Chapter Two
A/N: Oops. I completely forgot I had this chapter done a while ago. Well, it's here now.
Warnings: Possible cursing. Mentions of (mild) torture.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or Thor.
Summary for chapter: Natasha must consider all her options while evaluating what's already there. It's not an easy job.
o-o-o
When I was a child, I heard voices
Some would sing and some would scream.
You'll soon find you have few choices,
I learned that the voices died with me.
When I was a child, I'd sit for hours,
Staring into open flames.
Something in it had power,
Could barely tear my eyes away.
- Lyrics from Arsonist's Lullabye by Hozier
o-o-o
Natasha and Clint arrive the next day, as prophesied by Bruce.
A Quinjet departs from a snowy area in the mountains of Massachusetts around eleven in the morning. Their course is set to: an "unknown" location in the Atlantic ocean. But Natasha knows better. After all, Fury had been the one to call first. And that itself could only mean one thing.
Inside the Quinjet, Clint shifts around, trying to find a comfortable position for the journey. He crosses his arms over his chest, over and over again, before finally sighing. And the cycle restarts.
Natasha sits down and fastens her seat belt. Her countdown from 3,600 seconds begins as soon as the pilot informs her the jet has reached its maximum altitude.
By the time Clint manages to fall asleep, it's been 1,800 seconds. His breaths are coming in steady and he hasn't moved at all. Natasha just sits still and keeps counting.
When she hits zero, it's been an hour since departure. She's been staring at the gray lining of the Quinjet on the ceiling all this time. Occasionally her eyes will flutter to Clint, she's expecting him to at least stir when the turbulence gets too rough. But he stays sleeping. That's good.
She looks outside the window then, sees the infinite expanse of blues, blues, blues, and starts counting backwards from again.
Later on, when a distortion appears, a sliver of something in the sky, out in the distance, does she sit up straighter. This is familiar territory, as familiar as it gets because Fury called them in with a the title of "an important mission" that had not been discussed at all.
They land without turbulence, which is rather strange. It makes her uneasy. The silence might be a sign -whe whole journey has been silent.
Natasha waits for a moment when the doors slide open. She watches the light crawl it's way up to Clint's face. He wakes up when the light hits his eyes. They snap open, and just like that, he's up.
Natasha stands up too and smooths her clothes even though they don't need to be smoothed. Her movements are languid once she stretches her limbs. Yet, the soreness in her muscles increases from a dull ache to a throbbing pulse, thrumming steadily through her body.
It makes her feel alive, alert.
She removes herself from the cool shade of the jet and the heat she's met with blinds her like a stun grenade. Well, not exactly. But it's still an unpleasant feeling. The humidity sticks to her body like sweet honey.
Her eyes wander to Clint's direction then, and she wonders if he's suffering too. But he looks unaffected. No sweat accumulates on his brow or forehead and there's no frown of deep thought. He wears short sleeves and gray cargo pants, so that must be why.
Natasha walks ahead trying to ignore the sun that heats her hair. She concentrates on something else, her gaze memorizing, picking up every detail, familiarizing herself with everything again. Yet, she can't help but grimace a bit in discomfort when a drop of sweat rolls down her back.
The entrance to the main control room is about fifty five paces from where they are, and the sun just smiles like there's no tomorrow, burning its rays down onto their backs.
Natasha stands up straighter if that's even possible.
Clint seems distracted with something else. He doesn't talk, doesn't even glance her way.
Forty paces.
Thirty paces.
Twenty—
"It's hot," Clint comments suddenly, inclining his head to catch her eye. He's the first one to speak ever since they departed. He probably notices Natasha's extra hard glare.
In the exact moment Natasha's ready to answer, a drop of sweat decides to make its move. It runs down from her forehead to her chin before gravity takes hold of it and makes it fall. The plop is silent, but the stain is surely visible.
Clint doesn't seem to notice. If he does, he doesn't care. Just keeps his eyes locked with hers.
"You think?" she asks finally.
Clint's lips have pressed into a line and Natasha keeps eye contact. She knows he wants to say something.
