Lady Eight Legs
She's just...
If I'm fit, and struggle to maintain that level of fitness, she's downright fabulous.
I've never seen a more gorgeous, intimidating, deadly woman. The power that rolled off her was in the same league as Pepper's, but it was a different kind of power, just as Jane's was.
She reaches out a hand and her palm alone is equal parts calloused and equal parts soft. I can already see by the jaw-dropping catsuit and the bouncy curls that this is going to be perhaps the most interestingly difficult Avenger I've met.
"You know the rules about names by now." she says in a smooth husk. "So whatever you want to call me is fine. This way."
"Where are we going?"
"Away."
Naturally, I'm concerned for my life.
"As opposed to Stark Tower?"
"I like to break moulds." she says in this particularly lethal way that implies she also likes to break hearts, and faces.
"Going to kill me, Miss Widow?"
That's one way to handle it.
"Hardly." she looks over her shoulder at me. "Stop panicking. I have a separate place for myself."
"Just making sure."
"I'm not going to kill you. I'm not allowed." I can't see her face, so I just take a big breath and try and imagine that she's smiling in a joking way, but all I can think of it is being serial-killer-esque. Oh, and my last words were all about flirting with her ex.
Awesome.
Tony, I bequeath unto you my clothes to my nieces DO NOT TOUCH THEM. The nieces Don't touch my nieces Make sure Steve gets married to a nice girl - wait, as if you'd know nice girls.
Pepper, Jane - Thor! - please look after Steven and his love life. I was going to try my hand at match maker myself - refer to the plethora of nieces above; Steven, you'll make an excellent match one day, try looking a little closer to home.
Mew, it was a pleasure while it lasted. You were the best kind of pussy.
Doc, you can put my dead hands on as many flowers as you like! I also bequeath unto you my lifetime supply of coupons to that cafe that I protected from the invasion... I don't know if it works, since I died and all, but they have amazing pastries.
Hawkeye - just - This is clearly your fault. Give my undying love to Nick.
As you can probably assume by reading this, I did not die, but trust me, I was certain of it the entire time I was there, and these were the kind of things filtering through my brain.
We take a cab ride - walk a little - do some things I can't repeat, nor reattempt; then I'm treated to a wide open space. There's nothing on the walls but some well-used targets. There's a domed roof, a punching bag and weapons, a couch that's endlessly long in a deep blue grey colour. Incense, candles, a stainless steel kitchen. it's all very neat, bright and tidy, but there are no windows and that makes it unnerving.
"Can I get you anything?" she asks, riding herself of her steady shoes. "Drink?"
"What kind of drink?"
"What would you like?" the smile that curls on her mouth looks like it's containing the world's most misleading venom.
"Whatever you're having."
"Coffee it is." she busies herself, brings back the little black coffees. She nods to the lounge and we take our respective seats, at what I deem is a respectably comfortable distance, though I'm bordering on being rude, too far away.
For a while I sit and watch her. She seems to be almost a billion miles away, lost to her own mind, so I study the repetitive smoothness of her actions, and start to time my watch by them, every thirteen seconds, like clock work, she daintily sips her caffeine, and then returns the mug to her knee.
Her features are effortless. Timeless. She is absolutely stunning. I can't name the colours of her eyes, hair or skin, not because of my boyfriend Nick, but because she's asked me to, nicely.
All I can say is that she is gorgeous to look at and it's no wonder I have this sudden inadequacy complex. Like I said- I'm fit, and I work my ass off to call myself that - but she's fitter. I'm not ugly but she does put me to shame. I'm not wearing make up, but neither is she, and she makes me look like I've actively tried to pull the painful writer thing.
I cringe when her coffee is done and she stares back.
"I need that every time I come home." she says quietly. "Empty out my mind. It's very peaceful."
"I got that vibe."
I taste the bitter coffee. I feel nervous.
"So, Spider. Why a spider? Aren't they unnecessarily creepy?"
"I don't mind spiders." she tells me. "The Black Widow, is my actual name."
"I'll refrain from asking why... I won't be able to publish it, anyway."
She smiles. Her back is ramrod straight, the posture is royal, arms hanging loosely over her thighs. I notice I'm slouching, and clear my throat.
"Right. I'd like to know if you read the rest of the Avengers articles I've written?"
"Every single one."
"So you're gonna go goo-goo for Hawkeye?"
