What's left of us (for broken_arrow)

[russianchildatprayer]

The fire is spreading fast. The gamemaker wastes no time blowing up his arena, now that the winner stands.

She should be in the elevator already. The heat is unbearable, scorching the small hair of her arms where her uniform has torn, and stinging in countless ulcerous open wounds.

This one will scar.

There is no reason to linger. The other four are dead, she’s made very sure of that. Some put up a fight and suffered more than she would have wanted. But by now they all made it. They’re all relieved off what Dreykov still politely likes to call life.

All but one.

She could still end it. Her guns have drowned in that acid pool on the first day already and her last knife is stuck to the hilt in his liver. She can’t near him again if she doesn’t want to end up like him after all. But there’s enough rocks around. Worst case, she’ll burn her fingers while smashing his skull, before he has to suffer much worse pain.

The thick iron of the artificial walls, the faded layers of grass bred miles under the surface, just for this one purpose of yet another natural selection for Dreykov’s likes… All is glowing with the flames closing in around her. She can feel the hairs on her neck rise, smoking from the heat.

Still she keeps the door of the elevator open with her good arm, refusing to let it carry her to safety, to care, to the proud shimmer in Dreykov’s eyes and another nightmare to come by.

She shortly wonders if she should try take him with her. Maybe they’ll show mercy for once. He’s stood against her until the very last minute, after all. And even in that last fight she’s been nothing but lucky. It could be her bleeding out on the ground just a few meters away now.

She could try but the girl who’s been trained since before she even had been able to understood why and for what, knows better. The elevator won’t move if she drags him along with her. The doors won’t even close.

Only the strongest survive.

She’s been praying that he’ll pass out in these terrible few seconds of uncertainty, of trying to make a decision that’s long been made for her. She should know better. If a God exists, he has never taken particular interest in her life.

He turns to her, and she can see his eyelids are on fire. His lips form words that she can’t hear with one eardrum ruptured since day 3 and the rising noise of trees falling, barrels exploding, rocks crashing.

Maybe she’ll be able to tell herself for a while that he wants her to run.

But the part of her that turns away and takes the elevator to safety because there’s never been another way for her, knows better.

His last words were that he’ll find her.

She wishes, he could. Probably that’s why she left him alive. For the smallest chance that he’ll come for her, this time without making a stupid mistake. That he’ll be the one to finally put an end to it.

Only there’s no way he’ll make it out of there. There is no way out. They have made sure.

She won’t sleep better with that knowledge on her mind but that isn’t the point. Nightmares of seeing her lover burn to death is the easiest punishment she can wish for.

***************

Nightmares were hardly a rarity since Washington, but this was the first time Natasha awoke screaming. Still caught up in too bright, too detailed pictures burning behind her closed eyes, she realized too late that she was far too close to the edge of the bed. Before her instincts could kick in, she went to the floor, tangled in sweat stained sheets and landed on the very same shoulder that desperately needed a timeout anyway.

And that had been the last fucking time to take painkillers before going to sleep.

After she could breathe without wincing out in pain again, she left the bedroom to put together some kind of breakfast and a new load of meds. A postcard in her mailbox immediately made her forget about patching up that shoulder new. She couldn’t help but wonder how Steve had found her. It seemed, she had taught him better than she had realized.

Sam and him hadn’t found anything yet, that amateurishly coded card said. He wanted to know if she was okay. Saying they could use a hand. Sure they could.

He was stubborn, she had to give him that. She wondered if he’d still be once he found out the rest about her, all the stuff that was openly out in the world after Washington. And he would. Once they found Barnes and he would go back to a normal life… Steve would get to know the whole truth about her, sooner or later. There probably wouldn’t be postcards with smileys on them then anymore.

Time for another relocation, it seemed. She had waited for weeks, something that was far too dangerous anyway, and by now all hope was gone that at least a message of Clint might eventually catch up with her here. Hell, there was no telling if he was even still alive. Maybe the buzz out there had at least died down enough by now to try and find out that. The nightmares wouldn't go away from sitting and lying around in apathy much longer, that was for sure.

Ignoring her slightly dizzy condition, due to a few days without enough food, as much as the new warm, wet spots staining the bandage under her shirt, Natasha went back to the bedroom to pack her things. If Steve had found out where she was, chances were too big that someone else would too, to linger much longer.

Comments

[broken_arrow]

Clint had been on a mission with five other agents - men and women he had worked with off and on over the years, had passed in the hallways and spoken to on the range - when all hell had broken loose. Before he had even known what was happening four of them had turned, drawing weapons on he and Rodriguez, in the empty warehouse they had set up their operations. It turned into a firefight, a bloodbath, and in the end it was only Clint to walk out alive.

