[fic] young avengers, "cupid we are not"
Feb. 8th, 2009 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damalurbackupValentine's ficlet! For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
achtung_lynn, who wanted to know what Kate Bishop thinks of Valentine's Day.
This is all over the place. It's a fusion of about eight different story ideas that I tried to mash together, so it's pretty much a summation of every Kate plot that I've ever thought up. When I go back and read it I realize there are Kate/Clint undertones, which I don't mind, per se, although I think we all agree that Kate is so awesome she needs no pairing off. ;D Also, I really want to write Kate and Billy as BFFs, but I don't know why.
This is set in some alternate world where Civil War and Secret Invasion never took place (Clint's alive anyway), and the Young Avengers are off in college (I don't think I mentioned that in the story?), and Steve Rogers is alive and Mary Jane and Peter are married (I know I didn't mention that, it doesn't need mentioning, but assume that's the status quo anyway). Inspired in part by Tori Amos (could I get more cliched?) and Young Avengers Presents #6 (the Hawkeye issue).
CUPID WE ARE NOT
So they're supposed to be having this Valentine's Day party at Cassie's. Or it's not really a party, Kate guesses, because it's just the Young Avengers sitting around out of uniform, eating junk food and watching old sitcoms. But yeah, it is sort of a party, because Cassie and her mom are kind of on good terms right now and Cass took advantage of that, so they're here in Cassie's basement and it's a holiday and Teddy even put up streamers earlier.
Billy pops out the disc - why he has a box set of Doogie Howser, M.D., Kate doesn't want to know - and puts in some sort of romantic comedy trash with Hugh Grant. Eli groans, predictably, and Kate can't help but agree. There are chick flicks she likes, although she'll never let anyone know that she actually owns Sweet Home Alabama, but the older she gets the less she appreciates the sort of romantic drivel that girls her age are supposed to eat up.
Or maybe she's just in a bad mood because of the day. Whatever. It's hard not to feel a little cynical. Billy and Teddy are draped all over each other, which doesn't bother her that much, maybe because they're both guys or maybe because they're practically married already. But Cassie and the Vision are doing their weird version of girl-robot courting, and Eli and Tommy have been competing for her attention all freakin' night long, and it's only getting worse.
As the movie starts, Eli disappears for a few minutes, only to reappear with a bag of popcorn - for her. Tommy, not to be outdone, brings her a bag of chips and salsa; Eli counters by fetching her a soda. By the time the end credits roll, Kate has absorbed absolutely none of the film's actual plot - except that it involved Hugh Grant stuttering a lot - and is instead buried under approximately a ton of brightly-packaged crap. Kate doesn't even want to eat any of it. A bag of popcorn, sure, maybe some chips, but she's pretty careful about what she eats. Unlike the others in the room, Kate has no powers except the natural, human strength of her body. She's not super-fast or at the peak of human ability thanks to some miracle drug; she's just an athlete, and like any athlete she has to have better fuel than a three-pound box of chocolates.
When she points this out, Tommy twitches and Eli clears his throat. "Good thing I got you something else then," he says, and pulls a CD from his backpack and puts it in the stereo. "You like Tori Amos, right? I know you said you wanted more of her stuff, so..." He gestures vaguely and presses the random play button. It's a sweet gesture, really, and she does like Tori Amos, mostly because Billy's got her reading Neil Gaiman and the two kind of go together. She tells him thank you and they sit through "Little Earthquakes," they sit through "Silent All These Years," Cassie and the Vision are almost touching and Tommy keeps edging closer to her and Eli's shooting her these looks, when That Song comes on.
5 am
Friday morning
Thursday night
Far from sleep
comes the plaintive voice, and yes, Kate likes Tori Amos, but not this, and by the time the lyrics are at
It was me and a gun
And a man on my back
Kate is on her feet. It's too much all at once, and she's never liked this stupid holiday anyway, not since Mom died. "I'm gonna go," she says, and Tommy protests, Cassie protests, Billy protests, Eli makes the mistake of clasping her elbow as she passes him and abruptly finds himself on the floor. "Sorry," she says, and bites back a hard-edged smile. She's not.
She goes to Central Park. She loves the park, especially at night, especially now that she's not afraid to be there by herself any longer - and anyway, she has her bow on her, because they did some light training before they broke up for the party. She should go back to her dorm, but she loves the park at night; in the midst of eight million people she can come to the park at night and feel alone. She passes Bethesda Fountain and skirts the west edge of the reservoir; there's plenty of lovers about, on foot and in horse-drawn carriages, but Kate keeps to the trees.
She literally stumbles into Clint. He's set himself up a target in a dense thicket of woods, well away from most of the paths, and he's standing maybe a hundred and fifty yards away from the target and letting sail one arrow after another. Kate trips over a rock and catches herself against a tree and looks up and there he is. She takes a moment to admire the smooth motion of his hands as they nock an arrow and draw and aim and let fly. He's dressed in his Ronin costume; the target is nearly solid with arrows.
