When Tony first set out to convince Bruce to move into Stark Tower with him, he had focused especially on the building’s laboratory. He talked endlessly over lunch after they saw Loki and Thor off to Asgard. The list of amenities was quite impressive, featuring a lot of open space, enormous glass walls and windows, and equipment that Bruce had never even heard of before, let alone seen. The scientific facilities were not the only reason that Bruce finally gave in, but he had to admit they had been a large draw.
Thwap!
Unfortunately, Tony had failed to mention one other important feature of his building and more specifically the labs: his younger sister, [F Name] Stark.
“Ignore her,” Tony crooned in an undertone, as Bruce picked another wad of newspaper off the tabletop.
“That’s the fifth time today she’s thrown something at my head,” Bruce said, “and it’s not even lunchtime.”
“Could be worse. Could be throwing rocks.”
“Don’t give her any ideas.”
“Hello!” you called from behind them. “Do you mind not talking about me as though I’m not here?”
Tony turned to glare at you. “Do you mind annoying someone else for a little while? Maybe Steve would like some company in the gym.”
“If Dr. Banner finds what I’m doing annoying, maybe he should join Cap in the gym.”
Sighing, Tony turned back to his and Bruce’s latest attempt at a new AI. He checked its progress for all of five seconds, then tossed the tool in his hand onto the counter, spun around, and headed for the exit.
“This step should take another hour to complete. Keep an eye on it for me, would you?” he asked Bruce. “I think [Name] is the only person on the planet that can make me long for a long chat with Steve.”
Tony vanished before Bruce could protest. The likelihood of any protest working was slim, but Bruce would have liked to try. Now he was trapped up here unless you decided to leave him alone, something you hadn’t done once whenever you found him in the lab. He dropped his head into his crossed arms resting on the table and hoped that that morning you wouldn’t find him an entertaining target.
Thwap!
“[Name], if you want this floor to remain in one piece, you really need to stop throwing things at me,” he said, voice muffled by his sleeves.
Thwap!
“[Name]."
Thwap!
"I said stop!” Bruce growled as he twisted on his stool to face you.
His shoulders hunched up around his ears, and the breaths heaving from his chest contained a guttural edge. These symptoms alone should have been enough to frighten you, but no. Your bored expression did not flicker. You sat coolly on your stool at the other end of the room with one of the large pile of paper balls beside you clutched in one hand.
“Really?” you asked. “A couple of paper balls to the noggin makes you angry enough to Hulk out?”
“I’m always angry. All it takes is one little push.”
Bruce rubbed at his eyes with his fists. Already that one flare of anger had faded and left him wanting a nap. You were right about one thing, though: A bit of light prodding to the skull was not worth the full exhaustion of becoming the Hulk. He took several deep breaths to get himself under control—only for another paper to bean him in the head.
Thwap!
With a groan, Bruce crumpled the paper in his hand. “Why do you hate me so much, [Name]?”
“Why do you think I hate you?”
“Come on. You’ve had it in for me from the day we met. Any time you find me hanging around with Tony, you do whatever it takes for one of us to get sick of you and go away.”
“How do you mean?"
Thwap!
"Like that. Seriously, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to just go back to India and leave you and your brother in peace?”
“Of course not!” The mere suggestion seemed to leave you shocked. “Why would I want that?”
“If just seeing me around upsets you so much—"
Thwap! Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!
A cascade of papers hit him one after another. He lifted his hands to shield himself from the blows, but they kept coming until you ran out of ammunition.
"I don’t hate you. God! You already figured out the problem, genius. And you’re supposed to have how many PhDs?”
“Seven,” Bruce answered vaguely. Without the continuous assault on his head, he could perhaps set his mind to figuring out what it was he had already figured out. All he could think of was: “You don’t like it when I spend time with Tony?”
“Ding, ding, ding, ding! Got it in one, Doctor.”
“But my moving to India would solve that problem.”
You had nothing else to toss at him. Apparently, this was reason enough for you get up and walk over to him. A few seconds later, you stood in front Bruce with your hands on your hips. “I don't care about spending time with my brother, all right? It’s not like I just got out of boarding school last week. We see plenty of each other. Which would mean…?”
“You…you want to spend more time with me?” Bruce said, once he realized you expected him to supply an answer. It wasn’t in the least logical, but you nodded. “That doesn’t make any sense! Whenever Tony and I are in here together, you torment me.”
As he blathered on, you just kept on nodding. That Bruce noticed. What he didn’t was the arm extending toward his collar—not until you hooked a finger around it and pulled him toward you until your lips nearly touched.
“That’s because I want to get you alone, Doctor, and out of the lab.”
Bruce gulped. “And why would that be?”
You grinned. “The things I want to do to you aren’t things I want Tony or JARVIS watching.”
“Er…I—That is to say—”
“I’m back! Wouldn’t you know it? Listening to Steve go on and on about the good old days is enough to get me to miss my baby sister,” Tony’s voice came up the stairs leading to the lab door.
Bruce felt himself turn bright red at the thought of him catching you and Bruce in such position, but you’d already released him by the time the thought occurred. Tony saw nothing as he entered the room.
“How about you two? Play nice while I was gone?”
“Um—” Bruce began.
“I ran out of paper balls,” you interrupted. “Don’t worry. I’ve recollected them.”
“Excellent. Then I think it’s about time Bruce and I returned to work. How about you, Bruce?”
Bruce’s eyes followed your sauntering course back to your own lab station. You winked at him as you dropped your projectiles back on its surface. Hastily, he spun back to the waiting holographic screen behind him.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s.”
“Loving the enthusiasm, Big Guy. Now, I was thinking…”
In all honesty, Bruce didn’t really listen to the rest of Tony’s spiel. He had his mind on other matters—like the possibility of taking you up on that offer to spend time with you outside of the lab. This whole project shouldn’t take too much longer. Then, perhaps, he might convince you to go get a coffee with him.
Thwack!
…if only so you might stop throwing things at his head.
Fic Trade Prompt: "Sometimes the ‘Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’ just needed a shoulder to lean on.“
Notes: I only ever saw the first season of Daredevil. Also, I mostly chose to write this particular fic trade response because I wanted an excuse to write something that, for me, was a shoutout to His Dark Materials, a book series I’m enormously fond of.
I don’t actually know anything about Catholicism, however, and as a Christian myself, I realize His Dark Materials is not exactly a reliable source for learning about the topic of religion. If you are Catholic and something in here is incorrect, I implore you to inform me so that I can fix the problem. If it’s so horrendously awful that a mere edit won’t work, I’m even willing to rewrite it.
In more specific-to-the-fic information, this is one of my few fic trade responses where I tried my hardest to stay within the word count restrictions. Alas, I still went over…and trying so hard means that this really isn’t near as sensory-overload-descriptive as I would want something from Matt’s perspective to be.
A Matter of Sanity
Matt woke up that morning to a barrage of sensory assault: warm sunlight splayed across his skin; humidity from the bathroom down the hall dampened the short hairs on his face; the smell of strange perfume sticking to the semi-cooled sheets beside him and his familiar shampoo drifting through the air. Toast had been made–and nearly burned–in the kitchen sometime that morning. He could hear the medicine cabinet closing, then bare feet padding toward him. Through all these floating, fuzzy feelings sliced his injuries from the night before: cuts, bruises, blisters, maybe a sprained wrist.
