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 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.”

[russianchildatprayer]

Suddenly Clint was a lot closer than before, touching her the way she had wanted - needed - it for so long now... And Natasha allowed her brain to be overwritten by exactly that yearning, without a second thought. They had always overthought everything, for years, for a whole lot of reasons and none of them mattered anymore. Most of them didn't exist anymore in a very real sense of the word. About the rest she couldn't care less.

Before she knew, her lips were seeking his, a sound more of a desperate whimper than a sigh on then. Her good hand tightened its grip around her leg as if to hold him close, but there was nothing passionate or wild about that kiss. Only her seeking the touch of his soft, full lips against hers, and the soft trembling of her lower lip when she really realized what she was doing and nervously waited for him to pull back.

[broken_arrow]

Clint was more surprised that he wasn’t surprised when he felt the brush of her soft lips against his, but it still took him a moment to respond. That sound she made in the back of her throat, the way her lip trembled against his; it spoke more of need than desire, but he didn’t care because he needed her too. Besides, he knew it was more than that, that it was because it was him. She didn’t need to wear that necklace, especially not for all the world to see, but she had anyway, because of him.

Tightening his hand just a little on her neck he kissed her back, drawing that trembling lower lip in between his. He tried to keep it soft, gentle, not wanting to cause her any further pain, but it felt so damn good. He hadn’t felt anything this good in months.

[russianchildatprayer]

It was just like when she had arrived here earlier, when Clint's arms around her had sprung loose all that tension inside of her. But this time there were no tears, or only a few small silent one, when he finally answered instead of pushing her away. These tears were of that one kind that didn't hurt.

Pulling her lip free from his teeth with a little chuckle, she bumped her nose against his and placed another tender kiss on his chin, then the corner of his mouth, before she went back to exploring his lips, with much more confidence this time.

Natasha let go off Clint's leg, the necklace still safe in the palm of her hand, to wrap her arm around his waist, get him to move closer to her. Her shirt was still riding low on her chest after his treatment of her shoulder and the coldness that had settled so deep inside after Washington, didn't want to leave. She needed him to warm her, to show her, not everything was lost, at least not between them. She wanted to wrap herself around him and never let go.

Somewhere in the back of her head she remembered though, she wasn't the only one with health issues, so she held back, barely. Her hand slipped back to his hip and shortly tugged on the waistband of his pants.

"Come on, hotshot, let's get your leg patched up so we can go to bed."

Her smile was soft, gentle, still very tired and maybe bared just a little longing. Falling asleep in his arms sounded like the best thing in the world right now.

[broken_arrow]

After so long away from her this felt like a dream. He felt that throaty chuckle of her reverberate right through his heart, and was grateful when she brought her lips back to his, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in her kiss as if he needed her to breathe.

When she pulled him closer he obeyed instantly, molding his body to hers as best he could in their current position. He wanted to surround her, invade her, never let her go. He wanted to forget all the time that had passed, all the space that had kept them apart, and how their lives had changed in the blink of an eye. He wanted to forget it all, because right now none of it mattered; right now all that mattered was her, was them, was this moment.

And then it was broken.

With Natasha tugging at his pants and talking about going to bed, Clint’s mind went a whole different direction than she intended.

“If you wanna get my pants off you only gotta ask,” he said, leaning back enough to grin at her. It all caught up to him then: that tired smile in her eyes, her wound cleaned but undressed. Unfortunately now wasn’t the time to take this further. “Just let me wrap yours up first,” he said, scratching at his beard with one hand and trying to get his breathing back under control.

[russianchildatprayer]

Clint's answer was so wonderfully predictable, Natasha didn't even bother to roll her eyes at him. Predictable was good right now. Nice. Familiar. In this situation she'd take all the familiarity she could get.

And well, that certain train of thought had sneaked into her own mind too, after all. It was more due to a rest of insecurity of how things were between them after everything, than to her injury that she hadn't followed it through. Clint's cocky grin nearly made her forget about that reservation at once.

They were good. At least the two of them... They would stick together through this whole mess, like they always had. And maybe even a little closer than before with certain boundaries no longer existent.

But that wasn't stuff Natasha wanted to think about right now. They were both too tired and roughed up for thinking about the future right now. Clint's reminder brought back that faint throbbing down her left arm immediately, so she just nodded and scooted back a little on the couch to make it easier for him getting that bandage done.