"I don't go goo-goo." She rolls her eyes briefly. "Especially not for that loser."
That answer is so surprising I splurt out a massive laugh I try to forcibally catch with one hand.
"Ho-kay, Lady Eight Legs. Why's he a loser?"
She shifts one leg over the other leans back into her couch with a big sigh, nestling her head against the cushion.
"He's my friend, that's all. I've known him too long."
"Oh, one of those romances."
She raises a slow, slender eyebrow. I correct myself.
"Romances. I said that out loud, didn't I? Right. Well. Relationships. Is that better?"
"Anything is better than romance."
"Had one of those myself. His name was Glenn. We were this crazy, on again, off again, love affair going on nearly ten years, and he hated me most of his adult life."
"You're using the past tense."
Of course, she's going to pick up on that.
"He died."
"My condolences."
"Thank you. But, back to the Bird's Eye Guy."
She gives me a small smile.
"You think you can clip those wings," she purrs. "Go ahead."
"I don't wanna clip the wings." I say, a sly smile on my mouth. "I wanna ride them."
"That's good." she nods once. "He doesn't like cages."
"Not the kind to cage anyone. I like space."
"We all do."
Then, the awkward silence. I swear I'm going to start feeling the affects of arsenic in my coffee, or some kind of sneaky drug, but nothing happens, yet. I take religious sips of my half finished beverage until it's all gone, then hold onto it, as she has hers.
Taking pointers from the lovely Widow?
Duh.
"I don't spend much time with civilians who know who, and what, I am." she says smoothly. "I know this is your interview but I'd like to run some things past you, if that's alright."
"Yeah." Anything to get rid of this silence. It's making my palms sweat. "Shoot." then I cringe, and sigh.
"All the words I could've used as encouragement, that had to be the one that came out of my mouth. Of course it did."
"I'm not going to kill you." she says again.
"Would you like to?"
She seems surprised.
"You really are always honest."
"To a fault." I say and steel myself. "Seriously, though. Should I be concerned?"
"No. But, I wouldn't want you to be either way so..." she sits up, her movements lethargic and slow. "You wouldn't know I was on you until you were dead. The fact that these little conversations of yours have gone viral and are being hailed as a perfect score across more continents than just this one doesn't help my cause. I like being anonymous. It's part of why I chose to do what I do."
And I can't ask what that is, because she could tell me, and then, you know. Kill me.
"To answer the question; No. I like you. I like the interviews and, yes, I've read them all. You're not exactly normal." her mouth does this familiar quirk that reminds me of Mr. Feathers. "I like that. If you had've been say, Felicity Paige-"
I roll my eyes so hard they're in danger of getting stuck looking at my brain.
"-I would've already drugged you. Just to take the edge off. I can't deal with winginess, clinginess, weakness."
"She is all of that. And more." I scowl. "We went to high school together."
For those of you not aware, Felicity Paige is my rival. She is everything I'm not - apart from the fact we are both in the business of writing for a living and possibly share a gender, though I can't confirm she's of my race.
She is short. She is a liar. Bottle blonde. Breasts like you wouldn't believe. She's lazy, writes bullshit for bullshit people, doesn't know how to have a proper conversation or what cues to take from people. I'm confident but she wears hers so badly it's arrogant.
And she can come the f*ck at me with Defamation of character, because it's not like we haven't done this dance before.
"I know." she replies smoothly.
"If Flick had've gotten the place over me - which she petitioned for, dragged me through the mud for - she would've slept with Tony. She would've ruined Pepper. She probably would've stolen something of extreme value and, she'd be spreading secrets around like a wild fire. Never mind when, she got to Doc, if she even made it there through Nick - she would've been bored by his secret side and made him Hulk out just to tell the story. And I'd be sitting back with a handicam, watching him pummel the silicone right out of her chest."
The Widow laughs at the description.
"I'm sensing bad blood." she muses.
"I try to let it go. It was high school. When she got her big break I was happy for her, because it's hard to do. I tried to get in contact to offer said congratulations and she turned around and claimed I'd frequently beat her up during high school. I envisioned it, multiple times, I didn't touch her if I could help it." I sigh shortly.
She's still getting to me and she's not even here to revel in the fallout. That's what happens when you spend years hating someone and they end up doing better than you.
"But look at me, goin' on. Sorry."
"Anger is a good way for people to forget stress." she says with a quirked smile. "I researched your triggers."
