bakerstreet | (no subject)

(no subject)

the ROAD TRIP meme
You know who likes a good road trip? Everyone likes a good road trip! So aren't you glad you get to go on one now? Of course you are.

How it works:
1. Post with your character, with their name | canon and any preferences in the subject line
2. Someone else tags you. Congratulations, those characters are now on a road trip together! To where? Who cares! We only care about the journey here
3. Go to the RNG and get a random number between 1 and 15 to pick your scenario, or combine numbers or make up your own
4. ???
5. ROAD TRIP STYLED PROFIT!

Scenarios:
1: LOST You should have made a left toin at Albuquerque, or maybe you've been holding the map upside down this whole time! Whatever it is, you're hopelessly LOST. Will you make it back on the path to your destination, or will you find a new adventure? ~~Try not to open any hatches.~~

2: Tourist Trap Okay, you're all for seeing the sights, but World's Biggest Doorstopper? World's Smallest Chicken? World's Noisiest Whistle? Do we really have to stophere, too?

3: Car Trouble Maybe you got a flat tire. Maybe your engine's stalled. Or maybe you just overestimated how far you could get on a half tank of gas. Either way, you're broke down on the side of the road and the nearest station is miles away; better get behind it and push!

4: Bad Weather Driving in the rain? No problem. Driving in torrential downpours or a blinding blizzard? Big problem! Better find a way to get out of the storm fast!

5: When Ya Gotta Go... Didn't I tell you to go before we left? Well, even if you did, maybe you shouldn't have had that 44 ounce Super Big Gulp, because there's not another rest stop for miles. Maybe you can find an empty bottle in the back...

6: Road Delays Stuck in traffic? Stuck at road construction? Stuck in a funeral procession? Bridge out? Whatever it is, it's blocking your way. Do you wait patiently, or maybe find your own way around it.

7: Smokey and the Bandit Oh no, those blue lights behind you can't be good. Maybe you should just pull over and accept your speeding ticket like a decent citizen. Or, maybe you should floor it. High speed chase anyone?

8: Night Driving You decided to drive through the night, and now it's one AM and you're all out of coffee. Wake up a friend and make them help you stay awake; falling asleep at the wheel is dangerous!

9: Ghost Town Boy, this town sure is quiet. And... kind of creepy. Oh God, did something in those corn rows just move? I hear banjo music; DRIVE FASTER!

10: Roadkill Good going, you hit an animal. I sure hope you feel good about yourself. Now you've killed the poor- oh, it's still moving? What do we do now!?
10a: The I Know What You Did Last Summer Edition That animal you hit was a little more human than you care for... oh dear...

11: ROAD RAGE That jerk cut me off! How dare he!? I'll make him pay! Or maybe you cut off a less-than-friendly driver of your own, and now he's after you...

12: Carjacked Awww, that was a good lunch. ...Wait, I know this is where we parked... Dude, where's the car!?!?

13: Hitchhiking Who said you needed a car for a road trip? Stick that thumb out and catch a ride where you're going. Maybe you and a buddy are chillin' with the pigs in a trailer, or maybe that nice looking hitchhiker you picked up down the road is not as nice as you thought...

14: Fantasy Car Roads? Where you're going, you don't need roads. If you're in Doc's DeLorean, anyway. Or maybe the car is really Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Or a spy car. Or the Batmobile. Or a Transformer! Whatever it is, this car is NOT normal.

15: Are We There Yet? Roller's choice! Pick your favorite option, or two, or three, or just roll with whatever feels right!

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Tilts his head back, and his throat works, swallowing the beer down. Lets out a satisfied noise, and leans in to brush his lips over hers. He kisses her a lot -- can't resist it, seems like, when she's close by. Doesn't bother to try and resist it, maybe.

"Happy to be the cook," he says. "You let me make everything spicy."

Natasha has noticed, wonders if it's an instinct of his, keep his taste on her lips so she doesn't forget how much she wants him. Or maybe she tastes as good as he smells, because he smells fantastic. Every time he leans in, her mouth is waiting, because she understands that impulse. Whenever her personal orbit swings close to his, her face ends up pressed against his neck, the tip of her nose at his hairline so that she can breathe him in. She avoids it as best she can when they're not alone, which means that as soon as the apartment door closes behind them, she's on him like a koala bear.

"I like things spicy," she whispers against his lips. They've had contests, seeing who can handle the most heat. Noel always loses. Will's got a cast iron stomach. But she loves the food he makes, loves to sit on the counter and watch him move around the kitchen with an easy familiarity. It feels like normal life, like the kind of thing someone like Noel would be happy to do forever. Even this - Will and a campfire and the sound of the river and the twinkling stars, this is the kind of thing that normal people do with people they love, with people they can't get enough of, when everything is suddenly special because of who you share it with.

Another kiss, and then another, and then another and Will finally manages to pull away and pay attention to the dogs cooking on the spits. When hers starts to show a hint of black, he pulls it out and slips it into a bun for her.

Even she can't mess up adding uncooked ingredients, right?

She can wield a plastic squeeze bottle without disastrous consequences. She takes a bite, to test it, and hums appreciatively, licking a bit of mustard from the corner of her mouth. "Perfect." Then she waits for him to finish cooking his, laughing a little at the fact that it truly does come out of the fire entirely black. "So that's a blackened cajun dog?" He's explained the appeal of blackening chicken and fish to her a couple of times, and she continues to play dumb, because she likes to hear him get passionate about the way New Orleans pours its soul into the food it makes, how it becomes an extension of the people, a way to connect a community. A community he keeps on trying to make her a part of.

That's not unusual. What is a bit odd is how much she wants to let him. Deep undercover, and things aren't progressing as neatly as SHIELD would like. How much time might it end up taking? Another six months? A year? She could coast, she could ride this life for that long and, though she tries to not even think it to herself, she could be happy. She could be happy as Noel, happy as a detective, happy with Will. Where would they be, a year from now, if they got to keep living this life?

