Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man 2, Thor, or the Avengers, along with the characters, the quotes, and everything else associated with Marvel.
A/N (7-9-14): So, this, and the chapters prior are rewritten. Plot details might be confusing/not match up, weird 2013 writing, etc. My rewrites still go on though the story is marked complete. I hope it won't drive away too many of you :(
Next morning.
Natasha wasn't used to being spotted in public.
She kept her eyes on her phone and tucked a stray strand of red under the privacy of her hoodie. The steaming cup she glued to her lips, shielding as much of her face as possible.
The woman across from her didn't push. She had eyes on a newspaper she grabbed from the front rack the moment she clicked her six-inch heels into the café, and shed her bags at Natasha's table before getting in line to order. Neither spoke as they busied themselves with their own tasks.
Natasha sent Clint a picture of the woman. She'd ran out of things to do on her phone.
He replied immediately:
Other one is here. talking w/ Coulson.
Natasha frowned. What did Stark want?
The woman finished flipping through her paper and refolded it. A slight smile twitched on her face before she spoke.
"Natalie Rushman. Long time no see, Natalie Rushman."
Natasha's own lips quivered on the cup. "Any appointments I should know of this week, Ms. Potts?"
Pepper's smile widened. "Oh, you duplicitous thing." She clapped her paper on the space between them good-naturedly and leaned forward. "Off work? Or are you under another cover?"
Natasha shook her head
"Anything planned for the day?"
She shook her head again. She hadn't anything in mind other than to get breakfast for Clint to save him the suffering of another day's protein-enriched mush, since Coulson had put him under house arrest since the matter yesterday.
"Oh, well I'm just buying some necessities while Tony's at S.H.I.E.L.D." Pepper paused, observing Natasha's wandering look, and decided she needed a push. "Care to join me?" she added.
Her request was friendly, but its underlying command stuck out like a knife to the guts. Pepper Potts didn't care who you were. She'd be good in S.H.I.E.L.D.
Natasha agreed just for the hell of it.
Hogan's eyeballs slunk behind his lids when Natasha swept into the backseat of his car. He turned his gaze away quick, but she could still see him squinting at her through the rear view mirror. He knew better than to gawk now.
They didn't talk much in the car, and the silence became prominent when Pepper asked to turn off the radio. Without much sense in that big head of his, Hogan dared to poke at the tension when they stopped at a particularly long red light.
"Who's your company, Ms. Potts?"
"I'd like you to meet Ms. Natasha Romanoff, Happy." Pepper's cheery tone betrayed the stern look she gave him through the mirror.
That shut him up.
Pepper switched to business mode once they stepped through the supermarket doors. Boxes of snickers and coke tumbled into the cart with a thud. Natasha'd never taken note of Stark's diet before, but this turned out to be something she expected from him. The junk backed the pitiful amount of fruits, vitamins, and granola bars to a corner, flanked by a growing number of instant meals that Pepper tossed in next.
"He's always hungry, and I don't have time to make anything. I told him to hire a cook or order delivery but he'd rather eat this junk all day," she explained for Natasha, looking embarrassed.
"I thought he should be the busy one." Didn't Stark say he'd be the one to take care of the reparations and every other mess he brought upon his industries?
"Oh, he is. He's really trying." Pepper filled in, quick to defend. "He's handling things well, and the tower's coming along faster, but I still have to take them into my own hands now and then. He's... rash."
Guaranteed Stark behavior, but what more could they want? Stark taking responsibility. Stark mending what he broke. Sure, Pepper could be bluffing, but the pride she radiated glowed genuine to Natasha's trained eyes. Tony's change somehow made her even more wary about seeing him again.
"So, how have you been? I'm sorry for not asking earlier." Pepper changed the subject.
"Fine."
"How often are your assignments? I wouldn't mind switching, you make it seem like such a leisurely job."
Gunfire and adrenaline-powered heartbeats echoed in her ears, and Natasha restrained from a retort. "A lot more fast-paced than it's been," she replied instead.
"Oh? Why?"
"My partner's injured."
Stark called then. Pepper answered her phone, nodded along, then handed the device to Natasha. "For you," she said.
"Watch Barton for me," Coulson's voice sounded the moment Natasha put the phone to her ear: an eerie knack he honed to its finest.
"I'm surprised you still trust me with him."
"I don't. I've got plenty to do and no one else wants to keep an eye out."
"How is he?" The guilt settled in.
"Didn't break into a run. Yet. Just don't let him get out again, please, at least for today."
"You can hold out a bit longer."
"Romanoff, I know you're avoiding Stark, and you're completely capable of doing so anywhere."
Of course, Coulson was right.
