Archive of Our Own

Okay, this looks bad.

We're dead in the water because evolution decided the big bad kaiju weren't big and bad enough already. Apparently what they really needed was the ability to send an electromagnetic surge to knock out our power source in the blink of an eye. I wanna say that's not playing fair, but it's a trick I've used before — electromagnet arrows, big fan. And anyway, look at the size of us compared to these futzin' things. Hardly seems like playing fair is priority number one.

There's no way we're making it outta this one alive. I know it. She knows it. I look over at Katie and —

➸ ➸ ➸

When the first kaiju attacked, Kate Bishop was spending her summer on the west coast. Without her own car, getting to San Francisco wasn't easy. Most people, when disaster occurred, fled from the scene. Kate ran toward it. Or rode, as it were, ultimately hitching a ride with a couple whose daughter had just moved into her dorm at UCSF the previous week. They didn't ask why she happened to be headed there herself. No one was thinking rationally that day.

The radio remained tuned to the emergency station the entire way, and somehow, that was even worse than silence. Kate shared the backseat with Lucky, who, when they were within a few miles of the city, began to whimper and plead at her lap. They kept driving until the authorities tried to turn them around, at which point Kate feigned defeat and thanked the couple for having gotten her so far anyway. She impressed even herself when she managed to sneak past a police blockade with a reluctant dog in tow. The next several hours were spent lending a hand wherever help had yet to arrive. With Lucky's knack for sniffing out survivors and her own growing penchant for motivational speeches, she was leading a civilian rescue team in no time. It wasn't nearly enough, though. With the damage done, nothing would have been.

The next year, when the Pan Pacific Defense Corps was established, she was among the first wave of volunteers.

➸ ➸ ➸

When the first kaiju attacked, Clint Barton was alone in his apartment on the east coast. He watched the live broadcast while perched at the very edge of his coffee table, a mere two feet away from the television, even though he had an eye trained to see better from a distance. With something like this, the less detail he got, the easier it was to absorb. That was the theory, anyway. In reality, there was nothing easy about it. After a few minutes, the corner of the table began to dig into the back of his thigh, the sharp throb brining him back to reality. His phone with the cord was already ringing.

Simone caught him in the hallway. Adamant though he was about denying any affiliation with the Avengers, every last one of his neighbors had his or her suspicions. He attracted trouble, after all, and they were none of them dumb enough to buy what poor excuses he could come up with. This time, he didn't bother with a lie. She asked if they were going to bring that thing down and he told her, mustering as much false confidence as he could, that they were sure gonna try.

S.H.I.E.L.D. transport took him out west. With the size of that thing, he couldn't imagine what help he would be, but Clint suited up with the rest, prepared to give it hell. The kaiju that would come to be known as Trespasser had made it to Sacramento by the time the Avengers reached the pacific coast. He gave it everything he had, shooting at tender spots from rooftops, lucky when he managed to elicit so much as roar of displeasure.

Maybe everyone felt inadequate that day. Clint could only speak for himself, though, and it was certainly true for him. He had worried, in the past, about being but a useless addition to the team. Usually, that was around the same time that one of his dumb ass last resort ideas somehow panned out and, against all odds, he managed to help save the day. That didn't happen in Sacramento. That day, he came up short in every way.

Still, the next year, when the Pan Pacific Defense Corps was established, he was among the first wave of recruits.

➸ ➸ ➸

Both Clint and Kate made ranger in record time. That didn't mean much, though, in an organization that had only just sparked into existence, in a world which threatened each day to end. Climbing rank was no great feat in those first days; the success of the entire project relied on how quickly progress could be made. The ongoing search for drift compatibility was where said progress typically stalled.

A year on and they hadn't spoken once. It wasn't, for the most part, something that happened on purpose. It had been a hell of a year for everyone, not a soul on the planet left unaffected. They had both been keeping busy. But the PPDC, despite having grown exponentially since its inception, was still in its early days. It was, in other words, a small world.

They were both assigned to the Los Angeles Shatterdome.