"So... Want to tell me all the scratches I have to check or do I need to look for myself? Don't get me wrong, I love peeling your clothes off, but..."

She raised her eyebrow at him with half a grin, letting him know, she wasn't averse to that idea of his at all. As soon as she didn't need to be afraid to hurt him anymore, that was.

[broken_arrow]

When Natasha slid back to give him more room, Clint retrieved a length of bandage and a pad from the kit and set about wrapping her wound, careful to make it secure but not too tight.

Glancing over at her when she spoke, one corner of his lips curled up at her words. It was a joke, of course, but it was also a promise and a reassurance. She hadn’t stopped earlier because she didn’t want him, she had stopped because sometimes they had to be practical. This wasn’t like after one of their missions together where they gave each other a rundown of all of their wounds and assessed whether they needed immediate attention or if they could wait. Neither of them really knew what the other had been through the past few weeks, how many wounds they were sporting nor how serious they were and if they’d been properly cared for. Right now that had to come first, but that didn’t mean everything else was completely off the table.

“You’re not making a very good case for me telling you,” he said, securing the bandage and sitting back. If those were his choices he would much rather let her look him over herself.

[russianchildatprayer]

"You asked for it."

Shaking her head a little, Natasha toed the light sneakers off her feet and got up on the sofa to sit on the back rest, with her legs on either side of Clint's upper body. A little playfulness couldn't hurt. It took the weight off the unloved job of tending to your partner's wounds. Especially knowing where they came from.

The perfectly wrapped bandage stabilized her shoulder much better than before, now she could at least move right again. It still wasn't really comfortable, but the perspective of being close, of finally being able to touch her partner again, find comfort in his closeness, overshadowed the remaining pain.

Still she moved slowly when she pulled his shirt up and over his head, mostly because she remembered him flinching a few times when he had been in her arms before. The bandage she found on his side was clean of fresh blood but old, the skin around the edges red and sensitive, and she had an idea, his leg wouldn't look much better.

"You should be on antibiotics. I have another package in the car. Think about it."

With a quiet sigh, she let her eyes wander over his upper body and arms, only to find a couple of more proofs of what he had been through. Only grazes, fortunately, but still they had her shiver, freeze again. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders for a moment, silently, placed a short, soft kiss on his shoulder, close to one of these wounds, letting him know, she knew, she understood.

She hadn't been there and even if she had, there wouldn't have been anything she could have done. Still it hurt, and the thought wouldn't let go of how many of their workmates had suffered the same fate. How many of them might not have made it out alive.

She pushed that thought away, again, violently, simply because she couldn't deal with any more crying tonight. At least for a few hours she just wanted to enjoy that she was reunited with her partner and care for the one person she could help at least. The most important person in her life, the one thing they couldn't have taken from her.

Her eyes were dry again when she reached for the very same first aid kit that Clint had used and carefully removed the bandage from that one deepest wound. It didn't require as much antiseptic as her own had and she had some supply in the car, but they'd have to make a trip to the city soon anyway. If they were to stay here and that was another thing she didn't want to think about right now.

When that first wound was taken care of, she hugged him from behind again, a little tighter this time, and let her hands wander over his skin again, slowly, carefully, searching for more tender spots that needed treatment or maybe just a little carefulness in the next days. God, how she had missed the feeling of his skin, the way he shivered when her fingertips grazed his sides. The faint, well-known smell that was all him and danger, wood, weapons.

His beard scratched her cheek and made her chuckle when she leaned in for another kiss on his neck. Another thing she would take care of, tomorrow maybe, at least cut that thing in a decent form. And she would definitely not think about how it would feel on the insides of her thighs right now.

"Little help here?"

She tugged on his pants again when her hands reached his hips and straightened up, giving him room to move.

[broken_arrow]

He had been partially just playing with her and if she had told him to just give her the details he would have, but when she moved to sit up behind him he didn’t stop her.

He helped her remove his shirt so she wouldn’t strain her shoulder, and leaned forward slightly so she could survey his back. His back was pretty clean, but of course her eyes zeroed in immediately on the bandage on his side. “Maybe,” he partially conceded. He had avoided painkillers and antibiotics so far, not wanting to risk taking anything that might alter his faculties. When he had been on his own he needed to be alert, but maybe now that Natasha was here he could let himself go a little and trust her to have his back as she always did.

