A/N: Thanks everyone who gave me a pep talk with the muse drought. It was much appreciated. :D

Here is the second part of the dreaded drought chapter. I have no kind of perspective on it at all after all this, so I'll leave it up to you guys to decide again. I hope the NaCl fans find it kinda okay.

Thanks again for all of the support.

Cuddles.

PS. And yes, Greg will be back at some point, not sure how yet, but I'll figure something out. ;)

Chapter Seventy-Two

Clint sat back in his seat and looked at the other people in the waiting room. Jane was curled up in her seat, head on Thor's chest and fast asleep. Thor was staring up at the ceiling and absently stroking her hand, lost in his own thoughts. Happy was also asleep, stretched out on one of the sofas and snoring quietly. Bruce was hunched over an old crossword puzzle he'd found in the waiting room and was filling in all of the blanks. Steve was reading a magazine. Seeing as he'd been on the same page for the last fifteen minutes though, Clint doubted that Steve was actually able to concentrate enough to do any reading. Either that, or he was the world's slowest reader. Clint glanced at the clock. Natasha had been in surgery for six hours now and every minute had felt like a life time. He knew that Natasha being at Los Alamos was her choice to make, but Clint couldn't help but feel he should have been able to prevent all of this. After all, he was the only one who'd known. Clint wrestled with feelings of guilt and regret. He wasn't going to accept that this was how things were going to end between them. They just couldn't, not after all they'd been through together. Their lives had taken so many twists and turns to bring them to this point. How could that all be for nothing?

oooOOOOooo

Clint moved ever so slightly, looking down from his vantage point on the roof of the hotel, his leather suit creaking quietly. The standard issue SHIELD uniforms looked cool, but weren't as stealthy as he'd like. But then, this was his first assignment for SHIELD since Nick Fury had recruited him into the organisation, so it probably wasn't strategic to gripe about the uniforms just yet. Clint had been in position for the last two hours, waiting for his target. The hot Shanghai midday sun beat down on him, and caused sweat to run down the back of his leather vest. That was another thing about leather, the damn stuff didn't breathe. Clint didn't know who his target for assassination was going to be, and he hadn't asked any questions. It was part of the deal when you joined SHIELD that you weren't too inquisitive. Clint didn't mind that rule. He'd gotten in trouble before by being too involved, sitting on the outside looking in suited him fine these days.

Unbidden, his thoughts turned to his last big bout of involvement which had ended badly. Natasha Romanoff, the Russian spy who'd placed a spell on him and then disappeared from his life. Clint moved his shoulders restlessly, annoyed at himself for thinking about her again. She always did that, popped up in his head at the most inappropriate times. It had been nearly two years since he'd last seen her. She'd been a bloody mess in his arm when he'd rushed her into that hospital. Clint had no way of knowing if she was even still alive. Although Natasha had been alive enough to walk out of that same hospital three hours later and not look back. After that though, Clint had no idea what had happened to her. He told himself that he didn't care if she was alive or dead. It was a lie he'd almost convinced himself was true. For the first time in his life, Clint had let himself fall, and fall hard for a woman. All he'd gotten for his trouble was nearly killed and then abandoned.

Clint shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of the red-headed vixen who'd caused him such grief. He liked to have an uncluttered mind when he was working. His skill set required focus and concentration and making a mistake wasn't an option. Clint knew he had something to prove to Fury with this first assignment. The other man had made it abundantly clear that he felt like he was taking a risk on Clint. The onus was definitely on him not to screw things up. Clint didn't so much care about Fury's opinion of him, but it was a professional point of pride for him to do this job properly. Fury thought he was using him, but Clint knew it was the other way around. Being recruited into SHIELD had come at a very convenient time, when things had been getting a bit complicated with some of the jobs he'd been involved with lately. The chance to hide behind a secretive organisation and drop off the grid was too good to pass up. It was the one lesson Natasha had really taught him. If things get too complicated, just walk away.

Agent Coulson's voice came over his earpiece. "Agent Barton, are you in position?"

"Check that."

"Target will be moving into view in less than a minute. Front entrance of the Shangri-La Hotel."

Clint bent down and looked through the scope of his semi-automatic rifle. He lined the cross hairs up with the entrance to the popular hotel. People were coming and going from the building with the hustle and bustle which seemed to be associated with everything to do with this city. "Do you have specs for me with this target," he grunted, "or do I just gun down someone at random?"

Coulson ignored his sarcasm. "A blonde woman, white dress and shoes will be exiting the building in less than thirty seconds."

"A woman?"

"Is that problem Agent Coulson? Your target has been making a name for herself by taking out quite a few strategic field agents. She is an efficient and ruthless killer who is a threat to our national security. We need that threat neutralised."

"I didn't ask," said Coulson dismissively, "and no, it's not a problem that it's a woman."

"We have eyes on her entering the hotel foyer now," Coulson relayed to him. "Take your shot when you have clear line. Don't miss."