More like limp out, actually.

He had taken one of the vehicles, driven it as far as he dared before ditching it and continuing on foot. Several miles with only a few scraps of material tying off his wounds before he found somewhere to stop and properly tend to his wounds. The bullet in his leg he’d had to dig out, but the rest had mostly grazed him. Mostly. The one on his side was a bit worrying, but he had a small first aid kit and was able to stitch himself back up and disinfect everything.

Physically he’d had worse, but it had been quite a while since he had felt so lost.

He didn’t truly understand what had happened so the next day he had stolen some clothes and burned his bloody S.H.I.E.L.D. fatigues before venturing into town, the rest of his gear stowed safely in an unpopulated wooded area outside. Buying a ball cap from a silly souvenir shop, he found an electronics store he could watch the news on, and with every passing moment the fear and dread and panic in his stomach increased. S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone, first infiltrated by HYDRA, then torn open and displayed for all to see by one of the last people Clint would ever have expected to let all her secrets out in the open.

Seeing Natasha on the reports, he felt his heart ache and he knew where he had to go. Any of the S.H.I.E.L.D sanctioned safe houses were now compromised so it would be a slow trip, but there was always one place they could go. They had never planned for something like this, had never even dreamed it possible, but everyone had to have their secrets, even from those they claimed loyalty too. All his secrets were out there, all his mission details, his past, his kills. People would be after him, after both of them, but if they were ever separated there was one place they could return.

Budapest.

Picking up a few newspapers and a nondescript duffle bag to camouflage all of his gear in, Clint had retrieved his things and set off on his way. There was a lot of walking, some train travel, and for a while he even bought an old junker of a truck to make his journey. He camped out often in abandoned sheds, in the woods, in the truck, but ever day he could he found somewhere to buy a newspaper, scouring it for any information, and both hoping and dreading seeing Natasha’s picture. He wanted to see her, to ensure himself she was okay, but not all good news was good news, and it would be better if she had gone underground. He could only hope she was on her way to meet him, unless she though... no, she would never suspect him of being one of them. She knew him, knew him better than anyone. She would find him. She wouldn’t leave him on his own. She wouldn’t abandon him like everyone else in his life.

After close to two weeks of traveling he was hardly recognizable when he reached the little house that even S.H.I.E.L.D. knew nothing about. He was a bit thinner, his eyes dark from lack of sleep, and a scraggly beard had started to grow. He looked like any other transient or backpacker, and nothing like the picture that occasionally appeared in the media, the good little soldier who was more mercenary than protector.

Checking every inch of the house and surrounding property, Clint couldn’t help but feel disappointed that Natasha wasn’t there, but he tried to reassure himself that she had farther to go. She had to somehow get across the ocean, after all, and while security had no reason to prevent her from flying, the authorities didn’t seem to want to hold her, there were much more dangerous people that would be on the lookout for her.

He wished he could help her, but sadly all he could do was wait.

[russianchildatprayer]

You only realized how lazy you had become, how much you had relied on backup and network when it wasn’t there anymore. Until Natasha finally had gotten a new pass well done enough for airport security, she had been close to stab the next paper pusher she met with a pen.

Sure, she could have tried to travel on her real identity. But in these days when you never knew who might be watching, she preferred to be as low under the radar as possible. The fewer people recognizing her right now, the better.

She had had gone for blond again right after Washington, endless curly silk to make men turn rather for her hair than for her face, coming back to one of her former shapes like an old but still comfortable sweater. The chocolate brown contacts were annoying when you hadn't worn some long-term for a while, but she dealt with it. The airport was the hardest part, the rest she could handle.

She also could have tried finding a private pilot, but a short distance flight didn’t seem to cut it. If Clint was still out there, something she still hadn't been able to verify, he obviously hadn't come back from Europe to search for her. Which probably was better anyway, for whatever reason he had decided against it. They both needed to be off the continent for a while.

Besides, her shoulder wouldn’t allow her jumping off with a chute on the way, at least not without taking further damage. There was only so much you could do to patch up yourself with one hand.

Scheduled flight it was, then, and then endless seeming days of driving. Once she had found a fitting vehicle - Europeans still seemed to believe, automatic shifters were devil’s work - she could at least give that arm some rest.

For a long while she didn’t even really know where she was going, just driving from the coast west. Vienna came to mind, she even passed by close… But her German was too rusty to blend in. And Italy was too expensive as long as all her reserves were frozen and she had to live off midnight raids without casualties.

