It's been two weeks since I last saw Clint. Everyone was back and trying to make him talk. The doctors said that he could now hear us, but he would not talk to anyone. I on the other side enjoyed the peace and quiet I got on the top of Stark Tower. The sunset and sunrise are amazing when you can see the whole city and the bay and during the day it was perfect for sunbathing. The problem was that at night it was freezing cold. Anyway I used the nights to train and get some sleep from time to time.

I was currently at the gym, fighting with a hologram that JARVIS so kindly projected. I fell on the floor due to a kick I had taken to the stomach. "You're surprisingly strong for a hologram." I tried to joke but coughed some blood at the end of the sentence. The projection disappeared and I heard JARVIS's voice coming from the radio. "Are you OK?" "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little out of shape." I got up and went to my bottle of water. "If it's any consolation you were better than the last time." I looked up, for no reason really. "Thank you JARVIS. That'll be all." I reached for my bottle but I heard something creeping behind me. I turned around as fast as I could, the bottle in my hand ready to distract whoever it was behind me long enough for me to get my knife out.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out." Natasha was standing next to the punching bag putting her gloves on. I looked at her with a look that she knew well. "I'm here to train, not chat. If you don't mean to join me, then don't interfere." She shrunk her shoulders and called me. "I hold – you punch. OK?" I nodded and went over to her. Ты устала. (You're tired.) She nodded.

We didn't say anything else for about an hour. Sweat was pouring down my face and I could feel my tank top sticky on my skin. The more tired I got, the more wrathful I hit. But I continued to hit long after my hands started to hurt. I could barely move my shoulders, old injuries kicked in and I finally couldn't move any more. I lost balance and used the punching bag to restore it. I went past Natasha to stand on the other side of the bag.

She wasn't as intent to hitting as I was. She stopped after 30 minutes and came to me. "Go and get some rest. You'll need it. Fury wants you on a mission." She started pushing me towards the door of the gym. "What kind of mission?" She just looked at me and stroked my back. "Easy in. Not so easy out. Break in, steal the blue-prints, and get out. The problem is the guard. But you're good in hand-to-hand combat, so you'll be just fine." That was the last thing she said to me until I got back.

I got my card out to unlock my room when I heard something from inside. I opened the door and entered totally disinterested in who was in my room and what was he doing there. "Get out." I said and shut the door behind me. "Actually, I can't. It'll be disobeying direct orders." I looked to who was talking. "I have to stay here until I tell you everything about the mission." I went over to my bedroom leaving the door open, but still hiding behind the corner. "I'm not in the mood, Barton?" There was a loud silence. One of those silences in which it is so quiet that you feel like someone's shouting in your ears. "What happened? What happened to that Irina, who sat there next to me while I was deaf?" I slid my old t-shirt over my head and a put pair of old pants on. I showed behind the corner and looked at him, leaning my back to the frame of the door. "I am the same person now, as I was then. It's the situation that has changed. I was the only one that could communicate with you then. Now things can go back to normal. And why the hell do you need me for this mission?" He looked at me with a glass look, which gave me the creeps. "We… I need a woman to take the blue-prints, but they already know Natasha. So I need you. You still are the only one that understands me." He stood up and came closer. Closer then he has ever been. "No one really knows what the silence is able to do to me. You can still feel it, can't you? Even though it's been years. Sometimes the silence is so… intense that you think you're still deaf." By the end of the sentence his voice got louder. I knew what was coming. He was going to start screaming. And he did. "It's fucking killing me, Irina. I wake up, alone in the quiet," his voice no louder than whisper. And suddenly his fist flew less than an inch from my face. I winced and shit my eyes and he started screaming again. Louder and louder with each word. "I just want to start screaming and scream and shout as loud as I can just to prove myself that I could fucking hear.

I could feel his breath on my face, one of his hands still holding the door frame beside me. I could hear the sobs he tried so desperately to cover, I could hear his heart beating fast. Everyone thought he was angry with someone, I know, I heard them talking earlier today. But he was not angry, he was scared. Terrified. "I know how this feels, Clint. But I'm not the one you should be asking for help." I finally opened my eyes to find him looking at me. He took a step back, pointed his eyes and then me. Look. He then pointed himself. Me. Put the fingers of his right hand into the fist of his left. In. Finally he pointed his eye. Eye. "I'm looking you in the eye, Clint, but that does not…" I was cut off by his hand which he put over my mouth. "I need you to help me." His voice was now a hiss. For the first time in ages I felt fear. The one that makes you freeze and stops you from saying anything. Tears flooded my eyes, I tried to swallow them, but it was too late. They started rolling down my cheeks. His hand loosened his grip. His first mistake. I lashed him in the jaw and he wobbled in front of me. It was my turn to hiss. "Get out of my room. Get out of here! Now!" he looked at me with confused face but turned and walked away. I wiped the tears in my eyes and went over to the bathroom.

I didn't close the door behind me, nor did I take my clothes when I turned the cold water and stepped into the shower. The icy water calmed me down and made me feel more relaxed. I knew this feeling wasn't going to last for long, so once I got out I opened all the windows and turned off all the lights. Dripping wet, lying on the bed I didn't notice when I fell asleep.

I woke up hardly breathing. My hands and feet were freezing. Could barely walk, but somehow got to the window to close it. Then went back to my bed and cringed under the covers.

The dream has made me realize something. It wasn't Clint that I was afraid of earlier. I was terrified of becoming like that. Becoming like him, again.