A huge, overwhelming, holy-shit-you-are-awesome thank you to the following: Infernoinside, Not. So. Typical. Girl., Ahsilaa, x XRoweenaJAugustineX x, Just Lindsey, Dasiygirl95, Ilovestoriesandfanfic, MME, Wynter is Coming, Gina-B-ookworm, MaireLillian, and Guest reviewers. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, you people are fantastic and I am forever in your debt for the kind words and the encouragement you give!
This chapter is for Ilovestoriesandfanfic, who wanted to see some Clint/Georgia fluff. This chapter focuses on our favorite pair, with a special (but brief) guest appearance from Dr. Bruce Banner himself! We finally get to see how the good doctor first met G. Aren't you excited? To Ilovestoriesandfanfic, there isn't as much smut here as I think you'd like to see, but I hope you like it anyway!
If anyone else has something they'd like to see, feel free to leave your request in a review!
(There are a lot of exclamation points going on up here…apparently, I'm feeling enthusiastic today…)
As always, I hope you enjoy.
March 19th, 2014
"I don't wanna fall asleep 'cause I'd miss you, baby, and I don't wanna miss a thing. 'Cause even when I dream of you the sweetest dream would never do. I'd still miss you, baby, and I don't wanna miss a thing…lying close to you feeling your heart beating and I'm wondering what you're dreaming, wondering if it's me you're seeing. Then, I kiss your eyes and thank God we're together. And I just wanna stay with you in this moment forever, forever and ever…"
Steven Tyler's voice filled the apartment as the television screen faded to black and the credits of Armageddon began to roll. Georgia's eyes were moist and she sniffled as she dabbed away her tears. "Fucking Bruce Willis…" she mumbled, her words wavering with emotion. "Sacrificing himself so Ben Affleck can marry his daughter." Another sniffle.
Clint walked through the living room, his shirt clinging to his body, rings of sweat around his neck and under his arm from his grueling three-hour morning workout. He spotted his wife immediately and cringed at the Aerosmith ballad. "Christ, not again."
"It's a beautiful movie, Clint Barton! Leave me alone."
"You've watched it at least five times this week!"
Georgia cut her red-rimmed gaze at him. "And I'm about to watch it again."
"This is not normal. We can get you help for this, G. Don't be afraid. I'll be with you every step of the way. We can-"
"Fuck off."
Clint let out a deep laugh and fetched a bottle of water from the fridge. He chugged the drink, tossed the empty bottle in the recycling bin beneath the sink, and grabbed another. Once he polished that one off, too, he peeled off his shirt and wiped the sweat from his face with the dry spaces on the dirty fabric. "Well, when you're ready to join the real world again-"
His wife cut him off. "Keep talking shit, mister. You're two sentences away from sleeping on the couch tonight."
Clint held up his hands in surrender, his taunt chest gleaming gloriously with sweat. The muscles rippled with every breath and Clint's inner beast roared with pride when his wife's eyes dilate with that familiar look of lust. "I was just going to let you know I'm headed for the shower and wouldn't mind some company. But I see you're busy, so…"
He turned his back on her and made his way down the hall. His workout shorts rode low on his hips and Georgia bit her lip. "That bastard…"
She starred at the TV, waiting for the movie, set on a loop, to start again. Then, she heard the water running. Now she was basically chewing her bottom lip off and she groaned in defeat as she turned off the television and threw the remote aside. She really hated when she was the one surrendering in an argument. Even if my pride is wounded, she thought as she stood up and stretched, making her way towards the bathroom, at least I still get to enjoy really spectacular shower sex.
June 21st, 2013
She'd gotten the call around five-twenty that morning. Groggy and pissed beyond belief that someone had the balls to call her so early when it was a known fact that she loved sleep, Georgia snatched her phone off of the bedside table and growled, "Who the fuck-"
"Barton's down. It's not serious but he's been returned stateside and is currently having surgery on his ankle."
Even her foggy mind could recognize the chilling voice of Natasha Romanoff. Propping up on one elbow amid the piles of pillows on her bed, Georgia mumbled, her voice caked with sleep, "If he's having surgery it sounds pretty serious."
"There are virtually no risks regarding the operation. But he will be restricted to bed-rest for no less than three weeks and therein lays the real danger. Clint has a tendency to develop Cabin Fever."
