Just a one shot. Natasha went on a mission and hasn't returned. It's been six months. Clint remembers.
I remember the way you used to smile in that smile you never showed. That little sparkle in your eyes that never quite reached your lips cos' you didn't dare let anyone see you really smile. You feared that show of emotion would make you vulnerable but for some reason, you trusted me to see everything you really were.
Clint woke up. The room was dark, and cold and once more, deserted. It had been six months. Six long, ridiculously long months with no word. Not even a note to say she was okay.
He sighed and sat up, sleep eluding him now that his mind was on her. it always had been recently, well since their comms dropped and S.H.I.E.L.D had lost contact with Natasha Romanoff. She had been sent away to India on a simple mission originally, to be completed in two days. Two days became two weeks which then became two months.
Stepping out onto the balcony he looked around at New York City. The city that never sleeps and right now the traffic was still moving, the lights still shining and the distant rumble of a plane in the night sky could be heard. Clint found it weird that the whole world could continue when his was slowly and steadily crumbling around him.
That morning Clint had been to Fury's office. He had shouted for anything, anything, any little scrap of information that might even remotely suggest where Natasha could be. He didn't even need to know that. He just needed to know she was alive.
I remember the way you would bottle up anything that hurt the minute you saw I was in pain. No matter how severe your own injuries you always put my needs first and you know that I hated you for it. I hated that it was you looking after me rather than the other way round. But every time I tried you told me I should be first.
Clint stepped into the shower, the hot water pounding on his muscles, washing away the blood and the dirt from a mission gone wrong. It was his first time on a proper mission for a while, in Turkey when he had been outnumbered. He fought, and damn he won but the entire time a niggling voice at the back of his mind hoped and prayed that Natasha would appear. He didn't even care if she turned up and ended up beating the shit out of him as well, he just wanted to see her again.
After washing for as long as he could, and flooding his mind with ridiculous theories he climbed out, towelled off and dressed in sweats. Heading to the gym he spent another night not sleeping. Instead he pounded his fists against the punch bag. Over and over again in the hope that it would cause some sort of pain.
He couldn't feel pain anymore. His knuckles were bleeding and grazed from not wearing any protection and his eyes stung with emotions but he wouldn't let them spill. Couldn't.
His muscles ached, his head was thumping and he needed sleep but his mind wouldn't switch off, reeling over the same memory tape of Natasha.
I remember how long it took for you to trust me. It was before Budapest when we first had sex, nobody believes us but it was. The mission was long, the night was hot and we were both exhausted and everything just sort of…happened. I still couldn't tell you who started it but all I do know is I'm glad we did. Then after you got up and showered and disappeared into your own bed for the night.
We kept this up, for weeks and for months until one day, Budapest, we had sex, and then you stayed in the bed. You curled into my side and fell asleep and I woke up and you were still there with my arm draped over you. You woke up, but you didn't care.
You never cared after that. Not with me. I appreciated that. I always will.
Six months. It was another sleepless night, they had become routine now. Getting out of bed he decided to try something he hadn't tried since she had been gone. Padding down the corridor he stopped outside her bedroom, pushing the door open and slipping inside. Everything was just as they had left it, over the time they had been officially together her bedroom had been one they shared most often. Pulling back the bed covers he slipped in against the sheets and nestled his head against the pillow. If he had been a crying man he'd have sobbed at the familiar scent still adorning the cushions.
That night he slept.
Natasha's bedroom soon became his as he spent most nights there, sleeping amongst her scent. Until one night.
Clint had been to the S.H.I.E.L.D offices again. There had been potential information.
"It might not be her Clint." Coulson had insisted but that wasn't helping. Clint didn't listen to him. He had heard all he needed to hear.
"A S.H.I.E.L.D carrier's been found. Destroyed. No bodies. It was found off the coast of India, at the bottom of the ocean."
