nested | ( open post. )

[it was supposed to be a simple information extraction; a HYDRA lab that was, to anyone who checked, abandoned by the men and women stationed there. After Sokovia, they'd abandoned posts at an alarming rate, leaving behind valuable intelligence. All the Avengers team had to do was walk in and take it.

Steve and the others had gone to apprehend a terrorist that had threatened bombings in multiple cities. Natasha had figured the reconnaissance mission wouldn't be too hard, had asked Clint to go with her, just as a spotter. Then she was going to stay at the farm for a few days with him, Laura, and the kids.]

First floor clear. Heading to the basement now.

[She had her gun ready as she descended the stairs, in case the abandoned building wasn't as abandoned as reported, but she encountered no one. It was more than a little creepy, but not ant worse than she'd seen before.]

And to think you were worried we wouldn't be home in time for dinner.

[As she finishes teasing, her boot scuffed lightly against the floor at the bottom of the stairs--the lights snap on, evidently on a motion sensor. Natasha freezes, putting her back to the wall in the stairwell, but no further surprises present themselves, so she cautiously walks to the table in the center of the room.]

They were building a laser gun? How cliche.

[She ignores the thing, going to thr computer at the edge of the cleared workspace, turning it on.

Activate System...?]

I swear if this is another European scientist who's backed his brain up into a computer, I'm going to smash everything in here, intelligence or no.

[She types in 'yes'.

There's no warning before the array on the table activates and shoots her in the back with a very audible crack of energy, and over the comms the doors can be heard slamming closed and locking.]

Edited 2016-05-11 04:59 (UTC)

Nat? [ Clint is watching the perimeter, tidying up, punching a couple of people in the face, y'know normal stuff. he had to cancel a whitewater rafting trip with his kids to come deal with these clowns, so he's taking out his frustration a little on them.

But then Natasha goes in and comms go out with the crackle of a laser or something and that's always bad in the Bond films and shit and it's pretty bad for them in real life too. The doors slamming shut cinches it though, and he breaks for the basement level in a sprint. ]

Tasha! Hey. Really need you to say something to me.

[ He gets to the thick metal doors, and halts. ] Dammit.

[ A second later he's over at a control panel, pulling out a tool from his belt to get the panel off and take a look at the wiring he's dealing with. He's no Tony Stark, but this isn't the first time he's hacked a locked door. ]

Just a quick mission, no biggie. You can make it up to the kids later. It's just a little Hydra base, nah, it's easy. No ray guns or locking doors. We don't need the rest of the guys, it'll be just us like old times. You, me, and a quinjet.

Thanks for saving my ass, Clint. Boy, I sure owe you one.

[She'd considered not even asking him to come, surely this was something she could handle herself, and she'd worked alone in the past. But Steve had insisted, and Clint was the only person she could think of. That she trusted, and who knew how to keep things quiet.

She has a moment to be extremely glad that she did, before the impact shoves her into the table and all her nerves begin to feel like they're on fire, muscles doused in acid--it's not pleasant. Not in the least.

The scream is an involuntary response, her voice cracks in the middle, and she hits the ground, blacking out as her bones and muscles shift.

She's smaller. Softer. She's young, and still unconscious, when Clint gets the door open.]

[ Clint hears the scream through the door, and it takes longer than he wants to get through to her. He gets it, finally, and pushes through the door before it even widens enough for him. ]

Tasha! Ta---[ He stops in his tracks. Looks around them, back towards the open door, and then back towards the very small child unconscious on the floor. She's a lot smaller than he remembers when SHIELD first sent him after her, but he recognizes the short curls of red framing the much smaller face. Here, now, she has an almost innocence that he's not sure he's ever seen on her before now. ] Shit.

[ He takes cautious steps towards her, crouching down next to her after setting his bow on the floor, and reaches out to place a gentle hand on her shoulder. ]

Hey, rise and shine.

[That's one way to put it.

Even in a daze, she's coming around--Natasha has never been one to stay down for long, it's a good way to get yourself killed. Even when you're young, if you grew up in the Red Room.

She grabs his wrist in both small hands, eyes snapping open--there's no recognition in her eyes, just suspicion and fear, and when she speaks it's with the slightest hint of an accent that, at that age, she hadn't quite trained herself out of.