“Morning, Mattie.”
Andthere was the reason he had not meditated after the fight, the reason his wounds felt as fresh as though he’d got them minutes before.
Said reason lighted on the edge of his bed and slipped soft fingers into his sleep-mussed hair. “Did you sleep well last night?”
In answer, Matt let out an incomprehensible moan. As far as he could remember, not much sleeping had taken place in the apartment the night before. Still, he wasn’t one to quibble over what he’d been doing instead. Seconds later, he sat up, forcing you to stop playing with his hair so that he could wrap his arms around your waist and put his cheek against your moist, bare shoulder.
“Are you sure you’ve never done that before?” he mumbled.
You laughed, a sound that always caused a pleasant unfurling sensation to spread through Matt’s stomach. “Sorry. A girl has to have some secrets, even from her all-knowing, all-seeing blind lawyer friend.”
“Is that what we are? Friends?” Matt chuckled himself and tightened his grip as he pressed a kiss to your skin. “You are the worst nun I have ever met.”
Another laugh, then you gently patted his cheek with your shower-warmed hand. “Well, maybe that’s why I decided not to be one anymore. What do you want for lunch?”
The weight on his mattress vanished at the same time your body did.
“Lunch? What time is it?”
Frowning, Matt turned in the direction he heard you moving–toward where you had left the majority of your clothes the night before. Whether he had pulled them off or you had, he couldn’t quite remember. Then a more important question popped out of his mouth:
“Did you say you quit being a nun?”
You only bothered to answer his first two questions: “It’s nearly eleven o’ clock. Figured if you wanted to go somewhere, we’d better head that way, and frankly, Matt, there’s nothing in this apartment but beer.”
“Eleven? It’s Thursday. I can’t go to lunch. I’m already late for work–what was that about stopping nun-ing?”
“I called in for you. Foggy whined about you skipping over a woman as usual, but–”
“[Name],” said Matt. “The thing about your job?”
You heaved a dramatic sigh. “I quit, okay? I was going to tell you when I came over last night, but after all that, I kind of figured I didn’t have to anymore.”
“Some clarification might have been nice.” Matt hadn’t felt an overabundance of guilt at sleeping with you. It took two to tango, after all, and you’d been just as willing as he had. Now some dread began to creep in. “Why’d you quit?”
A huff sounded from behind the fabric of the shirt over your face. “I met a tall, dark, handsome stranger beating the tar out of a Russian slave trader in an alley, and he made me rethink my life choices.”
“That’s a cliché.”
“So’s a blind ninja fighting slave traders in New York.”
“Not exactly.” Pressing his lips together, Matt slid out of his silk sheets. He knew his shirt was not far away, but he hadn’t started pulling it on yet when he went on, “I didn’t mean to have you quit.”
“Matt!” you groaned.
“You can’t come with me. I didn’t mean to make you to feel useless.”
“I’m a grown woman, and I make my own choices. Youdidn’tmake me feel or do anything–and I know I can’t go with you to punch Russians. I just wanted to do a little good for Hell’s Kitchen.”
“Youwere doing good for Hell’s Kitchen. With the Church.”
“Have to disagree with you there. And I’m not going back. You can’t make me. I want to experience the world. I want to helpyou.”
“I already said, you are not–“
“Iknow,” you interrupted. “There’s more to do than break people’s bodies, you know.”
Matt stared at you, or stared roughly in the direction he knew you continued to pull on various articles of clothing. Another sigh issued from there.
“When I got here last night to give you the news, you were bleeding and shaking from head to foot. There’s nothing to eat here but booze and bread. You can take care of yourself, but you’re not very good at looking afteryourself.”
He had never really thought about it that way. His work as Daredevil was vital; eating, less so. Matt already healed faster than most when he wasn’t busy deflowering ex-nuns, and what didn’t heal after that, he could plow through just fine. On the other hand…
“Are you inviting yourself to move in?” he asked.
There was an obvious smile in your voice when you answered, “Well, you are the reason I’m presently homeless and unemployed. If you hadn’t seduced me away from a life of worship and piety, I’d still be doing my holy work, Matt Murdock.”
“And you’re absolutely sure you’re done with being a nun.”
“I think what we did last night pretty much sealed the deal.”
“And there’d be more of that.”
“I’m leaning toward yes.”
“And you really want to live here. With me. With the giant blazing billboard right outside the window.”
He got a pillow to the face for his trouble, or would have, had he not caught it before it smacked him in the nose.
“Does it sound like I can afford to be picky about where I’m staying? I’m sure about all of the above. I can always move out once I find something else, if you decide you hate having me here.”
Your tone turned just a little uncertain at the end of that sentence. Matt stood and stepped carefully (in case of more pillows) over the smooth floor toward you.
“I won’t hate having you here,” he said. “Now that you mention it, it might be nice having someone here when I get home bleeding at two in the morning. To fuss over me and put me in place. When can you start?”
“Immediately.” You shoved something soft-ish into his chest. Pants, he realized as felt the hard button. “Now get dressed. It’s getting toward noon now and all that sex makes a girl hungry.”
“Right,” Matt said, and quickly started to pull on the pants.
Definitely the putting him in his place part, then. But maybe you were right. Maybe sometimes, the “Devil of Hell’s Kitchen” just needed a shoulder to lean on. He’d have to see, but he was leaning toward yes, too.
When Bruce woke up, he found someone in his bed. This wasn’t an altogether strange occurrence, but he was quite certain he had gone to bed alone four hours ago. Trying not to feel too concerned, he wiggled halfway out of the sheets before peeling those beside him back. He was surprised to find youcurled up in a ball halfway down the mattress.
Bruce frowned. Had he gone to bed alone the night before? Yes, he was sure he had. He’d been up with Tony until one working on some new clean-energy plans and had had no chance to call and see if you had made it home all right after dinner.
“Um, [Name]?” He nudged you softly with his hand.
The tiny ball simply shuddered slightly at his touch.
Bruce tried again. “[Name]?”
Your eyelids fluttered and a small groan worked its way free of your throat as you stretched yourself out of your fetal position.
“Five more minutes,” you mumbled as you flipped over.
Bruce shook your shoulder. “Is there any particular reason you’re asleep in my bed?“
You opened your eyes completely at that. They darted across the unfamiliar walls and ceiling. Then you looked at him, cheeks already much darker than normal.
“Oh, no,” you said.
“Is everything okay?”
“Fine!” You sat up and shuffled your feet across the carpet underneath the bed. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry, Bruce.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” You certainly weren’t acting like it. “Are you sick?”
“No! No, I’m not. I’m sorry for waking you up.”
“But why are you here?”
You looked at him. Bruce looked back. At last, you took a deep breath and answered:
“I…have a problem.” His eyebrows rose at that, so you continued, “It’s not a big deal. I just…sleepwalk…sometimes. I guess I was thinking about you so much that my legs took me here without me making them.”
“Ah,” Bruce said, as if that explained things.
The color in your cheeks deepened still further as you stood up. "I’m so sorry. I’ll go home now.“
But you didn’t get far before he took your wrist. "Look, you’re already here. I missed you, too. Besides, it’s dangerous to be wandering around at five in the morning in your pajamas. Why don’t you just stay the night–or day, as the case may be?”
