Shoutouts to Nikki, yornma, EpicPackage, Jo, Guest, sailorraven34, AmeliaSkellig, beverlie4055, xSuperNovax, CreativeDreamer98, and MaddieFayeth96 for reviewing! (I know I have some PMs to answer, and I promise I'm going to get to them! I'm just falling really behind!)

Oh, man, some of the comments I got about the sex scene were hilarious. Yes, it was supposed to be awkward and uncomfortable on purpose, so if you felt awkward and uncomfortable while reading it, I did my job pretty ok! =)

This chapter has some good and bad in it, and we get to see what exactly Clint remembers in his dreams, so hopefully you guys like that little additional scene. I promise next chapter will be getting more into the mission!

Just as a heads up, I published a oneshot on my AO3 account about Kate Bishop telling Clint that she was sexually assaulted. If you're interested in reading it, my username is ThoughtfulConstellations, and the story's called (Not) A Victim (Ever).

For extra emotions, listen to "Give Me Love" - Ed Sheeran =)

As always, keep reviewing. Your feedback is awesome and still continues to be important and fabulous.

Chapter 7

Maria Hill slid into the seat across from Natasha and set an apple down in front of the redheaded Russian. Natasha took one look at it, and she knew that she wasn't going to like what Maria had to say—it had kind of become their thing that whenever there was bad news, Maria brought Natasha an apple, her favorite fruit. The tradition had started four years ago when Maria had come to tell her that it would be another two months before Natasha could go up another clearance level, and she'd brought an apple with her to make up for the bitter news. Ever since then, whenever Maria had something to say that had the potential to upset Natasha, she brought the assassin an apple.

"No," Natasha said flatly before the dark-haired agent even said anything.

"It was Fury's idea. Not mine," Maria replied. "He knows you're still pretty opposed to your sub-mission."

"Sub-mission?" Natasha mused. "Is that what he's calling it now?"

"He knows you're not happy about watching Barton without Barton being aware of it." Maria had the good conscience to look guilty, Natasha thought to herself. Sighing, she reached out and took the apple. It was a gala apple, her very favorite. She moved her green eyes back to Maria.

"Well, he's right. I'm not happy at all," she said. "The only reason I agreed to it is because I know Clint would jump on the opportunity to go on a mission, and I wouldn't let him go without me. I'm not exactly willing in this whole fucked up arrangement he's got going on."

"Trust me, I'm not a fan of it, either," Maria reassured. "I think it's good that he brought Palmer back into the field, though."

"Yeah," Natasha reluctantly agreed. "It's just all shitty, though. Have you even had any time off since New York?"

"Not as much as I'd like." Maria gave a half-smile. "Anyway. Every two days, I need a report on how Barton's doing emotionally, mentally, and physically. Nothing in writing. Use an encrypted phone line."

"What if I can't ever find myself alone?" Natasha asked innocently.

Maria, however, was undeterred by Natasha's feigned innocence. "You'll have plenty of time. Clint will be at work establishing his cover and doing all of that boring business shit, and you'll be his stay-at-home wife when you're not schmoozing with his co-worker's wives."

"God, I hate doing that," Natasha groaned. She gazed ruefully at the apple in her hand, hating what it stood for, but she gave in and finally took a bite of it. "It's absolutely miserable. Trying to act like I give a shit about who's wearing what and why. I mean, don't get me wrong—I like looking my best and being stylish, but I just don't understand that lifestyle of not caring about anything else. It's exhausting, Maria."

"Oh, I know." Maria smirked at her. "I've done my fair share of those missions, and trust me when I say that I don't envy you."

"You realize that this means I won't be able to wear sweatpants or leggings for all three months we're there, right?" Natasha lifted her eyebrows as she took another bite of the apple. Damn was it good, but she would never admit that to Maria.

"You'll live," Maria said, full out grinning now. "And you think I don't know that you're trying to get me off topic, but I know that's exactly what you're doing. Your eyes need to be on Barton at all times. Even when you think you're back at the apartment, and it's just the two of you, and you're not working anymore? You're still working. You're on the clock 24/7 here, Natasha."

"I know. I know." Natasha gazed out the window of the airplane and watched the clouds roll by. "It just feels shitty."

"I know it does. But you know that this is what's best for him," Maria said gently. Natasha looked back at the woman and saw that Agent Maria Hill, her handler was gone and in her place was Maria Hill, her friend. Reluctantly, she nodded and looked down at the table top in front of her.

