Clintasha Week, Day 6: AU/Crossover
Okay, so this is an AU based off of an anime I watched a few years ago called GOSICK. But you don't need to know anything about it to understand this oneshot, because it's also kind of like the movie Tangled, with Flynn breaking Rapunzel out of the tower and everything. This is also kind of like Anastasia? HAHA BASICALLY IT'S JUST AN AU WITH NO AVENGERS/POWERS, WHERE CLINT AND NAT MEET AS TEENAGERS BUT NAT IS LIKE A PRINCESS CONFINED TO A TOWER. SORT OF. YES.
(If a visual aid would help, look up "gosick op" on YouTube and watch the 90 second opening animation for the anime; it kind of shows the whole story. Just imagine the blonde girl is Natasha and the brunet dude is Clint. Yep. Alright, let's go!)
Why is there a girl sprawled out on the library floor?
Except for her, the library is completely free of people. Though, Clint's standing there, watching her lying down, he supposes, so it's just the two of them. He raises his eyebrows, waiting a safe handful of feet away from her, opting to look on with caution.
She's breathing, at least. Her chest is still rising and falling. Clint cranes his neck a little, just enough to see her face beyond the long, thick red hair just as sprawled out as her body. When she stands up, it's gotta go past her waist, at least. It's just that long. He also notices she isn't wearing the standard academy uniform, instead wearing a dress that reminds Clint of the Victorian era in history.
"Are you just going to stand there?"
Clint can't help the small, surprised gasp that escapes from his mouth at her sudden words. Despite her small size (he estimates her to stand just over five feet tall), her voice is husky, like a completely professional, mature woman. She cracks a sharp blue eye open, seemingly sizing him up. He swallows nervously. "Uh...would you prefer me to move?"
Begrudgingly, she sits up, her long hair falling against her back and her multi-layered, black dress bunching up around her legs. She opens both eyes. "You can come closer."
Something within Clint suggests he should keep his distance, but he's too curious to escape. So he takes a few steps toward her, stopping about a foot away from her. She blinks. He blinks.
"I've never seen you before," Clint says after five silent moments pass between them. "Although, I've only been at this school for about a week, and this is my first time at the library, but I haven't seen you around campus, or anything like that. Are you a student, or…?"
"I'm nobody," she says blankly.
"I doubt that," Clint says, giving a soft, nervous laugh. "Everyone is someone. I'm Clint Barton. Eighteen years old. Former criminal, now dutiful student. There, see?"
"That's nothing. That's just basic, biological information," she comments, turning her face upward in a very pretentious way. Clint musters up the courage to roll his eyes and sit down on the ground with her. She watches him, eyes calculating.
"Maybe it's just factual information about me, but there is factual information about you, too," Clint insists.
"Okay then, Clint Barton," she scoffs, meeting his eyes. "I'm seventeen years old."
He waits for her to continue, but she says nothing more. "Um...what about a name? Or whether or not you're a student? Your outfit is throwing me off."
"It's a dress." Now the redheaded social terror is rolling her eyes, and Clint feels some of his wariness about her fade away. He even smiles a little. "It's a hand-me-down from the people who sent me here. And I'm technically a student, but I'm too advanced for everything they teach here. I'd much rather read."
Clint glances up at their surroundings. It's a fairly magnificent library, shelves stretching from the ceiling to the floor and filled with books. He'd only come in to find resources for some project his teacher, Mr. Coulson, had just assigned.
As Clint had told the girl, he'd just transferred into S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy after leading a life of crime with the traveling circus. Coulson had actually been the one to bring Clint in, covering tuition and living expenses and even giving Clint a uniform. It's only been a week since Clint moved in, but it's actually fairly nice so far.
Which brings him to this critical moment, shared with a girl Clint's meeting for the first time, yet feels a fateful tug to.
Who is she?
"Okay, so you're a seventeen year old student," Clint recounts. "I'm still waiting on your name."
"I…" For the first time, the seemingly confident girl stumbles, a darkness (familiar to Clint) flickering over her eyes. She averts her gaze, biting her lip. "I have a name. It's just...it's complicated."
"How complicated can it be?" Clint offers her a warm smile, hoping it will ease her tensions.
"It has a complicated history behind it," she explains, reviving their eye contact. "But you don't seem dangerous, so I'll tell you."