Clint was on his phone when Natasha returned to his room (Medical had kicked him out, not wanting to take responsibility for his wandering). At her entrance he tossed the phone into the sheets. "You didn't buy me anything?"
"Nope." She shook off her jacket and tossed it onto the end of the bed. "I had a good breakfast. You're going to the cafeteria later."
"And you're coming with me." Clint grabbed her hand when she approached.
Natasha sat down beside him. Upon second thought she lay down, rested her head in his lap, and took a look to make sure she had locked the door.
"Clint, did Coulson mention anything about Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S to you?"
"No." His fingers skimmed the rim of her ear, then went into her hair. "What's going on, Nat?"
"No, no. I... met an agent there, and she kinda hinted at something that I think S.H.I.E.L.D's hiding. This project doesn't feel like just a simple collaboration with NASA."
"You're certain?"
"More than certain. Coulson acted weird, too. That's why I asked you. I thought maybe he'd have told you."
Clint untwisted the strap on her tank top and smoothed out the creases in the fabric, and she felt her skin began to heat. "Why? We have the same clearance level," he said.
"My background tends to attract prejudice and ostracization from anything top-secret, if you need a reminder."
"That's what you think, Natasha?" His palm cupped and squeezed the curve of her shoulder lightly. "That's what's bothering you?"
"It makes sense."
"They have clearance levels and they stick to it. If Coulson won't tell you, he won't tell me. S.H.I.E.L.D isn't about personal feelings."
"Uh-huh." She purposely rubbed her cheek against his hand on her shoulder.
Clint pulled her closer with a hand on her back, until her nose bumped into his scent-laced shirt, and the arm under her body began to cramp from her awkward position. All he did with that gesture enforced her point. His judgement wouldn't make a complete match with another agent's. This wasn't an agency of robots. Below the protocols and the clearance levels everyone still had their own brains, their own personal feelings that would never bring her the warm, weightless sensation cradling her now. It would never feel this good.
"When'd you start thinking this stuff? Clint asked. "Was it because of the Expo? Or that entire assignment?"
Natasha twisted his shirtfront with a finger, studying the creases she made.
"Natasha."
"You try forgetting a part of your life, and then having it slap you in the face," she mumbled.
Out of words, he kissed the top of her arm and trailed his lips up to her shoulder. She tried to hold in a shiver. His breath drew its heat over her skin, until she couldn't stand it anymore and she pushed herself up, the abruptness of her movement almost knocking their noses together. Clint held still.
The phone on his table rang.
His hand hooked around her waist. "S' just Coulson," he whispered.
Natasha pushed him away. "Go get it." She kept the disappointment out of her voice. "You don't want to piss him off any further."
Clint answered the call with an exaggerated sigh, then stuffed his phone back into his jeans. From the back of a chair he shook loose a rumpled jacket and roughly yanked it on, hiding a wince. "His office. Now. What a killjoy."
"Is this about yesterday?" She swung her legs over the side of the mattress.
"No. I don't know what the hell he wants."
On the way to Coulson's Natasha kept replaying in her head what had just happened. Perhaps missing that call wouldn't have been that bad.
Once seated in the office, Coulson slid a folder across. "I need to you to bring someone in."
"Another escort mission?" Natasha rested her chin on her palm, her other hand flipping through the papers inside.
"It's important, and the only thing available if Barton wants to butt in."
Clint pretended to not notice and continued doodling on a post-it.
Natasha glanced through the overview of the mission and narrowed her eyes. "More scientists. What's S.H.I.E.L.D pulling?"
"Look, we need the guy to come in as soon as possible. Sometime within the next two days would be great, but really, this shouldn't take more than twenty-four hours."
Natasha scoured through the papers, but they mentioned no background information whatsoever; nothing like the novel-length briefs Coulson usually doled out like a paper boy.
"Cytologist Andrew Sheerin, covert S.H.I.E.L.D asset," she read out loud. "Last known address: Dave's Grocery and Liquor, Oakland, California. This is all you're giving me?"
"The rest is discreet information," Coulson said.
"Anything S.H.I.E.L.D does is discreet."
He leaned back on his chair and clasped his hands. "Is there something I should know about, Romanoff?"
Under the table, Clint nudged her with his foot. Natasha scooted her chair away from him. "If you don't want to reveal anything, Coulson, fine." She gathered the papers and stuffed it into the folder.
"It's us, Phil. Don't we deserve to know?" Clint said, helping her with the papers.
Coulson watched them in silence.
Then his composure dropped like heavy satin.
"We found Rogers."
Coulson tried to hide his smile under a flurry of hands adjusting card holders and snow globes.
"You leave at 7:30 tomorrow. Be here early."
Note: Ignore the wonky chapter numbers at the beginning from the next chapter on. The content isn't out of order :)