"I know. Doesn't make it feel any less shitty, though," she said. "What if Clint finds out? How the hell am I supposed to cover myself then? He's going to flip, even if I tell him it's for his own good."

"Then don't let him find out," Maria said. Natasha's eyes shot back up, and she saw the half-guilty expression on Maria's face. "I know that seems hard to do, but when you need to keep a secret, you'll do it. I don't have to give you that lecture—hell, you could probably even give me the lecture better than I could give it to you."

"I hate this," Natasha murmured under her breath. "I really fucking hate this."

"He'll be ok, Natasha," Maria said reassuringly. And Natasha stared at her apple, at her peace offering, and she wondered how much she really believed Maria's statement.

Natasha let out a quiet breath as she looked around the enormous apartment SHIELD had obtained for Jason and Faith Dantoni. Well, SHIELD definitely thought that Jason and Faith Dantoni deserved a luxurious apartment, and that was exactly what she and Clint—and Palmer—had gotten.

"No fucking way," Palmer breathed, looking around the large room. "Ok. So maybe I should get back into field work more if this is the kind of place I get."

"They only do this for long term and if it fits your cover," Clint replied. Even he had a grin on his face. He'd stayed in plenty of nice places before to help keep his cover, but he certainly never got tired of it. SHIELD pay wasn't bad at all to say the least, but he and Natasha chose to keep their money saved away instead of spending it.

"Well, this is a lifestyle I can get used to," Palmer said. "I'm off to explore this place, and when I'm done, I'm picking a room and crashing."

"Don't take the master," Natasha reminded.

"I'm so impressed with this place that I can't even feel annoyed over the fact that I'm having a normal bedroom," Palmer answered, and he shook his head as he started walking around. Natasha glanced over at Clint, and they exchanged a silent conversation on how trying to take a nap probably wasn't such a bad idea. She could put together the fact that Clint hadn't slept much more on the plane than he had been at home in his bed, even if he hadn't volunteered the information.

She wandered around the apartment seeing where everything was, sometimes separating from Clint and sometimes exploring with him. In the back of her mind, she wondered how much SHIELD was paying for this apartment and how many false trails they'd had to leave behind to make it look real that the Dantonis had bought the apartment. Actually, she realized, it wouldn't surprise her if they'd gotten Palmer to take care of all that for them.

Finally, she stumbled across the master bedroom, and she didn't hesitate in her eagerness to get in the bed. Dropping her travel duffel on the ground just on the inside of the door frame, she crossed towards the bed and let all of the energy drain out of her bed, allowing her to flop on top of the covers. Clint appeared around the corner and smiled at her. "Getting comfortable?"

"Yeah. Didn't realize how much I could use a nap until Palmer mentioned it." Natasha fought the urge to yawn, and she patted the spot of the bed next to her. "Come on. We could both use a nap."

"I slept on the plane," Clint protested, but it wasn't an actual protest. Natasha knew he was lying, but she didn't call him out on it. If Clint wanted to think that she was stupid, then ok. She wouldn't try to argue with him because she was pretty sure that deep down, Clint knew she was on to him. She patted the spot on the bed beside her again, and his resolve finally broke. He threw his duffel bag onto the ground very much like she had, and then he crawled onto the bed, sighing and coming to a stop once he was beside Natasha. "Shit, this is a comfortable bed."

"Right?" Natasha closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "Our last day of freedom before we start our assignment, and we're spending it sleeping."

Normally, Clint would have used that moment to suggest doing something else—sex, he always meant sex—but this time he didn't. They hadn't had sex since that awkward thing had happened with them two nights ago, and honestly, both of them were kind of nervous that they'd lost their groove with each other. The thing was, Clint was fantastic at sex. He knew when to be gentle, when to be rough, and when to be both—he could make her fall apart 30 different ways, and that was just with his fingers.

Sex with Clint was never something that Natasha dreaded or felt wary about, but now she did. She couldn't help wondering if she'd done something to possibly push him when he wasn't ready, or if she'd completely misread his signals. She was ready to take the blame for what had happened—Clint hadn't been ready, and she was pretty sure that she'd pushed it onto him, and she wanted to die because of it.

"Nat?" Clint's voice was a whisper by her ear. She opened her eyes and looked over at him.

"Yeah?"

"You look upset," he said. Leave it to him to notice it and call her out on it.

"I was just thinking is all," Natasha said with a dismissive shake of her head. "The mission."