You paused before turning your head slightly to look at him. Your cheeks were beginning to fade back to their original color. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
Bruce shifted to his side to allow you space to crawl back underneath the blanket. As you snuggled back into the sheet, he chuckled and shifted you so he could tuck you into his chest. Before you fell back to sleep, he planted a kiss behind your ear and whispered:
“And maybe if this is going to be a frequent problem, you should just move in.”
When you first met Dr. Bruce Banner, you’d hated his guts. Physicist work was your work at Stark Industries, and you didn’t appreciate his coming along to usurp your position–not that Tony noticed your obvious disdain when he shoved the other man into your workspace.
“Look, [Name]! I brought you a souvenir: a new partner!” Tony said.
You would have preferred a “My boss saved the world and all I got was this lousy t-shirt” t-shirt. Surely that was apparent in the way your lips curled as you shook Dr. Banner’s hand. Still, Tony just grinned, slapped the two of you on the backs, and left with a jaunty:
“You two kids play nice now!”
Needles to say, you did not play nice. You glowered and sulked and pouted and glared. Dr. Banner didn’t try to stop you. He just did his work in silence and only deigned to speak up when he needed help finding a tool.
Several weeks passed in the same manner before something strange happened, and it was something you never could quite figure out. Things between the two of you just seemed to…shift.
“What do you say we take a break and go get lunch?” Dr. Banner interrupted the quiet to ask.
You looked up from your holo-screen to scowl at him. “Why are you asking me?“
"Because you don’t do anything other than work. You seem lonely.”
Your eyes widened. Dr. Banner gazed at you calmly in return. Then you slammed your palms onto the table and left the room.
It bothered you that he noticed something so easily that you thought you had been hiding so well. You didn’t go back to work after your lunch break that day, but instead spent the rest of the afternoon grouching at home, ranting to your goldfish about how exactly much you hated Dr. Banner.
Time passed. Your rage faded slowly to embarrassment. You realized that you had been taking out your feelings of inadequacy on a man that had been nothing but polite to you.
“About that lunch,” you said the next day.
Dr. Banner looked away from his notes.
“I–I’m sorry I snapped at you. Maybe we could go today?”
Summary:When you got married, people warned you that you wouldn’t just be marrying your husband, you’d be marrying into his family. Too bad no one ever warned you you’d be marrying into his friendships, too.
Rating/Warnings: All (Post-Captain America: Civil War;Captain America: Civil War Compliant; Hurt!James “Rhodey” Rhodes; Married!James “Rhodey” Rhodes; Vitriolic Best Buds; Mild Swearing; Avengers Compound)
Challenge:“100 Little Drabbles” by Wingu on Lunaescence Archives
Notes: This is my first go at writing Rhodey outside of his occasional appearances in longer Tony-centric works. It’s long overdue, and I might have gone a little overboard with Tony just because I feel bad that I always focus on his friendship with Bruce instead.
Part of the Package Deal
Gravel crunched beneath your feet as you stepped of your sensibly-sized and -colored rental car onto the Avengers Compound’s sweeping grounds. Several huge buildings rose up around you high enough to block out the sun crawling westward toward the horizon. You pulled your sunglasses off to get a better look at your surroundings. So this was where Jim had been spending so much time for the past year. And how could you blame him? This place blew your modest home in Malibu out of the water.
No, no, no! Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shook your head back and forth until it cleared of the usual Stark razzle-dazzle. You refused to let anything here impress you. Tony thought modern architecture and flashy tech were enough to make up for the fact you never heard about your husband unless he’d been involved in an accident? Well, not anymore.
With one sharp exhale, you squared your shoulders and snapped your attention to the nearby doors. According to the map you’d printed off the internet, these led into the living quarters for the Avengers. You took one handle and yanked to no avail. Locked. Yes, you decided as you took a step back to look for any obtrusive security cameras, you were definitely in the right place.
“Tony!” You banged on the glass. “Tony, let me in!”
Peering inside revealed nothing but an empty room filled with exercise equipment. You knocked again.
“Tony, I did not fly all the way here from California for you to ignore me!”
“Mr. Stark is currently tied up in other matters. May I have your name, please?”
The cool, Irish-accented voice of a woman seemed to come from nowhere. You jumped about a foot away from the door. A minute or two of pulse-pounding shock later, you realized this must be yet another of Tony’s AIs. What had happened to JARVIS, you wondered. He never had to ask for your name.
“Your [Name], please,” the new AI insisted.
“[F Name] Rhodes,” you answered as you stepped back to the door.
“I have no such name on the approved visitor list for today. Please contact our publicity office to arrange for an appointment at a later date. Goodbye.”
“Hold it!”
No reply came forth. For all the good it would do, you smashed your fist against the door once more. Then you held your breath. Still nothing moved behind the glass. Had Tony’s artificial bouncer really just left you here alone?
“Ma'am, I’m afraid that if you do not vacate the facility premises in the next ten minutes, I will be forced to call in the authorities.”
Apparently not.
“Listen,” you said, still unsure of exactly where to look to get your point across. “You tell Tony that [F Name] Rhodes is here. If he still won’t let me in, I’ll gladly talk to whatever authorities you’re required to summon. If he wants the extra publicity, I don’t mind giving it to him.”
The woman didn’t answer. You wondered again what had become of JARVIS. JARVIS knew you. He would never have left you standing outside, listening for the sound of approaching sirens or Iron Man drones. Heck, he’d probably have opened the door without waiting to get permission from his precious boss.
Movement flashed somewhere in the back of the room a quarter of an inch away from you. A figure made its rapid way in your direction. Soon it was close enough for you to identify: Tony Stark had made an appearance at last. He looked uncharacteristically pale as he unlocked the door and pushed it open to allow you inside.
“Where’s Jim?” you asked after you dumped your purse on a nearby plastic chair—the only flat surface you could fine that wasn’t tile floor.
“Hello to you, too, [Name],” Tony said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Don’t play dumb with me..”
“You’re a long way from California. It never occurred to you to callfirst?”
“The line was busy.” You folded your arms across your chest and asked again calmly, “Where’s Jim?”
Tony pushed his hair from his forehead with a sigh. You noticed he was having trouble meeting your eyes. “Resting.”
“Restingwhere?”
“Can we not do this right now? Let me show you to a room. We’ve got plenty available. When Rhodey’s ready, we’ll all have dinner together. I might even be able to dig Vision up from wherever he got to. We can talk then.”
Asthough Tony could weasel out of a conversation you wanted to have with him. You’d known him far too long for any of his usual stalling tactics to work.
“Tony, I’ll tell you this one time before I start pulling this place apart with my bare hands: Give me. My husband.”
Your eyes locked with his. A long pause ensued. You could practically see the gears (or suitably high-tech equivalent) turning inside Tony’s skull as he struggled to come with some comeback witty enough to distract you. Too late. Before he could utter another word, you turned on your heel to follow the dim hallway leading from the room.
“Wait!” he called after you.
You stopped and look at him over your shoulder.
“I…I can’t.”
“Why not?” You could barely keep the anger from your voice.
“Because he isn’t ready yet.”