She only realized she was halfway to Budapest when her exhausted brain started translating street signs not longer from German but from Hungarian.

Listening to her instincts apparently meant taking the only risk she could right now. The Budapest house there was safe, still risky with everyone knowing about Clint's and her former missions, but it was a chance... A chance to find him.

She still had no idea if he was even still out there, looking for her, if he would want her to look out for him... But if he did, this probably would be the place to start. It couldn't hurt taking a look at least. And if he wasn't there, taking another few weeks to heal and leaving a message then, just in case he would want to remember one day...

Sentiments. Illusions, probably, based on the weak hope that Clint could forgive her what she had done to him, to everyone close to them. Maybe she just needed a few good memories after all that helplessness and fear on her mind. Just a little time of relaxing, getting back in shape, starting with a new network so she wouldn’t feel completely raw and helpless anymore.

When she parked the car on the end of that overgrown wooden path just a few steps away from their just as well camouflaged house, she already had a trunk full of goods with her that would allow to lay low. But instead of carrying a first bag inside, she reached for her gun as soon as she set foot outside.

The windows were cleaned and smoke came from the chimney. European springs were always cool.

Some teens on an alternative trip or an outlaw, surely, no reason to either panic or get her hopes up… Only part of her knew better.

She thought about breaking in through the cellar hole for a moment but no matter which of her assumptions was true, that probably wasn’t too polite.

So she just kept her gun ready and knocked.

[broken_arrow]

For six days Clint sat holed up in that house. He had enough supplies for two weeks before he’d have to replenish or move on, but with each passing day he felt his heart sink further. What if she didn’t remember this spot? What if she never came for him? There would be other methods, he would find a way to find her, but not if she didn’t want to be found.

For six days he had nothing but his own company, nothing to do but think. He scoured over every newspaper he had bought, cutting out relevant articles and others that he thought might be connected. He tracked the impact, the goings on in the world, until the news had stopped when he’d entered isolation.

After that he made lists, lists of all the jobs he had pulled, of every person who might come after him. He thought of burning it all afterwards but it was all public knowledge now, so why try to protect it, destroy it?

For six days he was a slave to his own mind, his surroundings, his dreams. He needed a plan, he couldn’t wait forever, but moving on through this without her... he wasn’t ready to resign himself to that yet, so he waited. For six days.

Then he heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Instantly on his feet, he had his bow and arrow at the ready in the blink of an eye. Six days with nothing to do, he had gotten in plenty of training to keep his skills perfectly honed.

He listened to the engine cut out, then the door softly closing after a sole occupant. He wasn’t sure what he expected next but a knock on the door wasn’t it, especially that particular knock, he odd one only Natasha used.

His heart jumped to his throat.

He wanted to run to the door and throw it open but he couldn’t risk it, couldn’t let his emotions get in the way. Maybe there was no S.H.I.E.L.D. anymore but all their training still remained. Keeping his arrow trained on the door, Clint took a deep breath and called out “The sun is shining...”

This time when he waited he didn’t even breathe.

[russianchildatprayer]

Only when she lowered her weapon and it nearly slipped from her hand, Natasha realized how much it suddenly trembled. It would have been too easy telling herself, it was just the overstraining of the last days from that arm doing the other's job.

Truth was, she hadn't been prepared. She had spent the last weeks in blissful ignorance, telling herself, she couldn't even know if Clint was alive and if he was, that maybe she would never see him again. Even when every of her instincts had lead her here of all places in the world, she had still denied the possibility, she would suddenly have to deal with her biggest fear. The fear that after all she had lost, Clint wouldn't be on her side anymore either.

But here he was, right behind that door, at least his voice. That alone didn't mean much in times of voice distortions and every fucking kid's cell phone having a record function, but that phrase... One of these few, carefully chosen lines between them for communication... Unless he had given them away back then under Loki's spell, no one could know of these.

And somehow she really doubted, Asgard had a hand in all this. This whole mess was perfectly human made, all of them had been a part of it in fact.

In this catastrophe of crashing securities and a new lifetime of blame on her shoulders, the only anchor left in her life had been out of reach for so long, that Natasha couldn't move or speak for several seconds. Unbelieving, waiting for a hint that it was a trap after all or maybe her tired mind playing a cruel trick on her...

Nothing happened except for tense, waiting silence.

"But the ice is slippery", she finally managed to complete the phrase, confirming her identity, just as motionless as his shout, calmer than she felt in fact.

