A/N: Where Clint is upset and won't talk to Natasha. Can she get him to confess?
I do not own these characters.
All mistakes are mine.
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Natasha climbed the stairs of the apartment building. Clint's apartment was, of course, on the top floor. There was no elevator in this building so she had to climb the ten flights of stairs. This didn't bother her at all, seeing as she was in great shape. Ten floors was nothing. It would just take her slightly longer than riding an elevator.
Natasha was on her way to find out what was up with Clint. He hadn't been answering her calls or texts. He shut himself away in his apartment as soon as he had come back from his solo mission four days ago.
At first, Natasha was annoyed her was ignoring her. The longer it went on, the more worried she became. If something was wrong he would be talking to her. Unless she did something wrong. But she couldn't remember doing anything that would've pissed him off enough to avoid her for four days. They hadn't even been near each other. They had each been on separate solo missions. Natasha had gotten back three days ago only to find out her partner had left base.
"Hello, Agent Romanoff. Good mission?" Maria Hill, second in command, asked Natasha as she stepped off the jet.
"It went well. Got everything I needed. Where's Barton?" Natasha asked. She hadn't seen her partner in three weeks.
Maria hesitated. "He left base yesterday. Haven't heard from him since. He seemed...upset."
Natasha's expression didn't change but she was immediately concerned. Clint didn't usually leave base or take days off. Her brows wrinkled in a frown, "what do you mean 'upset'?"
"Well, it's always hard to tell with him, but I knew something was up. When I asked he brushed it off and said he was taking a few days off. That's when I knew something was wrong. You two are the only agents, aside from myself and Fury, who never take vacations." Maria explained as they walked to the conference room.
Natasha remained quiet, thinking.
'Why did he leave? What happened?' Natasha thought to herself. She spent the rest of her day debriefing from her mission. She put all thoughts about her partner on hold until business was done. Though she did send a text asking if he was okay.
She called him several times over the next few days, each call going to voice mail.
"Hey it's Clint. Leave a message and I'll get back to you."
"Dammit, Barton stop ignoring me! Call me!" She growled into the phone.
This pattern continued for the next few days. She would call or text him and he would not answer. She decided she would find him and figure out why he was avoiding her.
Now, Natasha stood in front of the door to his apartment. She knocked several times, but there was no answer. She easily picked the lock and opened the door.
Clint's apartment was not small, but it was also not big. He had a kitchen, a living area, a bathroom and two bedrooms. The place was a complete mess. There were empty bottles of beer and whiskey strewn around the room. Natasha walked farther into the apartment and found Clint passed out on the couch, clutching a bottle to his chest.
"Clint, wake up," she nudged his shoulder. "C'mon Clint. Need you to get up now." For all her irritation, Natasha did not say this harshly. He didn't move or show any sign of waking. If it wasn't for the rise and fall of his chest she could've believed him to be dead. It was clear that he wouldn't be getting up, so Natasha pulled the throw off the back of the couch and draped it over him. She took the bottle out his hand and left him to rest.
She cleaned up his apartment, waiting for him to wake. As irritated with him as she was, she knew there was something really bothering him. He never drank this much. A beer or two once in a while was his limit. He only drank like this when there was something seriously wrong. The last time it happened was over a year ago after a shitty mission.
They had been sent to take out the leader of a human trafficking operation. They found a warehouse where the leader, Jason Rivera was keeping the girls. He was there, so were Clint and Natasha. They were to kill Rivera and, hopefully, get the girls out. Clint took out the guards. They slipped inside and found the office where Rivera was hiding. They quickly ended his life then went in search of the girls.
What they found was not what they'd hoped for. In the largest room of the building, there were rows, upon rows of cots. On the cots were the bodies of the girls. There had to be at least fifty. All between the ages of eight and eighteen.
"They dead," Clint whispered, horrified.
Natasha buried her face against Clint's chest. The sight was too much for her. After being raised by the Red Room, the bodies of the dead girls were something that Natasha couldn't handle well.
"We're too late," Clint said.
"Let's get out of here. Please," Natasha could barely speak.
They left the warehouse and placed an anonymous call to the local authorities. They could deal with the bodies.
After the mission Clint went on leave for a week, Natasha as well. Clint drank himself into unconsciousness trying to get the image of the dead girls out of his head. Natasha did not fair much better. She ended up staying at Clint's, the two of them sharing the liquor. At the end of their leave, they talked about what had happened. After that it got easier to deal with and they went back to work.
When the apartment was clean, Natasha turned on the Keurig. She made herself a cup of tea then went over and stood in front of the balcony's glass doors. She watched the city that never sleeps.
There was a groan from the couch. Clint was waking up. Natasha walked over to him and sat on the floor by his head.
"Hey," she kept her voice low. He probably had a killer headache.
He just groaned in response.
"That's what you get for drinking until you pass out." She mocked. "What happened?"
He didn't answer her.
"C'mon, up. Go shower, you smell disgusting. Take some Advil to get rid of that headache." Natasha helped him up off the couch and gave him a little shove toward the master bedroom and, more importantly, the bathroom within. She waited until she heard the shower turn on before she returned to the kitchen.
