Shadows of Mortality
by Catwings 1026

Disclaimer: Avengers, Avengers Assemble, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, and all affiliated places and characters are the sole property of Marvel Entertainment, LLC, a wholly-owned subsidiary of The Walt Disney Company. Not mine, not mine, not mine, and I'm not pretending they are.

Continuity: Avengers Assemble #1-5

Author's Note: A lot of flak started going around the Internet when the cover for Avengers Assemble #5 hit the solicitations. There are as many Avengers fan factions out there as there are Avengers titles and Avengers themselves, it seems. I am very, very new to this… I got into the characters due to the movie and then started reading up on the actual comics. As a result, I can genuinely feel for those who resent the "Widowhawk" 'shipper contingent; I felt the same way when the makers of G.I. Joe: Rise of Cobra paired Scarlett with Ripcord rather than Snake Eyes. As I explored deeper, I read a bit of the Hawkeye/ Black Widow history, their subsequent breakup and pairing with numerous others, and have come to the conclusion that the current batch of die-hard comics fans probably has reason to gripe… I've no beef with the Black Widow/ Winter Soldier dynamic, which seems interesting, though I don't know squat about the Hawkeye/ Spider Woman relationship. This fic was spawned from my wondering if I could write an appealing fic, using only details from what I'd read in Avengers Assemble 1-4, that could satisfy both camps – the 'shippers and the established fanbase. If you're interested in what I used to steer my narrative, see the afterword.

Natasha Romanoff, known to most of the world as Black Widow, paused before pushing the French doors to the balcony open and slipping through. The sounds of the metropolis surrounding Avengers Tower were muted from this height, rather like the roar of distant waves at sea, the bleat and cry of horns not much more than the squall of a gull. At the edge of the balcony Hawkeye stood, arms folded across the rail, apparently oblivious to her presence. His stance was relaxed, his bow resting at his side – but it wasn't like him to allow anyone to approach unnoticed.

Inside, the tactical meeting had dragged on… and on… and on… Cap and Tony going over potential game plans, the Defenders of the Galaxy countering and adding their intel, trying to riddle out any detail someone, anyone, might have overlooked before the combined forces set off after the Mad Titan. It was, in a word, tedious. Those not invited, or not inclined, to strategize had drifted off one by one… Hulk first, then Hawkeye. Now, as the last of sunset dropped behind the horizon and the New York City skyline painted itself on a blue-violet tapestry, as the city became veiled in twilight, Natasha moved to Hawkeye's side, gently bumping him with her shoulder to announce her presence. His responding glance was brief, his smile warm but distracted, and he returned, wordless, to watching night move over the city.

They stood like that for some time, each wrapped in silent thought, and that bothered Natasha more than she could say. It was not like Hawkeye to brood… not like him to stand without making a joke, at least. Usually, you can't get the man to shut up…

It had been a trying twenty four hours… the discovery of the Ultimate Nullifier, the confrontation with the Zodiac, the arrival of Thanos. The destruction of the helicarrier, which she'd watched with constricted throat, until the voices of her team had crackled over the wireless and she'd been able to breathe again. Another day, another near-death experience. Part and parcel of being what they were.

But Hawkeye had been subtly off for some time now… and now, his silence unnerved her.

At her side, Clint Barton mulled over what he'd been hoping to say… what he'd been working out for the better part of an hour. He'd known Natasha would come looking for him eventually. If she hadn't, she'd have been waiting for him to find her. They hadn't been romantically involved for years, but still, her patterns and habits were as ingrained in him as his own. Her body language, too, spoke of her unease… she stood slightly apart from him, resting on the rail lightly, but her relaxed stance was deceptive. She was watching him, waiting for him to say something… anything. But she hated waiting. It wasn't in her nature.

He almost chuckled, then, when she spoke first.

"You okay?" The fact that she was asking told him that she already thought the answer was no. Natasha was many things, Hawkeye reflected – brave, strong, talented, intelligent, beautiful, deadly – but warm and fuzzy? Not so much. She kept her emotions on a short leash – she had to, to do what she did so well. Even with him, the one person she'd known the longest of all the Avengers, she couched affection behind acerbic wit, preferring banter to heart-to-heart chats. He smiled, glancing sidelong and taking pity on her.