"You're worried about our assignment?" Clint couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. "Nat, we've killed thousands of missions like this before. We could do this in our sleep."

"Yeah. Three months is just a long time," she said, even though she'd been undercover on much harder assignments before. Clint rolled onto his side and looked at her with those piercing blue eyes of his, those eyes that had been able to see right through her the very first time she'd fallen into his line of sight.

"You've gone way longer than three months. What's wrong with this one?" he asked, his voice laced with so much concern that it broke Natasha's heart. He was so goddamn selfless—he was going through his own shit, but here he was putting his own problems off to the side so he could address hers. She hated him for it.

"Nothing," she said with a sigh.

"Something's worrying you. Come on," he coaxed. Natasha lifted a hand and ran it down the side of her face as she let out another side.

"You," she said. "You are worrying me." Clint was quiet. She didn't want to look at him, but she needed to see his reaction, so she tentatively turned her head to see him staring at her with an uncharacteristically expressionless face. "Clint…say something."

"I don't know what you want me to say. I'm fine. I keep telling you—"

"I'm not asking you to tell me anything. I don't want you to if you don't want to. But don't lie to me. I hate that." Her voice was quiet and level. Clint thought that that was probably worse than her breaking and yelling at him.

"I'm not lying—"

"I'm not an idiot, Clint." Now she just sounded tired. She kept her gaze on him, and he could see the way her eyes looked guarded. Natasha never looked at him like that. He watched her put up her walls, and he made the decision to knock them down just a little bit.

"Loki brought up my childhood memories. He used his scepter to—to access parts of my memory that I've tried to leave out. Memories of my father, my mother, my brother, Trick Shot breaking my hands…memories from my first month at SHIELD. He brought up every single one of those memories. My nightmares…they're about my memories. But brighter. More enhanced. Like Loki put them in HD so I remember everything in vivid detail." He was surprised by how painless it was to talk, how easy it was for the words to flow out from his mouth. He watched Natasha's face change as she processed the information, her eyes never leaving his face.

"So that's what he did to you," she said softly.

"I keep getting flashbacks…when I'm asleep." Clint watched Natasha shift her body so that she was lying on her side facing him. "That's why I haven't been sleeping very well."

He didn't tell her that his nightmares also included Loki implanting the image of what it would be like to kill Natasha in his head. He didn't know how he could possibly tell her and expect her to stick around, so he just didn't say anything about it.

"If we're going to nap, can I try something?" Natasha asked. Clint's face turned wary, but he nodded, his cheek sliding over the pillow. "Do you trust me?"

"Always," he murmured, as if the thought of not trusting her hadn't even crossed his mind. Natasha felt a pang of guilt at the faithful expression in his eyes. If he knew that she was supposed to report back to Maria in two days about his condition, would he still trust her? Would he be angry? She didn't want to find out. Forcing herself to turn away from him, she rummaged around in her duffel bag until she found what she was looking for. With quick, efficient movements, she had the iHome up and running and her playlist of rain sounds filling the room. She turned back to face Clint, checking his face to see his reaction, and she was instantly rewarded by the look of calm on his face.

"You have a rain playlist," he said as she slid back into the bed. He followed her lead and tucked himself under the covers.

"I do," she confirmed. "Sometimes it helps me sleep whenever I'm stressed."

"It's been a long time since I've fallen asleep to running water," Clint said, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

"Me too." Natasha lay on her side and looked directly in front of her, taking in Clint's face. God, he was home. He was so much her home that she could barely stand it. Suddenly, it didn't matter to her whether they were in Italy or Texas—she just needed to be with him right then. Whenever she came back from a mission, she never particularly took the time to think about the places in her physical area that she'd missed; she rarely thought about the restaurants or the parks or the cafes nearby. When she thought about going home, she thought about Clint. She thought about this face in front of her. "Thank you for telling me the things you did."

Clint moved his jaw like he was going to speak, but he just stayed quiet and nodded. Carefully, he scooted a little closer to her, just close enough to drape his arm around her waist and draw her in to him. Natasha let him bring her close, and she mirrored his action by draping her arm around his ribcage. Just like that, they were so close their foreheads were touching.

I want to be better for you, Clint thought.

I want to be ok for you, he wanted to say.

I want you, his mind sighed.

