SHIELD BUNKER. LOCATION: CLASSIFIED.
With beady, little eyes trained wide on a two-way mirror, they peered with half-excitement and half-accusation into the 8x10 interrogation room. The walls were three feet thick with cold, hard concrete deep underground. It was the kind of room where highly dangerous entities were dealt with. And in the center of this room, perched pin straight on a chair facing the wall was the only bit of color the bunker possessed. Fiery crimson hair falling in rivulets down a slender spine. Nothing moved. And still, they watched.
"Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on here?" The newest addition to their gathering spoke, jarring everyone's attention from the subject. He scanned the room and found that no one would look him in the eye. Not Coulson. Not the stoic figure of a black-haired woman silently assessing the situation from the shadows. The young scientists, seemingly joined at the brain, had their heads bowed. "Don't everyone talk all at once."
With a labored sigh, Agent Coulson stood up from his place in the middle of the viewing area and closed the distance between himself and Barton. It didn't take him long to find the words he needed. To be quite honest, he found it easy. "Agent Romanoff has been compromised." The same words he had used in the Loki debacle, with only the slightest difference.
"I can see that." Clint could feel his frustration simmering just below the surface as he gestured stiffly toward the room Natasha was being held in. The entire party (save the stoic Asian woman) turned their attention toward his movements, but he remained glaring at each face before him. "Would someone mind explaining it to me?"
Coulson angled himself toward the brain-twins, and Clint's face curled into a grimace. The boy's brow raised, eyes lifting from the floor as he prepared his speech. But before he could so much as exhale, Barton had stopped him. "In English."
The boy's mouth clamped shut immediately, head returning to its bowed state. Just when Clint thought he'd be stuck with some mashed up explanation courtesy of Coulson, the girl spoke up. "Simmons, and this is Fitz", she stated in a flowery soprano, pointing at the silenced boy beside her, and waited until Barton nodded before she continued. "It would appear that during her time in the Red Room, Agent Romanoff was the subject of an incredible series of experiments - not just the brainwashing and intensely brutal physical and emotional manipulation." She prattled off the words in a flurry, her discomfort in having the brooding Hawkeye within reach causing her to stumble over words at breakneck speed though she retained her sunny disposition. "They wanted to make copies of her. She is an exceptional creature; they would have wanted to preserve her for as long as possible. The more of the Black Widow they possessed, the more power they had."
The girl halted, her happy mood suddenly lost as her smile dropped and her words dried up. The entire room erupted in deafening silence. Clint scanned their faces again, and the boy beside Simmons -Fitz- readied himself once more to speak. This time, Clint did not stop him. "Hydra obtained the blood samples and all research documentation. They were able to successfully clone Agent Romanoff."
The room returned to silence, but something else was fermenting in the air. Pure, unadulterated rage boiled in Clint's veins. How could he have let this happen? Why wasn't he aware? What the hell did this mean exactly? With eyes closed, it was so much easier to notice his world was spinning out of control. He clenched his fists as if his hands were gripping the edges of some stationary object in an effort to keep himself in place.
When his eyelids opened, he was surprised not only to find the Asian woman poised to defend the others should he fly off the deep end, but also Coulson staring back at him with something like sympathy on his world-weary face. "What does this mean?"
"It means we might have a real problem here, Hawkeye. She's either Natasha, or she's not. And if she isn't, Hydra has Romanoff."
"How do we know for sure?"
"I've been wondering that myself." Simmons rejoined the discussion, propelling herself forward as if to assert her knowledge. "A clone would have all the same memories as the original subject up to the point the blood and tissue samples were extracted."
"Meaning, whatever memories Natasha has made since then are unique only to her", Fitz chimed in, his attention focused solely on his colleague.
"Exactly. Now, the impostor would easily be able to mimic the original given the ability to research. But recollecting key moments in personal conversations…" She trailed off, her face beaming at Clint without an ounce of uncertainty. "Well, that cannot be imitated."
Through the window into the cell, the group watched as the reinforced door opened. Everything slowed to become almost procedural: Clint entered. The door locked audibly behind him. He angled himself toward the mirror just right for wide eyes to dance crazily with excitement. The moment they had all been waiting for. Do or die. Everything boiled down to this.
"Did Coulson send you?" Natasha Romanoff's sultry timbre filled the room. Aside from her lips, nothing else moved. "Did he place all his money on you to solve the Hydra clone mystery?"
Clint took a step closer, the light of the room illuminating his disheveled, sandy hair. He sighed heavily, a hand rubbing subconsciously over the base of his skull. "I didn't wanna do this, Natasha. I don't wanna question you."
