she looks better when she smiles, only that she looks better with short hair than long hair, with red hair than black hair, with clothes on her back and shoes on her feet.

You don't know her name, except you do, because it is what you whisper when her lips touch your skin, returning you to your whole self for the first time since you remembered how to breathe.

Such beautiful poetry. I love the rhythm of it, and how Natasha has so many sides and can still have no name, and how Clint is just so consistently enthralled with her, no matter what.

Trick-or-treat!

(I'm sorry this is so late!)

There is fire in her blood. There is fire in her blood the same way there is fire in her hair, in the curve of her lips and in the way she twists your arm behind your head.

There is fire in her blood, but there is ice in your veins.

It is what you remember when you wake up, but not what you forget.

-

"There was fire in your blood," you tell her later, when she is next to you in bed and kissing the wounds on your body, lips soft against chaffed skin. Her mouth hovers over a particularly deep gash on your elbow, and she nods slowly.

"There was ice in yours."

It is a statement, a declaration, a part of the truth he is beginning to accept in between waking blue nightmares. You want to say more, that you've never seen her fight like that, that you've never seen her so determined, so visceral, so angry.

"I will always have fire for you," she says, the pad of her thumb a pressure point on his bottom lip. You look at eyes that threaten to break, two glaciers on the verge of melting, and you nod.

Because you know that she will fight, and that she will stay, and that she will burn, until you are warm enough to hold her without the cold that threatens to consume you.

Sorry to keep spamming you with comments, but I really like this bit of recovery!fic, and how it plays with fire and ice and what it can mean to be warm. <3

Trick or treat! :-) (Yeah, I know I'm late ...)

(I know I'm late. Stupid RL. It's not entirely '5 times' but you did spark an idea to be curated when I have time...)

"Okay, but hear me out," Clint says, pressing a finger against the comm unit in his ear so he can hear better over the roar of the quinjet as it speeds up, spiraling faster through the air. "You put it right on the desk, and maybe include one of those little plastic pumpkins instead of using a jar, and we'll invite all the kids from daycare to the briefing room, and -"

"And no," Maria Hill snaps back, cutting him off before he can continue. "No Halloween celebrations in the office. No candy on my desk. And most especially, no children in the briefing room. You're bad enough."

"That hurts," Clint says with a mock frown that he knows she can't see. "All I'm saying is that with Fury away for the week, you can make things a little more fun during the holidays."

Maria sighs irritably. "Define 'fun,' Barton, because you already made my job fun. I just had to use all my available resources to extract you and Romanoff from a ditch in the middle of nowhere, because you couldn't wait five minutes before trying to chase after that thug. Who, by the way, had absolutely no information that you needed."

"I'm fine," Clint protests though he knows it's a bit of a lie, it was Natasha who had gotten out fine while Clint ended up with a sprained ankle and a nasty gash on the side of his head, one that Natasha had told him, in no uncertain terms, would definitely need a bandage for weeks.

"Medical will determine that," Maria responds tightly, and Clint glowers.

"You're ruining my Halloween fun."

"Clearly. See you in New York, Barton."

Clint yanks the comm out of her ear as Maria hangs up and Natasha looks over from where she's cleaning her gun, her face streaked with sweat and dirt.

"Maybe you can go as a mummy with that head wound," Natasha remarks as she reaches into the pocket of her mission bag. Clint glares again.

"Not funny, Tash."

Natasha sighs. "Here," she says, tossing a small object at Clint, who catches it easily despite his injuries. He opens his palm, studying the small wrapped item carefully.

"What's this?"

"Your Halloween candy," she says with a small smile. "Imported Russian chocolate. Bet you've never had that before."

"All these years together, and you waited until now to introduce me to your candy?" Clint asks, raising an eyebrow, trying not to whine. "I gave you twinkies AND ice cream sandwiches in the same week."

"It wasn't Halloween," Natasha responds, getting up and sitting beside him. She reaches up to check the make-shift bandage on his head, and Clint winces as the quinjet hits a particularly steep bump of turbulence.

"You're saving some for Hill, right? Because I think we owe her."