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[fic] A Spider's Tears
Title: A Spider's Tears
Prompt: V for Verklempt / Written for the Writerverse Alphabet Soup challenge.
Word Count: 498
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: The Avengers movie verse
Pairings (if any): Clint/Natasha
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/Underage): Spoilers for the movie Up
Summary: She's not crying. It's just subliminal imagery, darn it.
It started with a sniffle.
“Barton?” Natasha raised her head from where she was lying on the floor, using one of the couch pillows. “Are you…crying?”
“No,” Clint said, but his voice sounded thick. He opened his mouth—his eyes did look rather shiny, Natasha thought—but he was interrupted by a giant honking noise that nearly made Natasha reach for her gun. But it was only the God of Thunder currently, er, thundering into half of the box of the tissues Dummy was helpfully holding out. Clint pointed at his couch-mate in vindication. “And even if I am, I’m not alone!”
Another sniffle made them look over to the ottoman, where Steve Rogers surreptitiously swiped at his eyes. “This is supposed to be a children’s film?”
“It’s a conspiracy,” the decidedly not dry-eyed Tony Stark said to that. “Though it could be argued that kids have come a couple of steps up from victory gardens and Howdy-Doody, Captain Icepop. Thank God.”
“Howdy-what?”
“Shh, I can’t hear.” Bruce leaned over to steal a couple of tissues from Dummy.
Natasha, once she had confirmed that every man in the movie lounge was either sniffling or well on his way to it, turned back to the movie. It was marketed as a children’s movie—one she had not seen—but the protagonist seemed a strange choice for such a film. What small child wanted to watch a film about an old man and his wife? She watched the on-screen couple, who had met as children, go to the zoo, the park, and discover they could not bear offspring, all in a quick montage. By the time the old man sat in his house alone, his wife gone and leaving only a book behind, Thor had moved beyond godly sniffling and into godly sobbing, and Natasha had to admit, she was feeling a little stirring beneath her breastbone.
Barton crawled off the couch and stretched out next to Natasha, not touching but definitely close. She didn’t touch him either.
Thankfully, the film became a comedy, but it was oddly moving nonetheless, about adventure and talking dogs and other things that seemed more proper for children’s movies—not that she’d ever been much of a child herself—with an old man and a young boy going on adventures with a giant bird. As in all good films, the heroes were tested, and Carl opened up the book from the beginning, the book his dead wife had made of all of the adventures and…
Clint handed her a tissue. Natasha looked at it in confusion. The next sniffle she heard, she was horrified to discover, came from her.
She scowled when four heads swiveled at once to look at her. “It must be subliminal imagery,” she said, hunkering down. The Black Widow did not sniffle. The Black Widow was not moved by stories of humanity and faith.
Clint, his face completely blank, patted her hand. He moved over so that their shoulders were touching, and Natasha didn’t move away.
Prompt: V for Verklempt / Written for the Writerverse Alphabet Soup challenge.
Word Count: 498
Rating: PG
Original/Fandom: The Avengers movie verse
Pairings (if any): Clint/Natasha
Warnings (Non-Con/Dub-Con/Underage): Spoilers for the movie Up
Summary: She's not crying. It's just subliminal imagery, darn it.
It started with a sniffle.
“Barton?” Natasha raised her head from where she was lying on the floor, using one of the couch pillows. “Are you…crying?”
“No,” Clint said, but his voice sounded thick. He opened his mouth—his eyes did look rather shiny, Natasha thought—but he was interrupted by a giant honking noise that nearly made Natasha reach for her gun. But it was only the God of Thunder currently, er, thundering into half of the box of the tissues Dummy was helpfully holding out. Clint pointed at his couch-mate in vindication. “And even if I am, I’m not alone!”
Another sniffle made them look over to the ottoman, where Steve Rogers surreptitiously swiped at his eyes. “This is supposed to be a children’s film?”
“It’s a conspiracy,” the decidedly not dry-eyed Tony Stark said to that. “Though it could be argued that kids have come a couple of steps up from victory gardens and Howdy-Doody, Captain Icepop. Thank God.”
“Howdy-what?”
“Shh, I can’t hear.” Bruce leaned over to steal a couple of tissues from Dummy.
Natasha, once she had confirmed that every man in the movie lounge was either sniffling or well on his way to it, turned back to the movie. It was marketed as a children’s movie—one she had not seen—but the protagonist seemed a strange choice for such a film. What small child wanted to watch a film about an old man and his wife? She watched the on-screen couple, who had met as children, go to the zoo, the park, and discover they could not bear offspring, all in a quick montage. By the time the old man sat in his house alone, his wife gone and leaving only a book behind, Thor had moved beyond godly sniffling and into godly sobbing, and Natasha had to admit, she was feeling a little stirring beneath her breastbone.
Barton crawled off the couch and stretched out next to Natasha, not touching but definitely close. She didn’t touch him either.
Thankfully, the film became a comedy, but it was oddly moving nonetheless, about adventure and talking dogs and other things that seemed more proper for children’s movies—not that she’d ever been much of a child herself—with an old man and a young boy going on adventures with a giant bird. As in all good films, the heroes were tested, and Carl opened up the book from the beginning, the book his dead wife had made of all of the adventures and…
Clint handed her a tissue. Natasha looked at it in confusion. The next sniffle she heard, she was horrified to discover, came from her.
She scowled when four heads swiveled at once to look at her. “It must be subliminal imagery,” she said, hunkering down. The Black Widow did not sniffle. The Black Widow was not moved by stories of humanity and faith.
Clint, his face completely blank, patted her hand. He moved over so that their shoulders were touching, and Natasha didn’t move away.
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You know how much I love emotionally repressed characters. They're like candy for me! Which I guess makes you the awful person who gives me cavities.
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YOU ARE HUMAN TENNIS ELBOW
YOU ARE PIZZA BURN ON THE ROOF OF THE WORLD'S MOUTH
YOU ARE THE OPPOSITE OF BATMAN
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Adorable all around BTW :D
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Or the Natasha Romanoff version of that, which is a simple sniffle (followed by bafflement because she is a spacetoaster). As for the rest of your comment: I'm bouncing in my seat a little, as that was what I was going for! Thank you for such a lovely review; it really made my morning.
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I love Thor thundering into the kleenex. lol