Partners
Author: Frost on Maples
Author's Notes: I don't own the Avengers, the latest sandbox I'm playing in belongs to Marvel/Disney. Really.
My version of a follow-up on Hawkeye and Black Widow after the movie - "It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone." - Rose Kennedy
Many thanks to the great bunch at the Beta Branch, especially Cariadne, for betaing this. My writing skills are a work in progress, and the help was very much appreciated. Any mistakes are solely mine.
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It was a relief when Thor left with Loki and the tesseract. The tension in the air eased as soon as the cold glow died - expressions lost their hard edge, and the group prepared to disperse. Clint and Natasha said their farewells and left before Fury could summon them.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"Don't know."
"Is there somewhere particular you want to go?"
"Crazy?" His usual automatic defense, flippancy. She gave him a look. He sighed. "No. Just away. Before..." Before he was locked away with the SHIELD doctors and shrinks, with their questions, examinations. He couldn't repress a shudder of revulsion. Logically, he understood - he had been heavily compromised. Normally, they would have locked him down before he woke up after his 'cognitive recalibration', but circumstances had thrown all usual routine out the window. Fury and Hill were efficient - he deliberately hadn't checked in to give himself a short time to catch his breath.
She thought for a minute. "Turn into that gas station," she ordered, pointing ahead.
Eyebrows raised, he obeyed. She smiled demurely when the attendant came out to pump the gas, and used the payphone for a brief call. When she returned, she gestured him out of the driver's seat.
"I'll drive." It wasn't a suggestion. He narrowed his eyes at her, but went along with the demand. He slid out of the seat and held the door for her with a flourish that made her roll her eyes. She promptly started the engine and gunned the motor when he didn't move quickly enough to the passenger side.
"So, where are we going?"
"You'll see."
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"We're going into a sewer?" He knew that she didn't like to be questioned, but - damn, after two hours of driving, ditching said car to take buses, trains and taxis, then walking through a park, they were standing in front of a storm drain.
"Don't be a baby. It hasn't rained, so it's nice and dry," she sniped back. "Help me move this." The grating was, strangely, not secured, so it was an easy matter for them to push it aside, slip in, and pull it back into place. "Follow me."
She led him on a convoluted walk for another twenty minutes, stopping in front of another grating as a familiar roar filled his ears. "We're at the airport?"
"Help me with this," she demanded, tugging at the grating. Once through, they walked along a drainage ditch until one of the airport security vehicles stopped beside them. Instead of the expected confrontation, the driver beckoned wordlessly to them to climb into the truck, and silently drove them to one of the private hangars.
"Seriously - a plane?" he asked. "Who did you call?"
She smirked wordlessly at him and swaggered ahead to board the small Lear jet.
"I've gotta find better people to owe me debts," he grumbled under his breath as he followed her.
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It was a small dusty airport, not much more than a runway and a shabby shed, but there was a vehicle waiting for them after the two hour flight. Once again, she drove. Knowing that she would refuse to answer his questions, he watched silently as the arid, desert-like land gradually gave way to rough, rugged forest.
Finally, after most of an hour of silence, he decided to make another attempt.
"Are we there yet?"
"Stop being such a child," she replied, rolling her eyes. He almost missed the faint hint of a curve to the corner of her mouth. "Yes, we're almost there." She abruptly turned onto a pair of ruts - he refused to label it a road - and proceeded to bounce the vehicle more or less uphill, twisting and winding around trees and rocks until he was sure that either his teeth or the vehicle would rattle apart. After one final lurch and twist, the trail suddenly smoothed out and they were driving through a large clearing to a large cabin.
The cabin was deceptively rustic. Wood and stone was the initial impression, but there were solar panels discretely attached to the roof, and a windmill spun slowly nearby. A small satellite dish peeked out from under a corner of the eaves.
Inside, it was equally deceptive. A stone fireplace dominated the open concept main floor, with the rich gleam of well-maintained wood everywhere. There was tasteful art on every wall, and the small kitchen was state of the art. Stairs led to a small loft. The back door opened onto another porch, which had steps down to a path that descended to an unusually large pair of docks on a small lake. Heavily treed mountains surrounded the lake, resulting in a spectacular view.