That's not how it will happen. If it really drags out that long, Fury will force a response, he'll grab the situation with both hands and shake hard until something falls out. But what if he didn't? What if she could? The longest deep cover op on record with SHIELD lasted almost six years. How much life could she live in six years like this? How much of herself would she lose? How much of what she lost would she actually miss? She doesn't realize how seriously she's staring at him, how open and honest her expression of apprehension and wonder, how vulnerable she's let herself become because she knows he is incapable of taking advantage of her.

He laughs, at her remark. "Takes more than a little black to make it Cajun." Though that helps.

He doesn't have any idea what's going on in her head. He can pick up, maybe, on a little bit of distance; she's got enough silence, with the cooking, to think. And she's starting to think way too loudly. She's reserved, he knows that. It's okay for her to be reserved, it's okay for her to have some buried issues. Everyone does. Everyone's a little bit broken. People who are perfect don't interest Will.

"You're thinkin' too loud," he says. "Next thing you know, the crickets'll get scared to interrupt."

She comes back from very far away, and it takes her a moment to focus bright eyes on him. There are several long seconds of a kind of honest introspection that Natasha doesn't often indulge in, and then she's smiling and ducking her head, shaking red curls in front of her face. "Sorry," she murmurs. "I'm here. I promise." She leans in close against his side and rubs her cheek against the warm cotton of his shirt and sighs. "It's just--" She tries to think of something to say, something to brush aside the moment of odd disconnect. There are many things she can say right now, but none of them are true. Which shouldn't bother her. What in her life is ever honest?

"I'm happy." And that's honest. "It's a little weird for me." So is that. "I can't really... remember the last time I was this happy." There it is; more than she's supposed to share, more than is safe, out on a limb. It's a small limb, and she's not out very far. But it's something. It's her offering, her acknowledgement that she knows she doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve him. There's not a dishonest or deceptive bone in his body, and that's all she's made of.

He takes a bite as he listens. When Will listens, he listens with every fiber of him, he's a tree and her words are wind and every soft leaf-rustle is a note of I'm here. He swallows the bite, and presses a kiss to her hair. "You deserve it," he tells her, softly. He believes it utterly. He knows what kind of soul Noel has, and it's one that fits well with his. They're a harmony.

Natasha doesn't believe in souls, hasn't for a long time, and she's glad of that. if she thought heaven and hell were real, that something remained when the body was gone, she would fear death. She doesn't think she's a bad person, she knows it, and she's waiting for the few people in her life who know her to realize it, too. There is safety in solitude. But if she did believe in souls, she'd know that Will's is a beacon. He's a good man for no reason other than he believes in the potential of humanity. He would do the right thing ten times out of ten, even if it earned him no credit, brought him no praise. Red Room spent her entire childhood convincing her that people like Will were a myth.

Deserves him. He says it because he believes it, and she can feel his hand underneath her skin, pressure against her rib cage. She knows she didn't say that part out loud, never doubts her control over her own tongue. But it's still uncanny how well he can read her, sometimes. If she were acting with more caution, she'd recognize the danger there. But to act with true caution, she'll have to dump him, distance herself from his fascination with the nuance of her personality. Not an option. Instead, she just smiles up at him, shaking her head. "You're perfect," she tells him, no small amount of wonder in her voice. "Do you know that? You're the perfect man. How has no one else figured this out yet?"

A flush; he shakes his head. He isn't perfect. "Perfect to you, maybe," he allows, which he can believe. But definitely not perfect. He has his insecurities, and his doubts, and his needs, and they're at least as intense as anyone else's. He wants to be happy, and that's a high thing to demand from life. If a girl ever stops making him happy, he won't stay with her.

She makes him happy.

She smiles her agreement, nods her head. "Perfect for me." Slightly different wording, very much the same sentiment. Natasha goes undercover all the time, has been more women than she can possibly count, but Will makes her wonder what it would be like to own this life, for Noel to be the reality and the Black Widow to be the smoke and mirrors. He makes her want. That scares her even more than the happiness that blooms in her chest every time she sees his face, a shivering little tendril of affection, green and new and fragile, reaching for the sunlight after a long, cold winter.

Noel finishes her hot dog in two more bites and shifts around, moves to straddle his lap. She wants him all the time. If he slides his hands up her legs underneath her skirt, she'll be ready for him in seconds, but that's not what she's after. She presses her hand flat in the center of his chest, leans her forehead against his, and takes a deep breath. "I'd given up," she tells him, the sheer honesty of her words safely masked by all the other lies between them. So many lies. "I didn't think men like you were real. I never thought I'd find one. I certainly never imagined he'd want me back. And then you--" She shakes her head, the tip of her nose brushing his. "And then you."

He likes what he is in her eyes. It seems to him that there's some power in this reflection, like there isn't in a mirror of glass and metal. It's a mirror of hearts, and it eases away all of his flaws, soothes away the lingering loneliness, the emptiness in his life.

A mirror's reflection can't make you better.

His arm curls around her back and he holds her close. "Believe me," he says, "I get out of this a lot more than I give into it." Being with her, it makes him want to be greedy and selfless at once.

It's amazing, the weight that honesty sloughs off your shoulders. She feels almost giddy. Which is childish and ridiculous and stupid. It's amazing. "I think we're gonna have to agree to disagree." She's not giving him anything, and he's given her a life, a full and rich and rewarding life. It might not be real, but it's still hers for as long as she wears this lie.

He's beautiful, whether he believes it or not. She rubs her nose against his again, tilts her head to kiss him. He tastes like ketchup and charcoal, and even that's perfect. She's in trouble.

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