➸ ➸ ➸

In the mess hall, Clint Barton waits in line for his slice of meatloaf and his share of rationed vegetables. It's the start of his second week here. He is on the fast track to becoming pilot, or would be, if he could find the right partner to drift with. Being in his thirties gives him about a decade — give or take a few years — over the average ranger. His second day here, he joked that what he lacks in emotional maturity ought to make up for the difference. His commanding officer did not laugh.

Clint knows that it isn't impossible for him to connect with someone that young. He did it once before. He wasn't so keen on how that ended, though. Truth is, he's convinced he'll fuck it all up again, like he always does. Letting people in is not a strong suit of his, and now suddenly, everything depends on his ability to do just that. He might have thought twice about joining up if he'd known a bit more about the all of this mind meld business. And if that makes him a terrible person, well, he already knew that.

There are couple of guys here that Clint recognizes from past operations for S.H.I.E.L.D. He starts toward where they're seated, but before he can make it, he is intercepted by —

"Lucky?"

He kneels down to scratch behind the dog's ear and doesn't mind the slobber at all. Is it weird to say that he almost missed it? He really kind of did. He doesn't get so much as a moment to enjoy this, though, or to wonder how his dog is here at all. When he looks up, Kate Bishop is running toward them, looking flushed and almost embarrassed. He hardly recognizes it; it's not an emotion she ever let him see. His heart does this awful thing where it starts to feel like it's going to pound out of his chest. Breathing becomes far more difficult than it should be. He feels like a scumbag for thinking that she looks prettier than he remembered, but that is nothing new.

➸ ➸ ➸

If there is a flush in Kate's cheeks, it is not for Clint Barton. Any embarrassment to be had is owed solely to the fact that every pair of eyes in the mess hall is now watching Lucky make a scene of this unexpected reunion. Actually, not every pair of eyes: he isn't watching Lucky at all. His eyes are fixed on her, watching her with that same look he used to get in the middle of a fight, when he thought she was too busy to notice. She never could tell if it was admiration in his eyes or something else. It was only wishful thinking, though, to imagine that there was anything more. She had a crush. Past tense. She can admit it now because it's no longer a thing.

It isn't.

➸ ➸ ➸

A couple of hours later, all eyes are back on them.

"One-zero," says Kate, the corner of her lips lifting into a smirk. They haven't spoken but for a few clipped words of greeting until now. Clint is not the best with words, but this is a language they both know well. He doesn't apologize in pulled punches, however. She wouldn't like that. He gives her the fight that she wants. She seems to appreciate it.

When the Marshall finally calls it, she has a knee wrapped around his arm and is using her body weight to apply pressure. They're close enough that he can feel her warm breath on his skin. He can't place the look that flashes across her face, then, and it's gone too soon. Before he knows it, she's standing up and heading to the edge of the mat to retrieve her boots.

➸ ➸ ➸

Co-pilots. Test drift scheduled for the following morning at 0600.

➸ ➸ ➸

In the end, it's her decision. For Kate, that's the most important part.

Still in its early days, there isn't much widespread knowledge about the Pons system. What Kate does know, she has pieced together from some of the more believable rumors flying around, though even before the breach opened, she led the sort of life in which it was unwise to rule out the outlandish. That evening, though, she returns to her quarters to find an information packet that must have been shoved under the door. Lucky is splayed over it like he's guarding the contents, either for her or from her, she can't say.

Over the past few hours, she has grown increasingly doubtful of the leadership skills of anyone who would put her in the cockpit of a Jaeger with Clint Barton. The more she reads about the system, the less confident she feels. She knew what she was getting into when she volunteered, though. Everyone has been forced to come to terms with the new reality. Following orders, for Kate, has been the greatest challenge, and she still slips up every now and then. But she knows that she can't simply disobey these. Drift compatibility is too big a deal. And besides, if by some miracle she and Clint actually have it, they could be promoted to second string in the blink of an eye. They would be closer to seeing actual combat than she ever imagined getting this early in the game.

What ultimately convinces Kate, though, is trust. Despite how long it's been since she last saw him, she realizes in the ring that she still trusts Clint, and that means she has more going with him than she does with any other futz in this complex. She isn't crazy about letting him into her head, and she definitely doesn't want to go poking around in his, but she does — and this she'll admit only to herself — miss being one half of a team with him.