Clint nodded in appreciation as he took in the view - the peace was palpable, disturbed only by a hunting eagle. He looked over at Natasha as she joined him on the porch, questions in her eyes.
"It's perfect."
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He slept on the couch, of course.
Not that he actually slept. After two hours of tossing and turning, he quietly slipped out to sit on the porch and watched the owls and bats in the moonlight. The peace, along with the crisp mountain air, lulled his restless spirit, and his eyes slowly drifted shut...
He drew the bowstring and carefully aimed. The arrow flew true, and the helicarrier engine exploded...
His eyes snapped open.
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The sun hadn't risen yet when he made the coffee. He was about to pull eggs and bacon out of the fridge when he saw her come down the steps.
"Sorry if I woke you."
"I was already awake. I smelled the coffee. Thanks for starting it." She stepped around him to take plates, glasses and mugs out of the cupboard to set the table. "Just a little bit for me. I'm going to go for a run after."
They cooked and ate breakfast in silence. She looked over and saw a small pack beside the door, then looked at him questioningly.
"Just a night or two," he shrugged. "You know I don't get out to hike for fun very often."
"You aren't taking your bow." It was neither a question nor a judgement.
"I'll be fine without it." It was still under the couch, neglected there in its case since they had arrived. He deliberately put it out of his mind.
She stood up, started gathering the dishes. "Go. I'll look after this."
He nodded his gratitude, grabbed his pack and left. The sun was rising, promising a beautiful day. He didn't see her watching, worry creasing her brow.
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He thought a long day of hiking through the ruggedly beautiful forest, followed by a night sleeping under the stars would burn off the nervous energy, let him sleep. He was wrong.
Chris Jensen - calm, efficient, a born mediator who could smooth the inevitable personality clashes in the SHIELD agent ranks.
Jack McClennan - he never got along with Jack, and Jack made it no secret that he didn't like Clint - they could only agree on each considering the other an arrogant asshole.
Nazneen Mehta - just returned from maternity leave, with proud pictures of her little boy - she was newly assigned low-risk helicarrier bridge duty.
Matt Chang - a closet geek, he would have freaked out about the new super powered additions to SHIELD - he was the best of the communication experts.
Ingrid Meier - an efficient sniper, she never agreed with him on weaponry, but always flirted anyways - she knew his heart belonged elsewhere, but it was her favorite game.
Ed Martinez - a deadly, nasty fighter, but behind the tough-guy facade was a loving husband and father of three.
He woke before the rest could visit, and ask him why.
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For a large man, Thor could be surprisingly quiet. It took a minute for Clint to identify the quiet steps behind him - they were totally unlike his usual bold strides. He looked over his shoulder from where he sat on the edge of a large cliff, watching the late day scenery. "Hey, Thor."
"Agent Barton." The thunder god was unusually subdued. "May I have a word with you?"
"Sure." He gestured grandly at the rest of the cliff. "Have a seat." He turned back to surveying the view as the Asgardian settled down next to him. "How did you find me?"
"I am a god," Thor said with a carefully straight face. "As I heard Tony Stark tell Director Fury the other day - it's a trade secret."
Caught off guard, Clint laughed. A bark of a laugh, but his first since Loki's arrival, he suddenly realized.
"I haven't told anyone at SHIELD of your location," Thor continued after a minute. "I believe that people are wanting to see you and Agent Romanoff, but I can understand why you would want a respite before returning to your duties."
They sat in silence for a minute, watching the sun set.
"Why are you here, Thor?"
The thunder god hesitated before speaking, obviously ill at ease, before turning to look him in the eye.
"I have come to beg your forgiveness."
For a second time, Clint was caught off guard. "What for?"
"As a prince of Asgard and as a friend to Midgard, I am appalled and ashamed by what Loki did to you. It was truly evil. If I had recognized earlier how much his nature had changed, how far he had fallen - I should have been able to stop all of this long before he began his descent into villany." Clint opened his mouth to speak, only to fall mute as Thor held his hand up in a regal gesture.
