Clintasha One-shots

Wild West AU

A/N: A little Alternate Universe story that maybe will continue in an own book we will see...

Sherriff Phillip Coulson rode through a quiet town. It was just before sundown and most of his sheep were still sleeping. He’d just returned from a trip to the next town, helping his friend and colleague Nick Fury take care of dome outlaws. His own town had been quiet in the last weeks. Nothing happened besides a few bar fights in Stark’s Saloon.
He liked the quiet. As a young man, he’d been to war and found he’d seen enough dead for a lifetime. The post as Sheriff was presented to him after his Service and he gladly took it. It was a stable income for someone like him that never learned to be anything else than a soldier.
Phil greeted Miss Romanoff, one of Stark’s Saloon girls who just opened the window to her flat. She saluted mockingly and smiled.  He didn’t really knew anything about her but found the mysterious Aura she kept around herself fascinating. She’d showed up a few months ago, claiming a bounty for a dead bandit she brought with her and stayed in Stark’s service since then. Apparently the richest man in town paid well and the tips she got were unusually high.

Natasha smiled as she saw their Sheriff return. Coulson was a decent man and didn’t ask any questions when she collected her bounty. She quickly dressed in her black blouse and skirt, arranging her hair in a bun. Today would be long and exhausting. Her boss Anthony Stark was throwing a party for some relatives visiting and she knew from experience that his parties usually lasted until morning and beyond. Grabbing her colt and riffle, she went out to her horse to get some training done before she’d have to start her shift. The red-head always went in the early morning to prevent curious looks. A ten minute ride from the town, she’d set up a few targets to practise on.

A lone figure stood on top of one of the large stone formations in Monument valley. In the distance, he could see the outline of a small town. A group of riders and coaches made their way towards it, leaving a trail of dust in their wake. Technically, he knew he probably shouldn’t go there. It was too dangerous to be recognized even though he’d changed his appearance since he was on the run. On the other hand, the ammunition for his riffle was close to none existent and real cooked food would be a nice change to the little birds and rabbits he hunted.
His most recognizable feature, the longbow was safely stored between his saddlebags together with two quivers full of hand crafted arrows. The purple fletching he usually used would give him away right away so he’d made new ones, leaving the others in a camp fire. The blonde looked at the tent he set up on top of the sand-stone platform, examining the nails he used to secure it. One had to be a good climber to reach this spot and it wasn’t visible from below which made it the perfect camp. With a sigh, he decided to leave the bow and riffle behind. They would only draw attention and the more ordinary he looked the better.
He dragged a hand through his now short hair before placing the dirty white cowboy hat on his head. It was decorated with several hawk feathers. The only things he wasn’t willing to hide. They had been a gift from the Apache chief after his warrior trial. Each for every challenge he mastered to be accepted as part of their clan. He’d worn them in his long hair like the other warriors, decorating the blonde braids with pearls and leather. Those days however where over.
He shrugged on a fairly clean grey shirt and hid the thumb-wide braid coming from the lower back of his head by tying a black scarf around his neck. The braid reached to his hips by now and was everything that was left of his once long hair.  He tucked the scarf in the front of his shirt, copying the look he’d seen most men his age wear. Last was the brown leather belt and holster for his colt before he shrugged on a dark brown vest. It felt strange to go without his bow but the cold feeling of the twin set of throwing knives strapped to his forearms calmed him.
Once he reached the bottom of the giant stone formation, he whistled a certain pattern until the blonde saw a familiar silhouette sprinting towards him. Soon, the light brown mustang came into view and he readily jumped on the horse when it ran past him. They took a little look around the area before he steered the animal back in the direction of his camp. He knew the horse hated saddles even more than he did but it would look strange if he would arrive without one. Years, he had only ever used a thick woven blanket to protect the animals back from his clothes but now that they were forced to travel in disguise, the blonde had switched to a lightweight black saddle.