"I never miss." It wasn't boasting on Clint's behalf, it was just the truth. More hours than he could count training and honing his skills with guns and arrows had made sure of that. He caught a flash of blonde hair, obvious amongst all the crowd of people sporting black hair. Clint's finger moved to the trigger, ready to squeeze. The woman was out on the street now, waiting for a cab. Her back was to him, and Clint had her lined up in his crosshairs. His mind was one of blank calmness. "I've got her."

"Take the shot."

Clint's finger started to squeeze on the trigger, just as the woman turned around. He dragged in a surprised gasp when he saw her face for the first time. Natasha. It was definitely her, just with blonde hair. Clint would know that face anywhere. His finger instinctively moved away from the trigger.

"Agent Barton, take the shot." Coulson's voice was demanding action.

Clint couldn't take his eyes off Natasha as she smiled coolly at one of the hotel attendants and said something to them.

"Agent Barton, take the shot."

Clint moved his finger back on the trigger, but just continued to stare at Natasha.

"Do you have her? What's the problem?"

Clint knew he had to make a choice but in that moment, he knew there wasn't one for him. He watched Natasha step into the taxi which had drawn up beside her and drive off.

Coulson's voice was back in his ear. His tone was difficult to read. "Target is in the wind. Agent Barton, return to base."

Clint pulled his gun from where it was resting on the ledge of the building and sat down, resting it across his lap as he leaned back against the ledge. He blinked, mind going at a hundred miles an hour. Clint put his hand over his heart and felt the way it was pounding wildly. He hadn't expected this and now he had to think quickly to work out what to do next.

oooOOOOooo

Phil Coulson shuffled down the hospital corridor, wheeling a canister of oxygen behind him. The oxygen was attached to a plastic tube which ran up to prongs feeding oxygen into his weakened lungs. The poisoned gas had impaired his breathing capacity, but the doctors had assured him it was only temporary. He rounded the corner and walked into the waiting room which was littered with most of the Avengers except for Tony and Coulson knew where he would be.

Steve greeted him first. "Phil," he said in surprise, "what are you doing here? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." He shuffled over to take the seat beside Clint.

"You don't look fine," commented Bruce. They were keeping their voices down as the others slept.

Thor nodded, looking concerned. "Verily, Agent Coulson, your injuries look to be most serious."

"You're just saying that because I'm wearing the backless hospital gown," he replied casually. "They make everything look serious."

"Fury didn't mention you needing to be hospitalised," said Steve worriedly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just a bit of poisonous gas inhalation issues and I was blown up." Coulson was off-hand. "They just had to put a few stitches in my original wound. Like I said, it's nothing. They've just kept me in for observation overnight."

Clint finally spoke. "Then don't you think you should be in bed or something?"

Coulson sent him a calm look. "They can observe me from here." He looked intently at Clint. "No word yet?"

Clint's jaw hardened. "No."

Coulson studied the other man's stony profile carefully. It was obvious to Coulson Clint was frightened, and it was even more obvious that he was trying not to show it. Coulson sat carefully back in his chair, remembering another time when he'd seen that expression on Clint's face and for exactly the same reason.

oooOOOOooo

Coulson clasped his hands in front of himself as he patiently waited outside Director Fury's office. He could hear the raised voices inside quite clearly, but his outward expression gave no indication about what he was making of it.

"I gave you direct order and you disobeyed it!" barked Fury.

"I think you didn't have all the facts... sir." Clint's 'sir' was belated, as though he was forcing himself to remember to at least appear deferential.

"Oh," snapped Fury, "is that what you thought, is it? Perhaps I wasn't clear in describing your employment expectations to you, Agent Barton? I tell you to jump, you ask how high. This isn't a democracy, everyone doesn't get a vote."

"You didn't want some mindless drone," Clint shot back defiantly, "otherwise you wouldn't have recruited me! You want someone who can think independently and outside the box because that's the kind of work SHIELD does."

The corner of Coulson's mouth curled up ever so slightly, mentally applauding Clint for his insight. All the profiling about him had been correct it seemed.

"I recruited you to SHIELD because I wanted your skill set and believed there was a chance I could turn you into a team player," threw back Fury, his voice full of menacing authority. "Clearly I was mistaken."

"If team player means your bitch, then yeah, you were wrong," said Clint aggressively, no longer even attempting any kind of pretence of submission.

"Don't blame your inadequacies on me, Agent Barton," said Fury coldly. "You were unable to perform your mission due to mental weakness. You're unable to kill a woman. It's an unpleasant fact of our job that sometimes the bad guys aren't guys at all. I can't have you hesitating in the field because of some misplaced sense of chivalry."

Coulson could hear the anger back in Clint's voice. "I do what I have to do, when I have to do it," he bit out. "That isn't a problem for me."

"All evidence to the contrary," replied a sarcastic Fury.

"But killing that target today would have been a mistake," continued on Clint stubbornly.

"And that statement would be coming from your wealth of information you have on the target I'm guessing?" Fury's sarcasm was getting stronger.