"Also, I have been told that you worked with Agent Coulson for many years, and knew him the best of all of us." The god of thunder looked down in what could only be shame. "I am ashamed that I was tricked by Loki and trapped in his cell when I should have opposed him and defended Agent Coulson."
Stunned, Clint floundered for words. "Thor, what Loki did wasn't your fault. He chose to do what he did. He did it under his own free will."
"Which you didn't have when my brother enslaved you to do his bidding," Thor replied, looking at him with gently shrewd eyes. "You were forced to be merely an extension of his will, and it is his will, not yours, that is to blame for recent happenings." He shook his head sorrowfully. "I was free to exercise my will and did so poorly, to great cost. You didn't have that option."
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She was thinking about having some lunch when she heard the faint noise of a motor. Instinct immediately kicked in, and she was out the back door, pistol in hand. She waited, listening. The motorcycle (but not a typical one) pulled up next to their jeep. A rapid tread firmly sounded as someone stepped up to the porch and to the door.
She burst around the corner, gun automatically targeting the intruder, to see Steve Rogers with his hand raised to knock on the door.
He turned to face her, raising both hands when he saw the gun. "Um, hello?"
She regarded him coldly down the barrel of her gun for a minute. Much as she resented any intrusion, he was an ally, and she wasn't petty. She clicked the safety back on, much to his visible relief, and tucked the gun away.
"You might as well come in for some lunch," she said calmly.
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"Nice place," he commented, looking out the back door at the view.
"It's a... loan. Someone owed me," she said, bringing a plate of sandwiches. Ever the gentleman, he immediately fetched the glasses and pitcher of ice water on the counter to join her at the table on the porch. "I would appreciate it if you would forget about this place when you leave. As a courtesy to the current owner."
"Consider it forgotten," he said, nodding. He smiled sheepishly. "I would have trouble describing the way here anyways - the directions I followed were somewhat odd."
"And who gave you those directions?" she asked, nonchalantly pouring some water.
"Thor." He nodded in agreement with her startled blink of surprise. "I know. He just dropped down from the sky as I was driving and suggested I come here. He wouldn't tell me how he knew - I think he's been around Stark too long. When I asked him he told me it was a trade secret and smirked. I never thought someone like him would even know how to smirk." The corner of her mouth twitched in agreement, even as she made a mental note to have a discussion with the thunder god. She dismissed her amusement and focused on him again as he turned serious, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "He was very concerned for you and Agent Barton."
"There's no need for concern," she said calmly. "We're both... taking a break before resuming our duties with SHIELD."
"Begging your pardon, ma'am, but I think the cause for his concern is the reason both of you disappeared before you could be given orders." He nibbled nervously at a sandwich, visibly bracing himself. "Your partner was forcibly compromised by Loki. While compromised, his actions caused extensive damage to property, to his friends and coworkers and, likely, to himself. That type of... injury can be every bit as crippling as physical damage."
"That's none of your business," she hissed.
"I consider Agent Barton a member of my team, so it is my business," he said firmly, looking her in the eye. "Anything I can do to help-"
"He won't talk to you," she interrupted. "He hasn't spoken about what happened. That's not unusual for him, after something goes badly. He disappears and deals with it on his own." She glared at him. "He won't accept help."
"But that's why you brought him here," Rogers said. "You're his partner, and you want to help him. Right?"
"Of course I want to help him." She picked delicately at a sandwich. "That's what partners do. I brought him here to give him space."
"Agent Romanoff." He paused, carefully picking his words. "Speaking as someone who has had to deal with... no control over destiny, having changes forced on him, to the point of questioning self-worth and identity - he needs help. Bringing him here is a good start. Do you think it'll be enough?" The pain in his eyes pinned her in place, forcing honesty.
"No," she whispered reluctantly.
"Trust me, it won't - can't - stay this way." Rogers tilted his head thoughtfully. "He isn't sleeping, is he?" When she said nothing, he continued. "Something this big can't be just walled away. You are the best person to do this."
She couldn't stand to look at his earnest face, with its desire to help so plainly written. "I - I don't know how. Phil - Agent Coulson always knew how," she admitted. She turned to look at the lake. "I only know how to hurt, not to heal."