Georgia called to mind the many times Clint had been perfectly content with being locked away inside her bedroom for days. Then again, in those instances, she had been more than happy to keep him occupied. Georgia thought she ought not mention that to the Black Widow.
Natasha took Georgia's silence for weariness and spoke in a harsh, clipped tone. "You told me you wanted to do this. That you wanted to be with him. This is part of it. This is Clint's reality."
"No, I know. I just...I'm a slow waker..."
Georgia and Clint had been back together for barely over two weeks now, having reconciled on the sand in front of her parent's LA home earlier that month. The couple made it back to New York just last weekend, the replacement for Georgia's former boss finally chosen, and on Tuesday Clint had gotten the call for his latest mission. Life, it seemed, was gradually returning to normal.
And now Clint was wounded and in surgery and that was his normal. Georgia swallowed. "When can I see him?"
"They're transferring him to Stark Tower after surgery. He'll recover there."
"Is that really wise?" Georgia asked skeptically; she could only imagine the ways in which Tony Stark would torture a bed-ridden Clint.
"He'll have his own recovery suite set up. He'll be much more comfortable there than at a hospital. Bruce will be there to monitor him and...keep others at bay. I'll let you know when he reaches the Tower."
"You won't be there?"
"I've got my own things to handle."
Her tone was unmistakable and a shutter ran through Georgia. She raked a shaky hand through her disheveled hair. "Okay. Um, thanks, Natasha."
The line went dead without another word.
Clint was a little out of it when Georgia sauntered out of the elevator onto his personal floor of Stark Tower - apparently, each Avenger had his (or in Natasha's case, her) own floor - the sedatives from surgery still drugging his system. Still, he recognized her right away and gave a wide, but sloppy, grin.
"G!" he made to open his arms and beckon her forward for a hug but his arms were so heavy, like deadweights, and there was that damn IV in the way. So, instead, he settled for patting his own thigh and tossing her what he knew was a seductive "come hither" look.
Georgia couldn't suppress her snicker as she approached him. "Hey there, Hawk. Heard your wings got clipped." She set a duffle bag down on the floor at the foot of his bed and leaned down to kiss him, laughing and gently slapping him away when Clint attempted to pull her down to him. "No way, buddy. You need to rest. And that leg needs to heal. I'll be just fine sitting over there-"
She pointed to a thick, leather recliner in the corner.
"But-" mumbled Clint, eyebrows drawing adorably over his eyes. "Why can't- hey, what's in the bag?"
"I brought you supplies."
Georgia pushed the recliner closer to Clint's bed and set the bag on the seat. She opened the duffle and withdrew several stacks of movie cases. "Here, we go."
She held up the first stack. "Every season to date of How I Met Your Mother, for when you're bored and need a laugh."
She withdrew the second stack. "Every season to date of Breaking Bad, for when you're getting antsy and want to see something blow up."
And, finally. "Every season to date of the Walking Dead, for when you reach your breaking point and need to kill something."
She shuffled the duffle bag. "There's also some candy, the take-out menus of your favorite Chinese and pizza joints, and the fuzzy blanket from my sofa that you love so much."
Georgia fished the blanket from the bag and draped it over Clint's lower half. Her gaze lingered on his left ankle, which was encased in white synthetic padding and casting tape. The corners of her mouth dipped into a frown as she turned her attention back to Clint, who was preoccupied running his fingertips along the edge of the fuzzy blanket. Smiling softly, Georgia ran her fingers through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. "Oh, if only I had a video camera…"
Clint blinked and looked up after a few too-long seconds. "Huh?"
"Nothing, sweetie. Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need anything?" She snickered and added, "Some more painkillers, perhaps?"
"I think he's fine on the painkillers," a deep, but pleasant voice announced.
Turning, Georgia was startled by the sight of a dark-haired man in khaki's and a pale blue shirt hovering a few feet away. How had she not heard him approach? The man shot her a tight but friendly smile, his eyes a little teasing, as if sensing her thoughts. "Sorry for the intrusion. I wasn't aware that Clint had any guests…"
"Brucey!" Clint shouted joyously, perking up a bit. "Bruce, buddy, c'mere! I want you to meet, G!"
Brucey?