“He isn’t ready for what?”
“Ready for you to see him!”
Gritting your teeth in a silent snarl, you marched right back up to Tony and jabbed a finger into his chest where his arc reactor used to sit. “You have no right to keep me from him.”
“I know.” He took the hand still prodding him, but instead of shoving it away, he wrapped his own hand around yours. “[Name], I promise, as soon as he’s okay, I’ll take you right to him.”
“‘Okay’? ’Okay’? Why is he not okay? Did something else happen to him?”
“No, not exactly.”
“What is he doing here anyway? He should be at the VA!”
“Trust me. This the best place for him. I’ve got one of the best neurosurgeons in the country on speed dial. Admittedly not the best, because he wouldn’t take my calls—but this one is excellent, too, and she’s keeping a good eye on him! I’m doing the best with what I’ve got, all right?”
He probably thought you’d drop the point of your husband being kept at Avengers HQ instead of a medical facility. After all, Tony was the man that built the greatest technical innovation the world had seen in decades while being kept prisoner in a cave with a box of scraps. But this wasn’t the fate of Tony’s reputation or his company at stake here. It was the man you loved’s life.
“Not good enough,” you said.
Tony pulled you back as you attempted a second break for the hall. “[Name], would you listen to me? Rhodey is as physically and emotionally fine as he can be. All I’m asking for is a little more time.”
Something about that request broke the dam inside you. Every horrible feeling you had experienced over the last few days crashed over you—the fear, the anger, the stress, the worry, all of it. Despite your best efforts to keep yourself upright and strong, tears filled your eyes. You ripped your arm free of Tony’s grip so that you could wipe your face dry with your sleeve and level a dry glare at him.
“I have given you time, Tony. It’s been days. I should have heard it from you, not from CNN.”
“I admit, when you put it that way, I could probably have handled the reveal a bit better.”
“How do you think I feel, knowing Jim is out there putting his life on the line for you, only to hear he’s been seriously injured while I’m listening to the news over dinner?”
“Things have just been a little hectic around here since Steve decided to play Dirty Harry, okay? I swear, I was going to call you just as soon as—”
“As soon as what? I am his wife, Tony! I deserve—”
“[Name]?”
Both you and Tony looked toward the hall to see a familiar man creeping up it, his hands pressed against the white wall to help him stand.
“Jim!” you gasped at the exact same time that Tony said, “Rhodey?”
For one shining moment, you remained so stunned to see your husband again that you failed to notice anything different about him. All you could do was stare at him in happy wonder—until he reached the end of the wall and nearly tumbled to the floor without further support. He would have fallen, had Tony not been quick enough to see what was happening and leap to fill the place the wall once had.
“Thanks,” Jim said.
“Don’t mention it. What are you doing out of bed?”
The two of them made their slow, staggering way across the room. You watched with one hand over your mouth. Could this really be the same man that had stood at the end of the aisle at your wedding? He looked the same and sounded the same, but, oh, Jim. Thankfully, you noticed where the men were headed before you gave yourself over to more tears. Your purse was unceremoniously dumped to the floor just as Jim collapsed into it. A few seconds went by as he caught his breath.
“I thought I heard the two of you arguing,” he answered Tony at last.
“We weren't—” But the cutting look you shot Tony prevented him finishing his protest.
“Sure,” Jim said, then he looked at you. “When did you get here?”
“About fifteen minutes ago,” you replied.
“Well, it’s good to see you. I was beginning to wonder when Tony would allow me to have visitors.”
“He didn’t.”
Jim frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m only here because I found out what happened on the news. Tony has nothing to do with it.”
“Oh.Oh. I’m sorry, [Name]. I should have called you. Between the media blitz and all the physical therapy, it never even crossed my mind.”
You put your hand gingerly on his shoulder and were relieved that he didn’t collapse under the added weight. “It’s okay, Jim. I don’t blame you for my finding out this way.”
“It isn’t Tony’s fault.”
You snorted, causing Jim’s faint eyebrows to lift.
“It’s not.”
“Jim.” Now your hand moved to cup his cheek. “This happened because you were cleaning up one of Tony’s messes again.”
Admittedly, you didn’t have all the details lined up just yet. One never could trust the news to tell the whole or entire truth about something, but this fiasco smelled strongly of one of Tony’s harebrained world-protection schemes. His role in keeping Jim away from for months at a time was a well-worn subject of argument between you and your husband; bringing it up now when Jim was so weak wasn’t exactly fair. But you couldn’t stand seeing him like this, and the knowledge that Tony had something to do with his injuries again only aggravated you further.
“I swear, you got hurt less often back when you only worked for the Air Force,” you said throatily.
Jim pressed one of his hands over the one you had on his face, then waited to speak until you could control yourself enough to look him in the eye:
“[Name], you know I make my own decisions.”
“And those decisions change if you think Tony’s going to get himself killed,” you grumbled.
“And you know I’m willing to call Tony out when I think he’s being an idiot.”
“Which doesn’t matter when he doesn’t listen.”
“And you knew that when you and I got married, Tony was part of that package deal.”
Another glare in Tony’s direction met with an odd expression on his part. Before it had felt like he couldn’t look straight at you. Now it felt like he’d forgotten you were even there, so focused was he on Jim. Could that be guilt you read on Tony’s face? Surely not. You turned back to your husband with a sharp breath.
“At the time, I didn’t realize the deal would involve so much of you two flying around in metal suits.”
Jim let out a soft, low chuckle. His eyelids slid shut. When he dropped his arm to his side, you reluctantly pulled your hand away from him. Tony knelt beside him to put his hand on the shoulder you had so recently held.
“You had a rough morning. You should be in bed,” he said.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Jim tried to wave him off, but Tony stayed put.
“I mean it. You want to backslide? All that progress we made this morning? Gone, because your stubborn ass has to come running whenever I get in a fight.”
“You’re not in any condition to go toe to toe with [Name] right now.”
“When am I ever?”
The two of them grinned at each other in that infuriating way that only a couple of guys making a private joke could. Seeing as you were the butt of that private joke, you did not crack a smile. You allowed them to continue smiling, though, until their little “bromance” moment stretched on a little too long. Both men started when you cleared throat. Maybe they had forgotten you were still standing there with your arms crossed over your chest.
“And what, exactly, about this morning was so rough?” you asked frostily.
The look Jim and Tony exchanged that time was different—more raised eyebrows and frowning—but equally infuriating.
“What aren’t you telling me?” This question you directed at your husband. “I came out all this way to find out what’s been going on, so one of you had better spit it out.”
“Or what?” asked Tony.
“Tony, I think she’s serious,” Jim said.
“So am I. Is not knowing really grounds for a divorce? I’m just weighing our options here.”
With an aggrieved sigh, Jim shoved Tony out of his immediate personal bubble. Tony must not have wanted to keep their shared secret too badly, because he did nothing to prevent Jim from taking a deep breath and saying:
“Tony’s got me doing some…experimental physical therapy.”
Well,that wasn’t a comforting explanation. “So you’re a physical therapist now?” you asked.
“Among other things,” Tony said.
“Look.”
