A/N this started off as a little headcannon for why Loki's threats would be one of Nat's greatest fears and finished off as a feelsy one shot. This takes place in my headcannon where BlackHawk/Clintasha lives on, so a few years before my BlackHawk OneShots from Ultron. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Clint had been lying awake for a good half an hour, staring up at the ceiling. One arm was behind his head, the other was around his partner in the bed beside him. Neither of them had been sleeping well in the week that had passed since New York. Loki's invasion of his mind had left him with an acute awareness of his own consciousness; he probed throughout its corners now, searching for anything he couldn't identify as himself. Of course, he found nothing, but that did little to quell lingering doubt that Loki had left in his wake.

He had been powerless against Loki's wanton rampage through his mind, his desperate search for weaknesses and secrets. He had helped himself to Clint's most intimate memories, and his most painful, and cast them aside like a child bored by his toys. Through Clint, he had learned difficult details of Nat's past; his threats to her from within his cage had roused old ghosts better left long dead. It was these ghosts that currently plagued her sleep and echoed through her waking hours as well.

He had seen the footage, heard Loki's sneering jibes. Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear. Those were the words that has stirred one of her most painful memories.

She mumbled incoherent Russian in her sleep, dragging him from his thoughts. Her brow was creased into a frown. He drew her closer on instinct, drawing strength from the warmth of her skin against his.

The first thing Natalia was aware of as she regained consciousness was that she was hanging by her wrists, her feet limp against the floor. Her shoulders ached and the metal of the shackles bit uncomfortably into her skin. She listened carefully, keeping her eyes shut. She could hear nothing but quiet breathing. She could smell damp concrete, rust and sweat. Opening her eyes, dread filled her as her gaze rested on James. He was restrained, almost fully encased in metal bands. Even he would be unable to free himself.

It seemed he was also coming to. As he realised his situation he struggled futilely against his restraints, eventually relenting with a shout of frustration. Then his eyes met hers. They held the same question hers did: why were they not dead? They had been caught, their handlers had discovered their relationship. They should have been executed on the spot. Whatever they were about to face, neither had any doubt that their survival up until this point was not a mercy.

She tensed as Comrade Kuznetsov entered through the door on her left. He eyed her with disgust, then turned his gaze on to James. As he began to speak, James released a cry of anguish. "Longing."

"No!" He renewed his struggle against his restraint with a blind desperation.

"Rusted. Furnace. Seventeen."

Natalia shouted too; triggered to action, she used the chains around her wrists as leverage to kick out with both legs at Kuznetsov, intent on breaking his neck. But he was just out of reach. She tried again, but it was futile. The veins of James' neck bulged as he continued to fight. He was screaming now in a desperate attempt to shut out the words.

"Daybreak. Benign. Nine. Homecoming." Kuznetsov continued coldly.

James yelled again, fuelled by desperation and hatred. Natalia barely registered the blood that trickled down her arms as the strained against her chains.

"One"

"No, no, no, no!" He screamed. In a last anguished surge of strength, one of the metal bands around his arm budged but a fraction. But it was too late.

"Freight car." In an instant, James went slack as the Winter Soldier took over. Kuznetsov watched him closely. "Soldier?"

"Ready to comply." Was the Soldier's response.

Natalia hung her head in defeat. As Kuznetsov released the Soldier from his restraints, she realised now what their punishment would be. She would be beaten to death by the shell of the man she loved. James would watch, utterly powerless within his mind, as his body ended her life.

She awoke with a strangled gasp, sitting bolt upright. Almost immediately she felt Clint's hand on the small of her back, stroking her skin soothingly. She whipped around, searching his eyes for any hint that he was not himself. He waited for relief to ripple across her face, only then did she allow her body to relax. Entwining his fingers with hers, he pulled her gently down to lie back next to him. A thin film of tears glazed her eyes as she rested her head on his arm, letting the memory wash over her.

She grunted as a metal fist impacted on her rib cage. It was a vicious punch, one that, were it not for her own enhancements, would have shattered several ribs. As it was, pain lanced up her side, driving the breath from her lungs. "It's not your fault, James." She croaked, as she had done for the last hour, knowing that he would be able to hear her. She knew that he would be throwing himself against the walls of his mental cage.

