I fear that I can't possibly give you entire thing that I'm working on in time for this promptathon, but I can give you a part of it.
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Steve Rogers' restaurant has an odd name. It's called The Shield. It's an old fashioned place where you can eat food that's not necessarily healthy, but it's good for the soul. Clint orders more that they can possibly eat; along with chocolate cake that's one of restaurant's specialties. Peggy Carter, Steve's fiancee, brings two huge pieces. The table is covered with food and it all smells wonderfully. They eat in silence first. Clint is good in unobtrusive observing, while Natalie eats slowly. He starts talking only when some color has reached her cheeks again.
“That was pretty bad,” he says, leaving his words vague on purpose.
“It was,” she agrees and looks at him briefly.
“I know Coulson for, hm,” he pauses and thinks. “Five years now. He's a good guy. One who does his job like it's supposed to be done,” he says.
“He seems like a decent enough man,” she says. There's something about the way she speaks, the way she forms her every single sentence. Every single word feels measured and calculated, and as someone with hearing problems, Clint tends to rely on other sources of information. Those other sources are giving him confusing signals.
“Yeah,” he affirms. “Well, I remember when he first came to work here. He worked in a small town. Few robberies and things like that. He puked the first time around too.”
“It wasn't my first time,” she says. Clint looks at her hands, how slowly they move as she's cutting her food and eating. He considers this, tries to guess her age, but he can't be sure. She is younger than him, but she's not inexperienced.
“I know what pushes my buttons,” he says. She looks up. “People who beat kids,” he points to his hearing aids. She's looking at him with a question in her eyes, like she's trying to connect everything she's seen and knows and make sense of what he's telling her. Honesty is his policy, so he continues. “My father did that to me when I was four,” he swallows, not sure how this is happening so quickly with her, but something in her eyes tugs at his heart. “I remember that,” he says and his voice catches a little. “I remember not hearing after that.”
She just looks at him, mutely. Several emotions cross her face, and she's not quick enough to cover the pain, he notices it. So it's not detachment that's the problem, he thinks.
“What do you do?” she asks somewhat clinically, but he can see that she's still shaken up.
“I feel angry,” he says. “Every time. I think how I'd beat them, but obviously, I don't do it. I just let myself feel it and not come in the way of my work.”
She nods. They continue eating in silence for some time. Then she turns to face the window pane. It's raining outside and the weather is appropriately gloomy.
“Emotional abuse,” she says quietly, and Clint starts wondering, but doesn't pry. He just watches her, knowing she's aware of being watched.
A few days later he stays late in the office. He searches nationwide database for Natalie Rushman, but doesn't come up with anything that matches her.
Fic: Old things, AU, PG - 13, warnings: child abuse
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Steve Rogers' restaurant has an odd name. It's called The Shield. It's an old fashioned place where you can eat food that's not necessarily healthy, but it's good for the soul. Clint orders more that they can possibly eat; along with chocolate cake that's one of restaurant's specialties. Peggy Carter, Steve's fiancee, brings two huge pieces. The table is covered with food and it all smells wonderfully. They eat in silence first. Clint is good in unobtrusive observing, while Natalie eats slowly. He starts talking only when some color has reached her cheeks again.
“That was pretty bad,” he says, leaving his words vague on purpose.
“It was,” she agrees and looks at him briefly.
“I know Coulson for, hm,” he pauses and thinks. “Five years now. He's a good guy. One who does his job like it's supposed to be done,” he says.
“He seems like a decent enough man,” she says. There's something about the way she speaks, the way she forms her every single sentence. Every single word feels measured and calculated, and as someone with hearing problems, Clint tends to rely on other sources of information. Those other sources are giving him confusing signals.
“Yeah,” he affirms. “Well, I remember when he first came to work here. He worked in a small town. Few robberies and things like that. He puked the first time around too.”
“It wasn't my first time,” she says. Clint looks at her hands, how slowly they move as she's cutting her food and eating. He considers this, tries to guess her age, but he can't be sure. She is younger than him, but she's not inexperienced.
“I know what pushes my buttons,” he says. She looks up. “People who beat kids,” he points to his hearing aids. She's looking at him with a question in her eyes, like she's trying to connect everything she's seen and knows and make sense of what he's telling her. Honesty is his policy, so he continues. “My father did that to me when I was four,” he swallows, not sure how this is happening so quickly with her, but something in her eyes tugs at his heart. “I remember that,” he says and his voice catches a little. “I remember not hearing after that.”
She just looks at him, mutely. Several emotions cross her face, and she's not quick enough to cover the pain, he notices it. So it's not detachment that's the problem, he thinks.
“What do you do?” she asks somewhat clinically, but he can see that she's still shaken up.
“I feel angry,” he says. “Every time. I think how I'd beat them, but obviously, I don't do it. I just let myself feel it and not come in the way of my work.”
She nods. They continue eating in silence for some time. Then she turns to face the window pane. It's raining outside and the weather is appropriately gloomy.
“Emotional abuse,” she says quietly, and Clint starts wondering, but doesn't pry. He just watches her, knowing she's aware of being watched.
A few days later he stays late in the office. He searches nationwide database for Natalie Rushman, but doesn't come up with anything that matches her.