A/N: I don't even know what this is. Apparently Bob and I write poetry now (and are still stuck in CronenburgLand with no hope of escape.)

Bob's poem for this verse is posted here (http://bob5fic.livejournal.com/67342.html).

**********************


I turned—I turned away my head because I didn't want you to see
me

like this.

+

The perfume's not yet worn off, honeysuckle and gardenia sweetly sick and delicate. It's a tangle from which you can't get free; your mind is a maze—
spacious and confused.

You usually don't allow yourself the luxury of thinking this much, of dwelling on it, of talking yourself down. But sometimes the cobwebs tangle and you lose track and you—
You can't remember if this shade of lipstick is yours or meant for someone else.

Sometimes the blood is the only thing that can wash it off.


+


"Your face," he says and his touch brooks no argument
You flinch away but his hands hold fast.
The water's hot and the cloth is rough and the mascara mixes with the blood on your cheek.
He wipes it off.
He wipes it all off. (How does he even know?)
You don't say thanks because you never do; it's not how you operate.
He takes his time (he always does) until it's gone, until you're free.
His hands are soft. His hands are strong.

You don't say thanks (but you never do).

You don't say thanks but you breathe.


+


After that, you don't take it so well.
It's too soft, and too smooth.
Friction and pressure and pain you can handle. That is a language you can speak.

But not this.

"Why won't you tie me down?" you say, and place your hands on cool metal. "If you want this, why won't you?"

He checks the water, scalding hot, and doesn't look away. "It can't work like that," he says. "Not here."

You flinch at the words; they don't make sense.
They burn, far more than the water or the marks on your wrists ever could.
You storm out of the room; you don't look back.

Most times he has no words, or only a very few. But sometimes he has all of them.

You wish he didn't.


+


He keeps at it though. He's patient like that. (He's always been the patient one.)

And slowly you realize that it's not about power or pleasure or even pain. It's something more than all of this.

And on the day that you let him wash your long red hair, the day that he rinses the blood until the water runs clear, then you begin to understand:

It was never about him at all.


+


"What are you waiting for?" you ask once. "When you're done—how do you know?"

He gives a faint smile and looks away. "I just do," he says. "You move different. You come back"

(to me)

You lean over and kiss him, thoughtless, on impulse, and he seems surprised but not shocked.
He unwraps the towel from your skin, licks off the water with his tongue.
You let him kiss you; you kiss him back

You breathe.


It becomes a habit.


Edited 2012-08-06 09:22 pm (UTC)

For the record I blame you for this.

All of it.


<3333333333333333333333

HA! Yes. Mutually assured destruction.


Still reeling from your poem, btw. Gah.

Edited 2012-08-06 09:37 pm (UTC)

Oooooooooooooooh, tell me more! I was concentrating on the face value of this being something that was for her only, for her benefit and because she needed it, even though at first she thought he was doing it b/c he wanted it.

But I'm liking your brain much better. TELL ME MORE.

I think you're right. I think it's a huge step in the reclamation process for her. Also.... I think the moment when she kisses him (and I can't quite place it in the chronology yet), but I strongly suspect that's the moment she falls in love with him. Like well and truly in love. And finally she gets to the same place he was in 'between shadow and soul'.


Incidentally, I also see the moment described in your poem as being right before her first solo mission-- quite possibly the last one they had together before the events in 'your heart is an open book'.

((and please don't try and talk me out of it b/c i'm kind of in love with that idea))

AHUAHUAHUAHUAHAUAHAUAHAUAHAUAHAUAHAUAHA!!!



ritualistic benediction. BEE! RITUALISTIC. BENEDICTION.

more thoughts later... you keep breaking me.

you keep breaking me.