"I swear to you I am completely safe." Clint lays his right hand over his heart, holding up his left. "I promise. One hundred percent. You have my word."
She smiles. "Thanks. Well...I'm Natalia." She bites her lip again. "Natalia Romanova."
Romanova? Clint's eyes widen. "You mean, like, the Russian Romanova? Or was it Romanov? Either way…"
"Yes, like them." Natalia places a finger over her lips. "But you can't tell anyone. Nobody else here is aware of it. Not even the teachers. They just know my first name."
"Okay." Clint raises an eyebrow. "But...why tell me?"
"You seem trustworthy." She shrugs her shoulders. "I don't like the history or people associated with either part of my name. It's something I try to forget."
Clint mulls over her words for a few moments. "Well, why don't you just change it?"
"Change it?" Natalia looks at him like he's grown another head.
"Yeah, maybe not officially, but while you're here at the Academy," Clint suggests.
"But...how?"
"Well, you're in America now," Clint says, "so try making it more American. Like...Natalie!"
"Too close." Natalia shakes her head.
"Natasha?"
"Natasha," she echoes him, blinking a few times. "Natasha. I like that one."
"Alright, one name down!" Clint victoriously pumps his fist above his head. "Now Romanova. Romanova...Romanov...Roman...off?"
"Romanoff?"
"Yeah. Instead of the hard 'v' sound, just go for the softer 'f'."
"Natasha...Romanoff."
He notices a pen and paper sitting beside one of the thick books on the ground next to Natalia. She follows his eyes and takes the pen, leaning over the blank paper. Her hand moves gracefully, carefully crafting each letter of her new name across the page.
Natasha Romanoff
"There! How's that for a new name?" Clint beams, grinning at her. "You even look like a Natasha."
"Yeah." Natasha smiles shyly, ducking her head. "I guess I do."
Clint soon learns a few things about Natasha Romanoff.
1. Yes, her hair is incredibly long. No, it wasn't her choice, but her "family's" (see thing #3). She only owns hand-me-down Victorian dresses.
2. Natasha doesn't go anywhere on campus aside from the library and whatever other place Clint assumes she goes to to sleep every night (though its existence is debatable). Her avid reading is also understandable; she's highly intelligent, so her know-it-all demeanor is at least somewhat justified.
3. Her past is off-limits, but she exhibits the same behavior and personality as someone who doesn't have a family, which Clint is familiar with from firsthand experience. Whatever "family" she does have is back in the Soviet Union.
4. She doesn't have any friends.
He visits her in the library every day after his classes. Though he spends most of the time doing his homework while she reads, it's enjoyable. Natasha is pretty witty and loves to tease, making for some pretty good banter between them.
"Why do you come here every day?" she asks him after he plops down on the floor with his school things beside her for the eleventh time.
"Because you're my friend," Clint says, focusing his attention on unpacking his bag. He lays his textbooks out in front of him. "And this is what friends do: spend time together. Plus, you're fun to hang out with, so I look forward to coming here every day."
He's not looking at her so he can't see her reaction, but it takes her a few moments to respond. She lays her hand over his, drawing his eyes to hers. With softly flushed cheeks, she manages a nervous smile. "Thank you."
"Like I said, you're my friend," Clint reminds her.
"I've never had a friend before," she says. "I'm not really good at it."
"You get better with practice," he reassures her, patting her hand. "I'll teach you everything I know."
When Clint goes into town for the first time, he convinces Natasha to tag along. She acts standoffish about it at first, pouting while tying the red ribbon of her sun hat under her chin, but once they've stepped out of the car, she's enthralled.
"You're a little overdressed," Clint can't help but comment, walking her through the busy streets of New York City. She holds his hand through the swarms of people, seemingly a little anxious about the volume of people - a drastic change from the small S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy campus population. "Maybe while we're out, we can get you some clothes that don't look so...last century."
"My clothes are just fine," Natasha insists with her trademark pout. "They're hand me downs from the Russian tsars."
"Does that mean you're a Russian tsar?" Clint teases.
"Technically…" Natasha trails off. Clint's eyes widen as he looks down at her, but she's laughing and waving her hand. "I'm kidding! Learn to take a joke, Barton."
He rolls his eyes. "You're horrible."