Running one hand along her arm, he sagged back into the embrace a little, jut enjoying the feel of her comfort and warmth around him. He hoped she understood that he didn’t blame her for any of it, and that he didn’t want her blaming herself, but he didn’t say it, not now. Just as she had known what it was like to have her mind fucked with back when he’d needed someone who understood, he knew what it was to have guilt threaten to consume you, and just like she had helped him he would be there for her too.

Turning a little to the side so she could get a better angle, he stayed silent while she went through the same procedure as he had, cleaning and covering his wound. When she was done he fell back into her embrace once more, closing his eyes and relishing in the feel of her arms holding him tight. God he had missed her, missed feeling this kind of closeness that he never felt with anyone else. At times he shivered, at others he leaned a little more into her, and when she chuckled he smiled and turned his head enough to look back at her. In this moment he didn’t care about whatever their future held. Right now he just wanted to stay here with her, just the two of them, and reeducate himself about everything that was Natasha.

“You might have to come down from your perch,” he said as he unfastened his pants. Pressing his shoulders against the back of the sofa, though careful not to disturb her, he pulled the jeans down over his hips and thighs, being very careful as he moved the material over the bullet wound. Leaving the pants pooled around his calves, he leaned back again and looked up at her. “Didn’t go through. Had to dig it out. Left it a little tender,” he admitted.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Hm-hm, and here I was just getting used to it."

Natasha left another tender kiss on his neck and scooted off the sofa as gracefully as possible then, making sure, Clint got a good nice look on her backside in the process. She thought to remember he had a certain liking for her ass... And a little more teasing would lighten the ongoing heaviness of the situation.

"These have to go, hotshot."

She made quick work of what was left of his jeans on his body before she sat back down next to him and lifted his leg over hers, as carefully as possible. She wouldn't really have needed his explanation, the aggressive swollen flesh around that one bandage spoke a clear language. This time the shivers on her arms were clearly visible and she had to stop for a moment to blink away new tears, before she started to unwrap the bandage.

It had been so much easier, calculating possible losses and dangers for fellow agents back in the hasty blood red daze of Washington. Every decision would have brought pain and fatal consequences, Steve, Nick and her had been fully aware of that. She had thought to be okay with it in the end. Regimes falling apart weren't exactly new to her.

But out here, weeks later, with too much time to think between on her hands and faced with that very pain, of her long year partner of all people, regret and the destruction of hundreds, maybe thousands of lives, weighed so much heavier on her shoulders.

She made quick, sterile work of her treatment, knowing her hands would only start trembling, making it even worse, if she let herself listen to the noises from Clint's lips or look at his face. But when that ugly wound was finally free of dried pus and small remaining uncleanness and sealed under another layer of bandage, her composure crumbled.

She leaned her head back against the sofa, with tightly shut eyes, holding back the threatening new wave of anger, remorse and helplessness. Her hands remained on Clint's leg, restlessly caressing over the warmth of his skin, over other, older rough spots of scars she remembered, proofs of his life in the field and how often he had made it out of there alive. He was with her now too, he had made it out of there, he was back with her... She just had to hold on to this, somehow.

But the picture of whatever had happened to him, whoever had unloaded a whole magazine on him instead of watching his back, without a warning of any kind, wouldn't want to go away.

"I'm sorry..."

[broken_arrow]

Left in only his underwear and socks, Clint was starting to think he should have thrown another log on the fire before settling down to this familiar task of patching each other up. He noticed that Natasha was shivering as well, but one look at her face told him it wasn’t from the cold. Maybe he should have left the details out, but she would know anyway, and honesty was something that had always been important between them.

He gritted his teeth against the pain as she cleaned the wound, but it wasn’t too bad. She was as quick and efficient as always, and gentle besides that, but only when the wound was properly covered again did Clint really let himself breathe. Where he was relieved, though, Natasha was anything but. It had been easier to hold off her thoughts with another task to focus on, but now that it was finished everything caught up to her again.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” he said. His leg was still draped across her lap, but he pushed himself up to sit straighter beside her, facing her. “If you hadn’t done what you did millions of lives would have been lost and the other agents still probably would have turned on top of that.”

He would have disagreed with what had happened, and his team still would have tried to take him out whether Natasha had outed them all or not.