Now there was no way back. Whatever he felt about her after all this... However they would go from here... It started now and maybe she shouldn't be putting that gun away just yet. She had a certain feeling, he wasn't waiting behind that door unarmed.

"Still want to shoot me?"

No... She wouldn’t have been surprised, really.

[broken_arrow]

The answer was taking too long and Clint felt his stomach plummet. It wasn’t her, someone else had found him somehow. He continued to hold his breath, listening for any sound to give away movement outside. He didn’t know what weaponry they had, didn’t know their plan, so he tried to prepare himself for every possibility.

When she finally spoke it was the one possibility he wasn’t prepared for.

Hearing her voice he let his breath out in a rush. It was her voice, it was the correct phrase, the one that nobody else knew. It was her, she was okay, she was here; she was here for him. She wouldn’t be here otherwise, she would have gone anywhere else, but this place held significance for them, and she was here, she had known to come.

He wanted to rush over and open the door, but something still held him back. Fear. He was afraid he had been here too long in isolation, that his mind was playing tricks. What if he was only hearing what he wanted to hear? What if it wasn’t really her? He had to see her, had to let his eyes confirm what his ears already knew. He had to see her to believe this was real, to let himself believe he was no longer alone.

Moving silently forward, Clint opened the latch that locked the door before jumping back again and training his arrow on it. “Come on in and find out,” he said, somehow still managing to find a grain of humour to inject into the situation.

[russianchildatprayer]

It was a greater relief than expected, seeing him alive and as well as could be, when she finally entered these so well-known surroundings. And even more so, hearing him ask for reassurance before and now still being ready for her with his weapon. His instincts were working correctly, she could see it in his face that he knew it was her. But in times of masks and all kind of technical tricks you just never could be sure.

She finally took her hand off her gun, slowly, staring into his eyes calmly, and raised her hand just as slowly to her eyes to fumble out the contacts that were hurting like hell by now anyway. Not her color anyway.

The silence hurt. Just a few months ago she would have answered with a witty remark to his joke or glared at him for inappropriate carelessness in a dire situation. Suddenly she didn't know what to say, to think anymore, where to put her hands. She didn't fear an arrow pointed to her heart. That wasn't the first time, after all, and something told her, Clint still didn't have it in him to release it, even after all that had happened. She feared what would come out of his mouth next.

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, the sudden wave of sadness, remorse, memory and the never ending anger tightening her throat that she could hardly hear, recognize her own voice.

"So? What's the verdict?"

[broken_arrow]

He watched the door open, watched her walk in, and his heart leapt into his throat. He had seen her blonde before, but not for a long time, and her eyes were the wrong colour, but it was her, he knew it was her, yet he couldn’t seem to move, his body frozen in place.

She holstered her gun, and he was confused for a moment when she brought her fingers to her eyes, but soon she was looking at him again with this familiar green eyes he knew so well.

For a long moment silence reigned, neither of them able to find the right words, but when she finally spoke it was as if she broke him out of his trance. He had heard her voice through the door, could see her face now, but both together was what finally did it.

Slowly he lowered his weapon, letting off the tension and setting the bow and arrow on the table nearby. He took a few steps toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. She was really here. Just like that the wave of emotion broke and he closed the distance between them in a rush, pulling her into a near bone crushing embrace. Closing his eyes tightly, his arms trembled around her, his heart pounded in his chest, and he finally let himself believe this wasn’t a dream.

[russianchildatprayer]

It hurt. Clint's unnatural strong arms around her shoulders pressed down on exactly that area which was already singing the Russian anthem in three voices. From the way he walked, Natasha could also tell that something with his leg was wrong, and there were probably even more scratches than she could see all over his body. That hurt too, because she knew all too well where these could only come from.

Still nothing in a long time had felt as good as this long missed embrace. So instead of withdrawing she wrapped her arms awkwardly around his waist and buried her face against his shoulder. He smelled of wood, disinfection, sweat and blood, a scruffy beard scratched her skin... But she didn't let go, not for one second.

So certain she had been that he would await her only to fire a bullet or an arrow if he wanted to see her at all, after the worst thing she could have done to him... The one person she had sworn to never ever betray, lie to in her life, and he still held her like he meant it, like nothing of it mattered.

She realized only that she was crying when his shirt started to feel damp against her cheek, and then it was impossible to stop. Too long weeks of containing her feelings, of being strong for everyone around her, first the people in in this whole mess with her, then only Steve who had lost just as much as her in all this...

And later the only single focus of surviving, hiding from everyone who would be after her right now. She had been ready to face all this alone, somehow, to go back to the life she once had lived. Because the other possibility, that her partner was still somewhere out there and maybe was one of the people seeking revenge on her, had been so much worse.