Natasha felt his blue eyes on her face, and she couldn't look away. Not when he was being so close and open with her. She just stayed still underneath his arm and looked at him, thinking about how she would never get tired of looking at him. She knew every kind of facial expression in the world that he wore. She knew how he looked when he was trying not to be angry, how he looked when he was proud of something and wanted her to be proud of him, too, how he looked when he told a joke that he thought was hilarious. And she also knew how his face tensed and blossomed when he came, how he held his eyebrows tight together as if he were in pain but his jaw open in pleasure.

But right now, he looked a mixture of wary and relaxed. Tilting her head in, she kissed him gently on the mouth. At first, he was still, unmoving beneath her elbow, but then he started kissing her back. He kissed her with a soft, tender mouth, his lips relaxed and just slightly damp. With each kiss, Natasha found herself simply enjoying the act of kissing. It had been a long ass time since she and Clint had made out like a couple of hormone-crazed teenagers, but she really reveled in it as Clint did nothing more than hold her and kiss her.

She didn't know how much time passed, but before long, she was wrapped up in Clint's arms with her nose pressed to his chest, listening to the sound of Clint's slow steady breathing. To the sound of Clint sleeping.

Everything was in HD. Clint knew he was dreaming, but he couldn't quite bring his awareness far up enough into his consciousness to wake himself up, but he definitely knew he was dreaming.

He sat at a table in an empty room, his hands chained together and the cut above his eye still dripping blood. He didn't know where the fuck he was, and it was the century's largest understatement to say that he didn't want to fucking be there. As he turned his head around the room to figure out where he might be, a dull ringing in the back of his skull let him know that he'd most likely received a concussion from that one guy slamming his head against the concrete.

What was the last thing he remembered? He tried to think. He remembered Barney, and he remembered a man in a suit. Wincing at the effort it took to remember, Clint shut his eyes. "Fuck."

Without warning, the door flung open, and in walked the man in the suit from earlier. Clint felt his muscles tense up, and he glared furiously up at the man. "Where the fuck am I?"

"Mr. Barton, do you remember me?" the man asked. His voice was smooth and pleasant, completely undeterred by the fact that Clint was bleeding and pissed off.

"Where the fuck am I?" Clint snapped.

"I take it that you don't remember." The man in the suit sat down across from him and stared seriously at him. "That's ok. I accidentally hit you much harder than I'd intended to, and you have a concussion."

"WHERE AM I?" Clint shouted, feeling the wires begin to snap inside him. Panic started to rise up in his chest as he thought about Barney. Oh, God, where was Barney? What had they done to his brother? His tongue felt thick in his mouth, but he wasn't sure if it were because of the panic or the concussion.

The man didn't even flinch at Clint's explosion. "You're at a SHIELD facility. You're with SHIELD."

"Fucking hell. Fucking hell." Clint tried to lift his hands but found them chained to the table. "What did you do to my brother?"

"Your brother is all right, Mr. Barton. He and your mentor got away," the man replied coolly.

"You leave them the fuck alone. Do you hear me? Don't touch them," Clint said. He meant it as a clear and obvious threat, but as the words came out of his throat, they just felt like cardboard—flimsy and replaceable.

"We don't have orders to go after them. It would have been nice to get them in our custody, but we were mainly focusing on you," the man said. He didn't seem bothered at all by anything, and Clint wanted to punch that smooth, easy look of his face. He grit his teeth in both pain and anger, fighting to get some kind of self-control.

"I don't believe you," he growled.

"You don't have to. Not right now. Mr. Barton, my name is Agent Phil Coulson, and I'm with the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, otherwise known as SHIELD. I'd like to make you a job offer," the man said. In the back of his mind, Clint could kind of remember the man introducing himself earlier before the fight had broken out, but he didn't linger much on the memory. There was no sense doing that when he could focus on the now.

"Fuck off," he spat.

"I don't think you understand your dilemma here, Mr. Barton," Agent Phil Coulson said, finally starting to look mildly annoyed. "You've broken a lot of rules, and you've made a lot of people unhappy. The director of SHIELD would love to have you thrown in prison for life, but I don't think you deserve that. I'm willing to give you a chance. I want to help you become an agent."

"Does it look like I want to be a fucking agent?" Clint demanded. He leaned forward, ignoring the pain in his ribs, and he narrowed his eyes at the strange man in front of him. "I want. To go."

"It's either prison or training, Mr. Barton. I don't think it's that difficult of a choice. Not unless you make it difficult." Agent Phil Coulson stood up. "I'll let you think about it."