I may or may not be staring blankly now.
"Why?"
"Because I know people." she gets to her feet. "We are going out, today. I decided that we would go shopping. Tell me what high school is like while I put some appropriate clothes on."
"High school?" I repeat, following along, empty coffee mug in hand.
"Yes. I never attended as a student." she disappears in the darkness of her room, not bothering to close the door, or turn on a light. I assume some kind of ninja technology is used, because I don't hear her doing anything.
"Hm. High school. Well you know in movies how there are a bunch of cliques...? Yeah, that happens. But I was that reject bouncing through them all, so I'm fairly well rounded when I say that it sucked. I mean, the work was easy, and knowing people as they grew up is always fun but, being a black sheep in a roomful of kids isn't."
"A black cat." her voice comes out of the dark, but I can't hear rustling of clothes, shoes on carpet, nothing.
"Hah, yeah. That'd be me. No one wanted to cross my path."
"That would make two of us. Though I didn't have an official record until I was at least sixteen."
I look up at the roof. Here's another one who's run background checks on me.
"Hypothetically, if you could save a baby but kill a truck load of adults, or save the adults and kill the baby, what would you do?"
Woah. Okay. That swung out of no where.
"Depends." is the first thing out of my mouth. "Are the baby's family in the vehicle or not?"
There's a brief pause.
"Yes. The family is in the truck."
"Save the baby." I return.
"Explain how that made your decision."
"The family won't have to mourn the baby if they're dead."
She emerges, wearing a pretty lavender dress, highlighted by striking black lines that make her waist appear smaller than it already is. It's a stiff fabric, going to her knee, where boots climb her slender calves to meet her. She dons black accessories - a clutch, thick bangle, and ring - and looks like a social elitist.
Meanwhile, over in a dark corner, I look like a homeless person.
"It doesn't work like that." she tells me. "You would have no way of knowing in the real world application."
"You gave me the hypothetical." I remind her, and lift my cup. "Where should I put this?"
She takes it, collects hers, and washes them quickly in the sink, watching me from under her lashes. I shift, try and get comfortable in my boots, jeans and sweater, but I can't.
"What about if there was a box of kittens teetering on one side of a see-saw, thirty stories in the sky." she says. "And on the other side, two children. What then?"
I furrow my brow.
"I'd get the kids. Thor would get the kittens."
"Thor isn't there."
"Steve'd get the kids, I'd get the kittens."
"It's just you."
She seems determined to make it simple, but I'm not so easily thwarted by a hypothetical.
"I'd stand in the middle and balance out the weight, get the kids off first, and slide the kittens down to me." Then, I surprise her. "What would you do?"
Her eyebrows raise, which is that surprise I mentioned earlier. She considers, blinks slowly, then shrugs.
"Whatever my orders were. I doubt that I'd get sent to save either, but if the mission were specifically aimed a keeping either safe, I'd do it."
"What about if it were both?" I ask. "Both the kittens, and the kids?"
"No one holds that much affinity for animals." she scoffs slightly. "Not enough to require my services. If it was the case, I wouldn't have allowed them to get in such a position to begin with."
We seem to study each other. Well, I say 'seem', because I have no idea was she was looking at me the way she was.
"Your face healed neatly." she says, referring to the thin scar on my cheek, from the Jane Incident.
"Yeah." I touch it, self conscious, now. "Doc did his job right."
"You two seem to be really good friends. I've seen you at the Tower more than once before your last interview." she gives me a discreet, assessing kind of once over. "What's going on there, in the relationship stakes? Seeing as you were so forward about asking about me and Hawk."
"With who?" I raise my brows.
"Either of them. I've been told you keep in somewhat regular contact with everyone, particularly the science division."
"You make me sound like a harlot of some description."
"I think that word was influenced by Steve."
It was.
"I've spoken to Tony maybe once, when he walked in on Doc halfway through a brief call. I talk to both of the nerds - he and Jane - fairly often. Thor can't speak on a phone, there's some kind of electrical problem when he tries, so someone needs to be there to interpret what he's saying. And Steve-" she reminds me, and I can't help but grin. "-is busy with Darcy, these days."
"He sure is." she shakes her head slightly, studies my face. "But you have Doc's direct line."
"Why all the questions, has he said something?"
"Don't ask if he 'like likes' you." she teases slightly "He hasn't said anything romantic. He thinks a few of your theories are helping him out in the lab. He talks about you all the time. That's all."
