Hi! I know I promised an early update, but it seems like I wrote myself into a corner in the last chapter, especially where Natasha's reaction is concerned. Anyways, I hope the wait wasn't too long and that I did ok. Thank you VioletK for all your reassurances.
Read and review!
Clint shifted from foot to foot, trying desperately to find an escape route that didn't end with Natasha leaving him disemboweled on the floor. He came up blank. Trying another approach, he cleared his throat loudly, opened his mouth… and found he had nothing to say. "Uhhh," he managed before giving up.
Then shrill ringing cut through the air, and Clint had never been so happy to hear the phone ring in his entire life. Snatching it up, he put it to his ear. "Barton," he said, cursing at how squeaky his voice sounded.
"Yeah, it's Coulson. Am I interrupting something?"
"Uhh… no, not at all," Clint lied, throwing a glance at Natasha, who had not moved a muscle.
"Great. We need to talk- my office, as soon as possible."
"I'll be there in two minutes," Clint replied, snapping the phone shut.
He turned to Natasha. "Umm… I gotta…" he managed, backing away slowly until his back hit the doorknob. "Ok, bye!" he got out before he turned tail and sprinted down the halls to the safety of Coulson's office.
Clint barged into Coulson's office 11 seconds before he was due to arrive. Coulson looked up, completely startled, before knitting his brow, probably taking in his beet red face and disheveled appearance.
"Um… when you said two minutes, I thought you just meant soon."
"Yeah, me too," Clint gasped, and Coulson started looking even more confused.
"Are you all right? You seem a bit… flustered."
Clint chuckled wryly. "Boy, you have no idea." Coulson shot him his signature look, the one that always seemed to say I don't even want to know.
"So… what's up?" Clint said, taking a seat.
"Right. I need to talk to you about Romanoff." Suddenly, all the nervous energy pent up within him reached some unknown limit, and Clint exploded in laughter, almost falling out of his chair as he gaffawed. Coulson waited patiently for the giggles to subside, looking decidedly unimpressed.
Finally, Clint wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, blinking rapidly. "Oh god, you have absolutely fantastic timing."
"Yeah, ok… could you focus?"
"Yes. Sorry."
"Ok. So, I noticed some… abnormalities on the plane to Rio de Janeiro. As you know, SHIELD has some rules and policies in place to protect its assets- keeping them from additional harm. I need to know if you are honoring these policies." Coulson finished, and looked at Clint expectantly.
"Um… was I supposed to draw some sort of cryptic meaning from that?"
Coulson face palmed. "For Christ's sake, how did you not get that?"
"Well, I kind of stopped listening as soon as you turned into a human SHIELD protocol manual." Coulson sighed.
"Fine. These rules are especially important when it comes to partners. Sometimes, when agents get too close, it causes a lot of unnecessary suffering when things go wrong." It was starting to dawn on Clint exactly what they were talking about.
"Oh, come on Coulson. You can't seriously think Tash and I are…"
"I don't know what to think right now," his handler sighed. "But I do know what I saw on that plane. I know you two are close, but that was almost… intimate."
"For God's sake, we aren't having sex!" Clint yelled.
"You know perfectly well that's not what I meant," Coulson replied smoothly.
"Yes it is," Clint hissed.
"There are other ways for a person to get in over their head. I've been aware of the way you've been looking at her for some time now. I don't know if she's noticed, or if she reciprocates, but you need to know it can only hurt you both-" Clint couldn't take it anymore, and slammed his hand down on the desk.
"I get it. But now you need to listen to what I've got to say. Do you honestly think you can try to analyze why I freaked out when she almost died? We're close because she understands, and she knows I do too. We're alone- don't you dare say we're not. She's all I've got, and I'm pretty sure all of that is reciprocated, even if nothing else is."
His rant was greeted with silence, before Coulson spoke up. "That's the exact sentiment we are trying to prevent here. No one is talking about reassignment or termination-"
"Do not talk about us as if we're a target or some sort of pawn," Clint said heatedly.
