I LIIIIIIVVVEEE!
Sorry, life, but I'm now also on season five of Merlin. :) (I love this show! If you do too, let me know. :) I'd love to fangirl with you.)
So, this chapter was crazy fun to write and a bit of a roller coaster. I'm thinking I'm going to post the chapter out of chronological order...we'll see.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. Only borrowing like everyone else...will return
READ ON
Sunlight peered into the curtains, piercing at his eyes and pulling his feet over the bed. His toes barely touching the floor, the sun began scratching at his eyes; this sent his arms into the involuntary movement of rubbing at his eyes as the sun dried them out. Grumbling, he placed his feet on the cold, wooden floor, and looked straight at the door. The white, wooden door which mocked him every morning, the same door that had met him two years ago; how things had never changed.
Sighing, he leaned over to her side of the bed and whispered, "Good morning Natasha," and then stood up and left the room. Today was going to be a good day he decided. He trembled as he remembered what the day before had brought, the panic attacks, but quickly pushed them aside. He was going to be fine today. He may not have been fine every day, but he could decide to be fine today. Besides, he thought to himself, they weren't doing anything spectacular. Checking the calendar in the hallway to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he paused when he saw what day it was.
"CLINT!" Tony yelled as he bowled into him, "Holy crap, Clint I missed you. I thought I was going to die." He finished over dramatically, throwing most of his weight on top of Clint.
"Stark," he greeted, "I thought you were on your honey moon?"
Tony groaned, "I was. I'm not now. Let me tell you, it is great to be back."
Clint paused before turning to his friend, only allowing a small amount of concern to show on his face, "I thought you loved sex?"
"I do," He replied, looking offended that Clint would have suggested anything different, "and Pepper on top of it all, but three weeks in the Bahamas killed it, Clint. We were only supposed to be there a week. But you know how Fury is. Yes, I went on a solo mission, ON MY HONEY MOON! So Pepper was all…"
Clint sighed and put a hand over his friend's mouth, "not that I wouldn't love to know why your trip was extended, but I think it can wait until after breakfast."
Tony thought for a moment before nodding, "You're right, food. But don't…"
He didn't have time to finish before Clint took in a large gulp of air and yelled, "Steve! Bruce! Tony's back!"
Tony visibly relaxed but tensed back up at Clint's over innocent expression. "Oh dear," he said, turning to face his now trembling friend. "I seem to have forgotten someone."
Tony paled and reached forward to grab Clint's arm, "I'm begging you, please! No, I haven't had a day to rest, please!"
Clint ignored him and yelled, "THOR! Tony is home!"
He laughed as a blur of blonde ran into his short brunette friend, the force pushing them into another hallway. "I'm going to go grab breakfast," he said to the open air, vaguely pointing to the direction of the kitchen, before making his way into the shared space to eat with his friends.
Looking down the shaft of the arrow, Clint let out a heavy breath. Shaking fingers released the arrow, letting it fly. As always, it hit the dead center. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he actually started aiming for the heart. "No," he told himself, "we aren't going there today." Notching another arrow, he positioned his feet and took aim again. This time, he let the breath go after the arrow had been shot. The result was the same. Taking this into account, he pulled out one of his explosive arrows which were slightly heavier than his other tipped arrows. Smiling at the target he notched the arrow, "Take this one on for size," he mumbled.
The arrow rang true again. "Wasting your time again," Clint paused, entire body ridged as he recognized the voice. "Should be out hanging with your friend Clint, he missed you."
Panicking Clint turned around to see the reason of his elevated heart-beat, "Natasha," he whispered as tears formed in his eyes.
She smiled as she walked towards him, "Been a while, I know."
Curling in on himself, he flinched as she touched his arm. "No," he whispered, backing away as tears poured down his cheeks. "You can't be. You're dead!" He yelled, collapsing onto the floor.
His tears turned into heavy sobs as he fought to catch his breath. This can't be happening, he told himself, she died. You're just hallucinating. He looked over as she touched his shoulder. He screamed. Images of killing people under Loki, watching her die, all melded into one horrific picture of blood that covered his vision and flooded his ears. The sound of metal crashing, a window braking, and Rogers yelling that Stark was down came on top of him and he found a force greater than gravity pushing him into the floor.
She touched him again as he whimpered. His breaths became quick with panic and the world spun as his stomach threatened to empty itself. Stars danced in and out as he thought he saw a tuft of red hair brush against his check. He ignored it. Instead, he worked on calming down his breathing. He placed his hands over his ears and started talking to himself, "She's not here. She's dead. She can't be alive. You're dreaming. In and out, in and out. Focus on your breathing."
Hearing her talk, he clamped his mouth shut and fumbled in his pocket for his phone while trying to avoid her. She reached to give it to him but he pushed her away and shakily sat up so he could keep an eye on her while he called for help. She stepped forward again but he sent her spiraling onto the floor again where she stayed, her face the picture incredulousness.
Trying to hold his hand still, while watching her, he quickly typed in Pepper's number and called her. Four rings later and her sweet voice pierced through the walls of his own panic. From his phone (which was on speaker) her mellifluous voice spread through the room, "this is Pepper Potts, how may I assist you?"