She doesn't know this man. She doesn't know why there would be an American in the Red Room, there's almost never any men to begin with unless they're training, learning how to disarm and disable opponents far larger and stronger than they are.

Usually she's good at it, but she feels too weak to do it now. Everything hurts and she doesn't know why.]

Who are you?

[ Her grip isn't the same as it was not less than a half hour ago. It's still pretty tough for a small fry, but it isn't like Clint couldn't get away if he had to. He doesn't want it to come to that though, so he raises his other, free hand, in a gesture of surrender. ]

My name's Clint. What's yours?

[ He's good at thinking on his feet. Good at sussing out a situation before it goes to hell and then even after sometimes. Now is one of those after times. He doesn't even hesitate. ]

I heard something, you looked like you might be hurt. I was just checking, that's all.

[ Clint is most definitely not completely stumbling over this recipe. It's not even really a recipe. It's just something the nice older lady at that bodega told him was good to do for these ingredients on a busy weeknight. A something-something bowl.

God, he doesn't know what he's doing. What kind of vegetable even is this?

So focused on the task that he doesn't realize Bruce has already come in. Probably also cause he's got his hearing aids out and laying on the counter. You know, in a useful spot when he doesn't want to deal with it. Or they hurt. He hasn't actually bothered with getting them fitted properly cause he doesn't like calling attention to it.

Luckily, the apartment is pretty shitty and the floors are thin. Which means the second the other man is walking around, it vibrates enough that he feels it. Which means it's too late to surprise him. Aw, no. ]

Hey, Bruce.

[He's honestly not sure what to expect happening in the frankly chaotic looking kitchen, but Clint slaving over the stove is not... completely strange... right?

Maybe he should get the fire extinguisher...

Spotting the hearing aids dumped on the table, Bruce makes sure he's at an angle where Clint can see his lips, looking distinctly amused.]

Hey. Everything okay...?

[ Totally not strange. And Katie totally did not come in at one point, see it, and back away slowly muttering something about the Twilight Zone. This is a very normal thing.

Hey, he hasn't caught anything in fire yet. Keyword: yet. He casts a glance over toward him, trying to ignore how amused he looks by Clint's struggling. He nods quickly. ]

Everything's good. [ He raises up the offending item with a mild look of confusion. ] Except I have no idea what this is.

It's a vegetable, right?

[ Don't judge him. ]

[... Don't grin, don't grin, do not grin at one of the world's most proficient assassins, don't fucking do it Banner.]

Yeah. [Nods slowly.] That's a vegetable.

[Coming a bit closer, taking a look at all the... that.]

What are you making?

[ Bruce is trying so hard and Clint is---man, what is he doing? He's literally the only person out of the two of them that can salvage this mess. ]

Good that's what I was going for. [ Beat. ] Okay, I tried.

This isn't working.

[ He gestures at the stove and the plates and the everything. ]

The nice old lady at the bodega called it a futzing bowl and said it was really easy to make on a weeknight. I guess I should've clarified how easy easy needed to be.

... A what bowl?

[Clint please.

Bruce is just going to take a look at the ingredients, trying to puzzle out what Clint was attempting to make, lightly clasping his hands together to resist the urge to poke around a bit.]

Just a veggie bowl thing.

[ Please, poke around Bruce. Save this. Save him. ]

If you can do something with whatever I've managed to mess up here, please.

[ It looks like it was supposed to be something with white beans and veggies. Maybe eggs. He tried. ]

Cooking, as I'm sure you've already noticed, is not my strongest suit.

That's okay. You have other skills.

[And then pausing, noticing that... yeah, this is all vegetarian.

... Huh.]

Wait, were you cooking for me?

Yeah but those don't exactly put dinner on a table in the strictest sense.

[ He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck a little awkwardly. ]

I was trying to.

[... Okay, there's no stopping that smile from appearing, perhaps a bit shyer than Bruce's often already self-deprecating look, and he finds himself rubbing the back of his neck.]

... Thanks.

[Clearing his throat, he shakes himself and gathers the scattered ingredients up, rolling up his sleeves. He's not entirely sure what the lady from the bodega was telling Clint about, but he's pretty sure they can get something nice going with all this. Maybe a soup...?]

[ Maybe Clint is a sucker for that look. It's a good look on Bruce. He shrugs a little. ]

Sure, yeah. No biggie.