"I need to know if you're compromised," Coulson said firmly.
"I'm not."
"Alright then." Coulson straightened some papers on his desk, steadfastly avoiding eye contact. "In light of Romanoff's injury, Fury has granted both of you two weeks leave."
"Fantastic. Are we done here?" Clint asked sullenly. Coulson nodded, lips pursed, and Clint stood to leave.
"For the record, she has never let me down. And I'll trust her not to start," Clint said coldly before turning.
He had his hand on the doorknob when Coulson stopped him. "Clint." Clint froze- Coulson never called him by his first name.
"Are you in love with her?" the words were like a punch to the gut. Clint squeezed his eyes shut.
"No."
He spent the rest of the walk down to the shooting range trying to convince himself he had told the truth.
The slam of the door finally brought her back to her senses. Natasha sagged against the wall, letting out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She tried to think about what the fuck had just happened, but couldn't for the life of her concentrate. Her partner had just kissed her. Clint had just shoved her against the wall and kissed the hell out of her. Variations of that thought spun around in her head. Natasha clenched her jaw before stomping into her room. She needed to hit something.
Later, as she pummeled one of SHIELD's punching bags, her brain finally allowed her to start some kind of thought process. Clint had kissed her, but under the circumstances that could mean almost anything. It might have been sheer desperation, but it could just as easily have been something much more. She had noticed the way he sometimes stared at her when he didn't think she was looking quite a while back. But it was too big a risk to take, just assuming that he did it because he was actually attracted to her in that way. The logical part of her brain told her the best course of action would be to just pretend it had never happened and wait for his next move, but that felt instinctually wrong. Clint might think of that as outright rejection, and who knows what might happen then. Goddammit, why did everything just get so complicated?
An especially hard kick accompanied her words, and the abused punching bag fell off its chain… directly onto her. Wheezing, she shoved it off, but remained lying on the floor. The cold hard truth of it was that she was terrified- a reaction completely inappropriate for the Black Widow. She needed Clint, and not just as a partner in the field. He had brought her back and saved her life, but the debt went way beyond that. He had given her a reason to live. He had shown her it was ok to have a life outside of missions and training, and she had had more fun even during the first month than at any other point in her life. He had made sure she never felt alone, and was always there when she needed him. And she did need him- more than the air she breathed, despite how goddamn cheesy that sounded. And he expected nothing in return, except that she stay.
She was not going to back out of that now. He was her best and possibly only friend, and the only man she trusted with her life. She shook her head wryly. She definitely found Clint attractive, but had never acted on it for fear that it would damage whatever it was they had. Fate had a funny way of twisting things around.
Maybe they both just needed more time, whatever that meant. They needed to think things over, and Natasha made up her mind to do just that for the next few days. Rolling to her feet, she rehung the punching bag and started training again, this time at a saner pace.
She steadfastly ignored the fact that for a microsecond there, she seriously contemplated kissing him back.
Clint stumbled back into his apartment. The hours at the archery range had helped him deduce only one thing- he needed to talk to Natasha. His heart sank through the floor when he noticed light peering out of the bottom of the door to her old room. They had taken to sleeping in the same bed more often than not over the last few years. It had begun with Natasha cautiously seeking him out for comfort after a particularly nasty dream about the Red Room. After a few of her midnight visits, each had taken to going to the other whenever they had had a nightmare. Then Sao Paolo happened. During the next few weeks, both of them woke up screaming several times a night. One day, they had simply fallen into the same bed, clinging to each other through it all. It had become a habit after that. The light under her door sent a crystal clear message- she didn't want to see him.
Trudging into his room, Clint rolled onto his bed, cursing himself for being such a complete idiot and fervently hoping he hadn't lost her for good.
Then he pressed his face into a pillow and let loose a muffled scream of frustration, because, despite how bone tired he was, it was difficult to fall asleep without her small body curled around his.
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