"I wasn't lying about where I get my dresses from," Natasha says after her laughter fades. "Back at home, there's-whoa! Look how tall that building is!"
She pulls him more quickly down the street by the hand, pointing up at the Empire State Building. Clint can't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, stopping beside her at the street corner. "That's the Empire State Building, Nat. It's the tallest building in the world - are you telling me you haven't read about it in one of those books of yours?"
"Those books aren't mine, they belong to the Academy," Natasha corrects, still smiling up at the skyscraper. "And they're all too old to mention something as new as this. This is incredible! Who knew this was so close to the Academy?"
"Well, we are in New York," Clint reminds her. "I take it you haven't been out much, have you?"
She shakes her head. "I'm only allowed to go to the library or my cottage on the outskirts of campus. Those were the rules when I came over here." She looks up at him with a smirk. "So, technically, if my family found out that you took me to the city, they would probably kill you."
He doesn't doubt it. "Well, we better keep it a secret between us, then."
"Yeah." Natasha turns her gaze back to the Empire State Building. "It's our secret."
They end up keeping a lot of secrets.
The illegal trips out into the city quickly become something of a tradition between them, usually occurring once a week. Natasha even attends some classes with Clint and makes more friends, all of whom only know her as Natasha Romanoff. She starts skipping out on her daily, heavy intake of reading, instead spending her time with Clint. He loves it.
Over time, they open up more about their respective pasts. Clint tells her of his time in orphanages and with the circus while she tries to verbally decipher her complicated family history for him.
"When the Romanovs were murdered, I was just a little girl. Only a few people, some government officials heavily trusted by the Romanovs, knew I existed," she explains. "I'm not sure what my exact relation is to the Romanovs, but I have their blood, apparently. So I'm going to school here for a few years before going back and taking back the throne, or something like that. I'm not really sure."
"Is that what you want to do?" Clint asks.
"Honestly? Not really," Natasha admits. "My life in the Soviet Union has only ever consisted of staying cooped up in a tower, doing nothing but reading…amongst other things." She bites her lip, but changes the subject before Clint can press her on it. "Anyway, I'd much rather stay here."
"I'd much rather you stay here, too," Clint says. He feels heat rise to his cheeks. "I-I mean, you just seem to enjoy things here so much, it'd be a shame for you to go back."
"Yeah," Natasha says, her cheeks suddenly mirroring what Clint's feeling. "It would be a shame."
They drop it at that.
"They're coming for her."
Clint presses his lips together, staring at Coulson. Behind Clint, Natasha is currently wrapped up in three blankets and sleeping soundly in his bed (because Natasha decided to surprise him by showing up to his place that day, only to then collapse in his arms from a vicious fever).
"Who?" Clint asks, because nobody else is supposed to know about Natasha's past; but Coulson is Coulson, and nothing ever seems to slip by him.
"You know who," Coulson says softly. "Even though she's never told me herself, I'm familiar with Natasha's background. And there's a power crisis in the Soviet Union right now. Fury told me he's been alerted that her family will be coming to pick her up soon."
"She doesn't want to go back," Clint tells her. "They can't make her. She's old enough to choose for herself."
"I agree with you," Coulson says. "But, legally, I can't do anything. This is between Natasha and her family."
He hands Clint a bottle of medicine. "Make sure Natasha takes more of this when she wakes up. I'll come back to check on her after class; as expected, you're excused today."
"Thanks." Clint smiles. Coulson nods, then walks out of the room.
After the door closes, Clint hears shuffling behind him. Surprised, he turns back and finds himself looking at an awake Natasha, sitting up in his bed with his blankets still wrapped around her. She looks up at him through heavy, red eyes.
"I'm not going back," she says, her voice hoarse from coughing, but still firm enough to get her point across.
Clint sets the medicine down on his bedside table. "You were awake this whole time?"
"Just for the end," Natasha admits. "Even so, I'm not going back home. I refuse."
"You have every right to," Clint reassures her, sitting down at the foot of the bed. "It's your life. You call the shots."
Natasha looks at her lap. "I may have been born into this world, but Natalia Romanova was created." She clenches her fist. "She was created by people with agendas to fulfill those agendas. She wasn't given a choice. But…" She glances at Clint. "Natasha Romanoff can and will choose for herself."
"I will support you," Clint reassures her, laying his hand over her fist. "I won't let them take you away if you don't want to leave."