"Hey, Clint," she says easily.
"Kate," he says back. "Want a turn?"
"Sure," she says, and strings her bow. A hundred and fifty yards would be impossible for most archers. For Clint, it's nothing; for Kate, it's merely a challenge. She picks out a bare spot to the lower left and sends her arrow to that spot. She doesn't even have to think about it anymore.
"You've gotten better," Clint says. "Been a while since we've done this."
"Yeah," Kate says, and nocks another arrow.
They shoot in silence for a while; Kate finishes her turn, and Clint takes another, and then they have to go clear the target because there's no sense in splitting good arrows, even if Kate can do that trick now. Kate's on her second turn when Clint says, "I would've thought you'd be busy tonight."
"Mm," Kate says. "Well. I was with my friends earlier, but it's just not my thing, you know?"
"What, no hot date?"
"Too many, more like." Her quiver's empty; she sits against the base of a tree and he takes her place. "Besides, it's not like I'm gonna find the love of my life at nineteen."
"Sometimes it doesn't work out even when you do find the love of your life," Clint points out. She wonders if he's thinking about Mockingbird.
"Then maybe they're not the love of your life."
"Maybe not," Clint agrees. "Water?"
"Thanks." She catches the bottle he tosses her and unscrews the cap. "I don't believe in that soulmates thing anyway. Bunch of crap." Clint raises an eyebrow at her. "And yeah, okay, maybe the holiday's making me angry. A little. Not a lot."
Clint waits.
"It's just - geez, it's some stupid thing manufactured by Hallmark to sell lacy doilies and - and - and cards that sing, and anyway I don't need some guy to validate my feelings, and I don't want someone telling me I do."
"I know," Clint says. "That's a good thing."
"Well, good," Kate says.
"And it's okay to be bitter."
"I'm not bitter."
"Alright." She'd hit anyone else that looked that amused at her. "You want another turn?" he asks, and offers her his bow.
"I'm not gonna use that two-hundred-dollar piece of junk," she warns him.
"Well, this piece of junk is all I have, since somebody stole my custom job," he retorts. It's an old argument, and comfortable.
"Not my problem," she says, and stands. He passes her his bow anyway, because sometimes she likes practicing with less-than-stellar equipment, just to remind herself she really is that good.
She balances an arrow on one finger and judges the cross-breeze, and as she draws her bow, she thinks that there are worse ways to spend Valentine's Day.
achtung_lynn, who wanted to know what Kate Bishop thinks of Valentine's Day.This is all over the place. It's a fusion of about eight different story ideas that I tried to mash together, so it's pretty much a summation of every Kate plot that I've ever thought up. When I go back and read it I realize there are Kate/Clint undertones, which I don't mind, per se, although I think we all agree that Kate is so awesome she needs no pairing off. ;D Also, I really want to write Kate and Billy as BFFs, but I don't know why.
This is set in some alternate world where Civil War and Secret Invasion never took place (Clint's alive anyway), and the Young Avengers are off in college (I don't think I mentioned that in the story?), and Steve Rogers is alive and Mary Jane and Peter are married (I know I didn't mention that, it doesn't need mentioning, but assume that's the status quo anyway). Inspired in part by Tori Amos (could I get more cliched?) and Young Avengers Presents #6 (the Hawkeye issue).
CUPID WE ARE NOT
So they're supposed to be having this Valentine's Day party at Cassie's. Or it's not really a party, Kate guesses, because it's just the Young Avengers sitting around out of uniform, eating junk food and watching old sitcoms. But yeah, it is sort of a party, because Cassie and her mom are kind of on good terms right now and Cass took advantage of that, so they're here in Cassie's basement and it's a holiday and Teddy even put up streamers earlier.
Billy pops out the disc - why he has a box set of Doogie Howser, M.D., Kate doesn't want to know - and puts in some sort of romantic comedy trash with Hugh Grant. Eli groans, predictably, and Kate can't help but agree. There are chick flicks she likes, although she'll never let anyone know that she actually owns Sweet Home Alabama, but the older she gets the less she appreciates the sort of romantic drivel that girls her age are supposed to eat up.
Or maybe she's just in a bad mood because of the day. Whatever. It's hard not to feel a little cynical. Billy and Teddy are draped all over each other, which doesn't bother her that much, maybe because they're both guys or maybe because they're practically married already. But Cassie and the Vision are doing their weird version of girl-robot courting, and Eli and Tommy have been competing for her attention all freakin' night long, and it's only getting worse.