Bruce Banner did as instructed, drawing a foot or two closer to Clint's bed as the drugged assassin declared, "Bruce, this is my girlfriend, G – short for Georgia. Ha, girlfriend. Sounds a bit like we're in seventh grade, right? Bruce, you'll love her. She's wonderful, really. She's terrific. Fucking smart as hell and funny, too. She's got enough sarcasm to put Stark in his place."
The tips of Georgia's ears turned burnt red and she patted Clint's shoulder. "Oh, Clint, you're going to kick yourself in the ass when this medicine fades."
"What?" Clint looked up at her, genuinely confused. "It's true. You're spectacular, G, and you know it. S'why I love you."
Clint had said it fast and the words had been a bit slurred but, sure enough, he said it. Those three words that every girl wants to hear from her man. He'd finally said them, and all Georgia wanted to do was crawl into a hole. It wasn't so much that he'd said it. Truthfully, she was delighted, and a bit amused that it had taken prescription drugs to get him to admit it. But she was embarrassed, for him and herself, and kinda wanted to stuff something in Clint's mouth to get him to shut up.
She thrust her hand at "Brucey." "Hi, I'm Georgia. Please, ignore him."
The man gave a small chuckle and accepted her extended hand. His grip was loose but she could feel the slight roughness of his skin. "I'm Bruce Banner. I, uh, I sort of…work with Clint sometimes…"
"You're one of the Avengers."
Surprise flashed over Bruce's face at her blunt words, which he quickly swallowed before nodding. "So, you know."
"I do," she replied quietly, unsure of his reaction. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Banner. Natasha told me you'll be the one looking after Clint while he recovers?"
"Yep," Clint answered for the good doctor, popping his 'p' unnecessarily loud. He smiled broadly at the doctor and his girlfriend, that perfect, crooked smile that made Georgia melt, the one that wrinkled the edges of his lips and showed off the little dimples in his cheeks. At this point in their relationship, Georgia had only seen that smile twice and she was happy to see it again.
She snickered and said playfully to Banner, "Looks like you're going to have your hands full with this one."
Bruce shook his head. "You have no idea…"
"So, Clint's girlfriend, huh?"
Georgia smiled at Dr. Banner, Clint dozing in and out of sleep beside her. She gave a lame shrug. "He's nice enough so I let him hang around."
"Does anyone…?"
"Natasha knows. I think that's it. I haven't met the others…well, I've met Mr. Stark but I work for him. I'm in the PR department here at Stark Industries. It's how Clint and I met. We sort of bumped into each other a few times…" she trailed off, unsure of how much Clint would want her to reveal. Bruce nodded, seeming to understand, and said, quite simply, "I'm glad he has someone."
Then, he turned and retreated to his lab, leaving the Hawk under the watchful eye of the tan brunette with the lovely smile.
The next morning, Clint woke up to a throbbing pain in his leg and an even bigger throbbing in his head. One glance to the right to see Georgia curled up in the recliner beside his bed reading the morning newspaper confirmed his suspicions that the events of the previous day had not been a nightmare but, unfortunately, reality.
He cleared his throat. "Hey."
Georgia smirked at him from over the top of the paper. "Morning."
"Yesterday, did I-"
"Sing the Brady Bunch theme song, replacing some of the lyrics to make it about the Avengers? Indeed, you did."
"And did I-"
"Admit that you're a major Star Wars nerd who's afraid of spiders? Which is all kinds of ironic considering your partner is the Black Widow. Yes, yes you did."
"And did I tell you…?" Clint coughed and shuffled awkwardly on his bed. The sheets suddenly felt too tight and the sight of his foot in a cast made his mind trail to the process of mummification. Anything to distract himself, right?
But Georgia heard his unspoken question: And did I tell you that I love you? Her stomach tightened. She took a slow breath, trying – and failing – to pretend that she was unfazed. Licking her lips, she turned the page and murmured, "Yep. You did that, too."
Clint nodded, accepting his fate, and rolled the tube of the IV in his fingers. "Hey, Bruce!" he called to the man in the next room. "Got enough morphine in here for me to overdose? 'Cause I'd really like to die now."
Georgia and Bruce burst with laughter at the humbly embarrassed, red-faced Hawkeye.
August 3rd, 2014
The facts were all there.
