"Why can't things be like they were in Budapest, Tasha?" Clint's eyes drilled into hers searchingly.
Budapest
They had been partnered on missions for six months. They were on a mission to take down a huge terrorist group centralized in Budapest. They rented adjoining hotel rooms for the night. They had arrived very late, so they crashed and were asleep in a matter of seconds.
Natasha woke up screaming. Her vision was red. She jolted upright, raking her fingers furiously through her hair. She shakily got to her feet and made her way out to the balcony for some fresh air. She ran directly into Clint.
"What are you doing out here, Barton?!" She demanded, crossing her arms defensively.
"Couldn't sleep."
"And why were you coming into my room?"
"I heard you screaming and figured I'd come check on you. You all right?"
"Yeah," she stated curtly and turned to leave.
"No, you're not." He grabbed her arm and turned her around.
"Drop it, Barton." She sounded deadly.
He kept going. "Natasha, please."
"I had a nightmare. You happy now?!" She snapped at him. She refused to turn around or look him in the eyes, acting like a hunted animal.
"You want to talk about it?"
She turned her back to him and spoke quietly, "I've killed so many people, Clint. More than I can count. I have so much blood on my hands, Clint. I can't get it off."
She finally turned towards him, keeping her arms crossed tightly over her chest for defense. Her emerald eyes pleaded with him desperately in the night. They begged for freedom, for forgiveness.
His hand found hers and he squeezed comfortingly.
"I'm sorry, Tasha."
She decided to let the nickname slide, just this once. He wiped a single solitary tear from her face. She never cried. He had never seen her this upset before, not to the point where she would openly show her emotions.
"Maybe you should take some sleeping pills or something," he suggested.
"I've tried those. Nothing helps. At this point, it's easier to just stay awake."
He rubbed circles on her back soothingly. "Maybe I could try to help?"
He leaned down, closing the space between them so he could kiss her. His fingers played gently with her hair as her hands clasped at the back of his neck. She pulled away and finally made eye contact. She looked a little less like a cornered animal now.
"I trust you."
He carefully took her hand and led her back to her room. She cautiously climbed back into bed and he drew up a chair next to her.
He brushed her hair out of her face and began to sing an old Russian lullaby he'd picked up from listening to her sing herself to sleep at night: "Иди спать, мой дорогой. Отдых голову мне на плечо и быть в безопасности. Спи, моя красивая один. Я останусь рядом с тобой." Literally, it meant, "Go to sleep, my darling. Rest your head against my shoulder and be safe. Sleep, my beautiful one. I will stay beside you."
Clint had a surprisingly nice voice, she noticed.
"That's my favorite lullaby. My mother used to sing me to sleep with it every night," she mumbled groggily.
"Go to sleep, Tasha. You're safe."
Her breathing slowed. He kissed her forehead tenderly and left the room, not seeing the smile that graced her face.
The next morning, they had some down time, so they set out to "scope out their surroundings", as Clint put it. The city was beautiful and snowy at this time of year. The buildings towered majestically over them. They explored the museums and strolled through the parks hand in hand "to maintain a tangible cover story" as Natasha put it, although they both knew that wasn't true. They both secretly enjoyed the feeling of their hands intertwined. On their way back to the hotel to prepare for the day's objective, Clint steered Natasha towards a store.
"Why are we in a jewelry store, Barton?" She interrogated him.
"I had something special made for you," he stated, casually strolling up to the counter and stating his name. The manager handed him a tiny box. He cracked it open and grinned.
"Turn around."
"No way, Barton. That never ends well in my line of work."
"Please. You trust me, right?"
She grumbled something that sounded like "fine".
His fingers lightly ghosted the back of her neck as he clasped the chain around her neck. She shivered.
"Are you cold?"
"Of course not. I'm Russian. I just...this is the first time I can remember someone doing something this nice for me, that's all."
She fingered the dainty necklace, admiring the way it caught the light.
"An arrow?"
"'Cuz I'm Hawkeye."
She rolled her eyes. "You're an idiot."
"It's kind of a thank you for letting me in. And to remind you that emotions aren't always a weakness, Tasha." He grinned.
"Thank you, Clint."
She hugged him tightly. He kissed her cheek as they strolled nonchalantly back to the hotel hand in hand.
They collapsed into chairs on the porch in the early hours of the morning battered and bruised from the final stage of their mission. She rested her head on his shoulder as they quietly watched the sun rise. He wrapped his arm around her and held her close.
His fingers brushed her shoulder and she winced involuntarily.
"Tasha?"
"It's nothing."
"Did something happen you're not telling me about?"
"Drop it, Barton."
He ignored her. He gently pushed the fabric off of her shoulder and took in the sight of a pretty nasty wound. He silently went inside and grabbed the first aid kit they always carried. Clint bandaged her shoulder in absolute silence.
He spoke quietly. "Why didn't you tell me, Nat?"
"Didn't want you to worry..." She mumbled.
"I don't mind worrying about you." He tucked her hair behind her ear.
A watery smile crossed her face.
"I... I need to tell you something. About my past, Clint."
"Okay."
"When I was six, I was taken by the Red Room. I don't know what happened to my parents. I was brainwashed and trained to be the most ruthless assassin on the planet. The awful thing is that I can't remember who I was before. And I don't even know who I am now." She burst out sobbing, something he never thought he would ever witness.
He took her into his muscular arms and held her close.
"I know who you are. You're Natasha Romanoff."
"That's just a name, Clint. It doesn't mean anything." She hung her head.
"Maybe not to you, but to me, that name means everything."
She shakily let him wipe her tears with his sleeve.
"Thank you."
He kissed her forehead and they both finally went to bed. For the first time in a very long time, they both slept soundly.
"Because I had feelings in Budapest, Clint, and I can't have feelings. It's too dangerous, especially in our line of work." She fiddled with her necklace and refused to look at him.
"Please, Nat. We can't just pretend our feelings don't exist. Emotions aren't a weakness, remember?"
She nodded.
"Remember the necklace, Tasha."
Then he left.