#hawk!clint

Steve watched Tony’s eyes go wide, the iris’s widening and tail ramrod straight up in the air.

He had a matter of seconds to act.

Like a shot, Tony ran for the door, but Steve was there first.  He grabbed the smaller man and tossed him over his shoulder earning an ear splintering hiss.  Had Tony had claws Steve might have worried when hands landed on his ass.  Tony’s short, human nails dug painfully into the jeans but didn’t break through.  He did, however, try to use his grip as a fulcrum to lurch off Steve’s shoulder.

Steve clamped one arm over Tony’s waist and the other around his thighs only to get a face full of fluffy tail in his face.  Tony let out another hiss followed by a long high pitched yowl when he realized Steve had him pinned.

“Stop struggling, we are just going to talk.”  Steve turned his head to avoid getting hit again with Tony’s tail.  When the appendage thumped hard against Steve’s cheek he almost bit down on it – gently – but decided he didn’t need any more fur in his mouth.

“No, no, don’t need to talk. Let me GOOOOOO, STEVEN!”

Steve ignored him and headed out of the kitchen, passing by Bruce as he came in for breakfast.  

“What happened?” Bruce asked Clint, who was sitting at the table eating cereal.

“Sleep deprived Tony told Steve he loved him.”  

 So, I’m having trouble deciding what to make Clint.  I’m stuck between a Ferruginous hawk or a Red-tailed hawk.  So I’ll make him whichever you guys decide.

He's Laughing at You

Rated: G

Summary: Natasha Romanoff is a highly trained, highly skilled assassin. But now when she's confronted by curved talons and a hooked beak, she's....hesitant.

You Make Me Happy

Rated: G

Summary: Agent Romanoff and Agent Barton have a little fun at the expense of everyone else. Coulson’s not sure exactly what is going on between his charges, but it’s got the rumor mill at S.H.I.E.L.D. spinning furiously.

Ficlets:

1

Rated: PG

Summary: When he hunts with Natasha, they hunt snowshoe hares.

2

Rated: G

Of course she’d been pissed to find her partner had been keeping secrets from her. She’d always known on some level, that there was something big he wasn’t telling her. The way he would tense up before he could catch himself when she’d start talking about her life before S.H.I.E.D.; he could never manage to look her in the eye on those days. So, yeah, she’s pissed. But, he gladly threw himself in line with her retribution, so he’s not beyond forgiveness.

And she’s been a highly trained assassin for nearly all her life, taught to be in complete control of her body and her environment, even when she’s not. She knows how to keep her cool under pressure facing down goons three times her size without breaking a sweat and how to go with the flow, even under the worst circumstances. But now, when she’s confronted by curved talons and a hooked beak, she’s…hesitant.

She’s also pretty sure his animal instincts are picking up on her trepidation if the bemused twinkle in his beady eyes are any indication. Her suspicions are confirmed when Phil tweaks the hawks beak in a chastising yet familiar gesture. The large bird grumbles, his wings stretching out to beat the air; once, twice, before settling back down on Phil’s outstretched arm.

“He’s just putting on a show for you,” Phil says after a beat, waiting for Clint to resettle himself. The agent slowly raises his free hand towards the bird, receiving a soft series of chirps in return. Phil’s fingers stroke gently down the hawks brown speckled breast; Clint’s feathers fluff up in contentment. “Come on, Natasha,” Phil says, pitching his voice lower, as if Natasha were the animal that needed coaxing. “No twitchy movements, nice and easy. He may be our Clint, but he still has the instincts of a hunter.”

Natasha barely holds in a snort, but she does edge closer, wary but intrigued, and completely in awe of the beautiful animal before her. She can’t help the smile that tugs the corner of her mouth; Phil’s eyebrow twitches in a “Tell me about it” manner. “I know,” he murmurs, “Gives new meaning to ‘the hawks in his nest’, right?” Natasha flat out laughs at that. Phil swears as Clint screeches in his ear, his chest feathers puffing out haughtily. Apparently, the joke does get old.

She’s less than an arm span away now, her fingers itching to touch, to feel, the sleek brown feathers over powerful wings, but her training calls for caution, and really, what is proper protocol when confronted by your shape shifting partner for the first time? As if on cue, Clint calls softly to her, his head canting slightly to the right as he regards her and Natasha can almost hear his voice saying, “Ain’t nothing but just little ‘ole me, sweetheart”. She has to catch her eyes rolling like they want to and when Clint twitters again, she’s positive she hears a laugh buried in it.

“I only have the one glove,” Phil apologizes, shifting his hand so that Natasha has an easier time reaching Clint. “Otherwise, I’d offer to- ” Clint cuts off their handler with a longer, louder screech. “Fine! Ok! I get it!” Phil exclaims as he launches Clint in the air. The hawk is off in a streak of brown and Natasha swallows her gasp of surprise as a flight feather drifts lightly across her cheek. “Drama queen,” Phil grumbles under his breath as he hands Natasha the thick leather glove, but she can hear the affection in his tone.

Natasha slips the glove over her left-hand, clenching her fist as she tests its durability. She looks up for more direction from Phil, her gaze following his as he watches Clint free-wheeling high above them. “Just hold your hand out comfortably, give him a clear target to land on,” the agent says, still watching the hawk circling overhead. He looks briefly at Natasha and back to the sky, gauging what, she’s not quite sure. “And whatever you do, don’t move.” Before she can ask what that’s supposed to mean, Phil raises his fingers to his lips and lets loose a piercing whistle.

Clint answers immediately with one of his own and Natasha momentarily forgets to breathe as she watches Clint circle once, twice before tucking in his wings and plummeting towards earth. Natasha hears a “Show off” uttered from Phil over the roar of her pulse in her ears, choking on her heart in her throat as she watches Clint fall through the sky, closer and closer, and shouldn’t he be slowing down right about now??

She shoots Phil an alarmed glare which her handler just shrugs indifferently to and returns his focus to the sky. Clint can’t be more than fifty feet off the ground now, and her cry of warning is caught in her throat, lost with her voice, when suddenly Clint’s wings snap out, catching an updraft five feet from the ground. Riding the air current, he makes a lazy loop around the group, skillfully pulling up to land daintily on Natasha’s outstretched arm.

“Was the flyby really necessary?” Phil deadpans. Clint is panting slightly, wings cocked as he cools down. But from this close up, Natasha can see there’s a twinkle in his eye, and she knows he’d be whooping with joy had he the ability to speak.

She’s no longer afraid; she can practically taste the adrenaline from Clint, her head buzzing from his aerial display. Her fingers brush lightly against the wind swept feathers on the hawks breast, where she’d earlier seen Phil pet him. Clint immediately breaks into a litany of excited chirps and trills, caught up in sharing his joy with his partner, as if he’d momentarily forgotten they were of different species.

Natasha laughs at the display, emboldened by his trust in her, her fingers deftly tucking errant feathers back into place. Her mouth quirks in a half-smile at Clint’s continued chattering. “Pretty, pretty bird,” Natasha coos, never stopping in her preening. Clint’s attention is riveted on her and she offers him a rare, genuine smile. “Oh, we are so going hunting after this,” she says.

 She definitely does not imagine Clint’s whoop of delight to that.