#'anyways I guess there was this leak of gas next door... BOOM... blew me right through the front window... it was like a sign from God...'

[aahsokaatano]

Cloneshipweek July 2021 Bingo

Day 21: Flower Shop AU

Pairing: Alpha-17/Fox

Rated: G

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@cloneshipweek

"I've been wondering," 17 said one day, cleaning his blasters across the table from Fox, who was meticulously cataloguing all of his explosives and various components after a particularly booming job. "How'd you get into demolitions, anyway?"

Fox glanced up at the other mercenary, raising an eyebrow. "I just like to blow shit up. What more is there?"

17 rolled his eyes. "C'mon, I told you my tragic backstory ages ago. Throw me a bone here."

Fox scoffed. "Your 'tragic backstory' is that your dad was killed and you swore revenge. That's like a dating profile that says you like long walks on the beach and red wine. Boring and predictable, in this line of work."

17 threw a greasy rag at his head. "Fine, then I'll think the same of you unless you tell me otherwise. Go on, prove me wrong."

"This is a trap," Fox groused, making a very aggressive checkmark on his list and avoiding 17's eyes.

17 cocked an eyebrow at his partner. "Prove. Me. Wrong."

He held out for another minute before slamming his hand on the table with a curse. "Damnit - fine, okay, you win." He sighed heavily. "My family owned a flower shop. It was popular, 'specially with the younger crowd. We did good business."

Fox actually looked a little wistful as he spoke, and 17 wondered, with a sinking feeling in his chest, when the story would take a dark turn. Everyone in this business had a dark past, in his experience - there was a reason he hadn't asked his lover too many questions before now. Some things were better left unsaid.

Hopefully Fox would still be his lover after reopening old wounds.

"One day, I'm making a bunch of corsages, those flowers they wear on their wrists - there's a dance coming up, all these kids running in, 'where is it, when is it, does it match my dress!' It's a nightmare," Fox ran a hand over his face tiredly. "Anyway, I guess there was a gas leak next door or something - BOOM!" He said loudly, throwing his arms out dramatically. "No more Rodian laundry. Blew me right through the front window." He held up a lighter, flicking it on dramatically and letting the flame dance above his thumb. "I found myself in that boom."

17 blinked. "So, what, you just… left? Your family business was destroyed, so you ran off to go blow shit up for money?"

Fox shrugged. "Pretty much."

"What about your family?"

"They rebuilt," he said, flipping the lighter closed. "With the insurance money, my brothers were actually able to buy a bigger shop on the other side of town. They're doing well."

"And… do they know what you're doing?"

"Yeah," he shrugged again. "They think I'm gonna die young, but it's my choice, so they won't get in my way."

17 shook his head. Not tragic at all, really. Leave it to Fox to buck the norms. "Well… you certainly proved me wrong."

Fox grinned triumphantly. "As usual."

[titconao3]

Whumptober 2

More Whumptober fic! Thanks to @pixelbypixelfanfic for looking it over, and @whumptober2019 for organizing it. 2. Explosion (AO3)

Clint really didn’t like explosions.

First of all, they were explodey. No, wait, that was totally a word. And it didn’t even need explaining, too!

So, here it was: Clint really didn’t like explosions, because they made everything worse. Things (and sometimes people) turned into smaller bits flying everywhere at high velocity, for a start. Those sucked. Shrapnel: very pain, much bad, highly dangerly. Yup. Plus shrapnel happened when you were close enough to get other charming stuff like broken bones, squashed lungs, and fucked-up guts: all things that made you cough blood and stay in the hospital for weeks while hooked up to more machines than he had teeth in his mouth. Shut up, he still had most of them, okay? Yes, even with his Avengers job. And occasional not-Avengers jobs. And, you know, whatever; his teeth were doing great, thank you very much.

Explosions also threw you against buildings, made stuff collapse on you, could leave nasty burns, all kinds of bad shit.

So, yeah, explosions: nope.

Oh, and there was the ear damage, too; but Clint was covered. He already had all the ear damage he could get – well, not all, but it really was bad enough. Explosions just destroyed his aids, but they had an inner bit that turned into some sort of protective foam whenever the outer bit would go boom, so while his hearing was bad it only stayed bad and didn’t get worse.

He would just like to never, ever, ever be anywhere near an explosion again. It hadn’t even been a ‘bad guy plants bombs to hurt civilians’ this time, oh no. It had been a gas leak from shittty building maintenance, courtesy of Simone’s sister’s old landlord.

Simone had recruited him to help with Nina’s move to a newer, better place; he hadn’t said no, you know? He liked them (and their parents’ sense of humor, but joking about their names was Not Allowed). So he came, carried boxes, helped with furniture, all of it. On the last sweep of the old place, he noticed a smell – a smell that didn’t bode well.

“Did you turn off the gas?”

“I did, yeah. I’m telling you, Clint, I’m glad I’m leaving; this place is a mess. Electricity is a fire hazard, gas pipes need changing, pretty sure there’s asbestos in some walls too.”

“Ugh. Well, let’s get out of here and never come back, then.”

“Definitely. Can you take this last box down? I need to get the dolly back to the shop next door.”

“Sure can, meet you at the van!”

And then the side of the building blew off right as he was getting out.

Good thing the building had been mostly empty, yeah? Clint was the only person seriously injured, and really he’d been in worse shape before. Yes, Nat, he totally had, stop rolling your eyes. Thank you for bringing the spare aids and some fresh clothes, but please. No more looking at the ceiling, okay?

“You look like the brokenest marksman in the world, Clint.” Hawkeye the second was looking with a very critical eye at the amount of plaster, bandages and gauze all over him. So judgey, the young ones.

“Look, I know it looks bad, but…” Sure, it also felt really, really bad; but he wasn’t about to say that. A guy had his pride, right?

“Your neighbor is feeling very guilty, and so is her sis.”

“Not their fault.” He was going to sue the landlord, though.

“Nah, it’s not, but they’re currently planning a welcome back party for when you’re released.”

Oh boy. Clint was already looking forward to it. “I’m out tomorrow.” Nat and Kate gave him twin stares. “Haha. Joking?” Twin nods. Fine, in two days then. He was totally going to sign himself out as soon as he could. Next week, maybe. Ow. Ow ow ow. Two weeks?

“I’ll go talk to the doc,” Nat said. “Can’t trust you with these things.” She narrowed her eyes at his (many) casts (unless it was all one cast, really, guess you could see it that way too?) before leaving. Threatening his bones to knit faster, maybe? Who knew, with her. And he was perfectly trustable. Why didn’t she trust him?

Anyway, so much ow. Okay, nice things, he should think of nice things. “Pizza dog?”

“He’s fine, left him with your neighbors. I’ll pick him up tonight.”

“Kate,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I hate explosions.”

“Me too, Clint. Me too.”

He lifted the one fist he could move at least two inches up and she bumped it with hers.

“You take care, Katie Kate, yeah?”

She grinned. “And you stay put and heal, okay?”

He let the meds pull him under after she left, and dreamed of fireworks and rooftop barbecues.