You could not ignore Jim’s soft request. Instead of firing back at Tony as you so badly wanted to, you returned your attention to your husband. He tapped at a glowing blue circle about halfway down his thigh. From that light sprouted a complicated system of pulleys and joints and even more lights that sprawled across Jim’s legs and hips. So eager had you been to see him alive and moving that you hadn’t even noticed this addition to his body.
“Tony made these for me,” he said. “Without them, I wouldn’t be able to walk at all.”
Your mouth opened. Your mouth closed. Again. Again. Again. Still unable to think of any way to express your thoughts on the matter, you raised your head to look at Tony. You were surprised to find his brown eyes shining when they met your gaze.
“We’re still working out the kinks. Rhodey is—” Tony coughed a few times, then went on, “Rhodey is amazing. He’s doing great. Really great. I’m just trying to get the braces up to his speed.”
“We’re both getting there. Together.”
Tony shook his head, unwilling to accept Jim’s encouragement. His eyes and yours were trained on each other like magnets. “You weren’t supposed to show up until he was perfect. That’s why I didn’t call. I wanted to give him back to you good as new.”
“Tony…” Jim began, but once more Tony waved him off.
“I owe you both at least that much.”
Neither you nor Tony seemed able to figure out what to say to each other after that. At least you finally managed to break eye contact. He looked back at Jim, tried to smile, failed, and awkwardly stuck his hands in the front pockets of his pants. You turned your head to blink rapidly at the wall, cleared your throat again, and tried not to cry. After struggling to find words to say to Tony for another minute or so, you gave up and went back to Jim instead.
“You really think this is what you need? Not rehab at an actual hospital?” you asked.
He didn’t miss a beat. “I trust Tony. This is what I want to do.”
Normally, Tony would have taken this compliment and rubbed it in your face until it ground to dust. That day he didn’t react at all. Didn’t blink. Didn’t grin. Didn’t so much as offer a single quip. He seemed to be waiting for you to make the next move. His behavior threw you off, and the more you thought about it, the more you realized just how little Tony was acting like himself at all. The whole catastrophe with Steve—and Jim’s injury—must have really rattled him.
Then it hit you: Jim wasn’t just staying here for his own sake; he could never be that selfish. Tony needed Jim just then just as badly as Jim needed Tony. You couldn’t tear him away.
“Fine,” you said.
“Fine?” Tony echoed.
“What’s fine?” Jim asked.
“You can stay. I won’t drag you off to the nearest VA like I was planning to.”
“You won’t?” A hopeful note crept into Tony’s voice.
“Really?” said Jim.
“Really,” you answered.
They both cheered. If you’d given them the time, you suspected they might have actually embraced. You did not give them the time, however. Tony could change his mind just as quickly as you, so you needed to get things arranged as soon as possible. Neither he nor Jim noticed you taking a step away from them, but they couldn’t fail to hear you say:
“Just let me go get my bags out of the car.”
You made a beeline for the door you’d come through before either of them could register what you said. Such ringing silence could not last. No sooner had you placed your hand on the door handle than did Tony shake off the lingering shock.
“Wait. No one said anything about you staying,” he said as he came after you. “No, no. This is a secure facility! I’m sure we can find you a nice hotel nearby if you really feel you need to—”
“Tony,” said Jim.
“She’s not an Avenger!”
“Yeah, and neither are we much these days.”
Then Jim tried to get to his feet. It looked more to you like he was having a seizure. His feet scuffed against the floor while his fingers grasped the edge of the chair he sat on. Very slowly and very arduously, he finally managed to stand. You held everything you had inside you very, very still to prevent yourself from running over to him and helping him over to Tony’s side. He got there all on his own several agonizing minutes later. There he clapped Tony on the shoulder and shot him a tired smile.
“Besides, you knew when [Name] and I got married, she’d always be part of the package deal,” he said.
Tony’s lips pursed together at that. They squirmed for a long time. At last, without bothering to so much as look in your direction, he said, “Fine. She can stay.”
“Thanks, Tony.”
“But you have to say in the wing where we house the orphaned SHIELD agents!” Tony’s call followed you out of the compound and back onto the lot where your rental car sat waiting.
“Tony—” Jim began in a warning tone.
The door shutting behind you prevented you from hearing the quarrel that surely followed. Those two were always like that, especially when it came to you. As you hefted your two suitcases from the car’s trunk, though, you found you didn’t care. You didn’t care about having to listen to Jim and Tony argue until they were blue in the faces or drunk. You didn’t care about the fights you and Tony would get into when he inevitably got bored and started picking on you. You didn’t even care that it looked as though you and your husband would not be returning to your home in California soon or ever at all.
No, all you felt in that moment was grateful. Tony Stark might have put a lot of stock into the work of his own hands, modern architecture, and flashy tech—but he put more stock into his friendship with you and with Jim.
Summary: For nine years, you raised the little sister your parents would never see grow. For nine years, you put blood and sweat and tears—sometimes your own, sometimes that of others—into your gruesome work. For nine years, you promised your little family a better life. Then, on the eve of happily ever after, all that is snatched away in the name of revenge. There’s only one group of people capable of rescuing your sister from those who murdered your parents. The thing is, they might not be so willing to help once they discover who (or what) you are…or maybe, just maybe, they might love you in spite of it.
Ratings/Warnings: T (sexual references, mild foul language, canon divergence Post-Avengers (2012), violence, slow burn, France depicted by a non-French writer, no Laura Barton)
Pairings:Clint Barton/Female!Reader; Natasha Romanoff/Bruce Banner; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Your father told you once many years ago that one day you would return to New York City. You’d been seven at the time, eager and excited to be somewhere so starkly different from your home in Arizona—and to see your father at work. All the glitter, all the lights, so many people! You couldn’t wait to come back with your parents someday soon, someday when it was safe, someday when there wasn’t a job to do.
As you watched the dark shapes of the many skyscrapers covered in squares of brilliant whites and blues slide past your taxi window, you couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm of your childhood. Your father probably hadn’t imagined that everything would be different the next time you saw the city, except for the city itself. No family, no safety, only work to look forward to. You wouldn’t even be in the country long enough to enjoy the sights if all went according to plan.
“So, how long are you in town for?” the cabbie asked. The brown eyes set underneath his thick, dark eyebrows flashed at you in the rearview mirror. You appreciated his breaking into your thoughts; answering him prevented you from dwelling on what could not be changed.
“I leave first thing tomorrow.” You slipped easily back into the American Midwestern accent you’d adopted since arriving in the city. “I’ve got business to take care of out of the country.”
“And you only got in this evening?”
“I had a layover. Why waste it?”
“That’s some turnaround just to see Central Park!”
“I couldn’t resist looking at the ice-skating rink. My dad took me there once when I was a little girl.”
“Oh, yeah? Where’s he now?”
“Dead. Like the rest of my family.”
Your driver made a strange spluttering sound. Lucky for him, a spot along 5th Avenue opened up, allowing him to pull in without inflicting any further awkward conversations upon either of you. You hopped out, paid him his fare—plus a tip—and then headed for the information kiosk ahead on Terrace while he waited for someone new to flag him down.
