A/N: I know, it's a short chapter, but it didn't feel right extending into the next part, so I split them up.
Agent Fury was awoken by the sound of Agent Romanoff's COM signal, "Sir, our engine seems to be malfunctioning. We can't land."
"Where are you now," he asked, instantly awake.
"We're circling the Helicarrier. Larson thinks he can crash land us safely onto the ship," Romanoff replied.
"It won't be too complicated, sir. I just need a clear deck," he chipped in.
"Very well. Stand by," Fury grimaced, "Agent Hill?"
"What is it sir," came a sleepy reply.
"Clear the main deck for a crash landing. Be sure all birds are moved out of the run way. Then meet me at the door to the runway."
"Of course sir," Hill nodded, "Is this Romanoff?"
"Yeah. Their quinjet is malfunctioning."
Hill was making her way through the corridors to the main bridge, calling the current staff members and ordering the birds moved out of the way. Within five minutes, all preparations for the crash landing were made and she met Fury inside the door.
"Agent Larson, you are clear to land."
"Hold on to your seats," Larson muttered as he pushed the nose of the quinjet down. The bird coasted forward, and within a few moments it crashed into the Helicarrier. Personnel, standing by to secure the jet, ran outside and attached massive cables to the bird.
When the back opened, Larson and Romanoff stumbled out, followed by Captain Rogers carrying Agent Gentry.
"Get him to medical, Cap," Romanoff nodded, walking up to Fury.
"How's Connor doing," Fury asked quickly, "Will he make it?"
"We don't know, sir," she shook her head.
Suddenly Larson collapsed to his knees, grabbing a hold of his side.
"What's the matter," Romanoff shouted, catching him with Hill's help.
"I got us home," Larson murmured with a smile on his face, "but I'm afraid this is the end for me."
"What?"
Larson removed his jacket and the other three gasped. His side was bleeding heavily and the skin was burnt and mangled.
"You said you weren't hit!"
"And who would've flown the jet," he asked her, "I had to, it was my job!"
"Larson, stay awake!"
"Nah, sorry, I'm dying and there's nothing that can stop it. I'm okay with that, trust me. But Director," he looked at Fury, his eyes almost closed, "make the bastards pay."
With that Larson went limp in Hill's and Romanoff's arms. Fury sighed and used his hand to close Larson's eyes.
"Agent Cole," he gestured to a nearby security officer, "Take Agent Larson's body to the morgue, please."
"Aye sir."
Romanoff stood back, face stoic as she suppressed the tears that others would have shed. She reminded herself that people died all the time. That Larson had known the risks when he joined SHIELD. That he died doing what he loved. Natasha turned and walked quickly down the corridors to her quarters, trying not to let the tears come. After all, she had faced worse than this. She had killed many men and women in her time both as a SHIELD agent and before. The last time she had truly felt upset over a death had been three years ago when Agent Coulson had been killed.
She pushed the button to open the door to her quarters and she sat down inside on her bed. Natasha stared at the closed door. Suddenly her hand went to her cheek as she felt a tear. She was getting soft!
"Agent Barton," Fury called on the radio.
"Yeah, what is it Director?"
"Romanoff's party has returned. Agent Larson is down."
"Where's Natasha?"
"I'm not sure."
Barton rolled out of bed and threw on some black pants and a black under shirt. He had to go make sure Nat was alright. He figured she had gone to her quarters and he made his way there quickly. When he reached her door, he knocked, and wasn't surprised when he heard her ask for his name.
"Nat, it's Clint."
The door opened and Natasha put up a smile, letting him in.
"Hey, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"Fury called me, told me you were in. Are you hurt?"
"No, but," she trailed off.
Clint nodded, sitting down next to her on the bed.
"Clint, I'm so used to death, to blood and burns, that I never feel anything. But Coulson's death, it changed that," Natasha said quietly.
Clint knew what she meant. Coulson's death had hit them all hard, especially Fury, Barton, and Romanoff. All three had worked with Phil for years, and his death had taken its toll.
"Larson did his job, Nat. He got you home."
She took a deep breath, "That's just it. I'm responsible for his death!"
"No you aren't, Natasha," he shook his head and turned to look her in the eye, "Nat, those bastards who attacked you are responsible for his death."
They sat there, neither speaking, for nearly twenty minutes. Each felt comfortable in the other's presence. It made everything seem more enjoyable, more bearable. Their long history, going back to when Barton first spared Romanoff's life, was full of adventure, full of danger, and full of hardship. That was the life of a master assassin and spy. There was no escape from it.