Author's Note
Shameless fantasy one-shot about the development of my obsession with a certain featherheaded hero. Also, how would you explain Clint Whump to Clint Barton?
Fluff and a little Hurt/Comfort
He followed me home from the cinema one wet night. I'd never really been into superhero movies but it was a friend's birthday and I couldn't say no. As it turned out, Avengers Assemble was the most fun I'd had in the cinema for ages; especially the sight of the dark-blond archer with the soft, gruff, voice and the arms you could lay in forever.
He fell into step beside me as I walked back from the pub afterwards, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans and the collar of his jacket turned up against the light drizzle.
"Wanna get pizza?" were the first words he spoke, with a lop-sided grin and a quizzical look in his smoky-grey eyes; as if unsure why he was here or who I was.
Fortunately, the kebab shop at the foot of my road was still open.
"Sure you wouldn't prefer shawarma?" I asked, laughing as he shuddered slightly.
"You sure got a whole load of books" he said, looking round at the living room before crouching down to rummage through my CD collection in search of something he wanted to listen to. He didn't seem inclined to say much, so we listened to John Coltrane and munched pizza while he drank beer and I finished off a bottle of Merlot.
As the drizzle turned to a heavy downpour lashing against the windows his head began to nod and I tucked a blanket round him before heading off to bed. If what I'd seen on the screen was anything to go by, he'd had a rough few days and needed to rest.
On the edge of sleep, I heard the bedroom door creak and he slipped in beside me, one arm moving round my waist
"I jus' wanna cuddle, that ok?" he asked, drowsily
"Of course it is" I murmured back, drawing his arm tighter round me and snuggling back against him as he drifted into a softly snoring sleep.
And that was how Clint Barton came into my life
I say he came into my life, but there were long periods when he wasn't there. Clint could disappear for days or weeks, sometimes months, but he always came back; occasionally turning up at the door with an embarrassed grin. More often I'd find him in the kitchen making coffee, or creeping into my bed with a soft 'hey there'. Plenty of times he had fresh bruises or scars and I knew better than to ask. Once, I found him huddled outside the door, battered and bloody, crying from a grief he couldn't share.
The more he turned up, the more I tried to learn about this curious man who increasingly obsessed me. The movies didn't do him justice, but there was plenty to read and I slowly discovered his complex and often contradictory history. In the graphic novels and the cartoons, he was bigger and blonder, but still the same warm heart and quirky humour. If he noticed the growing collection, he never commented, and seemed to appreciate that I never troubled him with questions; happy to accept his presence as he accepted mine.
Eventually, of course, I found that growing body of on-line fiction that expanded old stories, created new ones and explored a whole spectrum of alternative environments and situations for the character I loved and his troupe of friends. I even began to add a little to it myself.
One morning, after another absence, I found him sitting at my laptop. He looked up at me with a troubled expression.
"Did I do something wrong?" he asked. He sounded hurt and bewildered. I looked at what he was reading. He'd found one of my fan fiction websites and discovered Clint Whump. Great…
"All these stories about me getting injured, tortured," he swallowed hard "even killed… Do people hate me that much?"
"It's not about people hating you, Clint." I sat down on the couch beside him, taking his hand and closing my laptop. "I mean, you do get hurt… a lot"
"Yeah, it's a risk of the job. I'm not a god or a super-soldier," the hurt in his voice was replaced with a sharp defensive tone. "I've not got a Hulk inside me or a fancy flying suit. I'm just…"
"You're a man who's the best at what he does, and tries every day to be better, not matter what it costs you" I interrupted "People can relate to that, and they love that about you."
"Natasha's just the same" he countered "Don't see that much about her…"
I laughed and tousled his hair, trying to lift the mood
"Natasha doesn't take as many stupid risks as you do, and…"
"…and putting a woman in that situation has pretty unpleasant implications" he finished "Yeah, I get that. I'd rather it was me than Natasha anyway."
I put my arms around him and hugged him close. It was clear the concept upset him and I still wasn't sure how to properly explain it.
"Julia? Do you… do you like reading about me getting hurt?" he asked eventually, sounding nervous and uncertain.
"It makes me cry" I replied with quiet honesty "Sometimes so much I find it hard to stop. The same way I cry when you're in pain and I can't do anything to help you."
"You do help me" he said softly, taking my hand and kissing the palm "just being with you and knowing that you care helps me."
"It's not about you getting hurt… in the Stories I mean." Finally, I knew how to explain it to him "It's about how you getting hurt makes everyone feel, how they react to it and the things they do to help you recover; all the stuff you don't always see in the movies and the graphic novels."
He looked at me questioningly, dubious but interested, and I smiled
"They're about showing how everyone around you loves you and needs you, even if they can't always admit it to your face."
He laughed, the tension vanishing from his face as his eyes sparkled impishly
"So, getting half the skin peeled off my back and salt rubbed in is a way of saying how much everyone loves me? That's kinda warped and kinda sweet at the same time."
"I suppose it is" I said, getting up to make him a fresh coffee "But that's people for you!"
He followed me into the kitchen, slipping his arms around my waist and kissing my ear
"And you? Do you love me?"
"I must do" I answered, turning to face him and stroking his hair "You wouldn't be here if I didn't"
He growled happily and kissed me properly for the first time that day.
"So, what do we do now?" he asked, grinning.
"After I've made us coffee I think I ought to show you some Clint Slash, and maybe a bit of FanArt" this time it was my eyes that had an impish glint to them "That should make for a very interesting afternoon."