It's then when they make it to the door, and finally, Clint pulls on the handle. Cool air shoots past them, harsh and quick. It makes Natasha's hair flutter a bit and it feels like wind dancing on her skin. It cools her down instantly.
She takes a deep breathe in.
"What do you think Fury is going to debrief us on?" Clint prompts when the door closes behind them. "Has he told you?"
The change in conversation is not subtle in fact, it's a whole completely different subject from before. Natasha decides to continue anyways.
"I only know that it's important," she says. "Important enough that you and I and the others have been called from their 'vacations' to meet up."
Clint scoffs amusedly. "You know you didn't answer my question, right?" he asks.
She nods. "Yep. But my answer may have been enough context to say that I don't know what the deibreing is about, but I do know it's important."
A smirk rises on Clint's face and Natasha knows she's won this round.
o-o-o
When both of them arrive at the debriefing room, it's silent. Fury sits at the head of the table, arms crossed and as immovable as a statue. He looks more tired than when she last saw him and that was barely three weeks ago. Natasha knows. She's been trained to notice these types of things. He's more serious, if that's even possible.
That may turn into a problem later.
Clint and Natasha shoot a glance at each other as they pull their chairs but neither says anything. They wait for Fury to talk and the wait is treacherous. The silence creeps onto them like a predator to its prey, but they've gone through far more worse than this. It shouldn't be a problem.
Both now seated comfortably, Fury finally pulls out a folder. It's small and normal looking, filled with at least two inches of paper.
"This, Romanoff and Barton," Fury begins, pushing the folder to them, "are the readings of something very important we received in only ten minutes."
"It's pretty thick," Clint says, looking at it but not reaching to grab it. He doesn't question what's it about or why there's been so much information gathered in only ten minutes. Natasha keeps her eyes wandering. She stays quiet, curiosity growing.
Fury blinks his one eye; it flickers down to the folder in front of him, then looks back up.
"Wouldn't it be easier if we put it up on one of the fancy screens, too?" Clint continues.
Fury lets out an amused scoff. "That would be more efficient," he says, nodding. "But I wanted to show you that this is a lot of information, especially with ten minutes of the program running. Don't you want to know what it is? What's it about?"
Natasha perks up at his tone of voice. He's stalling. But why?
Clint gives a small grin. "I don't know, do I?"
There's something off, definitely wrong about the situation. For some reason, there's an uncomfortable weight creeping onto her chest as she ponders what the sudden unease might be. The two inch folder becomes a ticking time bomb. Natasha wants to reach for it, but her hands don't move. She waits for the right moment instead.
Fury leans back in his chair. "Do you?"
There it is.
"Yes," Natasha says, cutting in-not too quickly, but not too late. "Just spill the beans. We can take it. We're all big boys and girls here." She adds a touch of humour to settle her nerves.
It's not as effective as she hopes to be..
Fury gives her one of his looks. The one that means serious business is about to go down and that it must stay secret. The one that usually means trouble. Something in his eye hardens and his head bobs. "Confidential information that you are not allowed to tell the rest of your team is not lying, even if they mention it and you don't say anything" he would say.
Natasha's eyes dart to Clint then, but he's too distracted-giving her one of his looks-to notice the sudden tension. Can you believe this guy? the look says.
And that's when the serious business gets started because Fury snatches the folder back swiftly. He flips through the folder like he hasn't seen it before and stashes it somewhere underneath the table (an empty cubicle maybe?) He crosses his arms and leans forward, like he's going to whisper.
"These readings and data we've received are similar to those when Loki invaded," Fury says. His voice isn't in the least bit soft. "The team has come to the unsettling conclusion that he might be coming back."
The comment is so blunt Natasha wonders if she's heard correctly. She opens her mouth to say something but Clint beats her to it. "You're joking, right?" he says, but there's absolutely no humor in his voice.
"Nope," Fury says. "Yesterday morning at approximately 0500 hours, we started to receive weak signals and pinpoints of random energy. At first we thought it was Thor when we looked into it, or the Bifrost opening or something, but in fact, it turns out that is not the case.
