Natasha wakes with a start, the sound of her own voice in her ears, breath laboured and adrenaline flowing as the details of her dream slip away from her. She dreams of all that should be but isn't. She wakes often with nightmares, heart racing and hand reaching out through the sheets, searching for the man who is not currently sleeping at her side. There are nights when she dreams about the buried, half forgotten past that she would rather not remember. It's always the same, her ghosts howl loudest when Clint is away, as if her mind and body cannot find peace without him near.

Restless, she rolls onto her front, thumping the pillows in an attempt to plump them up and make herself more comfortable. Unconsciously her hand rises to finger the necklace that circles her throat, a constant reminder of the man she misses with every breath. He was right when he said that she wouldn't wear it all the time but she always wears it when he's away as if the smooth metal acts as some sort of good luck charm and will help to bring him home safely.

Though she can't put her finger on what it is that makes her feel so uneasy, can't remember the details of the nightmare that roused her from her restless slumber, she finds herself standing at the windows of the apartment she calls home when she is in New York. As she tilts her head to stare discontentedly at the stars her pale skin appears to glow in the moonlight, contrasting sharply with the black silk of her nightgown. Nineteen days with no contact and no knowledge of where her partner is does not help her to rest easy. She can't shake the unease that pulls at her, the sudden feeling of premonition that she hasn't experienced in a lifetime. Something is wrong, she can feel it more strongly with every breath.

The shrill sound of the telephone pierces the night and she is across the bedroom with the receiver in her hand before she can complete the thought that she should answer. Instantly she is alert, understanding the second that she hears Fury's voice on the other end of the line that this is not a social call. The clock reads 3.23am.

"Save my life right now and tell me that he's alive." The words are out of her mouth before she can think about who is on the other end of the line. It doesn't matter. There is only one thing matters and that is Clint.

The pause at the other end is too long. Natasha feels her chest tighten, the breath solidifying in her lungs as dread and abject terror begins to overwhelm her. "He's alive," the words are spoken with too much reserve. Alive but not well. The white noise in her head drowns out Fury's voice as he continues to talk, something about sending a car to collect her. She knows that she isn't tracking the words. Her hand closes again around the arrow pendant at her neck, forgotten prayers to a god she isn't sure that she believes in falling silently from her lips.

"Where is he?" she asks, forcing away the tide of emotion before she drowns in it. She refuses to believe that it's over, that what they share can be cut short by bullets and bad feeling, she would know wouldn't she? She's always been able to feel him, inside, like his being was an extension of hers.

"Bolivia," Fury replies. "I'll fill you in on the rest when we pick you up; thirty minutes, be ready."

When he ends the call, her knees give way beneath her and she finds herself on the carpet, biting her lip to hold back the sob that is trying to force its way up and out of her chest. She won't cry, not now, although there will be time enough for her to deal with her emotions later. He hands shake as she clenches them into fists. He is alive, that it what matters, everything else is just details. If he lives then there is hope and she knows that if anything could pull her back from the brink of death it would be him, she can only hope that it will work both ways. Natasha will not mourn for what might yet be saved.

Already moving, she grabs her ready bag and throws in a selection of clothing which includes her suit and her guns. She splashes water on her face, forces her hands to stop shaking through force of will and exits the bathroom in a whirlwind of motion. She dresses simply in black jeans, high boots and a simple dark coloured shirt, sliding a stiletto blade into the side of her boot and tucking the smallest of her guns into the back of her waistband. She doesn't need weapons to be armed but she isn't taking any chances where Clint's safety is concerned.

She is ready when Fury arrives, waiting on the pavement outside her building with her bag in hand. She says nothing while he informs her of the situation on their way out to the airstrip, not trusting the words that would escape her if she did open her mouth. He talks of serious injuries and how Clint has asked for her during his brief periods of consciousness. He absorbs her silent anger and accepts it without comment.

She turns her face to the window and says nothing, allowing his words to wash over her. When he falls silent she finds her voice and makes a simple statement that she knows will shock the man who looks upon her and Clint as his unruly children as well as his best assets. "If he lives," she says quietly, calmly, "then you're going to lose me for a few months." She turns her face, allowing Fury to see the calm determination on her face. " But if he dies I want out. If Barton doesn't make it, I'll never work in the field again."