Now she suddenly wasn't alone anymore, suddenly it seemed, things weren't as lost as she had thought, and for the first time since Washington she could let go.

[broken_arrow]

When she wrapped her arms around him she pressed right against the wound in his side, but he didn’t care. She was real, she was alive, and she was here, and that was all that mattered right now.

He felt the wetness against his shirt, realised that she was crying, and it took that for him to notice that she wasn’t the only one. Tears of relief, fear, uncertainty ran down his cheeks so he turned his head to bury against her neck, deliberately letting her feel them, letting her know she wasn’t alone, they they could let their walls down together.

“I was starting to think you wouldn’t come,” he choked out, trying to steady his breathing and soothe his racing heart. He could smell the dye in her hair, the leather of her coat, but underneath it all she still smelled like her.

[russianchildatprayer]

Usually, realizing that Clint was crying which happened seldom enough, would have been just what she needed to stop. To pull herself together, be strong for him. Help him out of that hole he had sometimes fallen into, especially after New York.

This time it just made it worse. She was the reason for his tears, for this proud, strong man who had been her anchor for more than ten years, breaking down...

She just clung to him harder even though it made her wince out in pain, as if that could make up for the world falling apart around them and her having the biggest hand in that. It didn't matter how often you told yourself it had been the only right thing to do. Not when the most important person in your life was crying on your shoulder.

And what could she say as an excuse? Nothing. Nothing at all.

Truth was, she could have tried to find him at once at least, instead of doing road trips through half the US, hoping, he'd somewhere catch up with her. It had always been him approaching her, seeking out closeness, all these years that she had hid behind S.H.I.E.L.D. regulations and her own walls of defense. And she had continued that even after all of these had fallen.

"I wasn't sure if you'd want me to come", she managed to whisper between two heavy breaths, because that was also true.

And maybe she needed to hear it from him. Needed to know what he thought all this before they could even try to pick up the pieces of their lives.

[broken_arrow]

Clint was grateful that his gamble paid off, that Natasha took his show of emotion for what it was instead of using it to try to pull her walls up and be the strong one for him. He didn’t want her to do that, didn’t want her to bottle up everything she was feeling for him; he just wanted them both to be able to take a moment to let everything out.

He felt her wince when she tightened her hold around him, and he had to grit his teeth against his own pain but right not it didn’t matter. They could patch each other up later if they needed it; right now they needed this embrace more.

Her words caught him off guard, and if they hadn’t been holding each other so tightly he would have reeled back to look at her. In the weeks since this had happened, it had barely crossed Clint’s mind to blame her for it. She had done what needed to be done, and few people would suffer more for those files being made public than Natasha herself. For her to do that, for her to put all her secrets out there, he knew there couldn’t have been another choice, so how could he really blame her for that?

What he could blame her for was taking so long to get here. He didn’t know why, though; and just figured she had had trouble getting out of the country, or maybe she had forgotten about this place. No, he didn’t like that option. As it seemed, though, she had been holding back. She had dragged her feet coming here because she hadn’t thought he wanted her to.

That hurt.

“Christ, Tash, of course I did,” he said.

[russianchildatprayer]

His response both brought relief and caught her off guard. It was so much not what she had expected, and now she felt even more stupid for not trying everything at once to find him. Didn't she know better by now? Didn't she know there wasn't anyone on this planet trusting more in her, in her decisions, her choices, fighting more for her life as much as for her soul than this man?

"I'm sorry."

She let go off him gently, both because her shoulder was really being a bitch by now and to look at him, carefully take his face between her hands. His cheeks were damp and rough from salt and that damn scruff but his eyes were the same. Deep, gentle, intelligent and right now so much full of emotion he couldn't hide.

"It's all gone. We've got no ground to stand on anymore. And it was me who pulled the trigger. I figured, you..."

She shrugged, helplessly. Obviously she had never been more wrong.

[broken_arrow]

((attempting email reply so apologies if the formatting fails))


Clint sucked in a breath when the pressure of her arms was released, and slowly he returned his own arms to his side though he didn’t step away, didn’t put any distance between them.  He internally cursed the beard he had started to grow for being a barrier between his skin and her soft touch, but he somehow managed not to close his eyes and just lean into her.  Instead he forced himself to hold her gaze; no masks, no fronts, just raw emotion.

It was strange to finally talk about it, to hear another person say that it was all gone.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had been his home for close to two decades, and now it was gone; everything he knew was gone. 

