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 gave a playful yelp at the bite and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout even as Natasha kissed it and made it better. He loved seeing her so relaxed, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride that she could be so after everything that had happened, that she could still so easily relax with him.

“Whether we sleep or not I wasn’t planning on getting up,” he replied, letting out a regretful sound himself when she moved. Her yawn couldn’t be ignored, though, and he found himself wondering just how this time had passed for her. Had she been as lost as him? As worried? As terrified? At least she’d had all the information, and she had been with people she could trust. Clint had been taken completely by surprise, and had been utterly alone. Still, it couldn’t have been easy on her nonetheless.

Letting his eyes drift closed when she settled own against him, he was stupidly thankful that their injuries seemed to correspond so that laying on her good side brought her against his so they could still lay close together like this.

He was about to say that he wouldn’t, though he had no intention of waking her, but her trailing words caused his eyes to shoot open again. Right, that. “If you want to hear it again...” he replied, unsure despite the smile she wore.

[russianchildatprayer]

Though it was kind of adorable, seeing a strong, confident character like Clint so nervous, Natasha knew very well that this uncertainty was mostly her fault. She had insisted on keeping their distance in the past, for reasons that were no longer existent. She didn't want to feel Clint that uneasy because of her anymore.

Unfortunately she didn't feel awake enough for serious discussions right now either. So she chose to just lean up for a soft kiss for the moment, still smiling.

"Try me, hotshot."

[broken_arrow]

Her kiss and her smile were reassuring, but he could tell she was tired and still languishing in the afterglow. Now was probably not the time for anything too serious. Besides, he wasn’t exactly clear of mind either, and the last thing he wanted to do was screw up that discussion.

“Maybe I will,” he responded instead, grinning back at her. His arm tightened around her just a moment before he settled back against the pillow again.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Good. Because I'm not going to forget it", Natasha warned him, a warm, soft spark of affection in her eyes before she closed them and settled comfortable against him again.

There wasn't anything better to lure her into sleep than the feeling of Clint's warm, soft skin against her cheek, and the sound of his heartbeat - still a little too fast - in her ear. Her fingers drew gentle patterns over his shoulder and arm, avoiding every bandage and every still sensitive spot from his last adventure, until the tiredness finally took over.

[broken_arrow]

Part of him wanted to forget it; part of him wanted to forget he had just blurted it out like that, right in the middle of sex like a complete idiot, but seeing that look in her eyes... maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. Still, he would have preferred something more elegant or personal or poetic or... entirely un-Clint-like. Saying it like he had was just so him.

For now she didn’t seem too concerned, though, and he let out a soft sigh when she settled against him. She was so warm, her touch so gentle, and he couldn’t help but think that this was how life should be. It was moments like these that made everything else worth it, and if SHIELD’s downfall meant more of this then there was definitely an upside to it.

“You might wish you could when you wake up,” he muttered when he was sure she was asleep before letting himself follow her down.

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha more felt herself startling out of disturbing dreams than she really could remember details. There had been Steve's terrified face a few times, Nick telling her that she wasn't worth shit and the usual Red Room annals on top...

But everytime her mind grew too restless, everytime her breath caught in her throat, when her shoulder exploded with new pain of memory and her hand wanted to grab the nearest weapon, she felt Clint's warm, bare body press against hers. Felt him breathing against her ear and smelled the proof of what they had just done, mixed together with the wild clean scent that was all him. Enough to drift back to sleep, with the shadow of a smile on her lips.

Too much shit on her mind to be really well-rested when she finally woke up, but it had been enough to reload her batteries. She allowed herself to slowly drift back to reality, lie completely still in Clint's arms not to wake him and revel in the memories of the last two days. Things were far from alright. They still didn't really know where to go from here and living at Stark's as only option... Not something to lift her mood.

But it didn't matter right now, because no matter where they were going, she was waking up with no mission on her mind for the moment, on something that could pass as holiday with two turned blind eyes, in the arms of the man she loved...

Huh?

Natasha opened her eyes, looking down on Clint's slowly rising and falling chest with a frown. Where had that come from? A few weeks out of the game and already she came up with sentiments that she had forbidden herself for years? For her own protection, for his, to keep it professional...

And where had that brought them? Her in the middle of a war, him in the middle of traitors gunning him down, and their profession didn't exist anymore. Not in the way it once had been, and they could never go back that path either.