"If you like," said Clint defiantly. "I know her."

There was a brief pause before Fury was replying calmly. "Is that right?"

"I made a judgement call," said Clint sharply. "I know that Natasha Romanoff would be more use to you alive than dead."

"Oh, you made that call, did you?"

"Look, I know Romanoff, I know what she's capable of and I also know she'd be an asset for SHIELD."

"And what is in this proposition for me?" asked Fury coolly. "It seems to me that all I get out of this is two troublesome Agents rather than one. You're a pain in my ass, Barton, and I suspect Romanoff is only going to be worse. Why should I bother with either one of you when it'd be so much easier to just erase you both?"

"Because you didn't get to where you are by taking the easy way out," said Clint flatly. "You love taking risks because the bigger the risk, the bigger the pay off."

"And the bigger the fall out if it doesn't."

Coulson discretely shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still waiting for this 'meeting' to be over.

Fury was speaking again. "And what makes you think Romanoff would even want to play ball with us?"

"You're very good at making people see things clearly, sir." There was a hint of wry humour on Clint's behalf with that. "You have a way about you."

Coulson did smile at that.

There was another long pause. "I'll give it some thought," said Fury gruffly. "But you mark my words, Barton, if I do decide to bring Romanoff on board, you can bet your fates are tied together. If this even looks like coming back to bite me in the ass, you're both going to take the fall."

Coulson could hear the smile in Clint's voice. "You're not going to regret this, sir."

"I already do," came the flat rejoinder.

Coulson continued to stare ahead as Clint walked out of the office and past him.

"Hey," said Clint, acknowledging his presence, but continuing to walk, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"Agent Coulson." Fury was calling out to him.

Coulson stepped into the office. "Sir."

"You hear all that?"

"Of course not, sir, you pay me to be discrete," he replied, straight-faced.

Fury half-smiled. "And what did your discretion make of that conversation you just heard?"

Coulson didn't miss a beat. "I think I'm going to be making an unexpected house call to a young lady's house in the near future."

"Is everything set up for the extraction?"

"Just as you requested, sir."

"She's not going to make it easy," Fury warned him.

"All the Agents have been briefed on Ms. Romanoff's versatility and skill base. They've been studying her for weeks."

"Good, I don't want any mistakes."

"There won't be, sir."

Fury was studying him intently. "Is there something on your mind, Agent Coulson?"

Coulson hesitated, unsure if he should say anything. "No, not really, sir."

"Speak your mind, Agent."

Coulson faced off against the imposing other man, not letting any real expression touch his face. "You took a big risk today, sir," he pointed out mildly. "Agent Barton could have taken that shot."

"Someone recently told me I like taking risks," said Fury dryly. "The pay offs are worth it."

Coulson frowned a little. "It's just that I'm not really sure why you went to all this trouble, sir. You could have just recruited them both independently. I'm not sure why you went to this kind of length to establish a connection with Romanoff under these conditions."

"It's all about checks and balances, Agent Coulson."

"Sir?"

"Barton and Romanoff are both loners," said Fury calmly. "I needed to give them a stake in something bigger than themselves to keep them in check." He walked back around his desk and took a seat. "This is going to bind them together, tighter than even their previous history. One day they will have loyalty to SHIELD and our ideals but in the meantime, I'm going to give them loyalty to each other. They'll be easier to rein in that way. Barton was right, he's an independent thinker, as is she, and until I can be sure that independence is going to be of a benefit to SHIELD, it needs to be micromanaged carefully."

"Permission to speak freely?"

Fury inclined his head slightly.

"You're very cunning and underhanded, sir." Coulson gave a little smile. "And I'd hate to play poker with you."

"You'd lose," confirmed Fury in vague amusement.

Coulson had one more question. "Do you think Agent Barton knows he's in love with her, sir?"

Fury sat back in his chair and made a steeple out of his fingers. "Unlikely," he said thoughtfully, "but that day will come."

"And what will happen then?"

Fury arched an eyebrow. "I guess that's up to them."

oooOOOOooo

Doctor Weinberg walked into the waiting room, pulling off his surgical cap and rubbing his sweaty head as he approached them.

Clint immediately jumped to his feet. "Is she alright?"

The doctor gave a tired smile. "The surgery went well. I feel like I've gotten a clear excision of the tumour margins. We'll know more when we get the pathology report."

Steve was by his side. "And Natasha?"

"She handled the surgery very well," said the doctor. "All we can do now is wait for the swelling to go down in her brain and for her to wake up. It's only then that we'll have any real idea of what kind of post-operative brain issues we'll be facing." He smiled sympathetically at them all. "I'm sorry, everyone, but it's still a waiting game."

"But she's made it through surgery," piped up Jane, trying to be positive. "That's something, isn't it?"

"It's a big something," agreed Doctor Weinberg readily, "but Natasha's fight is just about to be begin."

Clint gave a small smile picturing her reaction to those words in his head. "Good, because if there is one thing Nat knows how to do, it's fight." And he knew how to fight by her side.