"The bonds of silence and protection run deeper, for the moment, than his trust in me."
-Terrence Real
In the duration leading up to Natasha's release from hospital, all of the Avengers visited her and displayed their individual show of care, whilst wordlessly simmering with a formidable rage at the person who put her there in the first place. None more so than Steve who, when not on a mission, was decidedly devoted to the red head and who was suppressing the vicious wrath that festered ferociously, amidst the mystery of Natasha's assailant. Despite many wary inquiries by all of the Avengers, it was made perfectly clear by Natasha that it was a subject she did not want to discuss, let alone provide an answer to, as she replied icily to each one with a decided shrug or a stern 'I don't know'. The adversity of not knowing had inflicted even more vivid and terrifying nightmares on the soldier, ones that seeped red, laced with the stench of death and brought with them the horrifying sentiment of loss. He wasn't the only one.
Natasha awoke with a violent and desperate intake of breath, one that made the stitches in her side sting and throb, reverberating through her flesh and ripping slowly at her senses. With a wince and a slight groan she managed to regain some level of composure however her cheeks bore stained tear tracks and her heart pounded brutally within her chest as her mind managed to clear the remnants of the nightmare that was. Since her return to the Avengers tower the nightmares had become worse, the vividness of the colours and sensations had intensified adding to their horrific affect on her, she had put this down to the lack of drugs within her system that had previously eliminated them so effectively. It was not that the Black Widow did not have her fair share of nightmares; she had encountered enough terrors to construct an innumerable number of abhorrent visions, ones that could torture a sane man into utter oblivion. Natasha's ability to cope was second to none, however her recent attack had rattled her far more than she'd care to admit, and amongst the graphic images that now disturbed her sleep she struggled to get past her traumatic encounter. Blinking rapidly into the eerie obscurity of the room her eyes quickly became accustomed to the dark, and with a hurried swing of her legs she exited her bed and the room that seemed to provide the perfect terrorizing platform for her visions to assault her. Her bare feet pounded along the hall way, the impact causing her abdomen to throb in a manner she had recently found incredibly comforting, if it hurt it meant she was awake, it meant the nightmares remained dormant. Just what she wanted.
Arriving at Clint's door she entered without knocking knowing it would be open, just for her, as she walked over to Clint's bed. Within the streaming silver gleam of the moon she observed the figure of the archer, laid on his front his arms splayed out wide and his head rested on one side against his pillow, causing his features to scrunch and contort into a highly unattractive expression of sleep, much to Natasha's amusement. Without opening his eyes, and accompanied by a languid movement of his arm, Clint pulled the duvet back revealing the expanse that was saved for her, allowing her to slip in beside him. Battling through the heavy haze of sleep Clint mumbled against his pillow,
"Nat you're gunna have to talk about what happened." As she shuffled deeper under the covers, delighting in the warmth radiating from the archer's body, a much needed reassurance, she responded with adamant conviction,
"I don't." With an agitated groan, in accordance with a gratuitous stretch of his arms, Clint forcibly opened his eyes bestowing a concerned gaze upon his best friend,
"Steve is driving himself insane about it he's just too polite to ask, and everyone else knows that their attempts are useless." With that an aggravated huff expelled from her lips as she turned her back to him, pulling the duvet up to her neck and allowing herself to be enveloped in the consoling presence of Clint, despite his irritating and irksome enquiries.