He still hadn’t quite processed that yet.

For weeks his focus had been getting to safety, to getting to this house, and to discover what information he could.  Then there was wood to cut, supplies to find… there was always something.  He could look at it objectively when he was alone, trying to piece everything together, but sooner or later he would have to face the results.

Sooner, it seemed.

Right now, though, what hurt the most was the fact that, even after all these years, Natasha still doubted him.  He knew it was a big thing she had done, and that a lot of people were likely very unhappy with her, but she should have known he wouldn’t be one of them.  It hurt that she didn’t.

“You figured wrong,” he said, not even trying to hide his emotions.  “I know you, better than anyone, and I know you wouldn’t have done it if you thought there was any other option.”

[russianchildatprayer]

"Do I know that? Did any of know that? It was Steve's call, and at that time it seemed right but..."

The next shrug drew another silent wince from her. Fuck that. The last days of driving had taken a bigger toll than she had realized.

But she didn't stop, didn't lower her arms, didn't let go of him. She had to try to make him understand. That she could neither have spoken with Steve to convince Nick in that fucking rotten room underground nor tried to stop him. For once she just had given herself over to decision and maybe that hurt most.

"They all say, we can't trust anyone anymore, and I guess I'm fine with that. I never trusted anyone but you fully anyway. The problems start when I can't trust myself. How did that happen, Clint? How did none of us see that we were surrounded by traitors? When Steve made that decision, I thought it was probably the right thing to do. Probably it was, I just..."

She didn't make sense and she didn't find the right words to tell him. Her head fell back against his shoulder, an exhausted, helpless sigh on her lips. With him, she could be weak, helpless. To him she could show the face that none of the others had seen, not Fury, Steve, the court and certainly not Pierce.

"I just don't know anymore. Maybe we could have put the pieces together, somehow. But who should have? Me? World class spy who couldn't see a bunch of traitors right under her nose?"

[broken_arrow]

He noted her wince again, this time just from shrugging, and he made a mental note of it.  They were both very good at surviving, but neither of them were truly great at taking care of themselves.  Looked like they both had a bit of patching up to do later.

He listened to her talk, giving her the chance to explain, and when she got to the part about trust Clint finally got it.  It wasn’t really him that she was doubting but herself; everyone else was just a side effect.  The whole thing had shaken her to the core, to the very essence of who she was.  S.H.I.E.L.D. had helped rebuild her, had given her a home and something to fight for, as well as a way to atone for all her past sins, but if they were the sinners, if someone as high up as Alexander Pierce was pulling all the wrong strings, then what did that mean for the rest of them?  Just how true had all their missions been?

Wrapping one arm loosely around her waist, he brushed careful fingers through her blonde hair, trying to offer what comfort he could. 

“How were you to know?” he asked once she had finished.  “We were trained to take orders, to do our job.  We never had reason to question them, or to take a closer look at those around us.”

It had taken the unfaltering moral compass of Captain America to make them see that not everything was on the level.  Maybe they should have seen it, but they couldn’t blame themselves for not being suspicious of the place and people that had employed them for years and had done so much good for them. 

“Come on, let’s sit down a minute.”  Keeping his arm around her, Clint led her toward the bed in one corner of the small cabin and settled them on one edge.

[russianchildatprayer]

"I thought I knew better than to not question everything", Natasha answered quietly, still choked from the tears of the last minutes, but for the moment she felt too drained for more of them.

Sleep had been a rare gift in the last days and weeks, and when Clint made her sit down, her exhaustion hit her like a subway train. His arm around her shoulder felt good, familiar, just the kind of comfort she longed for. Things wouldn't change just because they were back together now. If she woke up feeling a little more secure and safe tomorrow, the world out there would still be falling apart. But maybe that thick fog weighing on her mind would finally lift a little.

When she moved to put her arm around his waist, the tight leather of her jacket was in the way due to the swollen area of her left shoulder. She took a second to open the zipper with the help of her teeth and her good hand and shrug the weathered garment off, just to find that the fire wasn't half as warm as she had hoped. Or maybe she just warmed up harder these days.

Shuddering, she snuggled close to Clint again, wondering if he'd look, if he'd realize, if he wasn't too busy eying the clumsily wrapped bandage on her left side. He had never seen her wear the necklace before, unless on TV of course. Maybe this would answer his questioning of her feelings about him. At least that one was the only thing that hadn't changed at all.

[broken_arrow]

She had become complacent, just like him, but was that really a bad thing? Maybe it seemed like that now with their whole world crumbling around them, but for her to let herself get that comfortable didn’t that mean she had let herself trust? Let herself believe? Let herself live? Figuring those thoughts would be of little comfort now and might do more harm than good, Clint just kept it to himself.