So she makes a choice. She doesn't have a great many secrets, but the ones she does, she guards carefully. In a matter of hours, Clint will be able to scale any wall she ever built, and that scares the shit out of her. She can only brave that fear, and so she does, by deciding to let him in.

At midnight, she knocks on his door. When he answers, his hair is a rustled mess, but she can tell that he hasn't been sleeping. Copies of the same info packet she received are littered over his cot.

She takes a deep breath. "Before we do this, there's some stuff you should know."

➸ ➸ ➸

He listens. He nods. He tries to say something, maybe that he's sorry, but she silences him with a look.

Although they have to be on deck at 0600, they stay up into early morning trading deep, dark secrets. Neither is bothered by how frivolous it is, to reveal their ugliest and most hidden parts mere hours before the neural handshake creates a bridge between their minds. These are things that have never been said aloud, that never would be, under different circumstances. It's almost a relief to have that excuse to talk.

There is, of course, one secret that doesn't come out. This one waits until morning and knocks them both out of alignment.

"Because I don't want to sleep with you," he once said.

"Liar," she says when they've disengaged. He storms out of the cockpit without so much as looking at her.

➸ ➸ ➸

When Clint gets back to his quarters, Kate is seated on his cot with her legs crossed.

"How did you get in here?"

She doesn't answer.

"You have to go." She can't be sure, but she thinks he's trying to be stern. It sounds more like begging to her ears.

"I'm not doing that." The advantage of having been in his head is that she knows for a certainty, now, that he won't ever make the first move. Couple that with the impending end of the world, and making the choice to take matters into her own hands becomes surprisingly easy.

"It's a bad idea," he tries.

"When have you ever shied away from one of those?"

"It won't end well."

Kate sighs. "Look around you, Clint. It's not like we're building a foundation for the future, here."

"No," he says, shaking his head, and now it looks more and more like he's trying to convince himself. "It's not gonna happen."

It does. It happens right then and there, after Kate stands up and makes for the door. She doesn't get past him; momentary insanity inspires him to reach for her arm, pull her in close and kiss her.

➸ ➸ ➸

It happens in his quarters, in hers, and once, it even happens in a Jaeger. It isn't easy, sneaking into the cockpit of Jaeger in the dead of night. It's definitely worth it, though.

It happens just before they get the call, some six months after the first time. By then, they've made first string. They're based in Hawaii and there's a category three kaiju headed in their direction. Kate wrestles the sheets away and wraps them around herself, a makeshift toga that gets her to the other side of the room — they have shared quarters now — where she sheds it anyway. His theory is that she has an ulterior motive, and that is to fill her head with as many fresh images of his naked body as she can before they head out to slay the dragon. He takes her in, too, filling his head with happy thoughts, as it were, so that it won't be such a damn mess when she gets inside. He's always doing that, these days, like some form of self-therapy, trying to make his brain a better place for her to be.

"Ready, Hawkeye?" asks Kate, zipping up her circuitry suit. It hasn't been that long, but people have already forgotten their old heroes for the new. Avengers are of the past; the world relies on Jaegers now. Even so, old habits bring comfort in these frightening times. Plus, they have yet to come up with a better battle call.

He's fine with the old one. "Ready, Hawkeye."

➸ ➸ ➸

Okay, this looks bad.

We're dead in the water because evolution decided the big bad kaiju weren't big and bad enough already. Apparently what they really needed was the ability to send an electromagnetic surge to knock out our power source in the blink of an eye. I wanna say that's not playing fair, but it's a trick I've used before — electromagnet arrows, big fan. And anyway, look at the size of us compared to these futzin' things. Hardly seems like playing fair is priority number one.

There's no way we're making it outta this one alive. I know it. She knows it. I look over at Katie and —

She's smiling.

The average Jaeger is equipped with en emergency compartment that stores four flare guns. Theirs stores two recurve bows and enough trick arrows to make an archer's heart swell. Skilled as they are, they're no match for the bastard circling them now. Still, they both can't help grinning through their fear as they help each other through the emergency hatch. It's dark out and visibility is awful, but their target is exactly an easy one to miss.

The world is coming to an end. They always expected to go down shooting.