Maybe she didn't want to. Maybe this here was so much better. Maybe her brains just needed to catch up with what her heart already seemed to know.

But these were too heavy thoughts for a still lazy mind. That was something she should talk over with him. After all, she seemed to remember there was something he wanted to tell her too... If he could actually find the guts a second time, that was. That would be an interesting conversation.

Grinning slightly, Natasha turned her head to press a short kiss to Clint's skin and untangled herself from his arms as carefully as possible. Heavy talk was easier on a full stomach. She got up as quietly as possible and grabbed the nearest of his clothes, an age-softened gray sweater on the floor. Which didn't exactly cover everything, but after she had put a few more pieces of wood in the fire, it was warm enough. And she doubted that Clint would mind.

Her shoulder was giving her a bit of a hard time again but the swelling seemed to have gone back, she found with relief, when she carefully touched it. She downed her antibiotics and another painkiller to have at least one and a half hands ready to use and then started her mission in the pantry.

Not complicated enough to fuck it up but better than her usual half-burned ham and eggs, that was the plan. They could both use some carb-ups, so she brought the small vegetable mix she had brought from her journey for a soup, and the can of mincemeat. Rice and meat, that sounded like something even she could do.

She made the whole thing a mission, preparing every plate, all the cutlery, every spice she would need in the right order on the counter, and made a matching timetable in her head. A good plan was everything. She wouldn't be defeated by a stupid kitchen, no way.

Only she hadn't taken into consideration that an ancient kitchen like this wasn't handled as easily as a S.H.I.E.L.D. cafeteria. The damn water just didn't want to boil and when it did, the damn pan was too small. Maybe she could use it for the rice instead... But how long again until rice was finished? Was it a sacrilege to eat the soup after the main course?

Natasha stared at the mess on the stove and the counter with a few very vivid Russian curses on her lips. Not this time. Still grumbling, she bent down to the dishes cabinet again to search for a bigger pan. There had to be one here, they had lived her for months, for Christ's sake. They hadn't gotten by - only - on sex and fast food back then...

[broken_arrow]

Clint dreamed only of Natasha. No nightmares, no dreamless sleep, but actual good dreams.

He felt her stirring from time to time but didn’t wake, and once in a while he held her closer, burying his face in her hair and trying to surround himself in her.

Somewhere in the middle of his dreams he let out a whine of disapproval, suddenly feeling cold and lost. It wasn’t long after that he awoke to find himself alone. At least this time he didn’t freak out because he knew she would just be out in the other room, probably enjoying the fire, or in the washroom.

Carefully pushing himself up and getting out of bed, he found a pair of pants and a hoodie in one of the piles of clothing on the floor. Now that Natasha was here he should probably straighten the place up a bit. Leaving his clothes lying around everywhere would only be tolerated for so long.

Shuffling quietly out of the room, he saw Natasha at the stove, dressed in just his sweater, and heard the cursing coming from her lips. It was both sweet and amusing that she was trying to cook when they both knew it wasn’t exactly part of her skill set. Holding back his laughter, Clint crept silently forward, only to stop dead when she bent over to start rooting in one of the lower cabinets, the sweater doing nothing to cover her.

“I could get used to this sort of view,” he said with a low whistle. “When you offered to prepare something to eat this wasn’t what I expected, not that I’m complaining...”

[russianchildatprayer]

It was only thanks to her reflexes that Natasha didn't end up knocking herself unconscious when she suddenly heard Clint's voice. The rustling of pans and bowls had drowned his steps out, and she generally tended to be less on alert when they were alone. 10 years and more had been enough to imprint it on her instincts that Clint was no threat of any kind to her.

Well, at least if he didn't creep up to her. She felt her cheeks blush a little but made no move trying to cover herself up. That would seem a little odd after what they had done before...

Instead she straightened back up intentionally slow, with at least a slightly bigger pan in her hand, and threw her hair back over her shoulder to look at him from under her lashes.

"Since we'll be spending the day in bed, what's the use of getting dressed?"

Without even pulling that sweater back down where it belonged she went back to the stove and threw that damn green stuff from one pan to another to try and start this whole thing over.

"I was thinking we should load our batteries before I'll let you have desert, but if you prefer to change order..."

[broken_arrow]

It was only the slightest twitch that gave any indication that she hadn’t heard his approach, and when she looked back over her shoulder at him, a large saucepan in hand, Clint was very glad he hadn’t gotten any closer. Instinct probably would have had her leveling the pan at his head before realising that it was him she was clobbering.