"Thank you." She smiles tiredly at him. "But...this is my fight, Clint. It'll be okay. It's my fight and I can win."
"I believe in you."
She's quiet for a few moments, then perks up. "Oh, I came here to give you something."
"A present?" Clint asks cheekily. She rolls her eyes, but he restores the honesty in his expression. "Actually, I had something to give you, too."
"I guess Christmas came early," Natasha jokes, digging around in the pockets of her dress. She pulls out her closed fists. "Okay. I'm holding yours now."
Clint leans over her to access the drawer in his bedside table. He pulls out a silver chain holding an arrow shaped charm, but hides it from Natasha's sight. He settles back next to her, raising his closed fist. "I have yours, too."
"Who should go first?"
"Let's just go together."
"One."
"Two."
"Three!"
They open their hands simultaneously, revealing the necklaces they're offering to the other. Natasha picks up Clint's arrow necklace with an expression of fascination. Clint inspects Natasha's hourglass necklace carefully before taking it in his hands.
She glances at him. "That's, uh, a sort of family heirloom? Within the Romanov family, since all of the females are Black Widows...yeah. I don't like it or wear it, so, I thought, since I told you about my past, maybe…"
"I love it, Tash," Clint reassures her, opening the clasp and pulling the chain around his neck. He quickly fastens it, watching the silver hourglass sit upon his chest with a warm smile. "Thank you."
"I love yours more," Natasha says, still examining it. "The arrow is cooler."
Clint laughs. "Here, let me help you put it on." She pushes her hair out of the way and turns around, allowing Clint to properly put the necklace on her. "Having you here, as my friend, has helped point me back in the right direction in life. I'm not a criminal anymore. If anything, I'm just the average person, with friends now."
"Glad I could make your acquaintance," Natasha jokes, turning to him, but he can sense the honesty in her gaze.
"Touche," he returns, taking one of her hands in his. "And no matter what happens, we'll always have each other.
"I'm not going home with you."
Natasha glares at Ivan Petrovich standing before her. He's calmly thumbing through one of the library books, glancing between its pages and Natasha's angry expression. She takes a step back, further from Ivan. "I'm grown up now; I can make my own choices. For myself."
"I thought we destroyed this rebelliousness within you," Ivan says distantly, looking at her over the frames of his reading glasses. He blindly sets the book down on the shelf beside him, removing and pocketing his glasses."You were the perfect child. Clearly, sending you to America was a mistake."
He takes a step closer to her, touching his cheek with her fingers. "It is time to return home. It's nearly time for you to reclaim your rightful spot as heir to the throne. We've been preparing you for this moment ever since you were a child, Natalia."
"It was never what I wanted," Natasha insists, slapping his hand away. "And I still don't want it. You can't force me to go back. This is my life now."
"Breaking the rules?" Ivan raises an eyebrow. "Sneaking around? Traveling outside of the school campus? That is not what we raised you to be, Natalia. We are very disappointed in you."
"Then abandon me already," Natasha says. "Just leave me be, here, in America. I won't bother you and you won't bother me. You can go groom another Black Widow to take back the throne, because I'm not taking part in any of it."
Ivan shakes his head. "You know that's impossible, Natalia. You are the last Black Widow, after all. The bloodline ends with you."
Natasha clenches her fists at her sides. "I refuse to kill for you anymore."
"Are you completely unwilling to cooperate with us?"
Suddenly, Ivan's tone is very serious. Natasha used to fear this tone of voice when she was younger, but fear has since been drained from her through the experiences the Red Room has dragged her, kicking and screaming, through. She stands her ground.
"I am not going home with you."
"So be it." Ivan shrugs his shoulders, holding his hands out in a taunting manner. Natasha narrows her eyes. "I believe this should change your mind."
"What are you-"
She's interrupted by a loud thud behind her, followed by a pained grunt. But...it's familiar. She inhales sharply, her eyes widening. She knows that voice. The world around her comes to a standstill as she analyzes her surroundings. Once she turns around, she's going to see something she can never unsee, something that, as Ivan said, will change her mind.
(She never should have made friends, she never should have made friends, she never should have made friends...)
"Turn around, Natalia," Ivan teases, his eyes settling on the horrible sight Natasha knows is currently behind her. "I believe you will reconsider your position once you see what we're offering you in return."