As the movie starts, Eli disappears for a few minutes, only to reappear with a bag of popcorn - for her. Tommy, not to be outdone, brings her a bag of chips and salsa; Eli counters by fetching her a soda. By the time the end credits roll, Kate has absorbed absolutely none of the film's actual plot - except that it involved Hugh Grant stuttering a lot - and is instead buried under approximately a ton of brightly-packaged crap. Kate doesn't even want to eat any of it. A bag of popcorn, sure, maybe some chips, but she's pretty careful about what she eats. Unlike the others in the room, Kate has no powers except the natural, human strength of her body. She's not super-fast or at the peak of human ability thanks to some miracle drug; she's just an athlete, and like any athlete she has to have better fuel than a three-pound box of chocolates.
When she points this out, Tommy twitches and Eli clears his throat. "Good thing I got you something else then," he says, and pulls a CD from his backpack and puts it in the stereo. "You like Tori Amos, right? I know you said you wanted more of her stuff, so..." He gestures vaguely and presses the random play button. It's a sweet gesture, really, and she does like Tori Amos, mostly because Billy's got her reading Neil Gaiman and the two kind of go together. She tells him thank you and they sit through "Little Earthquakes," they sit through "Silent All These Years," Cassie and the Vision are almost touching and Tommy keeps edging closer to her and Eli's shooting her these looks, when That Song comes on.
5 am
Friday morning
Thursday night
Far from sleep
comes the plaintive voice, and yes, Kate likes Tori Amos, but not this, and by the time the lyrics are at
It was me and a gun
And a man on my back
Kate is on her feet. It's too much all at once, and she's never liked this stupid holiday anyway, not since Mom died. "I'm gonna go," she says, and Tommy protests, Cassie protests, Billy protests, Eli makes the mistake of clasping her elbow as she passes him and abruptly finds himself on the floor. "Sorry," she says, and bites back a hard-edged smile. She's not.
She goes to Central Park. She loves the park, especially at night, especially now that she's not afraid to be there by herself any longer - and anyway, she has her bow on her, because they did some light training before they broke up for the party. She should go back to her dorm, but she loves the park at night; in the midst of eight million people she can come to the park at night and feel alone. She passes Bethesda Fountain and skirts the west edge of the reservoir; there's plenty of lovers about, on foot and in horse-drawn carriages, but Kate keeps to the trees.
She literally stumbles into Clint. He's set himself up a target in a dense thicket of woods, well away from most of the paths, and he's standing maybe a hundred and fifty yards away from the target and letting sail one arrow after another. Kate trips over a rock and catches herself against a tree and looks up and there he is. She takes a moment to admire the smooth motion of his hands as they nock an arrow and draw and aim and let fly. He's dressed in his Ronin costume; the target is nearly solid with arrows.
"Hey, Clint," she says easily.
"Kate," he says back. "Want a turn?"
"Sure," she says, and strings her bow. A hundred and fifty yards would be impossible for most archers. For Clint, it's nothing; for Kate, it's merely a challenge. She picks out a bare spot to the lower left and sends her arrow to that spot. She doesn't even have to think about it anymore.
"You've gotten better," Clint says. "Been a while since we've done this."
"Yeah," Kate says, and nocks another arrow.
They shoot in silence for a while; Kate finishes her turn, and Clint takes another, and then they have to go clear the target because there's no sense in splitting good arrows, even if Kate can do that trick now. Kate's on her second turn when Clint says, "I would've thought you'd be busy tonight."
"Mm," Kate says. "Well. I was with my friends earlier, but it's just not my thing, you know?"
"What, no hot date?"
"Too many, more like." Her quiver's empty; she sits against the base of a tree and he takes her place. "Besides, it's not like I'm gonna find the love of my life at nineteen."
"Sometimes it doesn't work out even when you do find the love of your life," Clint points out. She wonders if he's thinking about Mockingbird.
"Then maybe they're not the love of your life."
"Maybe not," Clint agrees. "Water?"
"Thanks." She catches the bottle he tosses her and unscrews the cap. "I don't believe in that soulmates thing anyway. Bunch of crap." Clint raises an eyebrow at her. "And yeah, okay, maybe the holiday's making me angry. A little. Not a lot."
Clint waits.
"It's just - geez, it's some stupid thing manufactured by Hallmark to sell lacy doilies and - and - and cards that sing, and anyway I don't need some guy to validate my feelings, and I don't want someone telling me I do."
"I know," Clint says. "That's a good thing."
"Well, good," Kate says.
"And it's okay to be bitter."
"I'm not bitter."
"Alright." She'd hit anyone else that looked that amused at her. "You want another turn?" he asks, and offers her his bow.
"I'm not gonna use that two-hundred-dollar piece of junk," she warns him.
"Well, this piece of junk is all I have, since somebody stole my custom job," he retorts. It's an old argument, and comfortable.
"Not my problem," she says, and stands. He passes her his bow anyway, because sometimes she likes practicing with less-than-stellar equipment, just to remind herself she really is that good.
She balances an arrow on one finger and judges the cross-breeze, and as she draws her bow, she thinks that there are worse ways to spend Valentine's Day.