“I musta missed the memo. I can ditch the clothes,” he offered, moving forward now that the threat of concussion had passed. She was clearly teasing now when she didn’t even try to adjust the sweater, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off that perfect ass only partially hidden. Somehow it was even sexier than if she had been completely naked, and he couldn’t help the feeling of possessiveness at seeing her in his clothing. There was just something incredibly alluring about it.

“I dunno, that’s a touch choice,” he said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and burying his face in the back of her neck an nuzzling against her through her hair. “Wouldn’t want you to burn dinner.” Not that he really needed to distract her for that to happen.

[russianchildatprayer]

It was ridiculous, they had just exhausted each other out like five minutes ago. She shouldn't feel a rush of heat just from his breath in her neck or his strong, warm body pressing against her half nude form.

Good thing she was determined to get that diner done before anything else happened, no matter the cost.

"Just don't blame me then if it's not edible", she murmured, more husky than intended.

At least her hands weren't shaking when she opened that can with the meat and got it out in another waiting pan. Wait, wasn't there something she had been supposed to do with that pan before? Her brains tried to remember, but her body was too busy snuggling close to Clint and rubbing against the rough fabric of his clothes. Rice, right... How did you do rice again?

[broken_arrow]

He could feel her responding to him, pressing her body close even as she continued her task. It was like these last months apart had left them starved for each other’s touch and no amount of it would be enough to fully satisfy them.

It was so damn tempting to let his hands wander; with the sweater riding up there was nothing stopping him from seeking that most treasured prize, but Natasha’s words brought him back to reality and he chuckled against her neck.

“Oh no, you’re not gonna use me as an excuse if this goes bad,” he said. Skimming his hands down to her hips, it took all of his willpower to grasp the hem of the sweater and pull it down to further cover her rather than ridding her of it completely. That task complete he reluctantly stepped back so she had freedom to move again. “You wanna blame me you’re gonna have to give me something to do that I can screw up first.”

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha pouted a little when he saw her plan through that easily and at the sudden loss of touch and tried hard to concentrate on that receipt in her head again. It didn't work, her mind was focused rather on the look of Clint's arms around her waist just a second ago, the muscles playing there, and his strong thighs moving against hers...

With a frustrated sigh, she blew a strand of hair out of her face and raised her hands in mock-defeat.

"Alright, how about you give the orders and I'll execute?"

[broken_arrow]

Chuckling again at that little pout, Clint wanted nothing more than to nibble that lower lip but somehow managed to restrain himself. They would end up eating something cold out of a can if they kept that up.

Still, he couldn’t help but find Natasha’s frustration adorable. Always good to know he wasn’t the only one that was having a hard time focusing and keeping his hands to himself. Her answer was surprising, however, until he thought about it. He figured she would give him some tedious task to do that he could easily screw up, not ask him to oversee the whole thing, but if he was actually working he would be on his feet, and he saw through her request almost instantly. If he was just giving orders he could do so sitting down so as not to aggravate his injury.

“Alright, what do we got here,” he said, surveying what she had laid out. “Rice, meat... did you have particular plans for this or you want me to make something up?”

[russianchildatprayer]

"I just figured, these two kind of goes together."

Natasha wrinkled her nose thoughtfully and looked down on her ingredients without much motivation.

"I don't know, like throwing them in a pan and eat whatever comes out of it? I'm open for suggestions."

[broken_arrow]

Clint chuckled at her reply. "Okay, we can work with that. First thing, gotta get that water boiling if you wanna cook the rice," he said, poking around at what else she laid out while he made plans in his head of what they could cobble together out of all of it.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Been planning to, just might take a while."

Natasha filled the second pan with water and placed it on the second, at least half-warm hotplate, while she watched the other with lasting suspicion in her eyes.

"This was supposed to become a vegetable soup. But this looks more miserable than Steve after they pulled him out of the ice."

[broken_arrow]

Being off the grid did present some difficulties but they had made it through before and would do so again. Just meant they had to be a little more patient and creative.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Clint chuckled, though he was nothing of the sort. Nothing looked particularly appetizing at this point. “And hey, even if it’s not it still won’t be the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”

Okay, so that sounded better in his head.

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha pouted at Clint's all but charming remarks. The problem was, he was right. This did either look nor smell really delicious.