Unrestrained, she turned in her seat to face him. The same Natasha, regardless of what Fitzsimmons said. Same eyes. Same crooked grin. Same smoky voice. "It's okay, Clint. I understand. I would do the same for you."
Agent Barton locked eyes with her and nodded in acceptance of her sign of solidarity. His gaze left hers to scan the small space, and he shifted uncomfortably. There was only one chair in the room; he'd have to stand.
"I should've taken you up on Paris." Her tone, while playful, was laced with her trademark sincerity.
Shit. This was going to be harder than he thought. "I don't suggest these things for the hell of it, Nat. We could be living off baguettes right now."
For a moment, they shared a smile. It was nearly enough for Clint to scream at the members of SHIELD watching from behind the mirror that this was the real Natasha Romanoff, and they needed to call off their dogs and get her to safety before Hydra got their hands on her. It was nearly enough, but not the solid proof they all needed beyond a shadow of a doubt.
He approached her slowly, like a man attempting to trap a wounded animal and usher it to safety. He dropped down in front of her to balance on the balls of his feet while his eyes searched hers. "What did I say to you when SHIELD sent me to kill you?"
She recalled that instant so many years ago. The day the KGB's golden girl dropped off the map. The day Clint Barton saved Natasha Romanoff. She answered simply, "You asked me if I wanted to live."
He nodded, and then continued, "And what did you say to me?"
Her gaze cut into him, deep and meaningful. Every millisecond reminding the both of them that they were two old friends who had each other's backs. They could trust each other. They'd never give up on one another, even when all hope seemed lost. Natasha didn't give up on Clint when Loki brainwashed him, and there was no way Clint was going to give up on Natasha now. Not when Hydra was threatening to destroy everything they both believed in. SHIELD. Each other.
Natasha's small, crooked grin reappeared. "I said yes."
He was supposed to be conducting an interrogation of sorts, but Clint couldn't hide his enthusiasm anymore. His hands reached for her, ten digits gently taking her face into his hands. A smile not often seen tugged the corners of his mouth up and removed countless years from his visage. He slowly rose until his face was level with hers, blue eyes dancing over her breathtaking green. He pressed his lips against hers softly at first, but their intensity grew as she reciprocated with her own hungry response.
"Natasha." Her name was a whisper, a sacred prayer on an unworthy tongue uttered blissfully once their lips broke apart. He felt her trailing gentle kisses over his jawline. He pulled her into his arms, knees straightening to bring them both to their full height. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered the SHIELD agents watching their every move. He couldn't be bothered to put an end to their emotional embrace, though he did shift their bodies until he stood between the agents and Natasha.
And from the other room amid smiles and congratulatory slaps on the back, Coulson and company watched Natasha's face over Clint's shoulder. They watched as her moment of happiness turned to confusion, and they followed suit. Natasha's brow furrowed, eyes wide and lips parted. Coulson, Fitzsimmons and May approached the glass. Barton shifted just right for the group to notice the blade shoved to the hilt into her abdominal aorta where a deep crimson stain already saturated Romanoff's black uniform.
Her knees buckled, but Clint caught her and slowly lowered her to the ground as if she were still precious and sacred and fragile and wanted. He held her in his arms while the blood poured out of her with every beat of her heart as if she was the woman Clint Barton loved. As if it was her skin. Her eyes. Her voice. He gently rocked her broken body as his bloodied hands streaked her ivory skin.
It took Coulson a moment to realize what he'd just witnessed. He stared dumbfounded as Natasha's lips moved. She was mouthing something; SHIELD could see it, but only Barton could hear it. Perhaps it was the realization that this was something else he wasn't cleared to know, but his legs forced him away from the window and out of the room. He swiped his clearance card frantically to open the door to the interrogation room as he yelled at May to call for a medic.
Upon entering the room, however, he found he couldn't move. Natasha had stopped breathing in Clint's arms. This was a scene Coulson shouldn't be a part of. This was a point in time that he shouldn't disturb.
But he didn't have to. Like Natasha before him, Clint spoke to the newcomer with his back still turned. "She told me she didn't know." His voice was hard. The man was stone, now, as he stared down at Natasha's face. She looked like she could be sleeping. "When I asked Nat if she wanted to live, she told me she didn't know."
He gingerly removed himself from the crumpled heap on the floor. One final look, and he tore himself away from the scene he'd been a part of only seconds before. He reverted to his cocky Agent status, spine straightening as he wiped the blood from his hands. It was almost as if nothing had happened. "She said we couldn't save them. Then she started spitting out 'Hail Hydra' until her heart stopped." Clint stepped aside as the medical team assessed the damage. He followed Coulson out of the interrogation room. "I took care of one of our problems, Coulson. Now, we gotta infiltrate Hydra and get Romanoff out."