I want to thank the 500+ people who read and those who reviewed my previous story, 5AM. I was so surprised to come home from a road trip to see the story had gotten read so much- I was used to fanfictions being popular if a chapter got 75 views! What a difference three years makes. Y'all are a great community, you really are.
"5AM" will be continued due to requests to rewrite the same morning through my-version-of-Natasha's point of view. Until then, I hope this will hold you over. :)
What is this? Well, my good Hawaiian friend (who will probably inspire many stories the way she talks) and I have mused over how realistic the idea a Blackeye/Blackhawk/Clintasha child was. Personally, I can't see there being any sort of joy around the situation at all- not for 'tasha. This is not your normal "Clintasha child" oneshot with loving words and eventually a baby; no, not at all. Y'all have been warned.
This one may be continued if I get any ideas in the same little "universe," but I have no immediate plans. I'm just writing as the ideas come along. It's great to relieve stress!
" Two Evils "
Weeks and months and years were odd creatures. Just as it could be hard to spot the growth of an animal until he/she wasn't seen regularly, it was hard to recall just how long it had been since he had seen certain people until they shocked him with a sudden return. The days went by on the calendar, the months name changed on the cell phone, the hand prepared to write a new number at the end of the four digit year. The mind stored photos of comrades and enemies alike, photos that were updated - like online databases - with every ensuing encouter.
Like a shocked blogger looking at a sudden update to a movie star who had kept secret about roles, he was surprised to see a familiar face walking back through his door. Quite surprised to see her face above all others. Well, he supposed it would be silly to think she would fear him and thus avoid him- momentarially, yes, while her ankle was trapped in piping and he losing his control- but long term? No. Like a police or army dog, this woman learned to fear nothing, could be trained to ignore what had once been used against her. Should the same stunt happen again no doubt she would have shot him through the skull before the other guy ever came out. The dog metaphor was so glaringly accurate that it fightened him, made him wonder just what she was before...
It had taken a moment to recognize her, with her hair grown past her shoulders and flattened down. (It had been barely hiding her ears back in the day... Just how much time has passed?) The red color (really, the color red was a good one, it suited her, though the line unsettled her- no doubt, something of Loki's doing. Or, perhaps he thought too deeply into that and it was part of her history that he wanted to know nothing about.) and the sound of her voice, however, had made it clear; this was, indeed, the same person and she was as strong as ever.
"How's about we forget this false name on a form made by an agent," -made by an agent no where near Coulson's skill. Smiling despite the memory of the fallen comrade, his voice was its usual soft volume and octave with the disarming charm that he doubted had any affect on her, if she noticed it at all. The paperwork was placed down on his personal desk and turned down so the false name accompanied by the real face could be ignored. "...and I speak to you normally."
"So be it."
How he wanted to laugh warmly at the thoughts he was having; to laugh, yes, for they were out of place. So many cases he had worked on before as a doctor, a medic, as the person who could help. Reactions of all sorts were ingrained in his memory even if the faces of patients themselves had long faded away. Depending on the diagnosis and the patient's situation the way they took the news, whatever it may be, could be vastly different. Sometimes there was joy and other times anguish. Stronger souls had the light of determination and the will in their eyes while weaker ones pleaded for a liquid or pill-shaped cure. The more well off the country, the more the latter occured. Huh, odd, that the citizens would be so spoiled by technology that they lost faith in their bodies. (Perhaps that was what made those with shadowed pasts so resilient; they knew they could trust themselves to make it through.)
Shaking away those meandering thoughts, Banner tapped the papers on his desk to flatten them. No longer was he essentially on the edge of the Earth, though he longed to help those he knew needed it. He remained in Manhattan, in a private office that didn't technically exist on any records (save for Stark's and SHIELD's). Along with various research the eccentric Iron Man conducted, there were diseases in the area believed to have been caused by the foreign (alien) matter that had taken so long to clean up; easily cured but his own expertise was needed. Up close. Not his usual forte but he consented. Not to SHIELD but to the smiling patients.
Well... all but one smiled at him.
Her face wasn't even in his direction; she stood by the spacious windows (which did wonders in making the room feel far larger than it already was) with her back to the wall, her eyes on the city, her arms crossed over her chest, her clothing the business attire seen in the false papers. By all means, it appeared as if it was her preparing for an interrogation and he was the target.
Best to get this over with.
"...I have to deny the request for treatment."
