In the mood to destroy some feels...No I don't own them (though I wish I did). All reviews more than welcome! :D
"Tell me you love me, Tasha."
The memories don't come back slowly enough for him to have time to attempt to process what happened. They bombard him the moment the deed is done and the spell is broken.
He knows exactly what he did.
"Say it, Nat!"
A sadistic grin spread across his face, his arm pressing even further into her throat, pushing her into the wall.
He was amazed it didn't break.
She flinched obviously at the use of the nickname. Clint was the only one ever to call the Black Widow "Nat." He was the only one she would let call her "Nat."
"I love you, Clint."
This was the first time that he'd ever recognized fear in her voice, saw it flash in her eyes. She did love him.
That love destroyed her.
He grinned and slammed her up against the wall once more, eliciting a pained intake of breath from the redhead.
"Yeah you do."
He brought a hand up to her face, caressing her cheek with the back of his palm. She whimpered slightly and he savored the sound. It rang out as defeat to him. His smile had morphed from that of a predator to a victorious one. He had her. There was no way she could win this.
How could he have let this happen?
He refused to look at his handiwork now, afraid the guilt and pain would kill him immediately.
"Such a shame…" he cooed at the girl pressed up against the wall. "It's almost a pity to kill someone so beautiful…"
"You really think I'm pretty?" her attempts to distract him were futile.
"Of course," he stated simply, coolly. "Did you never realize I loved you?"
The cruel laugh that followed rings out in his head.
"I thought you were smarter than that."
He could see now that she thought she was too.
He smirked and replaced his forearm with a hand, gripping her throat not quite tight enough. Couldn't have her suffocate all at once.
"So it all comes down to this…"
"Kill me then," she choked out.
She was so brave, even facing death.
Even facing him.
"Excellent work, Agent Barton."
"Of course, Nat. Anything for you."
He tightened his grip and pulled an arrow from the quiver, so faithfully attached to his back. Shoving a simple tip through the breathless woman's (who looked so much like a child at this time—a youthful fear having taken over her eyes even if the rest of her features were blank. He never realized how tiny she actually was) chest…
He turned to face the owner of the soothing, cruel voice that had just spoken to him. The God of mischief was smiling at him. He shuddered as he realized it wasn't unlike the ruthless one he had given Natasha not long ago.
He watched victoriously, proudly, as the light slowly began to leave her eyes.
"You…"
He released her crushed windpipe, watching her fall to the floor.
"Me?" Loki questioned innocently.
The rush of red streaming from the wound in her chest reminded him so much of the red she would have said was gushing from her ledger had she been in a melodramatic enough mood.
"You…did…this," Clint accused the Asgardian.
He listened for the last sigh of breath that escaped her lips before it was all over.
"I was elsewhere at the time. You did this, Agent Barton," the God laughed.
He was right.
She was dead.
Slowly, like a lion stalking his prey, Clint advanced towards Loki, still horrified by what he had done.
He won.
He charged…
Straight into the point Loki's scepter.
His mission was complete.
He could join her now.