The next morning Natasha awoke relatively early to witness the hilarity and slightly disturbing view of Clint drooling on his pillow, as the soft growling drone of his snores filled the silence of the room. Grabbing a black zip up hoodie of his and pulling it over her white tank top and red pyjama shorts, she made her way to the kitchen, her crimson curls wild in the aftermath of a slumber plagued by unrest. On arrival she was confronted by Steve perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, donned in navy joggers and a tight white t-shirt, his hair also shared her style of disarray. In one hand he held his coffee whilst the other was occupied with the newspaper; his half-eaten toast placed before him. Making her way to the coffee machine Steve stirred from his deep study of the daily news, bestowing a soft welcoming smile that made his azure eyes glisten delightfully in the morning light,
"Morning, how are you feeling?" Leaning against the counter and crossing her arms she waited for the coffee machine to make her much needed beverage, allowing her to reply courteously,
"Achy, but I'm getting there. I just wish I could do something other than paper work or research." With that Steve's lips took on an adorable lopsided grin, accompanied by a sympathetic gaze, if there was anyone who understood the annoyance of being restricted from field work it was Steve,
"Give it time Nat, you need to heal." Grabbing her coffee from the machine she pulled it close to her lips, enabling her to inhale the heavenly smell that told her it was time to seize the day, as she responded with a clear edge of frustration,
"Yeah well, I swear this is payback for me clearing off on my own... which is ridiculous." At that she noticed that Steve had turned his attentions back to his newspaper, although he clearly wasn't reading it, with a deep breath in and a preparatory closing of his eyes, he looked up at her. His usually clear sapphire eyes were clouded by concern, causing them to lose their youthful brilliance that she so admired, and his features seemed drawn and aged by apprehension as he gently uttered,
"Nat... what happened? Who did that to you?" His brow creased in a way that made her heart sink at the sentiment so readily displayed upon his face, causing her gut to lurch and drop in a rare show of guilt before she swiftly and sternly warned,
"Steve..." Her eyes rolled back in her head, as she moved from her casual position, the feeling of discomfort and dread crawling through her limbs, inciting an irritable itch and a familiar urge to escape. Steve now sat bolt upright, his gaze flitting over her in desperation for an answer as he countered,
"I know you don't want to talk about it, but whoever did that... I can't stand to think they're out there still. Please Natasha... please tell me." Almost immediately he realised that his attempt to obtain information was futile, the veil of the Black Widow had now fallen into place, causing her expression to remain indifferent and her eyes to exhibit a look of contempt, one devoid of the playful sparkle and emerald glow that entranced him so. Looking him dead in the eyes, he felt an unnerving icy tingle emit along his skin in reaction to her disparaging stare, she sternly stated,
"I don't know." With that she walked out of the balcony doors leaving Steve with the perturbing inclination that she was lying.
Clint entered the kitchen in time to witness Natasha fleeing onto the balcony, whilst a dejected Steve stared despondently after her, his eyes betraying his helplessness and desperation to heal her. Not to mention the atmosphere of the room felt decidedly dismal, and despite the high tech heating alarmingly cold, Clint knows. Walking towards the fridge he opened it and grabbed the milk, dragging the captain from his longing reverie,
"She ice you out again Cap?" With a sigh of dejection Steve turned to address the archer, his voice filled with discontent and the sound insights a slight pang of sympathy in Clint,
"Yep... Clint aren't you concerned about whoever did that to her?" Pouring the cereal he procured from the cupboard Clint paused, and looked up at Steve, exposing a slight insight into the rage that roars within through his following words,
"Of course I am, I want to shoot as many arrows as I can into their god damn face, but Natasha won't tell us anything until she wants to. It's pretty much a losing battle trying to extract information from that woman." With that he sloppily added a splash of milk to his cereal before he grabbed a spoon and tumbled onto the sofa in an overt show of lethargy, turning to the large screen before him and putting on some inane cartoon. Shovelling large spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth, in an ungainly and stomach churning manner, Steve assumes that their conversation is finished.
Looking out of the large windows leading on to the balcony Steve observed the perfect silhouette of Natasha, and in one swift sweeping motion he's off his stool and walking out through the balcony doors. The slight breeze teases through her crimson curls, causing them to flick and lick at the sky like flames, and for a moment Steve's mind is hijacked by visions of her blood, smeared along the walls, trailing along the floor, and he knows he has to tell her. Steadily and warily he walks towards her placing himself beside her, she doesn't flinch she doesn't even turn her head to acknowledge his presence, but she knows he's there. Her eyes continue to scan the horizon, and usually Steve would await eye contact before addressing her, it's merely manners, however he knows in this case it's not going to happen, so he precedes,
"Natasha when I found you there was so much blood... I... I'm haunted by that image forever, it will never leave me, and the anger I feel at whoever did that to you will never fade. I want to know who did it because I want to ensure it won't happen again... ever." His voice is firm and certain, as if he's never been more sure of anything in his life, causing Natasha to oh so slightly tilt her head in his direction. The motion is so minor, but indicates so much more, she's listening, she cares,
""The team needs you Nat... I need you, we can't lose you." At that she turns her whole body to face him, and her body constricts in agony at the expression on his face, at the look in his eyes, because the longing and yearning that pools there is heart breaking. Deep down she knows she can't promise him anything, and it terrifies her that she has affected Steve so much, that she inflicted so much fear, pain and worry. So she does the only thing she can do: lie. Reaching up to his cheek she gently brushes her thumb over his chiselled cheek bone, allowing one of her best endearing smiles to adorn her lips before replying definitely,
"I'm not going anywhere."