First, she was laid out on their bed, not the couch – her typical perch. Second, she was drinking wine at two o'clock in the afternoon. And, finally, the heating pad was placed over her stomach.
His wife was on her period.
He froze for a moment. Then, Clint promptly turned on his heel and slipped out of the apartment unnoticed. Sometimes, that S.H.I.E.L.D. training really paid off.
Roughly forty minutes later, Clint returned from a trip to the pharmacy, two paper bags in hand. He had all the necessary equipment: a six-pack of the Hershey's milk chocolate bars, Georgia's guilty pleasure, a must-have when it's that time of the month; two bottles of Midol, the 24 count; a copy of some movie she'd recently said she wanted to see, an action flick, as Georgia actively avoided chick-flicks, rom-coms, and feel-good family movies when on her period as they tended to increase her sappiness; and, last but not least, a large order of cheesy bread from her favorite NY pizzeria, simply because cheesy bread's fucking awesome and could make anyone feel better.
It wasn't that Georgia was particularly emotional when on her period. It was actually the opposite. When that time of the month came around, Georgia knew she was prone to crazy bouts of irritableness and emotional rollercoasterness, so, she put a full lockdown on her emotions. The only side effect of her period was her uncontrollable hunger. She ate like Steve, only she didn't have a super soldier's metabolism to keep up. Between that and her affinity for action flicks, Georgia's period turned her into a twenty-year-old frat guy.
Taking a few steps toward their bedroom, Clint called softly that he was home, his voice carrying throughout the apartment. A cheer sounded from their room and he took that as a good sign. He hoisted the bags like trophies when he reached their room. "I've brought some provisions."
Georgia's eyes sparkled. "Ooh, is there chocolate?"
"And cheesy bread."
"You're a good man, Clint Barton."
"It's what I'm here for."
She motioned the flat screen hanging on the wall, one of Georgia's Christmas present to Clint last year, when he complained that she was the only person in America without a television in the bedroom. "You just missed a great movie, Man on Fire. Denzel Washington is fantastic. He plays this bodyguard, Dakota Fanning is the target he's protecting, only she gets killed and Denzel goes ape-shit and pretty much kills everyone. Then, you find out the little girl's been alive the whole time! But, the evil douche that has her won't let her go unless Denzel trades his life for hers. Of course, he does and it's just so damn sad…"
Clint neglected to tell his wife that he encountered situations like that on a weekly basis. "Sounds to me like the guy takes his job too seriously."
Georgia scoffed and chunked a pillow Clint's way. "Oh, please, like that's not the pot calling the kettle black."
Clint kicked off his shoes and jeans, pulling on more comfortable cloth pants, before joining his wife in the bed. She immediately snuggled up to his side and nuzzled his neck with her nose and cheeks. She placed a kiss on his collarbone. He tasted sweet today. Or maybe that was simply the chocolate lingering on her taste buds. Her lips trailed up the side of his neck as his hands slipped around her waist, his palms massaging her sides. She nibbled on his earlobe and moaned happily at the work his hands were doing to her. My God, she loved this man.
Clint's gentle ministrations turned into a full-body massage which turned into a heavy, half-naked make-out session which was rapidly turning into something more until Georgia's insides gave a painful twist and she withdrew, groaning softly.
"Shit, I'm sorry," she apologized, flooded with guilt at her husband's heated, and unsatisfied, expression. Regaining control of his breathing, his deep, heavy pants gradually slowing, Clint cupped his wife's smooth cheek in his palm. He brushed his thumb over the few freckles that dotted her nose. "No, baby, you're fine…here."
He handed her the Midol. Georgia thanked him weakly and swallowed two of the little blue pills. At the moment, she was eternally grateful for modern medicine. "Seriously, how the fuck did women in the Middle Ages handle this shit?"
Clint chuckled. "Mead. Lots and lots of mead."
So, there's been a big increase lately in readers who follow and favorite the story, but only a handful are reviewing – and what an awesome handful they are. The rest of you non-reviewers, however, should feel ashamed. Clint is not pleased, people! And neither is Natasha. You better start reviewing before these two put some of their not-so-nice spy tactics to use, ya?
Now, review! Review! Review!
Cause I can't make the story better, if I don't know what you guys wanna see.