"It's just the kitchen. I've done this a hundred times in my own in New York", she claimed, stirring the pile of vegetables in the pan without much enthusiasm.

Wasn't something supposed to be in the water by now? Some spice or something? Why was this all so complicated? She had no problem surviving on something she had hunted in the wilderness or living off can food for months. But as soon as she was supposed to get something on a plate, it turned out catastrophic.

"I'm sorry."

She sighed and sat down on the counter in surrender.

"You don't have to eat it, really. I just wanted to try and do something nice."

[broken_arrow]

Seeing Natasha look so defeated was both sad and adorable. He hated to see her get herself down about anything, and it was especially bothersome since it rarely happened, but the fact that she had been doing this for him, that she had been trying so hard and was upset and disappointed because she had wanted to do something nice for him... he couldn’t help but smile adoringly at her.

“Hey, the fact that you tried means a lot,” he said, rubbing her knee soothingly. Leaning into her where she sat, he nuzzled against her shoulder. “And we’re not beat yet. We can still save this. We made this stove work before, and we can do it again.”

[russianchildatprayer]

With someone like Clint around to make you smile and laugh, frustration didn't have much room. Chuckling softly, Natasha wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled her cheek against the mess that was his hair.

"Rescue mission diner started then, huh?", she sighed. "Can't be harder than freeing that scientist out of a North Korean prison. Just don't walk around too much, okay? You still need to take it easy."

[broken_arrow]

Clint smiled when she laughed and cuddled a little closer to her when she wrapped her arms around him. If he could stay like this, with her, forever, he thought he could be happy. Even as little as she was really wearing, right now he was happy to just be close to her, to feel her arms around him and her heartbeat against his.

Right, food.

Of course she hadn’t forgotten his injury, but at least she wasn’t banishing him to the table while she did all the work. “How about I just stand right here by the stove and you can do all the walking, yeah? I can just stir things and look good.”

[russianchildatprayer]

"Well, that shouldn't be too hard for you. The second part, I mean."

With a remark like this, of course Natasha had to tease him back. And she was in a much too tempting position to not lower her hand to Clint's ass and give it a nice tight squeeze.

"Just try not to look like you're actually trying and all."

Still chuckling, she gave his ear a little teasing nip next and freed herself from his grasp then before the food would become completely inedible.

"Alright, you're the boss. Tell me what you need."

She pushed the sleeves of his sweater up her arms, still grinning and giving little care how high it was still riding on her hips, revealing pretty much everything. She doubted that Clint would mind.

[broken_arrow]

Clint grinned at her response, though he couldn’t exactly hide his own body’s response to all her teasing. Later; they would have all the time in the world after dinner to play. Dinner? Lunch? Breakfast? He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, nor did he care.

“To look good? Nah, I never have to try with that,” he said when she pulled away, something he only reluctantly let her do.

Tell her what he needed? Now there was a loaded question, especially with his sweater riding up and leaving nothing to the imagination. Of course the simple answer was her, just her, but they couldn’t live on sex alone, so he took a deep breath and moved out of the way before giving her the first set of orders in their attempt to save this meal.

[russianchildatprayer]

With Clint doing the actual practical part and her just assisting, what she had been preparing for diner actually started to look edible after a while. Natasha admired this ability to make the best, not the only hardly-sufficing out of everything, an ability that Clint had mastered early in his childhood.

She busied herself in reaching him everything he needed and keeping the counters clean and tidy for him to work and setting up the table. And well, from time to time, with wrapping her arms around him from time to time, pressing her body against his, with her lips roaming his neck, to reward him for all his hard work.

"Smells great", she murmured into his ear when he seemed pretty much done with the work and her stomach reminded her that she was actually a little hungry.

[broken_arrow]

Living as he had, Clint had learned to be creative when it came to meals, and as he turned there fare into something edible he found that the actions were actually quite soothing. It kept his mind focused, put his creativity to use, and Natasha’s little rewards didn’t hurt none either.

She was an excellent assistant, of course; following instructions, and taking orders were the norm for their way of life, plus she had the insight to take care of the things he didn’t even ask for, like setting the table. By the time the food was cooked Clint was feeling what he figured people meant when they talked about zen. In that moment, with Natasha pressed against his back and a decent meal about to be served, everything felt right with the world.

“Let’s hope smells aren’t deceiving,” he said, leaning back against her a little as he turned off the burners.