Well shit.
Beyond this door sat Natasha, but not quite Natasha. The last mission she went on, that stupid mission in Austria … Clint Barton stood behind the metal sheet that separated him from her.
Severe head trauma, but they've confirmed Natasha Romanoff was still the Natasha Romanoff that worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., not anyone else. She's just … a few memories short.
She remembered enough to know that she shouldn't attack anyone from here. She remembered the friendly faces, and when an unnamed hired assassin had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. to utilize this vulnerable time to take down one of the deadliest forces that was human - was vulnerable to simple weapons; like a knife – she had snapped his neck within three second of seeing him.
It seems that the guards that stood to attention outside her 'room' were there to keep her from others, not the other way around. Clint breathed out again, what would she remember when she saw him? She had already met everyone in the team – she had smiled at every one of them; a smile that used to be only reserved for him, on their missions. He remembered everyone's surprise when they returned – she had seemed so warm and kind, and friendly. Not like the master assassin S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned to the Avengers.
That was his Natasha – his warm and kind, and friendly Natasha. She opened up to him, and only him. The idea of her seeing him and trying to kill him because she didn't remember anything almost made him turn around and walk away. But he didn't, and as he scanned his fingerprints and retinas, he tried to think of something to say when he saw her.
The door opened, and Clint walked in. Natasha was sitting on the bed sitting in the centre of the room – it was a med lab used to watch patients, but Natasha didn't have any wires connected to her. The monitors were all pushed to the side, and a desk with notes had been provided; if she remembered anything she was told to write it down. It might take a while, Fury had said. It could vary between a day to years. They really weren't sure at this stage.
She turned and looked at him, her cold blue eyes questioning but accepting. Her red hair was tied into a pony tail today, the mass of fringe somehow tamed into one singularity, with her fringe refusing to grow far enough to be tied down. Her face was unemotional – she just looked at him.
Clint realized he had been holding his breath, and he sighed, putting his hand to his hair – something he did when he was nervous around her.
"Uh, Tasha." He managed. Well that was just great, great. He walked around to her bed, and pulled the chair from the desk. He sat facing her, the bed higher off the floor than he was when he sat down. He ran his hands through his hair again. "Oh Tasha." He breathed, not looking at her. "Remember, please." He pleaded.
There wasn't any fire there anymore, no sign that she was letting her guard down every time she saw him. She was just a plain girl, with a particular set of skills. He stood up, and Natasha's eyes followed him, followed the curve of his movements, watching like a hawk – that was usual, at least.
He wasn't sure what she allowed, but he was allowed to touch her even before, so Clint decided to at least try. He reached out a hand, and Natasha just looked at it approaching her. He placed it upon her shoulder, and Natasha returned her gaze back to Clint. Her brow furrowed slightly, as if to ask him why he did that.
"Don't punch me, okay?" Clint said softly, before he leaned in and kissed her. She didn't resist, but instead kissed him back. Her lips were soft like always, and the rhythm with which they kissed with constant; just like always. Clint smiled into the kiss, maybe she did remember him.
What was it that Fury said? Try and trigger her memories with a strong emotion or incident. Well as far as he could tell, she presented no stronger emotion than when he kissed her. He put his free hand on the bed, leaning into her. She complied, leaning back and shifting so that they never broke from their kiss.
Natasha had done nothing with her hands so far, and as soon as she could stop changing positions, she reached out, and put her hands in Clint's hair. He groaned; he really wish she did remember, because if she was doing these things unconsciously then it was going to kill him. She took one of her hands, and replaced it under his shirt. He felt her fingertips roll over battle scars, old and new. He felt the hand in his hair tighten. Spur of the moment decision; he broke the kiss, and kissed his way down to her neck.
Just because she didn't remember doesn't mean that he can't try and help her. As soon as his nose nuzzled that soft crook in Natasha's neck, she melted in his arms.
Good.
"Clint." She moaned into his hair.
Clint immediately stepped back. He hadn't introduced himself when he came in, and she had never seen him before. It was unlikely anyone had shown her a picture of him, since the only photos everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. had of themselves are on their ID badges and encrypted in the database, and his ID badge never left his side. No one would go to the trouble of decoding his file.
"You…" He tried. "…Tasha, do you remember me?"
Natasha's face was blank, but suddenly she laughed, resting her face in her hand. "Oh Clint. I remembered the second our lips touched. I guess it was too hard to hold back." She peeked at him through her fingers. "I guess we can't continue then." She smiled.
"Like hell we can't." Clint grinned, reaching back to kiss her. She lifted his shirt over his head and he propped her slight frame on the bed like a doll.
"If Fury asks," Natasha whispered. "I didn't remember anything until after this, okay?"
Clint smiled. "Anything for you, Tasha."