"Oh." Naw. "I love the guy, he's become one of my best friends. We're just nerdy in a pod, and sometimes being nerdy in a pod means there's a super-nerd with his glow-stick chest and a pretty nerd with her superhero-hot-hammer-wielding boyfriend."
"Feathers says you don't return his emails."
I slap my forehead.
"That's because Feathers' idea of emails is to leave me notes in my locked apartment, which is creepier than you will ever know. I know he knows, but remind him that I have guns in my abode, and seeing post-it notes saying: 'Kit, you need to eat more fruit' is not encouraging my trigger finger to stay still."
She smiles. It's not a particularly venomous smile, but it's quite frightening, because she proceeds to say: "Like the gun you keep in the oven?" and list the various other places I have weapons stashed in my house.
I gape for a second.
"Okay, first of all, I keep a gun in my oven because the kitchen is at the opposite end of the room. If someone kicks in my front door I would have to run past them to get into my room, the more logical place to keep a loaded firearm."
"And he put the safety on."
"I had the safety on." I defend, but at her slanted brow, clear my throat and promptly correct myself. "On most of the... registered weapons I own."
"You have a bullet hole in the door frame." she continues, and that makes me blush, because not only was I already trigger happy, but my paranoia has kicked up a stink ever since the Jane thing, and I may or may not have shot at my door because I thought there was someone in my place.
"Was is him that I was shooting at, that night?"
Her face betrays nothing.
"If you're really that casual about Hawkeye dropping into your apartment at night, I can see why you hit the frame and not anything beyond it."
I scowl, briefly, then wave my hand and clear the air of the embarrassment of a super hot super trained woman hearing that I'd been shooting at shadows.
"I'll get him one day." I promise. "Did he scope me out?"
"Sure he did."
"Oh, yeah, just casually." I roll my eyes. "I'm harmless."
She doesn't buy it.
"It's a habit." she shrugs. "He must at least think you're capable with a gun if he's done it. It isn't as though he removed the bullets from your weapons. That would be an insult of the highest kind. It would be the same as you going into his room and stealing all his condoms."
I don't know how we got here, but I like where it's going.
"You say that likes they're hidden everywhere- aaaand that smirk just tells me they are. Awesome. Cool. I feel like I've escaped his clutches with my virtue intact."
"You did. I was surprised he managed to control himself." she motions at my chest and legs, and for the love of god, I turn a pretty pink that would make even Steve tease me.
"I don't know how we got onto condoms from guns, I'm not going to lie. I'm a little confused."
"Protection." she says simply. "You know sex - don't give me that look, I'm a woman, I know sex too - and he knows combat. You both know each other's, just one better than the other. Why would he take away something that ensures your safety? Why would you take away that ensures his?"
"Condoms break. Extensive use and friction and heat and..." Don't think about it. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. "Why was he there in the first place, sneaking around my place of living, more to the point?"
She shrugs. And quite expertly, employing some kind of shock treatment no doubt acquired through her training, she motions to her own face as a mirror of mine, and comes out from behind the counter.
"You never mentioned him actually hitting your face." she tips her head at me. "In the article about Thor, when the man tried to Jane-nap Jane. Why?"
I blink at her, rather stupidly.
"I couldn't explain what happened. I wasn't fully aware of anything but moving." I'm a little bewildered, not going to lie, about the questions, this whole conversation and it's kind of darkly-casual nature.
"I see." she gives me a once over, slow and steady. "Did he scar you any place else?"
I nod.
"I've made you uncomfortable." she looks at the watch face on the back of her wrist. "And I've made us late. Excuse me. We're going now."
"Shopping." I clarify. "I'm not, ending up in a wheelie bin, somewhere, am I?"
"Please." she gives me a somewhat offended look. "I'm classy."
"Stay classy."
The car ride is almost in complete silence, mostly because I can't identify what language her and her private driver are chatting in. Also, he's big, like Thor-big, and his lack of English makes me focus more on the fact that he's speaking in a consistent growl, as opposed to the deadly woman beside me and her purr.
We get out at a boutique I've never been to before. There's a bouncer at the door, a whole line of ladies staring at us with murder in their eyes. But they still aren't as intimidating - or as beautiful - as the curled woman before me, who shoots them back a look so potent it's like mustard gas, only worse, because it's sheer annoyance in the worst kind of form - Black Widow style.