Early March after sunset was not as popular time for the Central Park skating rink as earlier months might have been. It could not be helped. You had left Paris as soon and as surreptitiously as you could without attracting suspicion. A few slow laps around the ice were enough for you to find a crowd of young adults to follow back out of the park. Their chattered faded when you parted from them to turn right on 5th, but by then you could gauge your speed by walking with the other pedestrians. No one gave the woman carrying a pair of ice skates and a heavy backpack a second look.
And there was your destination in front of you, lit up like a beacon piercing the glowing sky above. Avengers Tower shone brighter than all the buildings around it; you could not have missed it if you tried. Nothing major must have been going on that night either. More people than you’d seen in Central Park spilled across the tower’s steps. Many of those people were in costume; enough weren’t that you blended in with the numerous fans and protesters as you climbed up to the glass doors.
You expected the empty lobby at nine o'clock in the evening. Nothing stirred the shadows less than an inch from your nose. Not a light blinked. Tony Stark would have the best security system in the world installed, though, probably one he’d built himself. That you could count on. One wrong move, and all your careful work just to get this far would come crashing down around your ears.
“I wouldn’t stand there too long if I were you.”
Turning at the sound of a male voice, you found only one person close enough to speak to you. A few feet away stood a man painted head-to-toe in metallic gold and red. He rotated his entire body to meet your eyes, and it hit you: He was a street performer decked out to match his location.
“I mean it.” His fingers mechanically motioned you closer. “Too many fans attempting to breach the lobby after hours lately. They’ve updated their security. I saw a girl get blasted down to the sidewalk last night. Unless you’re looking for that sort of thrill…”
You quickly stepped away from the danger zone and over to your new friend. An upturned hat filled with coins and dollar bills sat at the base of the pedestal he stood atop. Well, preventing you from getting caught before you got started had to be worth something.
“Thanks for the warning,” you said, and pulled out a dollar from your wallet to drop in the hat.
Through the throng of Iron Mans, Black Widows, Thors, and Captain Americas you traipsed. Occasionally, you stopped to take a selfie with one that stood at a strategic point along your path. The photos, however, told you nothing other than that Tony Stark didn’t keep a security guard stationed in his building’s lobby at night. And why would he? They had a Hulk, and you wouldn’t doubt the team would utilize that the second they caught wind of anyone trying to force their way through the front doors.
Fortunately, you’d only ever planned to use the front door as a last resort.
******
Nine o'clock. The stage was set. All the lamps in Tony’s living quarters were dimmed. Most of the glasses next to each person’s seat were drained of liquor. A mound of cash sat in the center of the table. Only two players remained. Tony and Steve eyed one another warily. No one else moved. Everyone held their breaths, waiting for the big reveal.
“Four of a kind,” Steve announced as he slapped four aces and a ten of spades on the table.
Whatever Tony had, he didn’t bother saying. He scattered his cards across the table and dropped his head into his arms with a theatrical groan. Even from this angle, Clint could tell Tony’s hand hadn’t had a hope of beating Steve’s. Natasha and Bruce cheered.
“That’s the third time tonight, Rogers.” Tony lifted his head high enough to glare at the man across from him. “You’re cheating. There’s no other explanation for it!”
“If he is, you haven’t managed to prove it yet,” Natasha said.
“That’s because you’re all aiding and abetting him. You want me to lose.”
“Hey,I was rooting for you,” Bruce put in.
Tony glowered at him, too. “You’re sleeping with the enemy now, Big Guy. I can’t trust you. Who knows what she can convince you to do once she’s got you between the sheets?”
As if to prove Tony’s point for him, Natasha entwined her fingers with the hand Bruce had resting on the table, then leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Bruce turned pink but shot her a shy smile. Clint rolled his eyes away from this nauseating sight.
“See?” Tony said. “She probably told you to drop out as soon as you could to make sure I’d be trapped in a game alone with Le Chiffre here!”
“That’s putting an awful lot of stock in Bruce’s poker skill that I haven’t seen yet,” Clint remarked.
“This coming from the first guy to fold.”
“It’s not my fault you guys play for such high stakes. Some of us aren’t made of money, you know? I’m practically homeless.”
“Please. You live rent free in the most exclusive place in town. I think you can afford to put a little something in the pot.”
“Says the billionaire,” Clint grumbled. What little money he earned from a paycheck severely cut by superheroics he preferred to keep to himself, not that Tony cared. But Clint supposed he wouldn’t care much if he raked in the kind of cash Tony had for his entire life.
“Anyway, that’s not the point!” Leaping to his feet, Tony pointed dramatically at Steve. “My point is, how did someone whose entire shtick is embodying truth, justice, and the American way get so good at poker?”
Steve eyes flitted around the table, perhaps looking for an out. No one offered him one. “When I couldn’t keep a job, I had to find some way to help Bucky pay the rent. I’ve had a lot of practice playing people a lot tougher than you.”
“So you admit it! You arecheating.”
“Well, if you’re so sure, I can think of one way for you to prove it.”
“What’s that?”
Steve smiled. “Play another round. And this time, pay real close attention.”
The same tension as before filled the room. Bruce and Natasha’s gaze remained riveted on Tony. Clint idly wondered if he could slip away unseen while everyone waited for Tony to make a decision. Then, before Clint could push out his chair and make a run for it, Tony sat back down.
“Deal me in,” he said.
“I’m game,” Natasha agreed.
“I can go one more,” said Bruce.
“Sir?” JARVIS’s voice cut smoothly though the renewed trash talk. He didn’t wait for anyone to acknowledge him before continuing, “My sensors indicate someone is attempting to scale the building.”
That brought an end to the dealing at once.
“What?”
“Again?”
“Now?”
“I guess this puts an end to our game,” Steve said ruefully. “I was going to go for Tony’s Spyder next.”
“In your dreams, Rogers. I’ve got your number. I was just about to win everything back.”
“If you’re so sure about that, why not wager the car?”
“This hardly addresses the problem at hand, boys,” Natasha interrupted. “The game can go on, but first we need to decide who has to go retrieve the intruder, preferably before they find anything to put up on eBay.”
“It’s probably just another one of Tony’s ex-girlfriend,” said Bruce.
“So that’s me out of the running,” Tony said.
“Why does that make it not your job?” Steve asked.
“Because if I go, who knows what she’ll do? I break her heart, she grabs the nearest potted plant and breaks my face.”
“A real tragedy.”
“Maybe a plant to the face would improve your looks, Rogers, but some of us don’t need an adjustment.”
“I’ll go.”
Natasha and Bruce exchanged a look. Tony and Steve went as far as pausing in their bickering to stare at the man now standing next to his chair.
“Clint? You sure?” Bruce asked.
Clint had already made it to the door. He waved Bruce’s concern away. “This game’s too rich for my blood anyway. You guys go ahead.”
“Hey, better you than me, Legolas,” said Tony.
“You might not feel that way here in a few minutes,” Steve said.
“Mark my words, Rogers, in a few minutes, you’re gonna be the one wishing he went on peel-the-fangirl-off -the-wall duty.”
“That’s right. Keep your eyes on each other. No one consider how badly I might like a new car,” Natasha said.
