"Barton, you will be going to New Mexico to keep an eye on Doctor Eric Selvig and his work on the Tesseract."
"Why me?"
"Are you questioning an order?" the Director growled and glared.
"No sir, I was just wondering why I was chosen for this mission?"
"Because you've got a keen eye for bullshit and treachery. You'll be on a S.H.I.E.L.D. base while you're there, but I want you with the Tesseract at all times."
"Not a problem, sir."
"Romanoff, you will be going to Russia?"
"Do you really think that's such a good idea, sir?"
He turned to Coulson and Maria, "What is it with these motherfuckers today?" he turned back to them, "Do y'all think you can just walk into my office and question my orders?"
"No, sir." They answered in monotone unison.
"Then stop it! And no, I don't think it's a fucking good idea, I think it's a stupid-ass idea, but the Authority ordered it so you're going to go. Here's your damn files. Now both of you get the fuck out of my office."
They walked down the hall silently, Clint was fuming.
"He keeps sending us to different places on purpose."
"Probably, but there's really nothing we can do about it at the moment," Natasha answered, her nose already buried in her file.
"Do you know how long my mission is, Nat?"
"Mine should only take a month tops."
His hand grabbed her shoulder to turn her to him, "Mine's indefinite."
"Indefinite?" she said trying to get the idea of it through her head.
"As long as it takes this Selvig guy to figure out what he needs to figure out or until they decide I can go home."
"Well that certainly puts a damper on our chirstmas plans," she said blankly before continuing down the hall.
"Will you fucking stop with your stoic 'if-I-don't-show-any-emotion-maybe-I-won't-feel-any,' shit, Natasha?"
She pulled him by his collar into an empty room and pushed him against the wall, "We are at work, Clint. There is no other emotional response at work," she hissed. "I will grieve when I have time too, which won't be for a few weeks apparently, but I can assure you I am very fucking upset that my husband is going to be in the fucking desert indefinitely." She gave him a light shove against the wall for good measure.
Clint mumbled something under his breath.
"Don't fucking mumble, Clint."
"I said you're right. Christ Natasha, you're always right! Go home to Russia and make some more notches on your fucking belt, Fury will be so proud."
"That was out of fucking line. What the hell is your problem?" She looked like she was ready to hit him, fists clenched, teeth barred. She was appalled, angry, and entirely justified and he knew it.
"Nothing, I have to go to New Fucking Mexico. I'll see you eventually." He pushed past her and stomped down the hall.
This was not a good start to the day.
He drove to the house while he knew she was busy with her recon and mission teams to grab his stuff. He threw civies and toiletries, his carving knife and a few paper backs into his duffle bag haphazardly. As he walked out of the bedroom he stopped, walked back to the hamper and dug out a shirt of his Natasha had slept in the last couple nights. He held it up to his nose and breathed in the scent of roses, rain water, and her unique smell. He unzipped a side pocket on his duffle, folded it and set it in there before resuming his unseen storm out. He was on a plane to New Mexico within 15 minutes of being back on the base. Calmly reading his file on Selvig and Tesseract while he flew in the opposite direction of the women he loved, not knowing the next time he would see her.
Except that he wasn't that calm. He couldn't focus on the file. He'd read the same line twenty times and still had no idea what it actually said. All he could think about was the look on her face when he said "Go home." It was uncalled for. He knew she was Fury's golden child, even though she didn't like to admit it, he was actually proud of her for being so good that even Fury respected her. But it did however, irk him that he knew she kept things between her and Fury secret. Even though he knew he would, and has done the same to her. It was an unfair emotion, and he knew that. But it still pissed him off. And now she was angry at him, and he didn't know when he'd see her again. What if whenever his mission ended he went home to find the house empty of her things? Or worse, what if he wasn't there on her mission when she needed him, and she didn't come home to get her things at all? He spent the rest of the plane ride carving his tray into a topographical map of the area of New Mexico they were flying too. The flight staff wasn't impressed.
Natasha didn't want to think about the fight. Nor the viciousness in Clint's words. Nor the 'indefinite' part of his assignment. That hurt too much. It felt like getting shot in the chest at point blank range. Which Natasha knows for a fact, even with Kevlar, hurts like a bitch. She dove into planning. Taking down gun smugglers would be easy, they just had to have something to prove. Russia wouldn't extradite them to the USA to pay for their crimes, but getting the criminals here wasn't the problem, getting them to confess while Natasha recorded it was the real issue. But she'd done this dozens of times before. She'd even done this while being a wanted woman in the territory she was invading before. But never before, had she done this, while grappling with personal issues she wasn't sure she could completely put aside, while being hunted by some of the world's top killers, in their own territory. Over half of the mission was just going to be avoidance.
After the recon teams were dispatched and the prep teams were preparing to leave, Natasha dismissed herself. She walked out to the Jeep she and Clint had arrived in this morning, she could still smell his aftershave lingering inside. In the cup holder sat some extra, natural bow strings Clint had wanted to test in the S.H.I.E.L.D. labs if their mission briefings were over quickly. He didn't get the chance. She took one out and wrapped it around her wrist before tying an unsolvable knot. Her phone beeped at her, it was time to go.
For the first week, he didn't allow himself to feel anything. He just blocked it out. Watched Slevig and his team. At night he wouldn't sleep for more than an hour or too, preferring instead to running and rerunning background checks on Selvig's team and the guards in this area of the base. They were always clean, but he ran them again.
She spent her first week schmoozing filthy businessmen in dark Russian clubs. Then she went back to her hotel and drank until the next day when she met up with other contacts. And then it'd repeat. Maybe it was reckless, but maybe she didn't entirely care.
By the second week Clint had ran out of people to background check. Selvig was smart and Fury was already on the base discussing the Tesseract with him. He'd planted a mic on Selvig to listen. Fury no doubt knew it was there, he was merely letting Clint listen. At night, he'd sleep in his nest above the constant blue glow of the energy cube. He'd pull Natasha's shirt out and breath in her scent. He was sorry, and he felt like the world's biggest ass. He snuck out one night and found a postcard in a gift shop with a hawk flying above the New Mexico plains. He simply wrote "I'm sorry, with love." In their coded Russian cypher and mailed it to the Russian S.H.I.E.L.D. base.
Natasha had gained considerable leverage over the arms dealer. She just needed to get him to admit it. She had documents for shipping orders to America, but there was no way to be certain he was really just shipping in teddy bears. During a strategy meeting, an intern handed her a battered postcard. She saw the hawk and slipped it into the breast pocket of her suit for later. In her hotel she traced her fingers over his pen strokes and decided she was going to New Mexico after debriefing. Fury be damned, she'd tell him the truth if she had to. She mailed an envelope to New Mexico, the only thing inside was a tissue with the lipstick print of a kiss.
Things started acting strange with the Tesseract. Fury was back and everyone was on alert, Clint just watched. This would delay going home.
Things with the arms dealer were wrapping up, she'd be on a plane to New York to debrief tomorrow. A phone rang.
"Is for her?"
Moments later a phone was shoved under her ear, "Do you mind? I'm at work here. This idiot is telling me everything."
She rolled her eyes as the now scared shitless Russian arms dealer denied it feebly to his goons.
"Barton's been compromised."
Boom. No Kevlar.
"Please hold."
author's note:that's right folks, we're getting to the events in avengers! Sorry for the shorter/shittier chapters lately, I've been compromised. I'll have better work for you soon.