As he climbed into the bed, tears pricking his eyes he pressed his nose to the pillows in earnest. He came back up. He could smell soap and fabric softener. Someone had changed the bedding.
Clint flipped. He cried out in anguish, his fist slamming into the wall the bed was again, causing the plaster to give way and create a hole. He didn't care. Practically throwing himself out of the bed he left the room and stormed out, heading up and away from the people and to the rooftops.
All but collapsing near the very edge, his favourite spot to hide away from everything and everyone and just be alone. He needed to be angry, he needed to release the build up inside and now he was alone, for the first time since he could remember Clint Barton wept. At first it was single solitary tear that fell from his eye, rolled down his cheek and left a spot on the concrete beneath him. Then more came. Then he could hold back no longer. Full sobs, shuddering, gut wrenching sobs that he couldn't control and just made him angrier. He hated himself for crying, he hated himself for not being with her and he hated himself for having to sit back because there was nothing he could do.
His phone rang halfway through the night. It stirred him from his thoughts and he looked at the flashing screen. Coulson. He didn't answer. He couldn't hear the news. Not yet.
The phone rang again.
And again.
And again.
On the fifth ring Clint gripped the phone tightly in his hand, his mind fighting the decision whether to answer or throw the mobile as far as he could. But this time it was Fury. And Fury never called.
"Barton." His voice was hoarse and he inwardly moaned at the grief striking his voice. But if Fury had guessed he had been crying, he never said anything.
"We need you in Med 126." It was simple and brisk but with a tone that suggested Clint needed to be there. He gulped. Choking back more tears and calming himself down Clint put on his stoic mask and walked to the med bay.
I remember hearing you scream as you woke up there, you wouldn't let them near you, they tried restraining you and I think you broke the doctors wrist. You got angry with me when I turned up, glaring and shouting and swearing in Russian. I had barely a clue what you were saying but I've learnt now. You trusted me for that second. You knew I wouldn't understand. You were telling me you were scared. I wish I knew then what I knew now. I won't let them scare you again.
He walked into the med bay and almost instantly saw the doctor, Director Fury and Agent Coulson. They were stood by a window, their faces impassive and eyes giving nothing away.
"We thought it best if you go first. We don't want another broken wrist." Fury told him.
"Or worse." The doctor grimaced.
Clint walked through the door, closing it behind him.
She was there.
Porcelain skin, surrounded by thick curls of deep red. Her eyes were closed but fluttering, she was stirring. She'd wake up here and freak but Clint's throat had closed in on itself.
"Tash?" He choked out, his voice betraying his face. Her eyes instantly opened and it took a while for them to adjust. Then she realised where she was. Her neutral expression went to one of pure terror as she tried to struggle against the IV drip, wincing and collapsing back in the bed in pain as she did so.
He was at her side in an instant.
"Natasha? Tash it's me you're okay, you're okay." He spoke softly, his voice thick from his previous emotional breakdown.
"Clint?" She murmured, her eyes still wide in fear and the colour drained from her face.
"Yeah. It's me Tasha. You're okay."
"Не позволяйте им мне больно" She whispered in Russian.
"Oh Tasha. Nobody's gonna hurt you baby I promise. You're safe I mean it." he slipped onto the bed beside her and although it made her wince in pain, she inched her way gently till she was at his side, then she pressed her head against his chest and allowed him to run his hands through her hair.
"Я не позволю им запугать вас снова" He whispered to her as she visibly relaxed against him.
He stayed with her that night. And he slept better than he had in six months. Even better than sleeping in her bed. Even better than before she left.
I remember when you broke down in front of me. When for the first time you let me look after you and you trusted me. When you let me hold you willingly and you let me make everything okay. When you got scared but let me look after you. And I remember when you smiled. You smiled at me and it reached your eyes and made them glitter in that way I love. And it reached your mouth and you properly smiled. I remember how beautiful you are when you really smile. How you always smile for me. I remember when you came home.
The end :) I hope you enjoyed, please please please review. x