Mission accomplished. :)

This all came out of this conversation last night in the aftermath of sugar's 'lost in these woods' when she posited the question of what Clint's ritual for Natasha would be after a mission to bring her back down (when the storytelling was what she did for him).

convo/meta:
http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/60569.html?thread=1587097#t1587097

okay, still not reaching too far into other people's meta and discussion just yet. i'm sure it's fabulous and probably accurate because this 'verse and the intent with which it is being delivered, is phenomenally clear. YES.

here are my thoughts: i'm using the layout of the temple in jerusalem (http://www.custance.org/old/seed/fig21s.jpg) for this analogy because sanctimonious themes abound.

the courtyard: a wide and vast open space to hold and conduct the slaughter of animals in offering to god. wherein blood, intestines, fire and people gather and mingle. (sweetly sick and delicate. It's a tangle from which you can't get free; your mind is a maze) it's brutal and gritty but absolutely beautiful. (His hands are soft. His hands are strong.)

the holy: it is incense and incense only that burns here. flesh, blood (but only once a year) and grain offering are not permitted. ("It can't work like that," he says. "Not here.") here the priests conduct the ceremonies of a constantly burning incense. full of smoke and perfumed air that wafts up and out to serve as a visual reminder to the people of the need to atone for their sinful state. (He keeps at it though. He's patient like that.)

holy of holies: the inner most sanctum that only the high priest was allowed entrance to on the day of atonement. only after the priest was cleansed thoroughly was he given access. (the day that he rinses the blood until the water runs clear) here the utensils and sacrifices were sanctified through holy anointing oil in order to have the penance accepted by god. (then you begin to understand: It was never about him at all.)

this liturgy serves as an extension of the 'out to get you' portion. previously he could only bring her to the point of leveling out (courtyard), then all this ceremonial preparation and labour occurs in 'between shadow and soul' (holy) until she's allowed him in far enough that he can now participate in the complete process of restitution (holy of holies). here, now, the limit does not exist.

That's absolutely perfect. I didn't even think of the temple metaphor but damn if it doesn't fit the bill. And yep, that's why I lined up the chronology the way I did too with the story order (not sure if you looked before posted this, but if you didn't double brownie points!)

And remember how we were talking about 'shadow and soul' being where we see him well and truly in love? well, in my mind, and the end of this section-- that's where you see it begin for her. i'd always imagined that 'some of your scars' was what she looked like well and truly in love (or as in love as she gets in this verse), and this is the lead-in to that.

And it has to work through ritual. The only knowledge can come through the experience, b/c words are off the table. These guys don't do words. And so there is the act. And repetitions of the act. And continual participation in the movement and the rhythm and the offering and the taking and cleansing and the sacrifice-- until it all begins to make sense. That is, when you get right down to it, the point of liturgy. It's telling a story through action, in the hopes the we will remember it better.

Gorgeous stuff, my friend. Truly.

Edited 2012-08-08 12:51 am (UTC)

That's twice now that you've made me stop breathing. TWICE.

That last freaking line. Holy cats.

I'm just going to sit here and obsessively re-read this a few more hundred times, m'kay?

OMG tell me **makes grabby hands for thoughts**

b/c srsly, I though this was just load of pretentious bullshit when i wrote it and bob had to talk me down.

THANK YOU, BOB, FOR TALKING BEE DOWN.

Pretentious? Are you fucking kidding me?

The continuing thread of his patience being like a hunter's, and his focus being implacable. That he keeps at her until she lets him wash her hair, how it's not about him, it's about her and that little parenthetical (to me)...

GLARG

I am made of all the feels.

*lets out deep happy sigh*

There must be something deeply wrong with me that I consider this whole series my comfort fic reading...

Edited 2012-08-06 11:05 pm (UTC)

OK, no really, you guys have to stop this. I'm getting bruises from all the *thud*ding.

I do feel badly about that....

**shifty eyes**

This one was all Bob's fault. **cue dramatic reenactment**


She was like "Hey! Look! I wrote poetry!"

And was I like "What the whaaaa? Oh wow. WOW. ^%$^%$#*^%$*^!!!!! That may have given me feelings. I may be writing poetry too."

And she;s like "DOOOOOOO EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!!!!"

And then I did.

And then well, yeah.

But no musicals. There I draw the line.

Cash money, Bee. Cash. Money.

Kidding. Sort of... ;)

Edited 2012-08-07 09:32 pm (UTC)

First - this is really, really beautiful and I LOVE what's going on here. To pieces and bits! :D

I have more/deeper thoughts (about this one and the other recent bits and wow I'm crazy behind - ack!) that I'm trying to organize because I keep getting swept off in the FEELS and have to drag them back to words and phrases.