She made him a cup of coffee: black, two sugars. After five minutes, Clint came out in a pair of sweatpants. He looked a little better and didn't smell nearly as bad.
He walked over and leaned against the counter opposite her. She handed him his coffee and waited until he finished it before saying anything.
"Clint," she called for his attention. He just kept staring into his, now empty, mug. "Clint talk to me." he didn't.
Natasha's irritation flared. "Dammit, answer me! What the hell happened?" she all but shouted at him. He winced at her volume. He turned his head away from her, clearly not wanting to talk. She was frustrated now and worried that maybe she had done something wrong. She didn't want to feel insecure, but it was inevitable.
"Di-did I do something wrong?" she whispered. "Is that why you're avoiding me?"
Clint's head snapped up and he locked eyes with her. He looked like hell. There was pain in his eyes. She had to look away from the intense look. She looked down at her hands and realized she was shaking slightly.
"Nat," he spoke low. He closed to few feet between them and wrapped her in a bone crushing hug. "I'm sorry."
"What happened? Why have you been avoiding me? Why are you drinking, you never drink! Did I do something? Did your mission go wrong? Please, talk to me!" She wasn't crying, but there was enough emotion in her words that tears were unnecessary to covey her distress.
"No, god no, Nat. It wasn't you, never you. Why would you think that?" He tightened his arms around her.
"You didn't answer my calls or call me back. I thought you needed space but then you still didn't answer after a few days. You always talk to me when you're upset," I pulled away to look at him. He led me over to the couch and we sat down.
"I'm sorry," he started. "I failed my mission. Someone innocent died because of it." He stopped.
"Clint?"
"It wasn't a solo mission as you had been told. I was partnered with a newer agent, Carol Preston. We had worked together before, never really had any problems. We even slept together a few times, just casual. Anyway, we were sent to get information on an arms dealer. This guy was a piece of work," Clint scoffed. "Damn guy bought little girls as his toys. He had them locked in a basement at his base. After we took his guards out I was going to take him out.
"Some how I missed a guard because after I took the bastard out, I heard gunfire. I found Preston and one of the little girls strapped to separate support pillars. The guard slipped out the back door. Suddenly the room was filling with gas. I tried to get them both out of the chains, but I only managed to get Preston. We were losing time and air. The other girls in the room had started passing out. I told Preston to get out and grab the girls.
"Once we got them out of the room I went back in to get the last girl. I- I didn't make it. I wasn't fast enough. I got her out but she was dead before we got to the medics. Only two, of the six girls we found, survived. I failed, Nat. I failed."
Clint was crying. He tried to turn away from Nat, but she pulled him into her, cradling him like a child. Natasha had known it would be bad, but she couldn't have imagined this.
"It's not your fault. Clint, you did everything you could." She tried to ease his guilt, though she knew it wouldn't matter.
"I failed," he kept whimpering.
"No, you didn't. You save two girls, that's more than we could last time. Those girls will get to see there families again. They get to go home thanks to you," Natasha held him tighter.
He didn't say anything for a while. He tried to calm down. Once he had stopped crying, he sat up.
"Thank you," he grasped her hand.
"You would've done the same for me. I'm sorry I was angry at you."
"No, you had a right to be. I ignored your offer to help. I was just- I just couldn't..."
"It's okay," Natasha squeezed his hand. "It's okay, you don't need to explain."
"Nat," he brushed the back of his knuckles across her cheek. She seemed spooked by the gestured and quickly turned her head away. "Sorry," he muttered an apology.
Clint got up and walked to the balcony door, watching the city as Natasha watched him. The only reason she refused to give in to her feelings was to keep him safe. Once they compromised each other with emotions, there would be no going back. They would be vulnerable, weak. Their enemies would have something against them to exploit.
She knew all of this and it was still very hard to not give in. Especially at times like this when the were emotionally drained and tired of fighting.
"I should go," the words were out of her mouth before she knew it. It was too late to take it back so she stood up and started to leave.
"No, don't go," Clint pleaded.
"Clint?"
"Please, stay." It wasn't a question, but also wasn't a demand.
"Okay," she whispered.
"With me," Clint added.
Whoa, with him? Did that mean he-?
"Yes," he answered her unspoken thought. He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. He tilted her chin up, and slowly, slow enough for her to stop him, he leaned down to kiss her. She didn't stop him. At first the kiss was soft and gentle. Then started getting hotter, more aggressive. Their tongues, battling for dominance.
Natasha broke away first. "We can't," was all she said.
He didn't look angry or annoyed. He just looked hopeful.
"Why not? We're already compromised for each other. Everyone already thinks we're together. Our enemies could use us against each other either way. Why can't we get something out of that?"
'He has a point', Natasha thought to herself.
"I'm scared of being hurt," she gasped after she said it, thinking it had just been a thought in her head.
"Baby, I'm the last one who will hurt you. I will move heaven and earth to keep you from being hurt. Please, let me love you," he implored.
She looked into his eyes and got lost in the stormy seas of blue. After a moment she spoke.
"Okay," was all she said.
The End...
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