"He needs to deal with this sooner or later. I imagine he will want to be as private as possible." He smiled a small, encouraging smile. "You aren't Coulson - find your own way to help. Listen to him. Share. Be his friend."
They sat in silence for a few minutes, as she thought and he ate the rest of the sandwiches. Finally, she turned to him with a wan smile.
"Thank-you... Steve."
"You're welcome, Natasha."
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Exhaustion was now a constant companion. Thor had left before all of the sun's light had faded, to continue his journey to see Jane Foster. Clint built another small fire for the second night, hoping that the peace of the forest would finally work.
Martin Smith, Paul D'Amato, Monique Duclos, Thami Tsotsobe, Mark DeVries...
So many, many more...
As the fire burned low in the early morning darkness, he stuffed his blanket into the pack. A few drops of rain started to fall.
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It was dinner time when he got back to the cabin. The weather had turned unsettled - there had been cloudbursts all day. He squelched through the mud to the porch, soaked to the skin and miserable.
She was reading a book on the couch, didn't look up when he came in the door.
"Leave your boots outside," she chided. She looked up from her book at him as he fumbled with the laces. She sniffed, "You smell. Go shower. Now. Dinner will be ready in an hour," and then calmly went back to reading her book. He didn't see her eyes lift to watch him as he trudged back to the bathroom.
There were towels, a razor and clothes waiting for him. He forced himself to stop scrubbing when the water ran clear, and used the razor - she hated when he let himself 'go scruffy' - and determinedly didn't think about why he would care so much about his partner's opinions.
Dinner was quiet - it wasn't until halfway through that he realized that she had made one of his favourite comfort foods, chili. She despised chili.
Rain continued to fall well into the night as they cleaned up after the meal and read by the fireplace.
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Flames crackled across the helicarrier's command deck. He fired another arrow - this time, it punched through Maria Hill's chest before exploding. He turned to see Nick Fury already pinned to the wall. He fired again and again - electricity danced over Stark's suit, Thor dropped Mjolnir to catch his immortal blood as Rogers lay pierced through at his feet, Banner started to ask why - then fire swept over all of them, and the floor broke away to fall slowly to the earth far below.
"Well done," Loki said. "See how natural it is? I didn't even have to ask you." He gestured with his staff, Coulson - Phil - hanging on the end. "None of this would have been possible without you." He had Natasha by the hair, held her up to him. "Finish her."
He drew out his knife, pulling her face closer. The eyes...
He snapped awake, gasping. A quick check of the time confirmed his suspicion - less than two hours had passed. Despite his exhaustion, there was no chance of getting back to sleep - closing his eyes recalled the horrific images. Sighing, he rolled off the couch and quietly padded out to the porch. The silence, once so peaceful, now seemed rife with ghosts.
"Still can't sleep?"
He shouldn't have been surprised, but such was his state of mind that he jumped at the sound of her voice behind him.
"I'm fine. Sorry if I woke you."
"I wasn't sleeping," she said, joining him at the railing. He raised his eyebrows in silent question at her, noticing for the first time the dark circles under her eyes. She ignored his silent question. "I'm going to make some tea. Want some?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned away to go to the kitchen. He trailed after her, watching her as she fussed with the kettle and teapot. "There's only orange pekoe - hope you don't mind -"
"Are you all right?" he interrupted her. There was definitely something off about her.
"I'm fine," she snapped. "Do you want tea or not?"
He ignored the words and stared at her hands as they shook. Hands that were rock-steady in a war zone were shaking making tea. He reached over and gently took hold of one.
"Tasha," he asked gently. "What's wrong?"
"Why are you worrying about me? I'm fine." She glared at him, snatching back her hand. "You need to - " She suddenly stopped and looked away.
"I need to what?" he asked. "Talk to me."
She visibly gathered her courage. "You need to have time and space to heal." She turned to look at him finally, all uncertainty and hesitation, totally unlike herself. "I've seen it before, after missions, if you were hurt - you'd be trapped in the medbay or the hospital for a while, and then you'd disappear. You need to get back to being yourself, to heal here," she touched her forehead, "before you have to deal with the SHIELD debriefing and shrinks. This time, there was no hospital - they would be starting before you had time..." Her voice trailed off as he flinched.
