nested | ( open post. )

( open post. )

1. leave prompts, pictures, or anything you like, really.
2. well when you say it like that it sounds stupid
3. okay, this looks bad.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

( open post. )

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.