A warm flesh fist cracked across her jaw. She spat out a glob of blood and spittle. She groaned, "It's not you, James" The Soldier drove a knee into her abdomen, his hand gripping the back of her neck. She wretched as her stomach spasmed. The grip on her neck softened for a moment so that it was almost a caress as she braced for the next blow. It didn't come.

Instead she felt his hand cup her face and his cheek brush hers, so that his lips were next to her ear. "I'm so sorry." The despairing whisper fell with a tickle to the shell of her ear. She jerked her head up to stare in to pain filled eyes. For a few agonizing moments James was there, looking back at her before the Soldier took over again and his eyes turned cold and calculating. She resolved to stare him down, watching for any tiny flicker of James fighting back. Because she knew he was, with everything he had.

Clint stroked a finger along her spine and pulled her closer, snapping her back to the present. He remembered when some of her memories had started coming back to her, not long after he brought her in to SHIELD. The fragments scared the hell out of her as they returned. He remembered the sleepless nights spent piecing them together into some kind of narrative that made sense. The grief that settled in her bones for things lost that she'd forgotten she'd ever had.

His fingertips grazed the old scar on her stomach, silently acknowledging her turmoil. She shifted so that her head rested on his chest and looked up at him. But after a moment her eyes went glassy again and he knew what her mind's eye was seeing.

She was exhausted. She'd given up trying to take the weight off her wrists; she could no longer feel her hands. James had broken through twice more, but the last time had been little more than a glitch of torment in the Soldier's eyes. She knew she wouldn't last much longer; between a splitting headache and waves of crippling nausea she was fairly certain the Soldier had fractured her temporal bone. One eye was swollen shut and the vision in the other was worryingly unfocused. Each breath was fire in her lungs as she tried to force out the same reassurances. It wasn't his fault. It had become some desperate mantra, keeping her sane from one blow to the next.

But this time when she tried to say it she was met by a garbled string of words. A chill stole through her stomach. She tried again. Random words left her mouth, in no way what she intended to say, nor in any way making sense. Then she released the creeping signs of losing consciousness as her eye drooped shut and her head lolled forward. She was still aware but her body had shut down. Now it was her turn to be trapped inside her head.

The Soldier ceased his beating and she listened as he stepped back, perfectly calm. Someone, presumably Kuznetsov, released her chains from the ceiling and her body crumpled into a heap on the concrete floor. She heard the crackle of a cattle prod followed by the thud of James' body hitting the floor as Kuznetsov recited the deactivation sequence "Four. Plough. Waste." He continued with the cattle prod until the Soldier blacked out. Then he slung a bucket of ice water over him, dragging him back.

Not a moment later, James' tortured scream drove blades through her heart. He scrambled over to her and pulled her limp body into his lap, rocking her back and forth. Sobs wracked him, but there was nothing she could do from within her mental prison. She felt hot tears on her face as he hugged her close. "Natalia, oh God, I tried." His voice was hoarse, his grief twisting it higher. "I'm so sorry." She fought, willing her body to react but she was powerless. All she could do was listen to him tear himself apart.

Before long, she heard the tramp of guards' boots. James continued to cry, holding on to her until the last possible second before the guards dragged him away. They knew he would not fight back. They had broken him. And all she could do was lie twisted on the floor, anguish ripping through her, as the only person who had ever cared for her was torn away.

They had wiped his mind completely after that, put him back in cryo for years. Following emergency surgery, they had wiped her as well, implanting false memories of ballerinas and dreams of Soviet supremacy. Even now she was still piecing together memories of James; stolen, bittersweet memories.

Clint drew her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. She smiled sadly. "I couldn't have lived through it a second time." She said softly. He hugged her close and she nestled her head in the crook of his neck. She left it unsaid that she would have fought him to the bitter end, her end. Selfish as it was, she could never had killed him. His 'cognitive recalibration' had been her final, desperate hope. Had it failed…

"I know." He replied quietly, gripping her tighter as if to remind himself that she was safe, she was there. They were utterly compromised and now they needed to work out exactly what that meant for them. And while it was difficult to accept that they were each other's weakness, they took solace in the knowledge that they were also each other's strength.

A/N well I hope you enjoyed that, in the future I may consider doing additional oneshots for Nat's reaction to Bucky post CA:TWS and CA:CW. In the meantime, do let me know what you think of this little piece.