She didn’t try to protest when he urged her to sit down, a fact that he was grateful for, both because he didn’t want to argue and because he was relieved to have the weight off of his leg again. Watching as she awkwardly removed her coat, his eyes were instantly drawn to the bandage that had been concealed beneath. She had looked good in the press, but she was an expert at hiding her pain, among other things. At least she was still willing to let her guard down around him, even after everything.

His brow furrowed when she snuggled against him. God, it felt good to have her back, her body warm and solid, real and alive, but up close he could see the darkness under her eyes, the sure signs of fatigue. “We should get that fixed up,” he said softly. “And maybe catch a nap or something. Long day.” At least he imagined that Natasha had probably spent a good deal of it traveling.

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha thought about playing it down, telling him, she was okay, just for a nanosecond before she gave herself a mental slap on the back of her head. They had been partners for too long to bullshit each other like that. And now that she knew, he was still with her, that at least he didn't condemn her for what she had done... There was no reason to not trust him with such things anymore.

Also, the faster they got this done, the quicker they could go to bed and that was exactly what she needed right now.

"You show me yours, I'll show you mine?", she asked, with a faint hint of humor, nodding down at that leg he kept on dragging and moving in more pain than he tried to show. Some things never changed.

"It's been pretty good before I left Washington, actually."

With a sigh, very reluctantly, she took off that necklace she had worn for such a long time now and placed it carefully on the sofa table before starting to unwrap the bandage.

"Then I've run in the first bunch of old friends who just waited for me to leave government security area. Guess I got a little too enthusiastic with punching and climbing."

She grimaced when the last two layers of the bandage came off red and sticky. At least most of the stitches were intact, just a little leaking. And the inflammation of course, that the antibiotics hadn't completely taken care off yet.

"Could be worse. Empty half a bottle of Vodka on it and I'll be fine."

[broken_arrow]

Clint was glad she didn’t try to play it down or brush him off, though he should have expected she would turn it around on him as well. Of course she wouldn’t let him ignore his own well being while trying to be strong for her. Chuckling, he rolled his eyes and nodded. “Fine, fine. Only fair,” he said. There was still so much more to talk about, but it could wait until tomorrow. Tomorrow they could discuss what really happened and plan their next move, but for now he sounded more relaxed than he had since it all started. They were back on familiar territory, both physically and in the sense that it was time to hole up and fix each other’s wounds. A well worn pattern they were both used to, and probably just what they needed right now. Hardly normal, but normal for them.

He wanted to offer to help her, but she seemed to want to do it herself, so he just sat back and watched, his eyes following her every movement. He noted the thin chain she removed and set aside, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. He had never known Natasha to wear any jewellery when a cover didn’t require it, it was something frivolous and impractical, but apparently more had changed than he had thought. He didn’t get a good, close look at it, though, but his curiosity was very obvious before he turned his gaze back to Natasha.

He winced a little, both at her story and the wound. It wasn’t fresh, one she had apparently earned during the whole battle with HYDRA, but it wasn’t healing as well as it should. Hard to heal when the process gets interrupted and aggravated. “I think we might still have some stashed here somewhere from last time,” he said, urging her to relax while he got supplies. He wouldn’t forget his part of the deal, but it was her turn first. She would get her chance to look him over after.

He had brought some whiskey for himself, but he didn’t tell her that the vodka was something he had bought new in hopes she would show up. He had a first aid kit with some antiseptic in it as well, so he brought the whole lots of it back over to the bed where she sat. Handing her an old towel to hold under the wound, he gave her the bottle of vodka first before taking a drink of whiskey himself. “Take the edge off,” he said with a half grin before preparing to clean her up.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Probably not the best idea with the pill stuff. Stop me before I start talking weird", Natasha answered with the same half-grin, and helped herself with a good long sip then.

And because it really couldn't make it much worse, she emptied another small amount over her shoulder, with gritted teeth. Vodka wasn't exactly the best antiseptic around, but Russian stuff was much stronger than the normal booze. And in fact it had helped her get over badly cleaned wounds before.

Back then, before S.H.I.E.L.D. science and meds, shiny tech and instant extraction teams. Only the best of service to aid the devil.

She tried to drown the new wave of anger and hurt with another sip of alcohol, hardly realizing how her fingertips holding the towel close to her body pressed down much harder than necessary. Forcing out the pain, the adrenaline, to override that useless train of thoughts always leading to the same depressing conclusion.