"When we realized this, we had to call in some people. So we did. We had Selvig, Stark, and Banner review the information, and they came to the conclusion that it was in fact Loki's magic. They knew this because-"
"I don't care how they found this crap out," Clint says suddenly. His voice is monotone-face blank as always-but Natasha hears a sharpness to it. "Get to the point."
Fury remains silent and doesn't continue, he just stares at Clint and Clint stares right back.
Natasha decides to save the day, slowing wiggling herself into the tight space. "So what's the reason we were called in for?" she asks nonchalantly. "It's obvious we can't do what Banner and Stark and Selvig do- we can't do the science stuff to benefit the team. So what are we here for?"
Fury doesn't seem relieved. He taps the desk three times with his finger and Natasha thinks she should have tried better; both subjects are so similar and hit close to home. It's too late now.
"We've decided to bring the team back together," Fury states, pushing back his chair, now standing. He gives her one last glance before heading to the door. "And I need all of you together if some bad shit starts to go down. So I hope that everyone plays nice like before.
There's a pregnant pause and a small intake of breath as he continues. "Agent Barton, I also hope that you are doing well like you said you were. It would be a shame to hear that all the money, from therapy sessions you attended, went to waste. That slippery shrink wasn't cheap."
At that, Natasha can practically feel her disbelief. Her lips lose their stiffness at the incredulous statement, and her eyes immediately wander to Clint. Clint's face is neutral, but she knows better.
That was one hell of a blow, for sure. Even she wouldn't stoop that low.
Fury leaves with the two inch thick folder underneath his arm and an attitude that reeks of annoyed and pissed before she gets the chance to ask where Steve is. Before she can easily insult him for insulting Clint.
Clint stays in his seat the whole time, shaking his head and muttering things underneath his breath. Natasha, however, finds herself gravitating to where Fury sat at. He'd been trying to tell her something, or trying to get her to do something. She doesn't go directly to his seat, instead, she walks up to the window and stares outside.
From the reflection she can still see Clint muttering. He's distracted, and that's when Natasha turns, quickly eyeing and searching for what she suspects there is. She spots a cubicle almost immediately. Partially hidden inside the cubicle is a small but distuguinsahgle object.
A flash drive.
Bingo.
She passes by the desk like a shadow and grabs at the flashdrive-her fingers dancing on the surface without so much as a rustle-pretending to head to Clint's direction, to which she does. She pulls a chair and slumps into it, facing him, staring at him.
"Clint," she says.
"Natasha," Clint says back. He doesn't move, just keeps staring ahead.
Natasha waits, combing her hand through her hair. Picking at her nails. Wondering what the flashdrive is about. Questioning what obstacles lay in front of her. She waits, waits and waits. Seconds pass, and it's too much time. She's wasting time.
Knowing what the whole ordeal is about, and knowing about Clint's reluctance about the subject, Natasha decides a new tactic. She opens her mouth, uttering a "Why not?" There's no context, but she knows he knows what she's talking about.
Maybe her tone of voice will make him spill. It isn't too loud or shape, just the right amount of interest. But Clint just gives her a disappointed look. He's fallen for that trick too many times.
"I dont want to," he says plainly, jaw stiff and his eyes now parallel to the ground.
That's not an answer. He knows it.
Her hands have clenched into tight fists behind her back. For a split second she wants to launch at him, grab him by shoulders and shake him until the real answer to why not spills out. She realizes that it's not logical thinking or behavior—he's been through too much—so she uncoils her fists and swallows hard.
"You have to," she reasons. "When have you ever backed out of a mission just because you didn't want to do it? If you hadn't wanted to since the beginning, then you wouldn't be here. We wouldn't be here."
Clint opens his mouth, then shuts it. His silence means everything.
Natasha pats him on the back, a rough and sharp movement, yet all the same comforting. "It's going to be okay," she says. It's a mistake saying it and she realizes it a little bit too late. Clint knows it too.
Natasha: 1, Clint: 1.
I almost gave up writing in Natasha's point of view at first because I just COULDN'T. BUT I SNAPPED YALL. Reviews are appreciated. (also, Natasha is a simple person.)