He sighed happily from hearing her voice, "Pepper, this is Clint. I need you; or Bruce," he added as an afterthought, "Hell; Tony would work at this point."
A long pause almost sent him into another attack before her voice came over again, much more worried this time, "Clint? What's wrong?"
He choked back a sob as he looked at Natasha's fallen expression from the exchange, "I…I had another panic attack. I'm hallucinating, Pepper I need someone, please."
He rocked back and forth on his heels as Natasha continued to stare at him with an empty expression. He kept his eye on her as she stood in front of him, a wicked expression taking over her face, "you will regret this, Clinton," her lips moved with a haunted voice that continued at his frightened expression, "You, and all of your allies. You will live to see the fall. I hope you're ready."
He screamed, dropping the phone some feet away, and with trained reflexes notched and fired an arrow just as she tried to flee the room. Her pained scream echoed throughout the training room and any thought of betrayal fled from his mind. His legs ran to her in a desperate attempt to see if she was fine. From where he was he could already see the blood pouring from her abdomen.
He picked her up and felt the coldness reflected by her color and fading lips, "Clint," she choked out hoarsely, "Oh, too long…"
He swallowed a sob as he ran his fingers through her hair, a mission from two years ago playing through his head again as itself repeated, "Natasha I'm so sorry, your voice…"
"Hush little one," she soothed, "it will all make sense in time."
He smiled sadly, "Don't leave me again. I've already lost you once; I can't bear to lose you again."
"Oh, little bird. I wish I could say the same."
He looked down to where a knife protruded from his own abdomen, the arrow in hers having disappeared. "Oh, Clint," she said, drawing his face up to look at her in the eye, "I can't believe you still love me. After all I've put you through. Well, let's hope your team doesn't make the same mistake." Standing up she walked to the door, a wicked smile still plastered to her face, "You'll have to excuse me being rude. I have a date with Mr. Righteous."
He made to stand up, but found himself doubling over as he coughed up blood. "No," he groaned, "No, you have to get up Barton."
However, his attempts at crawling were useless. "No!" He screamed, slamming the floor with his fist. "Help!" he screamed, hoping against hope that someone could hear him.
"Clint," a small voice responded, effectively bringing him from where the darkness soaked through him in his own blood. "Clint, look at me."
He looked up as red hair came into view; a frightened Tony behind it who he could make out was calling someone. "Hold on," the lovely voice said comfortingly. "It will all be fine."
His last moments were spent trying to convey that Steve was in danger that he had to get to him. The voice quieted him before he continued. So, he accepted his fate in an odd sense of peacefulness. Finally he decided that sleeping was better than to continue to be heart broken, so he let himself drift into an enigmatic abyss.
Her soft feet padded on the hard wood floor as she approached the throne. Fingers twitching where they held the arrow which was coated in her own blood, she greeted him, "My Lord," she proceeded to do a short curtsey. "I bring to you the dagger soaked in his blood like you asked."
A dark-haired man turned to look at her, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes, "How hard was it?" he asked as he approached her from the throne.
"Difficult, but he seems to doubt his own mental stability. Nothing a little play with the mind couldn't cure."
He laughed as he gently took the dagger from her hands, "He did not take your death well, I presume."
She nodded as he continued to examine the dagger, smiling as he wiped it up with a wet rag. "Well, that should be all for now." He said, handing the dagger back to her he walked back up the steps to the throne where he sat haphazardly. "I have no doubt that I will need your services again, should I require them."
She curtsied again, whispering a small thanks, but stopped with her hand on the door handle, and turned back to face him, "What of the Captain?"
The man stopped form where he was taking his leave as well, a thoughtful yet devious expression playing at his feature, "I'm sure we can figure something out."
Natasha leaned against the cold bars on the window of the cell hoping to provide some comfort to her heating skin. The musky cell had given her a cold that had not taken long to turn into something much larger than a simple cold. Everything felt like as sauna, except for the cold bars that touched the outside where snow blew and the weather stayed a horrific shade of cold. Usually shivers shook her body, but now even the tundra temperatures couldn't bring her into the now wanted spams.
"Come on," she murmured, "have to cool down."
"Pathetic," a familiar voice sneered, "sniveling, to a window no less, I don't know how Barton can stand you."
She pulled her face from window and stared down at the man who stood tall before her, "Didn't see you as the type of person to lower yourself so far as to prey on the weak."
"Is that an insult, Miss Romanov?"
"To some, maybe; depends on how you take it. I like to refer to it as cowardice."
He sneered before yanking her down and shoving her against the wall, "You think you're so great, let's see how great you do when I give you something to fight for."
Her breathing picked up as a woman walked into the room. "Hello Miss Romanov." She greeted.
Natasha turned to him, "Who do you think you are?"
"I'm Loki Laufyson, of Jotunheim."
LOVE IT!
Cookies to those who can guess who the random woman is!
Also: Read and REVIEW please. :) I love you guys, but I also like reviews. And my little Warlock muse is getting hungry...
Review, or the Hawk dies. Seriously, If I don't get reviews, you leave me no choice, but to kill Clint. (Evil laughter)
As always, have a nice day,
-The Hawk