"Just thinking." Okay, two words… not great, but somehow, his words were slow in coming tonight. And he needed to know if this was a casual inquiry, or if she was genuinely concerned for him.

"Clint, with you – thinking can be a supremely bad idea." He snorted, warming at the flicker of humor. It was Tasha talking to him, then... his best friend, not his teammate. Not Black Widow. He'd learned long ago that those two aspects of her personality might as well be entirely separate entities. She never called him "Clint" when they were on mission – and only rarely touched him. Now, she placed a hand on his arm, a brief touch, the smile gone from her eyes as she regarded him steadily.

"You haven't exactly been yourself lately." She didn't wait for him to parry with humor, didn't wait for him to deny it. "Talking about your funeral... thinking like that... I'm worried about you."

Getting right to the point, Tasha… well, makes my part easier, a little.

"Don't be." Damn if he didn't feel that twist in his gut, though - the one he always felt when he saw her worried, or tearful, or, so incredibly rarely, frightened. "I told you... I've just been thinking a lot about mortality lately. And tonight... well, can you deny I've got a good reason to?"

She was silent, as he knew she would be. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, shape them into words – sighting down the target of what he wanted, what he needed to say. He looked straight ahead over the skyline, refusing to look at Natasha. If he did, he'd never get it out. He'd crack a joke, brush it off... and somehow, he didn't want to do that. Not this time. He'd been working up the nerve to have this talk for weeks now… and the events of today, at least, gave him a good reason to do it sooner rather than later.

"When the carrier blew... sounds cliché, but you know how they say your life flashes past your eyes? It does. All the good times. All the bad times. Right there - bam, bam, bam." He felt the memory of air rushing past him, of the utter relaxation that came over him as he fell – the understanding that everything was out of his hands now. That he might, very easily, die. As shrapnel whizzed past him, debris howling downwards, he'd realized that it might even happen before he hit the water…

"It hit me... as I was dropping, waiting for someone to remember the guy who can't fly and doesn't have armor or invulnerability or super healing... that a lot of it – a lot of those flashes – it was all you. You and me. The good, the bad, all of it. And I thought, just before Tony grabbed me by the belt about twenty feet from the surface, that if thinking of you was the last thought I had... it wasn't a bad way to go." He chuckled. "And I wondered if you were maybe thinking of me, too, watching the carrier make like fireworks. You don't have to answer that." A beat, then he added, "Actually... please don't answer that. Let a guy have his little dreams, huh?"

"Ouch. That's… cold," she said after a long moment, and there was an edge to her voice. He'd meant it as a light joke… something to defuse what he was saying. Apparently, it hadn't come off that way.

Lovely. I managed to piss her off. Not exactly the effect you were going for, Hawkeye… He risked looking at her, knowing that she wouldn't be looking back – not when she was angry with him - and was surprised when her eyes met his, and her tone was flavored with hurt.

"Is that really what you think of me, Clint? After all this time? You think I wouldn't have broken a little inside, wondering if you'd just been blown to pieces? And when we'd gotten the nullifier secured... you don't think that the first thing I thought of was coming to find you?"

She could, he knew, be using "you" as a plural... "you" the team, "you" as in you and Tony and Steve, Thor and the Hulk. Her next words, however, were soft – almost lost in the faint traffic sounds drifting up from far below, in the prevailing wind that always buffeted the tower.

"I don't want to get up to speak at your funeral, Clint. I don't even want to think about having to. And I hate that you're thinking of it. That you've been thinking of it. I hate it. Thoughts have a way of becoming reality, sometimes..." she trailed off. "I've lost so many people in my life already. I don't want to lose my best friend, too."

Her best friend. Odd, how that admission touched something in him, something deeper and more intimate than he could put words to. He'd known for ages now that she was his best friend… his perfect partner, the one person he wanted at his back when things went entirely to hell. He hadn't realized that she'd felt the same. After all that time, after how things had soured between them so long ago, after building forgiveness and trust again, there were still things she managed to surprise him with. Impulsively, he took her hand, squeezed it, brought the fingers to his lips. He smiled at her surprise, then released her.