"Don't let 'em take you, Tasha!" The newcomer behind her then coughs. Natasha squeezes her eyes shut, shaking her head.
(She never should have let him love her.)
At the sickeningly familiar sound of a fist meeting gut, Natasha whirls around, eyes wide. Her hair whips her arms as she turns, the ends of her purple dress (chosen for his sake, because it's his favorite color, and she wanted to borrow some of his strength to resist Ivan and the others today) swaying around her.
Clint Barton, bruised and bloodied, looks up at her, offering her a crooked smile.
"'S'ok, Nat. It's not as bad as it looks."
Ivan steps out from behind her, now standing before her. "The choice is yours, Natalia. His life, or yours."
"Don't worry about me, N'tasha," Clint slurs, his head drooping close to the ground. His body is being held up by two burly men Natasha recognizes from the Red Room, each holding onto one of Clint's arms, though his hands are restrained behind his back. "Choose your life for yourself, 'member?"
(She never should have loved him back.)
"He has nothing to do with this," Natasha snaps, looking at Ivan. "Let him go."
"You have sixty seconds to choose, Natalia," Ivan says instead of answering her, gesturing to the Red Room men. The one to the right of Clint pulls out a pistol, pressing it to the back of Clint's head.
Natasha makes a move to intercept, but Ivan roughly grabs her arm. "You either come with us, or the boy dies. If you try to save him, we will shoot him. Sixty seconds."
"You son of a bitch," Natasha growls, trying to pull her arm back. "This was never part of the deal, this was never supposed to happen. I've cooperated with you for seventeen years. You can't do this!"
But Ivan doesn't react, simply holding her in place. At this point, the choice is an obvious one. Natasha turns her wild eyes back to Clint's defeated form, feeling a sudden stinging sensation in her eyes. She hasn't felt such a heavy sadness in many, many years, nor has she cried in a long time; but even then, it had never been for someone else.
"Don't go with 'em, Nat," Clint says with a cough. Blood drips from his mouth. "Don't do it. This is your life now, remember? You chose."
"Clint." Natasha blinks quickly, trying to stifle her emotions. She shakes her head, feeling defeated. "This is all my fault. I never should have…"
"Thirty seconds," Ivan announces.
"I'll be okay," Clint says softly. "I can take care of myself."
"Black Widows are incapable of love." Natasha shakes her head, tears spilling over. "I don't understand. Why is this happening? I can't-I'm not supposed to be able to-"
"Bullshit," Clint interrupts her. "You're not just an emotionless 'Black Widow', you're Natasha. And Natasha loves others deeply and widely." He manages a smile. "And I love you, too."
"You shouldn't," Natasha cries. "You really, really shouldn't." She relaxes her muscles, no longer pulling against Ivan's grip. "That's enough. I've made my decision."
She turns to look up at Ivan. "I'll go with you. Just, please, leave Clint alone. Never hurt him again. I will do whatever you need me to do as long as you promise me that."
"No, Natasha-"
"Very well," Ivan says. He lets go her arm, nodding to the guards. "Release him."
Clint collapses on the ground as the guards pull their hands back from his arms. Natasha runs to him, falling on her knees before him. She quickly unties the rope binding his wrists behind his back, then pulls him closer, leaning his upper body against her.
Pressing a kiss to his forehead, Natasha hugs his head against her chest. "I'm so, so sorry, Clint. This was never supposed to happen. You never should have loved me, I never should have loved you, none of this would have happened if-"
"Stop it, Nat," Clint says, looking up at her. "None of this is your fault."
"But it is," Natasha insists, her tears descending into Clint's disheveled blond hair. "And now you're hurt."
"Wounds heal." He shrugs. "But...you leaving will never heal."
Natasha kisses his head again, gently holding his face in her hands. "It's going to be okay, Clint." She smiles. "You taught me how to be brave. So I'm going to be brave and do what I need to do, okay? So don't worry about me."
"Come on, Natalia." Ivan is behind her now, grabbing her by the base of her hair. She gasps in pain at the sudden contact, letting go of Clint. Ivan roughly pulls her back, sliding slowly across the wooden floor of the library away from Clint.
"Natasha!" Clint calls out, grabbing her by the hand.
"I don't want to leave you, Clint," Natasha says, her voice watery. "But it must be this way."