He knew that he had desperately needed to reestablish his equilibrium, but he hadn't realized how much she had understood of his needs. Suddenly he realized that, in her own way, by bringing him here, she was not only giving him much needed space but was trying to get closer, to look after him, in a way she never had before. She had always maintained a careful distance despite their friendship - she would have his back in a fight, patch up wounds, go for a drink after, but there was always a line never crossed - he had considered it a major breakthrough when she finally started to share her sly sense of humour. Looking at her closely, he realized this strange new demonstration of her compassion was just part of her discomfort - he had never seen her so badly off-balance.
"There's something else," he insisted.
"No there isn't."
"Yes there is."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"I said there wasn't anything else!" she snapped, slamming a mug onto the counter. "Why won't you just leave it?" She stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the porch door behind her.
"I can see it in your eyes," he said, voice rising in frustration. "Which is really fucking scary, because you can hide anything." He stomped up to where she stood fuming at the porch railing. "Why don't you just spit it out?"
"Back off!"
"Not until you tell me what's eating at you."
"You don't need to listen to me -"
"I'll damn well listen to you because that's what partners are for!"
She stepped back, looking like she had been slapped. "Partners should know when to back off and - and what to say, how to help..." She spun away and hit the railing. After a minute, she quietly admitted, "I want to help you and don't know how. Everything I know is for manipulating targets, not for helping a friend. Phil - Phil always knew how to do this, knew what we needed, but now he's gone - it was always the three of us, and I don't know how to do what he did."
Cautiously, he stepped up beside her, carefully picking his words. He cherished her efforts, but was wary - an off-balance Natasha was a dangerous one. "I miss Phil too. Everyone must. He was the best." He floundered for more to say to break the awkwardness that had sprung up between them, finally resorted to the mundane. "Why don't we go have that tea you were going to make?"
She looked up at him with a small smile. "Right. Tea." He watched her cool, dispassionate mask slip back into place. Agent Romanoff was back in control. "Like I said, there's only orange pekoe." They went back to the kitchen and she resumed filling the kettle. An uneasy silence filled the room as she made the tea while he first rummaged for a mug to replace the one she had cracked, then ferreted out some honey for her to use with the dreaded orange pekoe.
She looked at the hard kitchen chairs with a sniff, and moved to sit on the couch, setting the teapot on the coffee table. He followed, setting things on the table beside the teapot before sitting down beside her. The silence stretched on uncomfortably as they both poured and trimmed their cups.
He actually startled when she cleared her throat and started to speak. "So," she fidgeted uncomfortably. "You're still having problems sleeping?"
"I think I'm not the only one," he said, eyeing the dark circles under her eyes. "Somehow I don't think that I woke you up just now."
She hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "I thought that the quiet here would be perfect, but I find that I... analyze and examine things, and have a hard time stopping."
"Nightmares?" he asked.
For a minute, he thought she was going to lash out at him, and tell him to mind his own business - it wouldn't be the first time. She paused, looked down and muttered something under her breath (share?), then squared her shoulders with a slightly grim expression, reminding him of the last time she rushed into an uncleared room.
"You're right," she said, every line of her body screaming reluctance. "I haven't been sleeping well. Nightmares." Her eyes darted a glare at him. "Like you."
"I never said-" Her eyes narrowed into a nastier glare. "Fine. Yes, I've been having nightmares too."
For some strange reason, she relaxed slightly with his reluctant admission, and there was a brief flash of what he had privately dubbed her 'learning look' from her early days of adapting to SHIELD. Awkward silence reigned again as they both sipped their tea, carefully not looking at each other.
Finally, she cleared her throat and spoke again. "What are they about?"
He stared at her, speechless, as he wondered in the back of his mind if she would be offended if he checked the tea for 'unusual' ingredients. Months earlier when he had been shot in the leg on a mission, this woman had slapped on a bandage, handed him some painkillers to swallow dry, then told him to suck it up and help her get the job done - now she was asking about his nightmares?
He suddenly realized that he had let his end of this incredibly strange conversation lapse for a bit too long - she blushed in embarrassment and stared down at her tea.