I do have one question though - where does this happen in the timeline?

Hmmmm.... the timeline is a good question. I've been thinking about that (and I'll try and update the 'small acts' master post later today and put these in order). I'm pretty sure Bob's poem (linked to above) comes right before 'your heart is an open book.'

This one is tougher, because the sections encompass a longer period of time. But I think it's got to be after 'long way down' at the start, maybe very soon after that (I kind see him taking care of her there, the bath he draws for her, as kicking off that whole section.) As to when then last part happens, I think it all takes pace from then up until the events in the film. (and in my mind, in our dark evergreen, that's one of the reasons she starts stripping off her clothes-- because at that point, I think it has become a habit.) But I dunno. I'm open to other interpretations too. I actually feel much stronger about the chronology of Bob's.

Does any of that help?

(but regardless of all that, i'm really glad you liked it. <3)

Holy freaking...*flails* I SHOULD NOT HAVE SAT DOWN TO READ THE ENTIRETY OF THIS VERSE AT ONCE. I am having serious problems here, Bee, on account of my brain. being. destroyed. You put Natasha reclaiming herself in this thing and you. You.

Right, did I just say the relgious dynamic came out more clearly in Bob's fics in this verse than yours? Should have kept my mouth shut lol. I added some thoughts on relgion in a comment to Bob over here but yours has slipped right into it now as well with the ritual washing, the cleansing, and "It can't work like that," he says. "Not here." like this is a time and space about, sacrisanct.

Which sends me back to: Sometimes the blood is the only thing that can wash it off. Because ritual murder, scarfice as cleansing, blood on the altar. Now Clint is almost showing her a new form of religion, so, okay, bear with me here: Clint's in love with Natasha. That's been clear. But she's been devoted in her own way, the pair of them devoted to this trust between them, she's joined him in worshipping that, but he's also at many times been worshipping her and she hasn't been doing that, so it's almost like she's one religion, she has the faith, but it's this harsher thing from an old time, an old world, and here he shows her another, doesn't ask her to convert, but worships her in his own religion. And she doesn't 'convert'. It's not a language that she understands, but when she tries to translate it she isn't really translating it into her religion, of blood on the alter, but back to the ropes and the worshipping of the trust between them, the middle ground. Then at the end she kisses him, with the (holy) water like a blessing, which isn't his ritual, because his is one of no contact like this, and it isn't her ritual, it is again a middle ground and THAT becomes a habit, a new ritual, or a new part to Clint's ritual. Again with them building something between them and together. Yeah, if that makes any kind of sense *grins*.

Also, I LOVE this line: You can't remember if this shade of lipstick is yours or meant for someone else and that Clint can just tell when she's herself again and that he has that power, that she gives him that power to bring her back to herself (and to him, but to herself). (She's been reclaiming herself in blood, in the red of ledgers, and here's Clint and he's, what, offering another way? Yeah, hazy on how this fits in the reclaimation theme, brain getting frazzled, but it's there.)

(She's been reclaiming herself in blood, in the red of ledgers, and here's Clint and he's, what, offering another way? Yeah, hazy on how this fits in the reclaimation theme, brain getting frazzled, but it's there.)

I'll respond in detail when I get more than a few seconds but yes-- he is showing her another way-- a way that washes out the red. It's an image of baptism as well as ritual cleansing. :)

Yeah, I get the ritual and the cleansing, but I'm seeing something else in here I think, of Natasha reclaiming herself somewhat seperately from Clint. I couldn't put it into words at this point, but it comes through in the later fics and it starts here. I've get wordy later.

Anyway, don't worry about speedy replying. I've just finished reading through the whole series in order and I've tossed out thoughts all over the show, heh, it's a mess of thinky. Gimme some time (and some sleep) and I'll try and organise some overarching stuff and poke you and Bob about it For now: seriously damn good stuff. Like woah. With added WOW. And does tie back to Bait, the whole thing of beauty <3 I would love to give you thinky thoughts and see if/how they tie in with what you guys were actually thinking when you were writing.