"Tasha, not thinking about things doesn't make them not happen." He tried to speak gently, then turned, gestured to the metropolis before them, a sweeping arc. "Facts are facts, whether you face them or ignore them. You and me, we're physically the weakest links of this little family here. No godly powers. No super armor. No science-enhanced reflexes or mutated physiology. For a long time, I didn't think about that. Maybe I pretended that some of that 'super' would rub off on me, give me invulnerability by association. But lately... I guess I realized that, when it comes right down to it, super powers don't work that way."

He tilted his head, offered a self-deprecating grin. "Try not to be impressed by my genius. You - you're probably the deadliest woman on seven continents. I'm a guy with a knack for putting pointy sticks into things. But for both of us, Tasha... one guy with an armor-piercing round in the right place at the right time. One second too late getting out of a building that's imploding. One of these days, being the best at what we do - that's not going to be enough. One of these days... my number's up." He let that hang between them for a time. "And you know... I'm okay with that. We've had one hell of a run. Never a dull moment. Probably, when the time comes, I'll go down with my bow in my hand."

"I really, REALLY don't like where this conversation is going." Natasha's voice was unexpectedly small.

"Don't worry." He made a show of leaning out, looking down over the edge of the tower, peering at the lights below and beyond them. "I promise I won't go looking for it. I don't need to. I feel... at peace with things, really. Everyone's got to go sometime. And if I know that... then it just gives me reason to make sure that I take care of business while I'm here. That I make the most of each day I wake up breathing. Live each day like it was my last... 'cause one of these days, I'll be right." He pulled back, grinned. "Ray Charles said that. You know.. hit the road, Jack, and don'tcha come back no more, no more, no more, no more..."

"And here I thought that I'd be able to get through this conversation without hitting you." She smirked, but the humor sounded flat, and the amusement did not quite reach her eyes.

"Then let me give you a better reason to. You may not like what I'm going to say… but as a favor, just hear me out, okay? It's something I've got to say, and you can hit me after. I promise." One eyebrow arched back at him, and he drew a breath.

"After today… I want to make sure that I've taken care of some things. With the others… with you. Just in case." He ran a hand through his hair, drew a breath, and plunged in. "Tasha. I know you're with someone else now. And I don't want to get in the way of that. I just want you to know… that I love you." He scanned her face, measuring her reaction, came back empty. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound… "I've always loved you, Tasha, even when I didn't want to. I always will love you...as a friend, as a brother, as anything you want us to be. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, no matter what happens between us and around us... I love you. And I don't want to cross that bright line without knowing that I told you. Without knowing that you know."

Her eyes were pools of dark water, wide as twin ponds gazing up at him. He really did half expect her to hit him, to take him out, but she seemed frozen in the moment.

She'll probably wake up and slug me any second now… Oddly, that didn't worry him so much. He reached out, tenderly brushing hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Then he cupped her face in his hands, drawing her close, and kissed her once on the forehead.

And, because he wouldn't be himself if he let it lie that way, he winked at her as he stepped away.

"I'll see you in the morning. If I hustle, I can catch Steve before he goes to bed and tell him I that I love him, too. But he doesn't get a kiss."

He'd made it ten steps, almost to the double doors, before he heard the scuffed step behind and turned… just in time to catch her arms as she barreled into him, fists raised, and he held her as she pounded ineffectually at his chest. If she'd really wanted to take him out, she'd have done it, silently and thoroughly… this, this clumsy, flailing semi-attack, was nothing more than making a statement.

"You… you bastard," she choked, and he was startled to see the tears welling up in her eyes. "You idiot. You jerk. You…" She stumbled for another insult, broke into stream of sweltering Russian, then stopped. "You say that… you drop that on me… and then you walk away? You… you…"

Her words ran out. They stood, the space warm between them, her eyes dark with distress, his lips working, trying to come out with something, anything, that might smooth things over, settle her. He settled for drawing her into a hug, stroking her hair as her face nestled against his shoulder, and saying nothing at all. Second stretched into minutes, and neither moved nor spoke until he felt her shoulders relax under his hands, felt her stir a bit, and he was the one to break the embrace. She hated showing weakness, even to him, and he wanted to give her the distance she would need.

"Okay if I walk away now?" he asked, his voice low and teasing. "Or do you want to hit me some more?" Her hands balled into fists, and for a moment, he thought she was going to take him up on the offer.