Pain hurt so much better than failure.

[broken_arrow]

Pills, right. Well at least she was actually taking something instead of trying to suffer through the pain, but Clint made a note to watch her a little more closely. Clearly he was already failing at that as he hadn’t actually meant for her to dump the alcohol over her wound. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed some sleep.

After she took another drink he gently took the bottle from her. “Let’s just set that aside for now and get you cleaned up,” he said, trying not to sound patronizing. Taking the bottle of actual antiseptic from the kit, he poured some on a sterile pad and carefully cleaned her wound, taking special care not to pull any of the stitches.

“So... that part of your disguise?” he asked, nodding toward the silver chain on the table. She had dyed her hair, after all, so it could all be part of it, though it seemed like a bit of a silly detail just to skip the country. He though he had noticed something in one of the few pictures he had seen of her in the papers, but the photo had been grainy, the print smudged, so he couldn’t quite make it out. “I figured a full beard and a ball cap and I blend in anywhere.”

[russianchildatprayer]

"Alright, alright. But once I'm off the hard stuff, we'll have a night of proper drinking. Just like the old days."

Natasha watched the bottle being taken away with half a regretful eye, and shrugged with her good shoulder then. Drinking had never solved anything. And the forgetting part she didn't deserve.

Clint was gentle as ever with his administrations, and she found herself relaxing more than expected. The tension sipped from her back from the few times of pain when she had tried to take care of the injury herself. She considered herself fairly ambidextrous, at least with weapons, but her right side was still her silly one, especially when it came to treating areas in a blind angle.

She sagged against Clint a little while he worked, that sharp short awareness of her breath turning into a calmer rhythm. Without thinking about it much, she placed her hand on his good leg, expressing her gratefulness about him being there for her just like before.

His question had her frown slightly- she had been certain that he must have spotted that certain piece of jewelry before. It wasn't like she had been hiding it in court. Then again Clint probably hadn't had time to search the web for high res snapshots lately.

She squeezed his thigh gently and let go off him for a second to reach for the necklace. Instead of answering, she just placed it right on that body part her fingertips had been busy caressing a second ago, so he could get a better look.

[broken_arrow]

“You’re on,” Clint replied, offering her a quick grin before he set to work. Okay, so he’d done a bit of drinking in the past few days, but he hadn’t let himself go to far, needing to keep his wits about him out here all alone. Drinking his face off actually sounded really good right now, but what felt even better was the way Natasha leaned against him, and her grateful touch on his leg. After everything she had gone through, it was a relief to know she still trusted him and could still let her guard down around him.

He was a little disappointed when she moved her hand, but when she reached for the necklace and laid it on his leg the feeling faded instantly. Glancing down, there was no mistaking it: the charm was a tiny arrow. Clint felt his heart skip and he couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread across his face. He had seen the pictures but the quality had been too poor to make out exactly what the charm was, but he could tell it was the same one, the one she had worn in court in front of everyone, in front of the world. All eyes on her and that necklace, that symbol, on proud display.

“It’s nice,” he managed to say, but he was still beaming when he glanced up to meet her eyes, his hand pausing a moment though he was nearly done cleaning her up.

[russianchildatprayer]

His smile had her smiling instantly, she couldn't help it. Just like that necklace had made her smile when she had spotted it in a little store in Rio some months ago. She had carried it to the counter without even thinking about it much, because things that made her smile were rare. And they had already been apart for quite a time at that point.

"It reminds me of you", she said softly, though explanations hardly should be necessary. Some words should be said anyway. Again she placed her hand on his thigh, around the necklace, letting herself get used to the feeling of his warmth and the strong muscles playing under her caressing fingertips again.

"I've missed you so goddamn much, Clint."

[broken_arrow]

After everything he had been going through, all the pain and uncertainty and confusion, just seeing her smile seemed to make it all fade away, if only for a moment. And in that moment he believed in his heart that they would be okay. No matter what lay ahead of them they could get through it because they would be facing it together.

Ducking his head to finish his work, his smile never even began to fade; in fact, Natasha’s explanation only made it brighter. No, it wasn’t necessary, but it still felt good to hear it.

Tossing the bloody cloth in the bin he leaned back again to look at her, feeling truly warm for the first time in weeks, warm from the inside out. Cupping the back of her neck in one hand, he rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. “I missed you too,” he replied, letting his voice carry the weight that the words couldn’t quite capture. It had been way too long since they’d spoken, and even longer since they’d seen each other, and he was feeling more than a little overwhelmed finally having her back. “So much.”