She'd been alone on a mission.

It was nothing new, and certainly nothing they would have ever been concerned about. It should have been a milk run.

The asset had a mile long list of weaknesses. Alcohol, redheads, gambling, drugs. You name it, this guy had dabbled in it.

It was a simple approach, the usual line; 'tell us what you know and you get to live'. Open and shut. He gives up the name- some wannabe gun smuggler who had wandered in and blown a SHIELD operation years in the making- and gets to leave with all limbs attached.

Of all the places she'd been and all the missions she'd completed, it seemed almost blasphemous that a trip to the outskirts of Los Angeles is what killed her.

Her last words in the Tower had been directed to Clint, "Want to come and keep me company? If you fly the jet we can be back before Thor tries to cook dinner in two days."

He'd smirked, "Well, if I didn't know better I'd say you were already missing me, 'Tasha. Can't handle these missions without me anymore?"

Her answer had been to toss her hair over her shoulder, a taunting smile on her face, and walk out the door.

She'd hardly been recognizable the next time they saw her.

They'd been gathered for lunch just a day later- at Pepper's insistence- when Clint's phone rang. "Barton."

He stood, tension immediately freezing his frame. Everyone mimicked his posture, unconsciously standing and moving closer as they listened to Clint's half of the conversation.

"What?"

"No. No!"

"You're sure? You'd better be fucking sure, Hill."

"I'm on my way."

He snapped the phone shut and exploded into action. His go-bag, always packed and ready by the door, was grabbed and he was in the elevator before anyone could open their mouths.

Steve was the first to follow and yelled back over his shoulder, "Tony, call Maria! I'll get to the armory, you guys go to the jet!"

Steve's feet thundered down the stairs, trying desperately to catch up to the elevator. The rest of them listened as Jarvis called Hill and they ran to the roof where Tony had expanded the landing pad and created a suitable place to keep one of the quinjets.

Clint was already running out with his quiver and bow when Steve got there, "Clint, wait!"

Clint didn't even pause, and instead jumped back in the elevator. Cursing, Steve turned and ran back up the stairs. He had a uniform and shield on the jet, just as Tony had one of his suits.

Despite the stairs, Steve was hardly out of breath when he reached the jet. His silent look to the others confirmed that Clint hadn't said anything.

The archer was running around the jet like a man possessed, doing the minimum number of checks possible before throwing himself in the pilot's seat. He didn't even look to make sure they were all onboard before the doors shut behind them.

"Clint, what-"

A hand on Steve's shoulder cut him off.

"It's bad," Tony was uncharacteristically grim.

"What happened? It's Natasha isn't it?" Steve didn't have to ask to have his fear confirmed.

Bruce nodded, "What else would get Clint like this? Natasha's mission was a setup. The guy she was meeting somehow got wind that she was coming and alerted her old friends in Russia."

They didn't dare try to distract Clint; the aerial stunts he pulled under the best circumstances were nerve-wracking, but now? Now he flew without regard to other air traffic, taking the most direct route and keeping as low as possible.

Each of them had suited up and nervous habits took over as their minds wandered. Despite Maria's assurances that Natasha could handle herself, Clint's reaction had them all on edge and worried.

If he was risking all of their lives by flying like this to get to her, he had a damn good reason to be doing it.

Silence reigned.

At some point each of them had made a half attempt to wander closer to Clint in a vain effort to calm him down. Each of them had turned away on their own when they saw the hard set to Clint's jaw and the worry lines around his mouth and eyes.

It was the longest flight of their lives.

In a move completely unlike anything he'd done, Clint landed the plane as close to the building as possible, not even making the attempt at stealth.

Steve finally found his voice, "Alright, we'll move in slowly and-"

Clint was running down the ramp, an arrow already nocked.

"Cover him," Steve yelled as they all scrambled to keep Clint from running right into an ambush.

The doors fell to an explosive arrow and Clint had sprinted through regardless of the debris and fire.

