"Why do you lie to shrinks?"
Natasha is impressed – she is sure her question come out of blue for Clint and yet his reaction are perfect mix of innocence, pot/kettle calling, pressure and threat.
"Like you do not lie to them, Nat" he smiles innocently and friendly with darkness lacing his voice. "Who still in her monthly session tell SHIELD the memories about her family that we both know are implanted in Red room?"
He saying it aloud should scare her. Instead Natasha appreciates – they are deep in desert with no living soul in closest hundred kilometers and EMP bombs they used during the day has turned technological spying devices to mush. So this is one of rare instances they can talk freely without half said coded sentences they use usually.
"You know it is different, Barton. I do get better on my own."
That pointed look could be patented and in most cases makes everyone receiving it obedient and compliant.
"So do I"
"I call bullshit, Clint." her eyes are flaming red with reflections of sunset and anger is almost palpable. There is great need to hit something, to hurt something or someone till the blood seeps between fingers and pain on knuckles replaces other type of pain, one you cannot rub away with anesthetic.
"You don't get better, Only thing you get better is hiding how bad you are" she lashes.
"Having a picnic in my head now? Specialist in what is happening inside it?" his anger matches hers, need for violence washing over like tide. They are face to face in primal fight for dominance and control, none willing to yield.
"Are you sure you can handle what you will see when you look deep enough?" Clints voice are smooth and even luring. "Are you sure that red room burned out even your deepest fears? Are you sure you wont run away scared?"
She isn't. But there are no choice, the tide of darkness in Clints eyes will take him over if she lets herself falter and then she will have debt that will weight more then all the rest of her credits together.
"You'll be surprised," she snarls, curling her tongue against teeth so that it comes with animalistic hiss.
They circle each other, seeking weakness, but none daring to make first move, oblivious to anything outside their trajectories. They are tuned to each others moves, so the attacks are small and fail to cause real harm. She quite don't reach nerve on archers shoulder, so arm is not paralyzed, but the bloody trails her nail leaves feels good too. He fail to hit her legs, so she do not fall down, where his greater weight would allow to keep her down, but the groan of pain she makes sounds like music.
Few more hits land on target with satisfactory thuds and sharp breaths they both take are indicators that no one are getting upper hand in this whatever they do. But still it feels and hurts so good that there is no stopping.
With punches, grips and scrapes they keep spiraling out of control and allowing their despair, fear and rage to wash over, taking and giving blows that telegraph to their bodies that other are alive, are there, are real. Especially vicious kick to his knee sends him down to sands and before he can get back up, they are kissing.
The kiss itself is more akin to punch then caress, full of sharp teeth, angry lips and punishing tongues. To anyone looking to them it would seem like two lovers in gentle embrace, hands traveling all over each other bodies, checking for injuries and begging forgiveness for pain delivered. Inside kiss taste like freshly drawn blood.
When need of oxygen pulls them apart they flinch away to safe distance.
"Getting better, my ass" she hisses, careful to not meet his eyes.
"Look who is fucking talking," he keeps eyes on endless skies where their back up should appear any moment from now.