"Get me the fuck out of here!" Clint shouted. "Let me go!"

But his words fell on deaf ears. Agent Phil Coulson was gone, and he was alone in this empty room again.

Something collided with the side of Clint's body, and he was awake in seconds. He jerked into consciousness and immediately moved into a defensive position until he realized that he was on the floor, and no one was attacking him. His breath came out in large, deep pants, and he felt sweat cooling uncomfortably fast against his burning skin. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha perched on the bed with a look of subdued panic and concern plastered onto her face.

Looking up at her, he lifted a hand and signed, Fine. I'm fine.

Clint… Natasha fingerspelled his name, something she usually didn't do unless she wanted the practice. She normally just did the name sign for him, but he watched her fingers move at the speed of light to spell out his name.

I'm fine, he repeated. Memories. Loki.

Water? Natasha asked as she lifted her eyebrows to signify the question. Clint was about to say no—she could see it in the way his neck muscles tensed—but then he stared at her with watery blue eyes, and he nodded. With a quick nod to acknowledge his response, she got up and walked out of the room to go relocate the kitchen and get a glass of water for him.

She had noticed the strangled gasps from Clint's side of the bed right before he'd rolled off and over the side. He'd only rolled off the bed a few times in the seven years that she'd known him, but they'd always been because he'd fallen asleep too close to the edge of the bed and had misjudged where he was in his sleep. This time, he had been trying to escape something.

Quietly, Natasha pulled a glass out of the third cabinet she opened in search of cups, and she crossed to the sink to fill it with water. Judging by the silverware drawer sitting half-open and the rumpled dishtowel near the fridge, Palmer had already been through the kitchen for something earlier. She made sure to keep her movements extra quiet so as not to draw any attention out here. The last thing she needed was Palmer hearing her and coming out for a chat.

Just as quietly as she had before, she moved swiftly down the never-ending halls until she was back at the master bedroom. She crossed through the doorway and saw that Clint had pulled himself together enough to untangle himself from the blankets and reposition himself so that he was leaning back against the bed. He noticed her entrance, and he looked towards her.

She crossed towards him and knelt down, handing the glass to him and watching as he eagerly took it and began guzzling it. Swallow after swallow, gulp after gulp. Once he'd drained the glass, he set it right next to his hearing aids on the night stand by the bed.

Thanks, he signed.

How do you feel? she asked.

Sweaty, he answered. She couldn't tell if her were just fucking with her or not, but then he gave her the most miniature smile she'd ever seen, and she knew that he was still enough of himself to smile. But just as quickly as that smile had come, it was gone, and his face was dark again. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead into his hands. Natasha waited quietly for a few moments, just staying completely still in her spot while Clint composed himself. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked straight at her. I saw Coulson.

She frowned. What?

I saw him, Clint repeated. I had a flashback to the very first time I was in SHIELD custody, and he introduced himself. And he was alive.

Not a good flashback, Natasha signed without even questioning it. She knew that Clint had had a rocky start with SHIELD—she knew that he'd been violent and difficult to be around because he'd been passionately opposed to anything to do with SHIELD. Clint kept his eyes on her, and he nodded in confirmation.

Not good, he signed. I think…I think Loki brought those memories back for a reason. He didn't do it just to fuck with my head, Nat. He did it because he needed me to be in the right state of anger to kill—to carry out his orders without question.

He's not here anymore, ok? It's just you and me. Loki's in Asgard rotting in whatever fucking prison they put his sorry ass in. But here? Now? It's just us. Like always. Her signs had the effect on him that she wanted, and she watched as his face became less stressed and pained and more hopeful. Hopeful wasn't even the right word for it, but she watched him let go of some of the pain he'd been clinging to for fear of falling completely.

He stared at her for a few seconds in total silence, and for a second, she thought he was going to release the tears that had started to well up in his eyes, but he blinked hard and held out a hand to her. She didn't need much more encouragement than that. She reached out and took his hand and let him pull her in close. As she ended up right beside him, her body turned in towards him, he wrapped his arms around her waist and just rested his head on her shoulder.

And so they sat like that, Clint's arms holding her close and Natasha's fingers running through his hair. As he held her, she cradled his head and turned her mouth down into his unruly tufts of dark blond hair. She knew he didn't have his hearing aids in, and because he couldn't hear her, she whispered to him.

"I love you," she soundlessly sighed. "I love you, I love you, I love you."