"Natasha!"

His cry echoed in the building.

"Natasha!"

It was the single most desperate, most heartbroken sound any of them had heard.

Steve and Bruce walked in first, followed by Thor and finally Tony, who had thankfully scanned the area for them.

He'd pulled his helmet off and thrown it to the ground when he hadn't found any heat signatures other than Clint's in the building. His yell was drowned out by Clint's.

Thor held Steve and Bruce back once they'd gotten close enough to see.

He needn't have; they'd frozen in place on their own.

Clint was on his knees in front of Natasha, who was still restrained to a chair in the center of the room.

Both their heads were bowed, but where deep, wrenching sobs racked Clint's chest, Natasha's was still and silent.

They couldn't see her face but her body told the story well enough.

Tony stared in open horror at each red stain. Rivulets of blood had snaked down her neck, arms, and legs but there were darker spots along her torso. With each drop that continued to fall he counted out each heartbeat that didn't sound, and each one that ticked down from Clint's own heart. Clint's heart echoed in the quiet where his other half had left him and Tony knew both would soon be silent.

Steve turned away, unable to look at either of his teammates. He flinched with each cry from Clint, and then once again every time that cry went unanswered by Natasha. His eyes clenched shut but he clung to every sound from Clint; he wasn't naïve enough to believe that Clint would stick around long enough to give a verbal goodbye so he memorized what he was given.

Bruce forced himself to breathe but he never turned his gaze away. He balled up his anger, his hatred, the utter desperation he felt and he shoved it down somewhere deep where he knew he could call on it later. Already he could see Clint doing the same. Clint and Natasha were so much the same person that he already knew beyond a doubt that for every drop of blood she'd lost and every ounce of pain she'd suffered, Clint would match with his own to ensure her killers were brought down. Bruce intended to have the same amount of rage to match that for when they found Clint after he was done.

Thor moved closer quietly and left Mjolnir behind. This was not something that his beloved hammer could fix. He perched over Clint's shoulder and silenced a curse when he saw the bruises and blood that marred Natasha's face. Clint's shoulders were tense and his cries had shifted to forceful, loud breaths, the overwhelming sadness morphing into soul-crushing guilt and anger. Thor's words were quiet, "Come, Clinton. Let us bring her home. Bear her hence."

Clint didn't turn to look at him but he slipped his knife out and cut her bonds, catching her gently and shifting her dead weight so that she rested against his body, with one arm under her knees and the other supporting her back.

Bruce had already set up the stretcher on the jet and Clint laid her down with a pained noise deep in his chest. He moved her hair away from her face and kissed over the blood that had partially dried on her forehead. He brought her hand up and placed a kiss on the back and then arranged her hands over her stomach.

For a long minute he didn't move and then just as suddenly he turned back and grabbed Steve by the shoulder.

"Don't follow me," he growled.

They could only gape at the sudden shift and watched silently as he shot two explosive arrows at the roof and brought the building down on itself.

Clint disappeared around the corner of the building and that was the last time they saw their friend alive.

SHIELD had intel from up and down eastern Europe; men shot down in the streets, in their homes, at work. Each had had shady dealings with a certain group in Russia. Clint worked his way through as many people as he could find before there was a sudden, explosive end at what they suspected had been a last resort safehouse for the group's leaders.

They'd buried Natasha, a small ceremony and a bigger headstone than she would have liked but it brought a small smile to each of their faces to think of the things she would have yelled at Tony for commissioning it, so no one changed it.

The groundskeeper called them one day out of the blue and only told them that they should get there as fast as possible.

They weren't prepared to see Clint propped up against the back of the headstone, every bit as bloodied as Natasha had been all those weeks ago. His head was bowed but his face was relaxed and they like to think there was a smile on his lips.

Blood was smeared over his forehead and the back of one hand and a red thumb on his left hand matched the marks.

They buried Clint where they'd found him and the two partners spend the rest of time watching the other's back.


Always

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