Clintasha Advent (10)
Prompt: Continuation of the pineapple saga
For/Prompter: @adorationamy
Warnings: discussion of previous torture
Word count: 300 words
A/N: this genuinely made me laugh - this has been going a bit too long! I should make this into a proper fic. Maybe next year :)
This snippet had other parts - none of which is needed to have been read to read this but are below.
Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four
Clint stares at Tony.
“It’s not a good story,” he says in a deadpan voice.
Tony looks at both of them eagerly, the knowledge that he’s going to learn about their histories and something he does not know, makes him hyper almost.
“It’s a good story, it’s a new story,” he grins.
Natasha rolls her eyes.
“Fine, but just remember you asked,” she says evenly.
Tony nods.
“Tell me why you don’t like pineapples.”
Natasha huffs.
“We got captured by drug dealers in Thailand. They had a pineapple farm that they hid it under.”
Clint pauses, wondering just how much to divulge.
“There was nothing to eat except pineapple,” Natasha supplies.
“They left us, for days, then they’d come in, torture us, and then leave us again.”
She gives Clint a sharp look.
“So that’s why you don’t eat them? How long were you there?” Tony still looks intrigued.
“Twenty days,” Clint swallows.
“You ever eaten anything for twenty days straight?”
Tony shakes his head, the enormity of what his friends are saying settling in.
“But someone came for you right?”
Clint shakes his head.
“Did you know, that if you eat only pineapples it makes you more hungry? Ravenous even.. All you can think about is food. Water… We didn’t know that.”
“But they did,” Natasha says quietly.
“They were just waiting for us to turn on each other.”
Clint reaches out and she meets him half way.
“We got ourselves out.”
Tony looks down.
“Happy you know?”
“No,” he replies truthfully.
“Sorry,” he follows.
Clint stands.
“Sometimes Tony, there are stories that are better you don’t know.”
Natasha is kinder.
“Maybe don’t ask next time.”
He nods, even though they all know he’s always going to ask.
They leave him to his thoughts, the sun setting leaving the room dulled.