As the argument over who would win this round of Texas Hold'em resumed, Clint moved rapidly away from Tony’s sitting room. The floor containing the more common areas, such as the bar and Bruce’s laboratory, was only a few floors away. Clint shoved the door to the stairwell open with his shoulder and dashed up the stairs, relieved to be away from the rest of the group. Hanging around Bruce and Natasha was sickening enough; throw in Steve and Tony’s near-inability to pay attention to anyone but each other (especially whenever Pepper flew back to Malibu for work), and Clint felt like the fifth wheel on a very ungainly bicycle.
He made a beeline for the weapons cache the second he reached the correct floor. From there, he pulled out the waiting bow and a quiver of trick arrows—then grabbed a few real arrows just in case. There’d been an influx in attempts to break in to the various Avengers’ living quarters since Tony displayed the whole place in a Home and Gardens magazine, but they couldn’t assume every intruder would be someone relatively harmless and in search of nothing more than celebrity underwear to sell for a quick buck.
“Which way are they coming up, JARVIS?” Clint asked the ceiling, once he was prepared.
JARVIS answered promptly: “The unidentified climber is making their way up the northeast side of the building. Their current whereabouts are near floor 83.”
“How about that? A new record.”
Whoever they were, they didn’t have far to go. Clint picked up the pace. As he reached the building’s back wall of windows, he snapped his bow into shape and nocked one of the trick arrows. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to fire anything more dangerous than a rope should the stranger slip upon seeing him.
“I have unlocked the panel directly in front of you,” JARVIS announced.
“Thanks, pal.”
Wind blasted into the room the moment Clint pushed the window open it. Nearby objects rattled and papers skittered across the floor. No noise issued from outside except for the faint and steady honking from the traffic one fatal drop below. He stuck his body out only enough to aim his bow and arrow downward.
“You know, we’ve got an awfully nice public lobby about 85 floors from your current position. Maybe you could try visiting that sometime, preferably during daylight hours. Someone there might even agree to sign something for you, provided it’s legally purchased.”
Silence. Clint slowly lowered his bow and squinted into the darkness below. The alley, though not as well-lit as the front of the tower, caught enough of the blue glow from the giant “A” for him to confirm his immediate suspicion: No one clung there to respond to his quip. He waited there for another half a minute, though, as if expecting someone to poke their head out from a lower level once they thought he’d left.
“JARVIS?” he said as he ducked back inside. “You sure they were on the northeast side of the building?”
“Yes, sir,” the AI replied.
“Do you sense anyone there anymore? ‘Cause I didn’t see anybody just now, and we both know my sight’s about the only thing I contribute around here.”
“I sense no one actively touching the building outside at all. How odd. It’s as though they simply vanished.”
“Let’s hope it’s some hocus-pocus like that. The alternatives are a hell of a lot worse.”
Maybe it was his many years as a SHIELD operative. Maybe it was his time as Loki’s unwilling puppet. Whatever the reason, Clint didn’t let go of his bow or remove his arrow from the string. His eyes scanned every window he passed on his way back to the rest of the group. This time, he took the elevator, ears straining every second for the sound of shattering glass or an uninvited passenger coming along for the ride. Nothing like that happened, and he returned to the room without incident.
“That was quick,” Tony remarked at Clint’s appearance. “You holding out some latent teleportation powers on us, Barton?”
“Do you need help restraining them?” Steve asked, eyeing Clint’s still-readied weapon.
Clint shook his head. “There was nobody there.”
“Were you doing any experiments with JARVIS earlier?” Bruce asked Tony.
“No.” Tony sat his cards facedown on the table and sat up a little straighter. “JARVIS? Is there something going on with your programming?”
“Not that I can tell, sir. One minute, my security systems detected a human biosignal moving up the northeast side of the tower. The next, they did not,” JARVIS replied.
“Run a self diagnostic.”
“I’ve already begun. Nothing seems amiss. I can find no signs of a break-in either.”
Bruce tossed his hand to the table without further discussion. “I’ll go to the ground floor and see if I can find anyone. I wasn’t going to last much longer anyway.”
“Might want to grab a spatula on the way out!” Tony called as Bruce disappeared into the hall.
“Very funny,” Steve said stonily.
“You know, I imagine Pepper’s going to say the exact same thing when I tell her she has to file a claim with our insurance. Same tone and everything. Amazing.”
“That really shouldn’t be our primary concern right now.”
“What should be?” Natasha asked with a cheeky smile. “You really have a one track mind if you’re still focused on the game.”
“I—”
“I am detecting multiple human biosignals now, sir.”
“Outside?” Clint asked, already headed back the way he’d come from.
“No. Inside the building. One is in the bar. One is Miss Potts’ private office. I have third reading in the lobby, a fourth in Captain Roger’s bedroom, and another in the records room.”
Natasha, Steve, and Tony joined Clint on their feet. Everyone gazed expectantly at Steve for orders. He looked at each of them in turn as he rattled them off:
“Tony, you check Pepper’s office. I’ll get the one in my quarters. JARVIS, tell Dr. Banner to check the lobby since he’s the closest.”
“I’ll hit the records room,” Clint volunteered.
“Oh, sure, the one that’s probably a false alarm?” Tony smirked. “No one’s getting anything out of there with JARVIS on the job. Why don’t you join Natasha at the bar? At least I’ve got some unprotected valuables there.”
“Hey, might as well send the least capable person to the least likely spot, right?” Clint said.
Natasha took off like a shot in the direction of the stairs without waiting to see what the outcome of Clint and Tony’s spat would be. Steve, Tony, and Clint all followed. The former two stopped at the door to the stairs through which she had disappeared.
“Remind me why you’re on the payroll again, Barton?” Tony asked.
“Someone’s got to be the pretty one.”
Clint sped off for the lift again. The records room was quite a bit further down than either Steve or Tony’s destination, and the stairwell would be too crowded for Clint to maneuver if they ran into trouble there. Bruce must have already made it all the way down to the first floor, because the elevator arrived quickly and with no one inside.
This second trip took longer than Clint would have liked. He returned his trick arrow to his quiver and replaced it with a real one. As confident as Tony seemed in JARVIS’s ability to throw off a hacker, Clint himself didn’t feel so sure. If someone had gotten into the tower that night, they’d already managed to fool a supposedly foolproof AI once. The last thing he needed would be to find himself with his pants down and an actual supervillain ready to jump him the moment the lift doors opened.
But the floor that housed all the Avengers’ records—paper and electronic files both—seemed empty when he stepped out into it. He saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary, yet something prevented him from turning right back around and joining Natasha at the bar. Clint held his breath, listening hard for any unusual noises. The thought of asking JARVIS to check if he still registered an unknown human nearby occurred to Clint before he realized that would let any intruder know someone was on to them.
Down the hall he crept, silent as could be. His breath burned in his lungs. Just a few feet more. The door to the records room hung open. He could see the first few inches of tile floor. The moment he reached the opening, Clint pressed his back against the wall and pulled his bow string taught. Then he carefully inched his head closer and closer to the doorframe until he could peer around it.
At once he could tell just how wrong Tony had been, not just about JARVIS, but about everything else that night, too. There in the records room, surrounded by open boxes and neatly stacked manila folders, crouched a woman with [color] hair—and the moment Clint spotted her was the same moment she spotted him as well.
It had taken hours (although it felt more like days), constant reiteration of the rules, and so many practice rounds it would make a normal person’s head spin. But after all this time and effort, you knew Thor could do it.