[ Ramen is more his speed. Not the fancy stuff. Just like cheap packaged stuff. If he's feeling adventurous he might put some frozen veggies in there if he remembers to get those from the store. Or an egg. Man, maybe he should've gone with that. ]

Cooking wasn't exactly on the top of my list of things to learn way back.

[ He and Barney just stole whatever they could get their hands on until the wound up with the carnies. ]

Me neither. I picked it up while I was on the run. Some of my patients and their families wanted to give me something for treating them, so I took some cooking lessons from them.

[Which also forced him to speed up learning new languages when he didn't have time to settle in with Sesame Street.

Ah, good times.

Cutting the vegetables into more bite-sized chunks, tossing some oil in the pan to sweat off the onions in the meantime.]

I pretty much lived on pizza during college, but I told my aunt I was eating properly whenever she called.

Never as glamorous as the movies make it out to be, huh? That was nice though. Didn't want to take any money off 'em?

[ Better than Clint's start. He's done a lot of questionable things in his life. That was before he was an assassin.

He's watching what Bruce does with the food, though. He can try again on his own. Maybe it'll make more sense if he sees what the other man is doing. ]

Isn't that what most college kids do? [ A grin. ] I mean, I don't know from experience or anything.

You didn't miss much, but yeah. The ones that came from rich families or that still lived with their parents ate better than us plebs.

[He doesn't sound very annoyed by it, just quietly amused by the follies of youth. He remembers being pissed off about it, back then, but he'd been much more ready to rage at anything and everything, so...

Leaving the onion to sizzle for a bit, he gets the garlic, careful in mincing it because like hell is he ruining dinner with blood, thank you very much.]

Do we want this a bit spicy or...? Because I think there's still some chilies in the fridge we could use to add some heat.

[Pause, and then:]

Unless Lucky got in there, in which case we've got bigger problems...

Edited 2020-05-21 18:11 (UTC)

Nice to know I'd have still been scrounging around even if I made it that far in school.

[ He means that. It's oddly comforting. He's really not sure what he'd do with an abundance of cash. Like the kind he stole off the tracksuit vampires. Or the one bag he kept away from the main stash cause he knew his brother was going to screw him over. As usual. ]

Spicy's good. I think the spiciest food I ever had was way back on this thing back in Thailand. Can't even remember what it's called.

[ He goes to the fridge and rummages a second before he finds the chillies Bruce was mentioning, laughing at the mention of Lucky. ]

Nah, he's too much of a pizza fan.

[ Setting the little clear bag by the sink, he pulls a couple out to rinse before setting them where Banner can reach them easy. ]

You never know, he might try expanding his palate.

[Glancing over at the dog in question who is... just peacefully snoozing away.

What a good boy.

Who did nothing to stop Clint from attempting to wreck the kitchen.

Shaking his head in silence, Bruce takes the chilies and goes choppity chop.]

I'll try not to make this too spicy. Do we have milk, just in case...?

I think he leaves off expanding that with whatever those treats are she gets from Mrs. Devons down the hall.

[ Clint can't help but smile when he looks over at Lucky snoozing away. He and that dog have been through a lot. He never expected to keep him but he couldn't just leave him after what those asshole Russians did. ]

Yeah, we got it. And some heavy cream from that last thing you made. Do you need that?

It's complicated, this thing they've got. Well, it is and it isn't. He and Bruce haven't really gotten around to naming it or trying to. Whatever they have just is and they protect it. Fiercely.

They aren't the kind of people that get a lot of nice things handed out to them and maybe it's a big thing of like recognizing like or something but they work. It clicks. Maybe it doesn't need a big-ass label to validate it. Before he takes over flying and after Nat is also set up and resting as well as she can after the mind warp that red witch type did---he's off to check in with Bruce.

It was only sharp eyes and luck that kept him from falling into the same thing the others did and with more than half of their team down and being forced on the run--- Why does it always come to this? He's sure to project his movements on his way over to Bruce who has his headphones snug over his ears, blaring classical to help soothe in the aftermath.

Clint hunkers down close and puts his hands out, offering touch if the other man wants or to talk in a different way since they need to now. They need a safe place. Off the grid. There's only one place he knows like that and it's safe cause he and Bruce have poured everything they could scrounge up into making it as much.

