Well! I finished this chapter much quicker than I expected to so you guys get an early present. This is a pretty angsty chapter for Clint, with some not-so-old demons rising up again.

I don't own Marvel, etc.


It was pitch black. Darker than night with a moonless sky. He was running. But running where? Sprinting in the black nothingness with no objective other than away. But what was he fleeing from? Suddenly a spotlight appeared in the blackness, highlighting nothing but the air passing through the brightness of the spot that stood out harshly in the dark. Then the caped figure appeared inside of the halo of light, a septer clasped tightly in both hands, glaring at him mischievously.

"You have heart," it hissed as he sprinted past, not daring to look back.

And then another spotlight appeared to his right, teleporting the menacing man in the blink of an eye.

"What has the tesseract told you?"

And then another to his left.

"Tell me about them, the Avengers."

And then another, directly in front of him. This one stopped him dead in his tracks.

"And Agent Romanoff-"

The figure glared down at him, a sinister smile threatening his defined features.

"What does she fear... most?"

A blinding blue light shot out of the figure's eyes, consuming the darkness as it barreled towards him. And before he could scream or duck or fight or fly, it consumed him too...


Clint gasped awake, jolting upright. His breathing was staggered and harsh as he grabbed a hold of reality again. He frantically glanced around the room, searching for any signs of the man plaguing his unconscious.

He was in his bedroom. It was dimly lit, the only lighting in the room stemming from the other side of the sliding glass door leading out to the city. Beside him snoring quietly lay Natasha, curled up peacefully, undisturbed by his sudden jerky movements. He let out a deep but shaky breath as he buried his head on his hands. It was just a dream. It was just a nightmare.

The harsh red numbers read 3:19 on the clock at his bedside and he growled. Not again. He pushed himself out of bed. Not bothering to grab a shirt, Clint stepped out onto the balcony, cursing the squeak of the sliding door as he opened it.

His feet carried him slowly back and forth across the smooth concrete; pacing didn't help, but he was restless. It had been months since the attack on the SHIELD base. So why was this all coming back again? Like a broken record, his mind replayed the last seconds of the nightmare where Loki asked him about Natasha. But that wasn't just a figment of his crazed unconsciousnes; it had actually happened.

It was one of the few flashes of memory he had of his time as a mental prisoner in his own mind. And that's all they were: flashes. Flashes here and flashes there: shooting the Director...ramming Agent Hill's...talking with Loki... loosing an arrow into a guard... invading the helicarrier... fighting Natasha... But that's all they were: flashes. Moments where he could see through his own eyes but have no control over anything he watched his body do. It was the most terrifying, frustrating experience of his life.

When the dammed God of Mischief asked him about his partner, Clint was helpless to divulge every speck of information he had learned over the years. Everything, even the most intimate of secrets- her deepest fears, worries, and desires- told in confidence that should never have passed his lips to anyone, let alone that insane mind-stealing-son-of-a-bitch. Now all he could think about is what Loki might have done with that information if... He didn't even want to think about it. Clint dragged his hands down his face, begging to be freed from this torturous train of though.

Leaning his elbows on the cool metal banister enclosing the balcony, the archer tried to focus instead on the various taxis and cars zooming around a hundred floors below at this godforsaken hour of night.

Even though no sounds were made, his tuned senses picked up a familiar presence behind him. He chuckled darkly without turning his head, staring out into the city that never sleeps. "How long have you been standing there?"

"A while." Something in her tone prompted him to twist his head. Natasha was leaning in the doorway, watching him through sad eyes. "Loki?"

He said nothing, turning back to glare at the city. Her light footsteps approached.

"That's the third time this week, Clint." She ran her hand up and down his back soothingly. He didn't look at her.

"I know."

"That bastard's whole worlds away. He's paying for what he did."

"I know." They stood silently for many long moments before he spoke again, dropping his eyes to the metal banister. "This was nothing I was ever trained for. Not this. Not being unmade and having to build myself back from the ashes."

He could handle the ghosts of past targets returning to send him through hell or repressed childhood memories; it was something he had adapted to early on. But this was entirely different. He had been pulled out of his own mind, his soul forcibly ejected from his body, transformed into a mindless soldier under some god with daddy issues; a puppet helpless against his master's bidding. And that's not just something you can shrug off.

"I was," she attempted a small smile, but her jaw locked at the haunting memories of her own. Natasha shook her head. "Why are these nightmares staring up again?"

He pealed his eyes from the city skyline and looked to her. After a thoughtful moment, he turned back to the skyscrapers. "I saw the video. The one of you interrogating Loki on the helicarrier."

"Oh."

"And he threatened you... with me." Clint balled his fists as the imagery of Loki's words played out in his mind. In every way he knew she feared.

"That's what's bothering you?" Her tone wasn't patronizing or even slightly condescending, but rather understanding, like someone who had connected the pieces of a particularly troublesome puzzle. He inclined his head. "I was prepared for it-"

"He would have made me do it, you know," he said harshly, trying to shake the images from his mind.

"You did try. Well, the non-you," she shrugged. Natasha had never held him accountable for any of his actions while he was under Loki's control. But the problem was that he had. "We fought, I won. There's nothing else-"

"But what if you hadn't? God...I don't know what I would have done if I had hurt you..."

"Well Loki said he would've split your skull afterwords so I don't think you would've had to deal with it for long," she deadpanned. Normally, her dark humor would at least elicit an amused smirk from her partner, but not this time.

He squeezed his eyes shut as shuffled to the other side of the balcony. "Natasha, I'm serious."

"So am I," she crossed her arms over her chest.

Clint turned around and ran a frustrated hand though his hair.

"Don't do this to yourself Clint. Not again." A gust of wind whipped icy air through the balcony, sending shivers down her spine, and goosebumps spreading up her arm. For being Russian- or for used to being- she wasn't much a fan of the cold. Natasha padded back towards the door. "If not for your sake, for mine-" The Black Widow froze with her back to him, cutting herself off mid sentence.

He waited for her to continue. After a second she sucked in a breath and dropped her hand to her stomach. Then she gasped again.

"Natasha what's wrong?" The archer quickly closed the distance between them, his voice fraught with worry. "Nat, talk to me!"

She didn't say anything. Frantically, she grabbed his hand and placed where hers had just been. Before he could say anything, he felt it. Natasha exhaled a laugh when it happened again. Clint's eyes widened in excitement.

"Is that-"

"Yeah!"

"It's kicking?"

All she could do was nod. That was her baby- their baby- moving. Well it had always been moving, but not like this. Definitely not like this. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. "Clint..."

He was just as speechless. The soft thump against where his hand was applying slight pressure almost caused the master assassin reel back from shock. Every thought from before- of Loki, of the tesseract, of being unmade, of possibly ever hurting Natasha- had vanished with the thump. He didn't know how to react; his eyes continued to dart between Natasha's and her stomach.

All he could do was laugh when the little thump tapped against his hand again.


Ah, kicking. This has been a moment I've been waiting to write. I just didnt know that this was how it was going to happen. Usually, first time mothers feel their baby kick around 18-21 weeks. I've been trying to keep these sorts time tables in consideration as we move along.

And if you've ever been in Clint's position, you know that's pretty fucking cool feeling. Aren't babies awesome?

Anyway, and as always, let me know what you thought! What would you like to see in the future for these two- soon to be three? Leave me a note in the reviews.