Ivan's grip on her hair is starting to burn. He tugs harder, the unexpected force of his hand jolting Natasha's entire body out of reach from Clint. One of the Red Room soldiers from before holds Clint back when he tries to push himself up to pursue her. Ivan and the other soldier both pull her up to her feet.
"I'm going with you," Natasha says quietly, glaring at Ivan. "Touch Clint again, I will kill you myself."
"Do not worry, Natalia," Ivan says. "Once we return home, we will make sure you no longer remember your dear Clint. Just as you do not remember your parents."
Natasha bites her lip, casting one final glance at Clint. He's stopped fighting against the soldier holding him back, as the soldier is covering Clint's mouth with a white cloth. Natasha's eyes widen. He's drugging Clint!
But before she can protest, she finds her mouth covered with a similar cloth. Her vision swims, but she forces herself to stare angrily into the face of Ivan for as long as she can, injecting her glare with pure hatred.
Black Widow, while referring to a species of arachnids, also refers to a specific bloodline of women through many generations. They are highly intelligent, very attractive, and possess somewhat superhuman abilities, especially in physical endurance and skills.
Because of this, Black Widows excel in martial arts and strategizing, as well as seducing. They are also renowned for an apparent lack in emotions, typically displaying introverted behavior. Logic alone drives them. Over the centuries, their numbers have dwindled, due to exploitation by other humans; they've been executed as witches and/or used as weapons.
The only known Black Widow left is Natalia Romanova, who will someday reclaim the Russian throne.
They sterilize her.
Aside from how admittedly painful the procedure is, Natasha finds herself somewhat relieved that it's eliminated any chance of her passing on the Black Widow bloodline. Initially, Ivan had tried to convince her to utilize Clint for, err, "reproduction," since they'd brought him along as a bargaining chip back to the Soviet Union, but Natasha's trying to reduce the amount of things Clint has to be involved with here, so she refuses. Thus they opt to sterilize her instead.
Whatever. It doesn't matter anymore.
Besides, a week goes by, and Clint escapes.
She smiles as she watches the Red Room soldiers scramble together in an attempt to catch him, only to fail.
That's her Clint.
"We can't go back for her. She's home."
"Bullshit, Coulson," Clint insists, sitting up straighter in his bed. "Who knows what they're going to make her do while she's there? Things she doesn't want to do, I can guarantee you that much."
"She's very skilled, Clint," Coulson tries to reassure him. "While Fury and I broke you out, she doesn't need that. She can break herself out."
And Clint does believe that. Yet, he feels guilty for staying home, under the safety net of American soil, while she's still out there, fighting. "Will she come back here, the Academy, if she escapes?"
"When she escapes," Coulson says, "I think she'll return home just fine."
"I thought the Soviet Union was her home."
Coulson smiles. "Home isn't always a place, Clint."
It takes her three days to devise the perfect escape plan.
But it takes seventy-six days of waiting for the perfect opportunity.
In that waiting time, she takes thirty lives for her "family" and "patriotic honor", but reminds herself that, somewhere, somehow, Clint is waiting for her.
If she must, she will kill again to return to him.
The Depression forces Fury to close the Academy.
Coulson has a new living place and job for Clint set up, but Clint is too worried to feel assured. How will Natasha find him if he's left New York?
"She just will," Coulson assures him. "You'll see."
"It's already been months, Coulson," Clint protests with a sigh. "What if she's not even alive anymore?"
"They wouldn't kill her off."
"They wouldn't, but someone would."
"Let's just wait and see what happens."
Though it only took seventy-six days of waiting to escape, the actual escape in itself takes one hundred and thirteen days.
She tries to hope selflessly, believe that Clint has moved on and found happiness with someone else; she's made him wait so long.
(But who is she kidding? She wants nothing more than to be welcomed back home in his arms.)
By boat, she travels across Europe, occasionally switching ships, trying to reach the western side. She needs to get back to America, back to her home.
Back to her Clint.
But she also must hide.
Everyone on the European continent seems to have heard of an international missing person's case, specifically, hers. Somehow, the Red Room manages to get it broadcasted across the eastern hemisphere to be on the lookout for a Russian girl with long, glorious red hair.
Though growing it out to its ridiculous length had never been her choice, Natasha appreciates its length sometimes. It makes for a great pillow when she lies down on the ground, and earns her many compliments. But it's also inconvenient, and a little heavy.