"I'm sorry," she muttered. "If you don't want to talk to me, I understand."
Once again, he found himself floundering for words. "Tasha, I appreciate what you're trying to do, really. It's just, well, we're friends as well as partners, but we've never talked about... stuff, and, frankly, you're weirding me out. It's kinda like finding an ocelot in your lap - beautiful, nice, but if you do something wrong you might not survive."
"When you put it that way, it is strange." The corner of her mouth quirked up. "I wouldn't kill you. Maybe scratch you a bit..."
"Not comforting at all," he replied dryly, easily falling into their usual banter. "Especially when I think back to that time in Prague..."
"That wasn't my fault," she retorted, instantly relaxing as she only did with him. "It was only a little bit. And it worked."
They both relaxed as the conversation let them slip back into the usual comfortable banter. Neither felt sleepy - it was only natural that he light a fire in the fireplace as she went to brew more tea. Reminiscing eventually lapsed into companionable silence over tea while watching the fire burn. She watched him discretely out of the corner of her eye, and was unsurprised when exhaustion gradually caught up to him. She didn't move until his eyes slid shut - she carefully retrieved his mug and settled a blanket over him, her fingers unconsciously lingering as she gently brushed his hair back into place.
I'll watch over him, she thought, getting more comfortable. Just for a little while...
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Red. Red everywhere. Red hair on red-stained helicarrier deck plates, fair skin coated in red, red dripping off his hands...
"You are good at this," Loki gloated. "So natural - I didn't even have to ask..."
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Bone snapped in the neck, followed up with a knife to the jugular. The tesseract glow faded until it was only storm blue eyes staring vacantly back at her. She screamed as he died - why did it hurt so? She knelt, waiting, as the terrifying green rage smashed its way to her - she deserved this, green would erase the red from the ledger. A massive green hand reached for her...
She snapped awake with a small shriek, gasping and shaking, slowly regaining her wits to realize where she was, and instantly stifled her reaction. Guiltily, she looked at the other end of the couch - unbelievably, he was still asleep, but was obviously in the grips of a nightmare himself. He thrashed about moaning, misery and pain creasing his face.
"Clint, wake up." She got up to stand beside him, carefully reaching down in their private 'ally wants you to wake up' shoulder hold. Despite her caution, he bolted awake, flailing. One fist caught her painfully across the nose, knocking her backwards as she tightened her grip, and they both ended up tangled on the floor as he continued thrashing about. Pinning him to the floor, she slapped him, hard. "Clint, you're safe! Snap out of it!"
"What - where..?" he gasped, scanning his surroundings frantically in panic. Her heart ached - never had she seen him so unsettled, so out of control. His breathing slowed as memory returned. She leaned back to sit on the floor beside him, letting him sit up. He turned to her and his eyes filled with guilt and horror. "Oh, god, Nat - I'm sorry..."
She suddenly realized that she had a bloody nose, and it fed the pain he was feeling. "It's nothing." She grabbed his chin as he looked away. "It was an accident. It's happened before and will happen again." She snarled in frustration when she saw in his eyes that he wasn't listening, once again felt sorely lost and floundering. A dim, private memory came to mind, something she had carefully locked away - in desperation, it became her guide.
Breathing deeply, she grabbed him by both shoulders, gathering her nerve - and hugged him. They were both stiff and awkward, him with shock, her with confused desperation. There was none of her usual subterfuge or seductiveness - she seldom hugged him outside of necessary deception for an operation. Long suppressed memories prompted her - soft arms wrapped around her, hands caressed her back, another, coarser hand rested on her hair as a deep voice rumbled - "тишина, небольшая птица, Вы безопасны в вашем гнезде" she crooned, her hands clumsily rubbing his back as she tried.
At first, she thought she had failed. Then, he started to tremble, and, with a gasp that was almost a sob, he collapsed, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe. She felt a wetness at her neck, and her own eyes prickled, fears and relief mingling as she finally felt everything fall back together into one whole - damaged, scarred, forever missing a part, but united. She carefully didn't think about how their bond had changed - and what would happen to her if anything happened to him. Anything coming for him - Loki, SHIELD, Hydra - had to go through her.
They were partners.