He's tired. None of this is right or fair. His mouth twitches but he opts to speak with his hands instead. Farm?

Had it been anyone else and they would've made Bruce take his headphones off to acknowledge them. Even Natasha, who knows how to sign because of Clint, never really allowed him to stay deaf to everything else when everything in him feels raw from being torn apart and roughly shoved back into some semblance of Bruce Banner.

Though in this case, it's probably because Natasha herself is out for the count from whatever that Scarlet Bitch did.

His eyes glance at the hands signing to him, not game to look at Clint's face just yet. Faces are... hard, at the moment. He's still sifting through what the Hulk saw in that panicked rage, and there were too many there twisted with fear and hatred.

Fingers feeling clumsy and stiff, he signs back, regardless. Yes please.

Other people don't really have the first clue. How many times has Clint had someone trying to get his attention with no hearing aids in and then wind up getting upset? It happens less with the team, he supposes. SHIELD still needs to iron out a few things but that's how it goes, isn't it? Bruce tells him what he needs and that isn't always by speaking it out loud.

He doesn't expect anything more than Bruce is game to offer. So when he signs back the nod he gives is mainly to himself. OK. I'm flying.

He debates standing a moment before signing one more time. Come get me if you need me.

Normally, Bruce would smile at the offer, maybe glance up at Clint and nod back. This isn't normal, though, so he doesn't.

Instead, he glances around as he adjusts his blanket around himself. Okay.

Clint knows he would and that makes this whole thing feel like an open, raw wound. He doesn't push for anything else, why would he?

He stands up and heads back to take the pilot's seat from Tony. When the man comes later to ask if he needs a break he shrugs him off. After all, he's the one that knows where they are going and Tony doesn't seem to have it in him to question it. Real futzing bad day, huh?

It takes a few more hours but they get to the farm, settling down just outside it for a short walk. He sticks close to both Nat and Bruce, offering support to Nat physically but close by if Bruce finds himself needing to reach out. He hasn't seen her this dazed in years and he thinks back to the last time in brief. A really bad mission, pressing at buttons she'd tried to leave behind. He's not sure if she's with them at the moment or back in the place she came from.

Before Clint made a different call.

He has to duck away from them both briefly, leading the rest of the team up the gravel drive and turns over an old potted plant to get the spare key for the door.

"Okay, everyone, pile in. There's the sofa and a couple of chairs. Spare bedrooms are on this floor at the end of the hall. Might have to get the boiler going before we've got some hot water and I think---shit. Yeah, we should have some food tucked away."

Maybe in the freezer they keep in the barn? Man, he's gotta go check.

It takes some shuffling around, but they eventually get semi-settled. Steve needs something to do with his hands, so he gets sent out to cut firewood. Tony's being Tony and muttering something to himself as he tinkers with his suit, Thor's stormed off into the woods. Bruce takes his shower while Nat's putting herself together and then when he comes out it's...

Their conversation leaves him reeling, and not for the first time, he considers running. Except for the first time, he considers running with someone.

He still looks mildly shell-shocked as he finds a quiet place at the back porch, away from everyone else, though he knows Clint will be able to find him, and just takes a moment to breathe, absently wringing his hands and counting backwards from 100 in Portuguese because English isn't going to settle it for now.

Clint spends some time fussing and cleaning up a few things. Not quite ready to clean up just yet. He's got too much nervous energy left over from the last altercation with the Big Bad. By the time he finally does shower up and change into a t-shirt, soft flannel and comfortable jeans it's after the food he'd just thrown on the stove to warm up is nearly done.

He's really glad they went through a bit of just making a bunch of soups they could just reheat on the burner. Add a few veggies. Bruce knows that Clint's cooking skills have improved but he should not be trusted with too big a task. He's fine with that. He can manage to cut vegetables fine at least.

He gets some frozen dinner rolls in, something good to go with the soup stock and finds his way out to Bruce.

Bruce hears the footsteps approaching and is grateful for it. He knows Clint can walk silent as a shadow when he wants to, so the agent's being kind enough to make some noise for him. He can also smell the slowly growing scent of soup as it heats, so he can safely assume dinner's in the process of being readied.

Not sure if Clint's got his hearing aid in, he just signs over his shoulder with a quick glance over: Need help?