I'm terrified when we are stopped at a secondary door, just hidden behind some nice golden drapery.
"What?" I say, and even then I recognised I was nervous.
"I'm not going to kill you." she says for the third time. "Or have you killed."
"Uh huh."
Widow gives me a look, and slowly reaches behind me - I gasp - and just when I think I'm about to be, I don't know, lesbian'd to death (not gonna lie, probably the first time I wouldn't have minded dying, in recent times) she removes my gun - the gun I was sure would go undetected, but who the hell was I kidding? - drops the ammo into her hand. She hands the empty shell back and puts the ammo on the table, puts hands under her skirt and removes what appears to be her own gun and knife combo and calmly waits.
I, on the other hand, do two things.
1) Begin to panic, because I rarely go without Bobbi... My gun's name is Bobbi, don't judge me.
2) Become absolutely certain I'm about to die.
Instead, we're shown through to a room, where Widow pulls a golden card from her back pocket and scans it. A heavy door swings open and I gulp, then step through it, head lifted and sure I was about to receive an ominous: "We've been expecting you, Kitten..."
But a girl just lifts her head and grins, before jogging over and giving the Black Widow a hug.
"Oh My God! Gurrrrrl! You look fantastic. Spin, darling, spin!" She twirls Widow, who just smiles and does what she's told. "I have the best, the best, dress for you, darling, and this is Kitty Black!"
I believe I got whiplash from the sudden direction change, as I too, am made spin.
"Lovely thighs, darling, lovely thighs. Those same thighs you had our Hawkeye rubbing, I love it, I love it, you're a doll." She smacks my ass and spins herself, only changing direction. "You're a darling! Come on, I have clothes for you too!"
I'm reeling. She's gotta be royalty. Or at least a model. Everything in this room is hemmed with gold - and not chrome'd gold, the proper leaf gold - everything else is a rich purple, decorated with vines and the Fleur De Lis. I gape - I'm not dead, just unarmed and sexually accosted by the single most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on.
"Her name, today, is Vittoria." Widow informs me. "She works for Nick too, sometimes. She's a master of disguise, and you don't need to hide that fact. No one can ever recognise her. She has multiple personas." she nods to the photos framing the walls.
I'm instantly drawn to the three of Tony Stark, not because he's the only person I know, but because he's clearly pre-Pepper and is leering at a different woman in every single one of them. I just thought I should mention that, because while the woman changes, the leer is exactly the same.
Also, it's very unattractive, Tony.
"Holy shit." I say, and study the different dress sizes, the different heights, skin colourings, facial shapings. Underneath is a small metal plaque that says: "Tony Stark and 'Amelia Delfoid'." The other ones all have different names, and not a single one looks anything like the next.
"You've seen my Tony pics?" she beams at me. "I like how you handled him though, very cool, very nice - I loved how you wrote Pepper Potts, she's just lovely."
There's a photo of her (presumably) and Pepper shaking hands. I am completely baffled.
"Absolutely lovely, Pepper Potts, I don't know what she did to our Tony, but she did it good. I'm all kinds of flexible but he is the gift that keeps on giving, well into the morning and way into the day." she sighs, stares at the roof. "And now I will never have him again."
"I wouldn't think that's such a bad thing." Widow drawls.
"I know it's a bad thing. Neither of you have - well, I assume, how rude of me! Have either of you slept with him?" She seems to direct this question solely at me. I burst into an uncontrollable peel of laughter.
"Ah, no! God no. I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. He's like- no. Nu uh. Not this lady."
"But you two have such good chemistry?"
"Pepper has it better. I wouldn't know what to do with him. Obviously, I know how that works but - oh, ew, I thought about him naked - it'd be: "yeah, that was nice, bye Tone!" and exit, stage left."
"He's cut." she assures me. "Waist like you wouldn't believe, great shape, I don't even mind the circle thing of light. Had me up against the wall for the better part of forty five minutes, at least."
"Ew..." I scowl, try to bleach that idea from my mind, though it's possible I'm picturing the wrong woman.
"No." Widow says flatly, as Vittoria opens her mouth. "I have not slept with him. I would never sleep with him. I'd get him drunk and make him think he'd slept with me, but no. Not a chance in hell, would I ever let that... Stark... near me. Not alive, at least."
Ohhhkaaayyyyyy.