A lone nun sighs as she grips the guard rail of the ship, looking out over the Mediterranean Sea. The long, black habit covering her body sways in the wind. She grasps the golden Crucifix hanging from her neck, pondering the existence of such a God - one whose main purpose was to sacrifice Himself for humanity, out of love.
It sounds a little romanticized, if someone asked her.
"Excuse me," a man says behind her in French. She looks back at him expectantly, recognizing his outfit as the uniform this boat's crew members wore. He holds up a lantern, better illuminating the space between them. "I apologize for disturbing you, but I've been sent to interview all of the women on the ship. Surely, you've heard of the young lady missing from the Soviet Union?"
She nods, switching her tongue to French. "Yes, I've been praying for her safe homecoming. Have you any updates on her?"
"Regrettably, I do not," the crew member says, shaking his head. "But, I also must check the hair of every woman on the ship, forgive me…"
With a minute shrug, she turns her attention back out to the ocean, its breeze lifting the hanging flaps of the black veil concealing her hair.
Then it's gone as the man strips her head of the veil, leaving her red curls to dance around in the wind for several moments before falling back to her head, just touching her shoulders.
"Pardon me," the man says, handing her her veil. She smiles at him and he turns away, in pursuit of the next woman who may be the missing Natalia Romanova.
Her haircut is far from perfect, but it'll have to do for now. The Red Room may have brainwashed Natalia to preserve her hair, but Natasha is different.
Natasha doesn't mind shoulder-length hair; in fact, she's enjoying it so far.
The doorbell rings.
"Can you get that?" Coulson calls to Clint from the kitchen.
Clint glances into the room, noticing Coulson's hands are full with making dinner. "Did you invite someone over for dinner?"
"More or less," Coulson answers cryptically, slicing an apple.
"Well, alright, then."
Shrugging his shoulders, Clint walks down the hall to the front door. He stops before it, carefully undoing all of their locks, then opening it. His eyes widen in surprise.
"Fury?"
Sure enough, Nicholas Fury is standing before him, dressed in black, along with his customary eyepatch. Clint finds himself grinning at the sight.
"It's been a while, Barton," Fury says casually, "since we got you out of the Soviet Union. Are you doing better?"
"My injuries were all minor," Clint reassures him, stepping back and gesturing toward the hall with his hand. "Come on in."
Fury actually smiles. "I brought a guest."
Clint blinks. "Oh?"
Before he can ask any further questions, Fury steps into the house, walking past Clint. When Clint turns his attention back to the front door, his breath catches in his throat.
A short girl with equally short red waves is standing there, wearing a dress more modern than any he's ever seen her wear - yet, it's purple, just like his favorite of her previous wardrobe.
She smiles at him.
"It's me, the Russian tsar."
Acting instinctively, Clint throws his arms around her, stepping out onto the porch beside her and lifting her up in his arms. She giggles at the contact, her arms snaking around his neck as she presses her head close to his. He twirls her around.
"Natasha," he sighs, setting her on the ground. He presses a kiss to her forehead, taking her hands in his. "God, I missed you."
"I missed you, too," Natasha says tearfully, intertwining their fingers. "There was no one else for me to make fun of back in the Soviet Union, or to take me on long walks outside."
Clint looks up at the sky. It's a little chilly today, as they're still entering spring, but the sun is without cloud, its light touching them. He smiles at Natasha, holding up their joined hands. "Let's amend that now, shall we?"
"I'd love to."
So he guides her down the porch steps and leads her into the vast farmland surrounding the house. She squeezes his hand, falling into step beside him and looking up at him. Clint maintains eye contact with her.
Natasha carefully holds up the arrow charm Clint had gifted her between her thumb and index finger.
(Because even in their darkest moments apart…)
Mirroring her, Clint holds up the hourglass charm hanging from his neck.
(...they still had each other the entire time.)
A/N: This is one of my favorite animes, ugh, I need to watch it again. Q-Q I literally listened to the theme song on loop for hours writing this lmao...And I'm just all over the place with Clintasha Week! It technically ended yesterday, but I've still gotta do day 4 (colors) and day 7 (free). Hopefully I'll complete both within the next few days! :)
...and maybe start on that childhood friends au everyone is talking about hm