“Ready?” you asked as you held out your fist.
Though he didn’t look as confident as usual, he reached out his own. “Ready.“
"Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock,” you chanted. At the end, you triumphantly thrust out a lizard.
Thor, however, continued to leave his fist in the air as he stared at your hand.
“Uh. Thor? You gonna stick with that rock there?”
“That depends,” he said slowly. “What does rock do?”
The rest of the group around you groaned. Even Natasha fell back onto the couch with her head in her hands.
“Really?” Bruce mumbled. “Really?”
“I am sorry,” Thor said, and had the grace to look sheepish. “I do not understand this strange Midgardian custom of choosing things.”
Steve heaved a sigh.
“Okay, you know what?” Tony got to his feet. “We’re done. You and Blondie here should have settled this hours ago. We’re just going to watch–”
“No one wants to watch another documentary about you, Stark,” Steve said into his hands.
The rest of the group made noises of agreement. Tony, apparently thinking that this was somehow your fault, glowered at you and gestured at Thor.
“By all means, spend the rest of our lives trying to teach an immortal dog new tricks.”
You glowered at him in response. Thor had to wave his free hand in front of your eye to bring your focus back to him.
“[Name]?”
This time, it was you that sighed. “Scissor cuts paper; paper covers rock; rock crushes lizard; lizard poisons Spock; Spock smashes scissors; scissors decapitate lizard; lizard eats paper; paper disproves Spock; Spock vaporizes rock, and rock crushes scissors.” You made a cutting motion with two fingers in the air. “Got it?”
He beamed. “I understand completely. Thank you, [Name].”
“No problem.” You sat up straight once more. “Let’s just get this over with before I have to listen to another eight hours about the Stark Expo. Ready?”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Tony called. “This is your last chance. You guys don’t decide this round, we’re doing whatI want to do. My tower, my rules.”
“Ready?” you asked again without even showing any sign that you had heard him. Thor nodded.
“I am prepared!”
“Rock-Paper-Scissors-Lizard-Spock!”
You held up Spock. Thor continued to hold up rock. The only difference this round was that he looked delighted.
“I win!” he cried joyously.
“What?” You looked from your hand to his. “No, you don’t. Spock vaporizes rock.”
"But Spock is an alien not of Asgard.“
You nodded.
"And a rock is of Midgard.”
"Um…so?“
"The only things that can defeat those of Midgard are those of Asgard! Thus, the victory is mine.”
You stared. And stared. And stared some more. Finally, without taking his eyes off the still-blank television screen, Bruce spoke up:
“He still doesn’t get it.”
Looks like you’d all get to spend your night learning about Stark Industries again after all.
Today was just not your day, not your day at all. Despite your having been there for nearly three hours, Avengers Tower was a complete mess.
The banner you had so painstakingly painted the night before? Ripped slightly and hanging from only one part of the ceiling; the other part of the ceiling had nothing but a huge dent from Thor’s hammer. Apparently Thor hadn’t stopped there with his decorating, either.
Natasha and Tony? Nowhere to be seen. But there was a large amount of alcohol missing, and they’d been talking about a drinking contest for weeks. You’d seen them briefly earlier, Tony practically asleep and Natasha complaining of a headache.
The cake? Currently nothing but a smeared blast across the remains of one wall. The rest of the kitchen area had all the other telltale signs of a Hulk attack.
Clint? Still unconscious. One of his explosive arrows could be found near where Bruce had been carefully icing said cake that morning. The rest of his arrows were littered across the cabinets, walls, ceiling, and counters.
And poor Steve? He was still trying to understand the situation.
All you had wanted was a surprise party set up. That wasn’t such a big request, was it? They all liked Phil. You’d thought they would want to help celebrate his getting out of the hospital. Instead, all that was left was wreckage and some unsalvageable dessert.
The aggravation wasn’t even worth it. When Phil arrived when your note had directed him to, all he did was take one look around at the carnage and shake his head.
You opened your mouth to explain, but Phil held up a hand.
Summary: For nine years, you raised the little sister your parents would never see grow. For nine years, you put blood and sweat and tears—sometimes your own, sometimes that of others—into your gruesome work. For nine years, you promised your little family a better life. Then, on the eve of happily ever after, all that is snatched away in the name of revenge. There’s only one group of people capable of rescuing your sister from those who murdered your parents. The thing is, they might not be so willing to help once they discover who (or what) you are…or maybe, just maybe, they might love you in spite of it.
Ratings/Warnings: T (sexual references, mild foul language, canon divergence Post-Avengers (2012), violence, slow burn, France depicted by a non-French writer, no Laura Barton)
Pairings:Clint Barton/Female!Reader; Natasha Romanoff/Bruce Banner; Tony Stark/Pepper Potts
Posting Status: In-Progress
Notes:Now that I am feeling better, I want to write again (especially since I didn’t get any requests). Honestly, though? My old stories are…old. I’m not abandoning them. It’s just that I really wanted to write something new that reflects where I am as a writer now. This plot bunny has been gnawing at my brain since I wrote the “Factory” one shot for my “One Small Step” collection. Clint Barton isn’t the most popular Avenger, I realize, but I hope someone out there will enjoy this story. I thought about swapping Clint out for Steve or Bucky. That’s just not the story I wanted to tell.
One more Important note: I’m not French. I’ve never been to France. The only person I know who speaks French is my friend from Canada. I’ve done a lot of research for this, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got it all right. Please shoot me a note if you find any discrepancies that need addressed! I will be happy to correct them.
A/N:No summary for this, the tailer inspired me, so here’s a little something. I cannot wait for it! Hope you enjoy this one~
Your husband always had difficulties sleeping.
From terrible nightmares to sleepwalking, he was always restless. The dark circles under his eyes were a proof of that.
You tried your best to help him, took him to doctors, gave him medication, but nothing ever seemed to help.
Then it got worse.
It got to the point where he had to chain himself to the bed, surround the bed with sand so he can be assured he wouldn’t leave during the night.
He started to have hallucinations, causing him to freak out in the middle of the day when an elderly lady just wanted to enter the lift.
You were genuinely worried for Steven, but you didn’t know what to do.
One evening, he woke up, screaming. He started to run but the chain stopped him, causing him to harshly hit the ground as you woke from your dreams. Seeing him on the ground with that awful thing around his ankles make your heart ache. You felt like you were failing as a wife.
If you can’t comfort your own husband, who would?
With tears in your eyes you made your way to him on the ground as he slowly started to get up to sit on the floor.
“We will find answers.” you told him as you hugged him close to your chest, surrounding him with your warmth. “There has to be someone who could help.”
You truly believed you would be able to find a solution for him. Even if you never knew where to look.
But for now, holding him on the ground, occasionally kissing him on the head was enough.
He calmed down, letting himself get fully surrounded by you. He knew if he was thinking about you and nothing else, he would be able to get over this.
Warning: age gap, think that’s all but let me know if I missed something
Summary: it’s your first time sleeping at the avengers’ tower since you and tony made your relationship public and you’re a little anxious with all of those superheroes around you
Warning: age gap, think that’s all but let me know if I missed something
Summary: it’s your first time sleeping at the avengers’ tower since you and tony made your relationship public and you’re a little anxious with all of those superheroes around you