"Clothes," Vittoria, suddenly remembering her objective, suddenly grins and potters around, pressing what look to be a mess of buttons. "Oh my God, how do I get so sidetracked?"
"ADD." Widow suggests, and smiles at her. "Or is it something, else, today?"
The woman shoots her the most rapidly un-friendly look I've ever seen, then trades it for a smile, and looks at me.
"So you and Hawk, huh?"
"No." I put both hands up. "It was flirting. Harmless, shameful, excessive flirting."
"You seem to do that," she says cheerfully. "I loved you from the moment you picked on Tony. Loved you. The Hulk article was sweeter than candy, I love me some Captain America, Thor was just the cutest man I ever did read anything on, and I'd be damned if I didn't tell you that I have a soft spot for every single one of those Avengers because of what you did."
"Uh...Mission accomplished, then."
"Of course, I already know Hawkeye-" she wiggles her eyebrows at me. "-Intimately. We both do. Don't lie, Widow, you know him better than anyone!" and before I can follow that line of questioning further, she lifts the entire back wall, which reveals a warehouse looking space, filled to the brim wih hangers.
I stare at the clothes. Have a religious experience. Wonder why people are always trying to redress me.
"Come on, darling!" she swoops in, takes my hand, leads me through to the back, where there is a series of smoking, drinking men. Two out of ten of them are quite casually macking on, so I assume they're very friendly or in some kind of relationships.
"This is Kitty Black!" she announces.
"Lovely thighs." one of them says, and comes over to squeeze said thighs. "You run, don't you?"
"I give you permission to hit them if you think it's necessary." Widow says, stealing a drag off one of the men. he blows it through her nose and delivers a kiss on both his cheeks. "They'll walk all over you if you don't establish a pecking order."
"We aren't dogs." the one physically accosting me says, though he's now eye level with my crotch and I'm considering kicking him in the face.
"Uh huh." is all she says, but I'm guessing this is an old joke, or at least old friends, because they keep the mood light, and no one seems to care.
"SWIMSUITS!" Vittoria produces a wardrobe full. Like Tony, she's able to gauge my correct size with her eyes, muttering about my thighs, and goes on to hold a swatch of colours up to my chest, with a trio of men either agreeing or disagreeing on my colour pallet.
"Help?" I say, glancing over to Widow, but she's got a smoke in her mouth and shakes her head.
"If I had to suffer through it, you do too."
There's arguing over the colours that best match my skin colour. Someone starts tugging at my jumper, so I knock them away, jolting slightly. I have a small, recently developed complex about my body, and if reading on is in the cards, you'll find out why.
"Be nice! You know what our Widow is like, she just likes to watch people squirm. Probably because Hawkeye has eyes for you, and she wants to see how you handle the way she treats you... But listen to me, goin' on! How do I get so distracted?" she sends me a quick wink. "It'll be over quicker, if you don't struggle, dear."
It wasn't.
They measured some crazy places, pushed a bunch of bikinis at me and shoved me into a small booth. I was expected to change with a hoard of fashinistas on one side of the thin curtain? Oh no. No way. Seriously. I swept the curtain back out of the way.
"Oh honey, the idea is that you have to take those off." one of the men drawls. I shoot him an unimpressed look, and he rolls his eyes. "I work with two of the most fierce women in the whole world, babe, gotta try harder than that."
"Don't tempt me, Fabio."
"Easy, now." Vittoria says, and claps her hands. "We don't need you anyway, go get lunch! Actually, I'll get lunch. I'll leave you two to your own. Lovely to meet you, darling." she swoops in, kisses my cheeks, kisses Widows, then skips out after her friends, somehow managing to look comfortable in her heels.
There's a long pause, in which I contemplate the feeling that I have eyes on me, and Widow stares at the way I'm standing.
"It's the scars, isn't it?"
It is. And the fact she knows makes grief stir in my chest.
"They're still healing." I say with a shrug. "They aren't the worst, I don't mind them, it's just the fact that no one 'sides me and my doc have seen them."
Widow quietly gets to her feet, puts her hands on the hem of her dress, and quite casually pulls it up and over her head. The scars that I see make me cringe. She turns and let's me see the significantly larger ones on her back, still healing bruises on her calves and spine.
I unbutton my jeans, kick off my boots, loose my jumper and shirt.
"That one on your stomach is fairly nasty." she says mildly.
"Car accident, I was ten. The seat belt got me." it's a dark line across my abdomen, mostly ignorable. "You've been shot before?"
