(Note: This is the first time I've written anything from the Marvel 'verse. Not sure why this prompt jumped out at me. But it did, so here I am!)
++
part i
Budapest had been a disaster. Then again, Clint could have called that. What do you expect when you assign him a co-pilot who happened to be someone he had, at one point, been told to assassinate?
When the Jaeger program started, Clint had been at the front of the line to sign up. Nothing was holding him down – no family, a past wiped clean – just the job. It didn’t matter that he had been a government assassin. Now he was saving lives.
At the beginning, many of the original construction sites had been in the eastern United States or Europe – far from the Pacific, protected, surrounded by tech innovation and countries willing to throw billions of dollars at engineers. Later, when they had gotten the hang of jaeger tech and were churning out a couple of jaegers a year, they moved to be closer to the action. But Clint had packed his bags and gone to Budapest.
Then they learned that the jaeger had to be piloted by two people. Two. It changed everything. The best teams were families, already connected by blood and shared memories. That was when Clint started to get nervous. Before, his lack of family had been an asset. He had no ties, no baggage. And now?
He waits to see what they would do with him now, and when he gets the call to report to the Marshall on duty he is pretty sure they were going to boot him out. Never in a million years does he expect to see her there.
“You know each other,” the Marshall says. It isn't a question. Their eyes are locked across the room. It makes him furious how easily she stands there. As if she belongs.
“Yes, sir,” he replies tightly. “If you’ll recall, she is incredibly dangerous. I was sent to kill her.”
“But you made another call,” the Marshall muses, arms crossed. Something flickers across the woman’s face. Her shoulders tighten. “The kaiju have wiped the slate clean, Barton. Like it or not, you two are going to test to see if you’re drift compatible. We need you both.”
Left alone, they face off like wary beasts. Teeth clenched, Clint grinds out, “Natasha Romanoff.”
Coolly, she nods and replies, “Agent Barton.” Then silence. No, thank you for not killing me, no excuses, no nothing. Just a steady gaze.
He frowns. “I’m not an agent anymore. I’m a jaeger pilot.”
“Not without another person, you’re not,” comes her clipped reply.
It almost sends him through the roof, but he reigns in his fury. “At least we already know we’re physically compatible. That fight in São Paulo speaks for itself.” A tiny, smug smile tugs up one corner of her mouth. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow if we’re drift compatible.” He leaves her standing there and storms back to his bunk.
no subject
++
part i
Budapest had been a disaster. Then again, Clint could have called that. What do you expect when you assign him a co-pilot who happened to be someone he had, at one point, been told to assassinate?
When the Jaeger program started, Clint had been at the front of the line to sign up. Nothing was holding him down – no family, a past wiped clean – just the job. It didn’t matter that he had been a government assassin. Now he was saving lives.
At the beginning, many of the original construction sites had been in the eastern United States or Europe – far from the Pacific, protected, surrounded by tech innovation and countries willing to throw billions of dollars at engineers. Later, when they had gotten the hang of jaeger tech and were churning out a couple of jaegers a year, they moved to be closer to the action. But Clint had packed his bags and gone to Budapest.
Then they learned that the jaeger had to be piloted by two people. Two. It changed everything. The best teams were families, already connected by blood and shared memories. That was when Clint started to get nervous. Before, his lack of family had been an asset. He had no ties, no baggage. And now?
He waits to see what they would do with him now, and when he gets the call to report to the Marshall on duty he is pretty sure they were going to boot him out. Never in a million years does he expect to see her there.
“You know each other,” the Marshall says. It isn't a question. Their eyes are locked across the room. It makes him furious how easily she stands there. As if she belongs.
“Yes, sir,” he replies tightly. “If you’ll recall, she is incredibly dangerous. I was sent to kill her.”
“But you made another call,” the Marshall muses, arms crossed. Something flickers across the woman’s face. Her shoulders tighten. “The kaiju have wiped the slate clean, Barton. Like it or not, you two are going to test to see if you’re drift compatible. We need you both.”
Left alone, they face off like wary beasts. Teeth clenched, Clint grinds out, “Natasha Romanoff.”
Coolly, she nods and replies, “Agent Barton.” Then silence. No, thank you for not killing me, no excuses, no nothing. Just a steady gaze.
He frowns. “I’m not an agent anymore. I’m a jaeger pilot.”
“Not without another person, you’re not,” comes her clipped reply.
It almost sends him through the roof, but he reigns in his fury. “At least we already know we’re physically compatible. That fight in São Paulo speaks for itself.” A tiny, smug smile tugs up one corner of her mouth. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow if we’re drift compatible.” He leaves her standing there and storms back to his bunk.
That night, he dreams of São Paulo.