And then she was kissing him, and his arms were tight about her, and his mind stopped processing anything more than the feel of her, warm and close, and her lips against his.

It was just like the first time, that first kiss so long ago now, the moment he'd somehow known that all he wanted, all he'd ever wanted even before he knew her, was her in his arms… but it was better, so much better, because now, with years between them and all he knew of her, he knew exactly where to touch her, where to caress, and he knew exactly where it would end if he let it, if she let it…

No. One bright spark of rationality flared, commanded his attention. No. This isn't what you want… not this way… not what she wants. She's reacting. YOU'RE reacting. And… this can't, this won't, end well if you let it keep going.

He forced himself to break the contact, feeling his heart thudding against hers, their ragged breathing coming in perfect synchrony. Her fingers were knitted in his vest, clinging to him, and her eyes were a bit wild as they ran over his face, stormy with the emotion she always kept under the surface. It was a storm that would break over him, swamp both of them, and throw him up on a barren shore afterward if he let her emotions… their emotions… run away with them.

She'd hate him forever if he did.

And that… losing her again… that, he couldn't live with.

Placing a hand to her cheek, he stroked her temple, fighting the side of him that wanted nothing more than to lift her off her feet and carry her away to his room, and closed his eyes to strengthen his resolve. He'd never been able to resist her before… if she wanted him, she could have him. That was how it had always been.

But this time, she'd need to do more than kiss him to prove it.

"Bucky Barnes is one damned lucky man," he breathed, his voice hoarse. "I just hope he knows it."

He let his fingers trail down her cheek as he moved away, then walked away, willing himself not to turn around.

He knew, though… oh, he knew… that he was going to regret this in the morning.

-end-

Afterword:

Hawkeye's had something on his mind since Avengers Assemble #1. He's admitted to thinking more about his mortality – in that issue, he asks Black Widow if she'll get up and his funeral and say something "crazy awesome" about his… er… prowess in bed. She doesn't react much – they ARE on a mission, after all, and she's all business – other than to threaten to tell everyone at his funeral what his favorite movie is if he doesn't shut up and focus. His reaction is priceless, and leaves one wondering if we'll ever find out exactly what that movie is, and if it's going to become a running gag. I'm pulling for The Princess Bride, myself.

Throughout the four issues, Hawkeye and Black Widow have done something of a two-step; he's been close by, but not at her heels; she's definitely in the "I am here to prove I'm one tough lady" mode, refusing his help in interrogating a prisoner though he clearly wants to be there. I'm grateful for the absence of the other Avengers – the plethora outside of the "core five" from the movie, that is – since I really don't want to have to waste time watching them interact with the characters I'm most focused on; still, it makes one wonder how this title fits into the larger Avengers family of titles – and how, if a Hawkeye/Black Widow relationship is to be developed to keep the new readers from the movie happy, the romantic partners of both parties will be dealt with.

Issue #5's cover gave me reason to think… how WILL this work? The picture seems to show Natasha throwing herself into Clint's embrace, but this is out of character for her… in the comic book continuity, she is the reserved one; the Hawkeye of the comics is not the Jeremy Renner stoic of the movie – he's positively gabby, lighthearted and guileless. It's clear that in the comic, the two have a much more relaxed relationship than in the movies… an old, old friendship with all the banter that goes with it… but still, Black Widow is the one who's all business. The idea that Hawkeye might be pondering his own mortality gives some emotional weight to his character for me to work with here, but it isn't until issue 5 that we see the depth of their bond, the silent understanding between them. Fans of Black Widow and Winter Soldier will hate this… fans of Hawkeye and Spider Woman, ditto.

As for the issue in question… well, the lead up to the cover moment is probably one of the most beautiful things I've seen in comics in a long, long time.

I'd already written the "my best friend" line, and my heart skipped to see that I wasn't too far off the mark… and the emotional punch that went with it had me reading the page over and over, misting up a bit. Anyone can declare their undying love. To say, simply and quietly, "You know you're my best friend, right?" Well… THAT has made me a confirmed fan of the series. Romance, feh. Anyone can write romance. But romance founded on the slow-burning coals of friendship? Without LOSING the friendship? That's hard. And… I hope I've done some justice to it here.

-CV