"Yeah, a few times, actually. This one festered before I could get it seen to." it's a big lumpy thing on the meat of her shoulder. She shows me how it's gone straight through to the back, though the skin there is smooth and clean. What I'm looking at could be a constellation of freckles, not a bullet wound.
She lifts her hand and rather casually turns my arm up, brings it out to further scrutinize my bicep.
"Tell me you didn't go through the self-harm phase." her thumb rubs over the dark criss crosses marring the skin.
"You wanted to know what high school was like. It was hell. It only happened once or twice."
"I can see that. You don't half ass anything, do you?"
"Never." I grin, and think about something. "Ever been bitten?"
"Not in anyway that should apply to this conversation." she purrs, and lets my arm go.
"My brother decided it'd be a good idea to throw down over the front seat of the car, one day. The resulting fight is still a sore point in my family. We're the babies, so no one thought we could do much damage, just let us fight it out and be done." I pull my ear forward and display the half circle on the back of my skull, nearly entirely obstructed by hair, but still raised.
"This would've bled like a bitch."
"It did. To be fair, though, I was shooting him with my eldest brother's BB gun." I chuckle a little at the memory, look over all the ugly scars on the rest of my body, compare them to hers. She has more, but she wears them like diamonds, like badges, like honour. I can already feel the itch in my hands to try and start covering mine.
"How old where you?"
"About fourteen." I shake my head, inspect a raised welt on the juncture of her thigh and hip. "He had won, at that point, kneed me in the gut and got into the car. But I don't lose that easily. He had a few years, my logic was that I needed a weapon. I nearly shot out his eye, my mother didn't speak to me for months."
She takes her time to prowl around, scrutinizing my sides - the rather big bruise on my rib cage (thanks to a split second lack of concentration and a sensei who knows I can take a hit) - and gently traces the tip of her forefinger over a thin, white line on the small of my back. The action doesn't do much but make goosebumps explode everywhere. Partly because that scar is kinda sensitive, partly because I can't see her.
"Hypothetically." she says quietly. "If you could chose which brother to die, to save the rest, could you?"
We eat like queens. Discuss fights, previous lovers, men we both know. Seeing as we run in almost exclusively different circles, that last subject is limited to the Avengers and Nick.
"So. Hawkeye. I know something happened there."
"Something happens between every one of the partners you have." she says, lifting her coffee. "You bond with them or you suffer the consequences."
"I... I don't really think it's the same thing, but like with cops? Cops have partners they have to trust, right?"
"It's more than trust. And the kind of people we are- it could take years to build that, and sometimes you don't have years left. With Barton, it was a whole different ball park, for me. He saved my life."
"You're giving me a look that says we're straddling the line between Nick's rules and something that you'll kill me if I know."
"I'm not going to kill you." count 'em, that's the fourth time. "If I was going to kill you, I'd do it after this little-..." she suddenly straightens in her chair, blinks slowly. Then she relaxes, sighs, and sips her beverage.
It takes a full two minutes of - "Uh, what the hell was that all about?" "You'll get there." "No seriously, what just happened, what did I miss?" "Give it another minute." - Before I get that creepy crawly feeling on the back of my neck, and as casually as possible, pull out my new StarkTech Alpha Phone (there you go, Tone, I plugged you, stop wining now,) and flip the camera to forward, looking over my shoulder.
"You sneaky son of a bitch." I turn in my chair. "What the hell, Feathers?"
"You were getting to the good bits." he gets out of his booth and slides into ours, putting his arm over the back of my chair. I'm distracted by the pull of muscle in his arm in short sleeves but, thankfully, my much tougher scar-partner is not.
"How long have you been following?" Widow purrs. Not the good kind of purr, either. The deadly kind, that makes me want to write my last words, again.
"I was present at the loss of the clothes."
"Jesus Christ." I slap my hand over my head.
"Hey, we've already seen each other mostly naked. And me'n Widow- Well..." he sends her the single cheekiest look I've ever seen in my life, which she sets her cup down to receive more fully, a slender brow raised. "C'mon, Kit, I was thinkin' that she was going to inflict some kind of bodily harm."
"I'm not going to-" Four and a half, times, now.
"No, I didn't say 'kill', I said 'harm'."
"So you did it to protect her. That's cute."
"Actually, I was more for the loss of the clothes. That was the highlight of my day."