Clint knows that Bruce is already on edge. He doesn't want to make that worse, especially not in this safe space they've carved out for themselves. It's already weird enough having to bring the team here. He's still got the aids in, mostly for the benefit of the rest of the people inhabiting the space at the moment.

Still, the bit of sign over his shoulder earns a grin. It's warming to see. When he was a kid, he hated it. Thought it left him in a bad way, who would've guessed he just needed better people around? Not him at the time.

"Nah, think I've got it handled unless you want to add something else," he says as he comes around to sit on the deck next to the other man, drawing his knees up enough to rest his arms on them loosely. "Still have all ten fingers, too."

There's a faint smile at that and Bruce huffs quietly as he ducks his head. "I still don't get how you can handle all sorts of sharp edges without a single cut except in the kitchen."

Jokes aside, Bruce stiffens a bit when Clint sits next to him, having to stop himself from automatically shifting away because it's still too fresh and dangerous and it had taken the better part of the past hour to convince his mind and body that he doesn't need to just pick up and leave. Yet.

He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, asking, "Everyone okay?"

"Kitchen requires a lot more thinking so I overthink," he tells him easily enough. Everything else comes to him like breathing. Built and honed over so much time. A kind of muscle memory.

Clint notices the way Bruce tenses up and relaxes purposefully, letting one leg slide out from where it was so it's more a sprawl. He can tell what he's thinking but he doesn't plan on bringing that up unless Bruce does. Things go wrong and the instinct is to go to ground. Go to what's familiar. As close as they are---

Familiar is running. That's what's safe. "Don't think okay is the word for it, that witch did a number on 'em." He can't help but think that if she'd come after him first maybe he could've stopped this happening to the others.

"Just a little."

Bruce barely remembers the violent rush of feeling Wanda's magic sink into his mind. It hadn't been just him, but she'd somehow bypassed his own mind to get at the Hulk, and the terrifying rush of rage that had followed had been sheer blind panic and a childish need to stamp out the source.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Tony's lucky he got out alive."

Glancing over the peaceful greenery surrounding them, Bruce wrings his hands, squeezing a bit at the base of his fingers and thumbs, trying to find something to just do before he gets restless again. "It's only a matter of time before all our luck runs out, isn't it?"

Clint doesn't have a lot of personal experience to guide off in regards to this. It's the second time Nat's been put under by an opposing force and left to face down demons she thought she'd buried. Suppose it's the same for Bruce as well.

With what happened here compared the beginnings of their team on the helicarrier? It feels very far away today.

Clint nods at the comment and licks his lips. "He is but he did, so focus on that. Don't do the rest to yourself."

There isn't a lot of good to grab ahold of at the moment. He's not exactly good at pep talks. He's not good at the whole hopeful turn of it all. He's a realist. He sees what's in front of him and what he sees? What they're up against? Bruce beats him to the punch with the question, like he's reading his thoughts and his own hands rub together as his chin drops towards his chest with a sigh. "Yeah. Looks like."

He clears his throat a little. "You know, way back where Coulson found me I would've just---bugged out." It's a hard thing to say. Harder thing to put on the proverbial table but there it is.

Much like Clint just reassured him of Tony's survival, Bruce counters quietly with, "Maybe, but you didn't."

They're trying to focus on what is rather than what could have been. Bruce isn't too good at that, especially in a positive way, but he's trying for Clint. It's funny, really, how they both do this. Try to be positive where the other is negative, the blind helping the blind to stay on the rocking wagon that seems hellbent on throwing them off.

"Be pretty awful to dip out on a good partner in crime," he offers back. Clint isn't sure he'll get his meaning but he hopes so.

They have options. They could just---go. Leave the saving of the world to someone else. Get out while the getting's good. Tony and Cap had been talking about ending the fight out there before tempers flared.

Maybe it's time for that. There's no shame in throwing in the towel.

( open post. )

Tiniest spy. HYDRA HAS A DEAGING RAY.

hawkdad to the rescue

yaaaay hawkdad! sorry to give you a conniption fit.

more like a heart attack he's too old for this shit he should have stretched.

this is what happens when you eat so much junk food

his snacking habits have nothing to do with stretching.

( for therapissed. )

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( for therapissed. )

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