"What." The speed at which she moved, even the smallest of motions, still stunned him. In a flash, her head was turned and those vivid blue eyes threatened to bore holes into his body. Those eyes. As perfect as her exterior was, those eyes were the ones of a spooked horse, powerful and ready to strike and run wild. If she were a horse he would approach with a that soothing voice, a gentle offered hand and a few clicks of his tongue. He was no fool. To approach her was to court death.
However, the two of them knew who would win in a fight, who had almost won the time before... There was nothing for him to worry about. (So why was he nervous?)
If he removed the bias and viewed her through the same lens which he examined patients, he understood her plight. His movement was naturally slow; jerky motions did little to keep down adrenaline he didn't need. With a soft hand he removed his glasses, holding them by the bridge while he brought the other hand up to brush back a few stray strands of hair.
Oh, where to begin... This was why doctors should never be take cases involving friends or family. There was too great a risk, whether the outcome was consult of surgery. Bias and familiarity, it didn't nothing but hinder. "Miss Romanoff, I may not be able to read people the way you do but I am pretty smart." To say the least, while he spoke with that calm, hypnotising tone he had perfected. Each word was carefully ennunciated. "Given what I know about you and what I have seen, it is not hard to form a mental picture of the situation. I'm not sure if it is trust, Miss Romanoff, or history that you work on but there is only one person who could fit either bill." She did not interrupt; he continued under the assumption he was correct. "Going on that notion, I must assume... and I must deny."
"Explain yourself." The woman said smoothly, as if they were talking about the weather. Banner would have preferred a snarl, a growl; it would have better suited the words.
"Those papers are possibly for your next assignment; who can track a woman who doesn't exist? You've come to me for secrecy. You've all the money in your world, Natasha, and could easily find someone else to give you what you want. Going to someone other than myself means one of two things- public records alerting those keeping tabs on you or the false identity being found out. There would be no winning for you. I, on the other hand, could perform and then forget this ever happened. You would need to give me no money, you feel as if you have a debt."
"Still not an explanation."
Gingerly, he put his spectacles back on but kept his eyes closed. Never look an angry horse in the eye. "While it is only you standing in my office, two of my friends are now involved." At once, his hands rose in a defensive gesture. "You prefer the term ally, I am well aware, but allow me this once.
"Either way I go, there is a friend I will have turned my back on. Now I must consider the mental faculties of both friends- both strong and capable people, humans who fought as hard as the super human. However, you are far stronger. If one breaks a methaphorical pane of glass in the maze of your mind, you fix it before they get through, essentially cutting the intrusion in half, killing it like we did the Chutari. There is a softer heart in my other friend, one not as isolated. While an assassin, and psychiatry could have a field day with examining his preference for the more primal bow over the more efficient gun, there is a propensity for him to rid the area or find an area low on civilians, innocents. Not that you seek out collateral damage, Miss Romanoff, but we all recall seeing him fighting to unload that bus during the start of the attack."
The second hand of the clock on the wall seemed to be in sync with his heart, a steady thrum, regular, calm... he commended himself for being so controlled under that murderous (yet strikingly lovely) gaze. You can't win, that was the only reason why he hadn't been grabbed, pinned, convinced or forced. The other guy recalled the fight with her- and would probably want to show how he could get the upper hand. (Though, he could see how so many other men and even perhaps some women had lost to that gaze.)
"I have two choices here, Miss Romanoff." The professional in him switched titles in hopes of making the decision easier. It wasn't Natasha he was dealing with, it was one of the thousands of Romanoffs (Romanov, Romanova...) that were alive at that moment. Just ignore those eyes... "The aftershocks of what I would have to do... I am sorry, I cannot accept. Not that you do not matter. You will make it through this day with your walls intact but I cannot put him through that hell of knowing what you had asked to take away- a child, my friend, a child. Eventually he would learn, Miss Romanoff, they all do. If I didn't personally who the father was... if it was an assignment mistake, protection mishap..."
Chuckling in a way that he wasn't sure was stressed or saddened and giving a smile of the same confused emotion, Banner picked up his head and was able to look her right in those dangerous eyes. "This is probably the first time in your life that you've heard this, Natasha, but the lesser of two evils is you."
There was absolute anger in the way the door to his nonexistant office was slammed shut. Her stride was calm, the shoes athletic and silent, but the sound- she might as well have brought out her gun and fired.