I whack him in the arm, scowl at him, my face going a suspicious shade of red.
"I thought you were going to learn from Steven? Steven would never-!"
"Steven is a red blooded man, and you are two of the hottest women to behold, sans clothes. As if he would'nt stick around to see-"
"As if he would. I have faith in him."
"But none in me?" now he looks wounded, but it's negated by the fact that his eyes are clearly replaying all the part-nakedness he's witnessed.
"None at all. What, you pop a boner and then say hi?"
"He was waiting for us to keep talking about him." Widow mentions.
"I have a right to know what my girls think about me."
"No you don't."
"And neither of us are your girls."
He grins, puts his arm back up around my shoulders.
"Naw, I love it when you guys get all in tandem."
"Barton." Widow says pleasantly. "I have a .38 aimed directly at your balls."
"Can't shoot me in here, I'll make noise."
I remove his arm from my person again, fold my arms across my own chest.
"I don't think anyone would mind if we both started screaming about you being a two-timing dirt bag." I'm invisioning it, getting up and smacking him around a bit, yelling at him, calling him my baby-daddy, taking Widow by the arm and storming out. Actaully, I get stuck on the stream of thought dedicated to him actually becoming my baby-daddy.
Damnit.
"Don't be like that, Kit."
"Huh?" I was clearly still stuck on the procreation part, and apparently this shows, because his grin is wide and wicked and he doesn't seem phased that Widow has just clicked the hammer back on her gun.
"You know, your stalker is getting kind of good." he mentions, nodding up to the opposing building. "He's working with better tech from more reasonable distances. He's stopped trying to bump into you in public, at least."
"This isn't earning you brownie points." but he's effectively distracted me again, as I keep looking for my stalker in the opposing building. "What's his deal, any way? I'm not going to end up at the bottom of an empty well, am I?"
"Nah. S'far as I can tell, he's just particularly fond of you. And watching what you do, at all hours. He's not as big a threat as the usual ones, this one actually has a job he needs to go to, to afford his gadgets. It's Hammertech, any way."
I snort. Spending time in Stark Tower kind of makes everyone else's tech look like shit. Sorry, but it just does.
"Anyway," Feathers says, as I continue to scowl after my stalker. "I was supposed to give you this." he flicks a yellow file over to Widow. It's sealed, looks heavy, and I desperately want to know what's inside, which just means I have a fickle train of thought, because now the contents of that envelope consumes me.
"Nick - heh, Nick - sent it to me, but I'm already on assignment. I had a few hours to kill." he checks his watch. "I've got a couple more. Mini golf, anyone?"
"No." I say. "I can't mini golf to save myself as it is, and knowing you two, you'll just glare the ball into the hole, and you'll somehow sneak it in there, and I'll be sitting there with my stupid face on, wondering why it was a good idea to engage in any kind of skill related activity. No."
"We could go to a shooting range. Stop you hitting the walls of your poor apartment." he coos at me. I give Widow a very gentle look.
"If you want to shoot him, I wouldn't mind."
"Hey, I need these." and he's nodding to his crotch. I refrain from looking, drinking my coffee instead. Widow's pulled the tag of the envelope open, and is studying the contents, her other hand still on her weapon, still aimed at Susan's nutsack. "You know she's going to have to pack up and leave, don't you? Which means you'll be alone, with your stalker. Unless of course you wanna come see a movie with me."
"Subtle. But no. I haven't trusted a man to take me to the movies since I was about sixteen - but you already know that, because I mentioned getting laid in the article with Tony."
He sighs, kind of dramatically. "You're on to me. But I'd prefer it if you were actually on to me."
"Well that makes two of us. Only in my scenario I'm beating up up, not beating you off."
He opens his mouth to retort but Widow gets to her feet, the weapon on safety and tucked away, under her skirt. She puts the envelope under her arm and raises a brow at the both of us, who're looking innocently up at her as though we were caught doing something naughty.
"He's right. I've got to go. It was nice to meet you." We shake hands, and I reply with all due honesty, but before I can ask what's going on she got her phone to her ear and is babbling in what appears to be Russian. Awesome. She strides out of the coffee shop, shooting Barton a dry look and telling him something that he replies to - in another language I can't identify - and looks every inch a normal New Yorker woman with a mission.
"Looks like it's just you and me, Kitten." he coos, puts his arm back on my chair.
"And my stalker." I retort, and turn the mic off.
