This story is belongs to the same AU as Meeting Laura but can stand on its own.
Longa Nox - The Long Night
A beat up Ford pick-up slowly wound up the winding country road. The corn fields lazed by and a fly buzzed contentedly at the wind-shield. A sweet, earthy breeze swept through the half open window on the driver's side and slightly cooled the seemingly calm woman who was the green vehicle's sole occupant. If you studied her more closely, you saw the hastily applied makeup which didn't quite cover up the dark circles under her green eyes, and then you noticed that she glanced continually at the dashboard as she checked the clock. If you looked closer still, you saw that the clothes she wore didn't fit her well. A pair of skinny-jeans one size too large were kept in place with a heavy-duty black leather belt, a man's small tee-shirt, which hung off her slim form, and black boots with yellowish mud streaked with rusty blood still caking them completed her attire. Her hands were pink from vigorous scrubbing but beneath her finger nails lay a dry crust of blood.
The Ford rolled along with the steady velocity as the red sun sank lower in the western horizon. The sky became a mosaic of color and clouds and the bleeding colors dyed the fields red.
The truck finally pulled into a driveway and ten minutes later it slowed to a stop in front of a large sprawling farmhouse. Belaying the country's air and the car's rusty appearance, the truck door swung open suddenly as if it would fly off at hinges. The redheaded woman stepped lithely out and silently shut the door. For a moment her figure was illuminated with the last crimson rays of the dying day and she seemed some illusionary figure of some old tale, her hair was like blood, her pale skin coppery, and her shadow long and stark against the hard packed dirt of the drive. Then as the light dipped away she was mortal again, tired and grieving.
With lithe grace and agitated urgency Agent Romanoff walked the few steps to the white front door and rang the doorbell. With lips pressed together grimly she stepped back and listened to the echoing within. Several minutes past but no other sounds caught her ears. Instinctively her right hand slid to her hip holster and her experienced fingers closed around her hand gun. Suddenly she relaxed and crossed her arms. From inside she heard the patter of small feet on the hardwood floor. The door swung open and a boy with sandy brown hair stood in the bright doorway. Cooper frowned and then whispered, "Mommy's taking a nap, can I help you?"
"Yes you can, go wake Laura up. Tell her that her husband is asking for her."
The boy brought his arms up and crossed them stubbornly. "Who are you?"
Romanoff frowned, displaying the only emotion since her partner had been shot. "You don't remember me? I was at your sister's birthday party."
"Aunty Nat?" He questioned uncertainly.
"Yes. Now I need you to wake your mother and give her my message."
Cooper glanced around uncertainly, but finding no reason to disobey scampered off. 'Aunty Nat' slumped against the porch wall and murmured to herself, "If he dies, you protect them, Natasha. You promised."
Once more she heard the patter small feet, but now they were accompanied by heavier ones— Laura was tired, she wasn't happy about being awoken. The door opened and a middle-aged woman with chestnut brown hair and sleep-crumpled clothes stuck her head out. "What do you want?"
Natasha straightened her posture. "Nothing you could give me." The woman, Laura, blinked as she recognized the woman on her porch. "But that's not why I'm here. Clint's asking for you."
Whether it was her words or the bone weary, half angry half helpless expression on her face, Natasha didn't know but Laura seem to start fully awake and she stepped out of the bright cool farmhouse and gently shut the door. "What do you mean 'he's asking for me'? If he wants to see me he can drive out." Romanoff didn't answer, she just stood there in front of her partner's wife. "Why— what's so important that he sent you?" She exclaimed, "Why is he asking for me?"
Taking a breath Natasha explained.
"I can't give you the details, but Clint had promised me a soda that afternoon so he insisted we shoot our way out of a tight spot. His plan worked to the 't', but I had been so focused on the civilians I didn't realize till it was too late that he was injured. Fatally."
As the assassin watched, the wife's face paled. "You're talking in the past tense."
"Yes, he was injured two days ago. He asked for you to be notified if this ever happened. Will you come?" Natasha knew her impersonal manner irritated Laura, but at the moment she was incapable of any feigned emotion.
She had failed. Her partner was dying. It should've been her connected to all those machines— not Clint! But it was Clint.
"If it happened two days ago why didn't you come sooner?" Laura's harsh words snapped her out of her regret. "Why?! For once, woman, show some Goddamn emotion! You promised!" She screamed in Romanoff's face.
"I would have come sooner," she replied cooly, "but some things are impossible. If the Director had had any input on this you wouldn't have known till they were placing a flag on his coffin. Now get your kids in the truck." She turned and stalked back to her vehicle.
While sitting in the uncomfortable driver's-seat, she fiddled with the black commlink which she had removed from her ear. When she replaced it, Coulson would pretend to be mad, that was his job, then he would pull the strings and get Clint and his family together.
Turning the piece over and over in her fingers she remembered how Clint's voice often sounded coming through the tiny speakers— playful, joking, only ever serious when the situation was dire. Two days ago it had been serious, but not pained, she should've known better; should have asked for a physical report; shouldn't have trusted his selfless nature; should've remembered he liked playing a hero. But she hadn't. A fact was a fact. She let the comm fall with the clatter to the floor of the truck. Wearily she bent and retrieved it, setting it in a cupholder.
A sharp rap sounded on her window and Romanoff looked up, any surprise she felt at being caught off guard was perfectly masked as she unlocked the doors. Carseats were buckled in behind her and then children into carseats, but Natasha never moved. She stared out the windshield impervious to all behind her. Only when Laura slid into the seat beside her did she start the truck.
The one hour drive through the dark fields was silent. Romanoff was refusing to speak— too swamped by unexpressed fear and guilt. Laura was still in shock, unable to process that the unthinkable had happened, and the two children were afraid to speak for fear of upsetting either of the adults. In town, before the used car rental agency, Natasha pulled up.
"Get out, all of you," she ordered, tossing the keys on the seat and picking the comm out of the cupholder. The Bartons piled out sleepily and Romanoff, realizing Laura was too weak, took the carseats from her effortlessly. A few parking slots over a black SUV gleamed in the blue light of the floodlights.
As she unlocked the car, Laura asked, "Why are we switching cars?"
Natasha opened the doors and strapped the seats, "Because I like my car better than that old rust bucket." Turning away she slid into the driver seat and turned on the ignition.
Five minutes later they were on the interstate. The moon was rising when she slid the commlink into her ear.
"Coulson, this is Widow, reporting in. Repeat. I'm back. Do you copy?" She pressed her lips together tightly as she waited for his response.
This is Coulson, I copy. You've been off the grid for a while. Why are you back on so suddenly?
"My mission is complete," she replied flippantly. In her ear she heard him guffaw.
Natasha, stop being so serious. You don't have a mission. Now what have you done?
"What do you think?" She murmured as she weaved through the light traffic.
"Who are you talking to?" Laura queried, and Romanoff glanced at her.
Fury will be—
She turned back to the road. "If you say furious I am going to laugh and I won't be able to stop. Give me the lecture and be done with it. I'll be pulling up in half an hour, I don't want a fire fight."
After a long pause he spoke. I'll see what I can arrange. Coulson over.
No lecture. No reprimand.
Eerie in the dull glow cast by the headlights and the full moon high in the now clear sky, the farmland on either side flashed by as the black car sped past at a steady sixty-seven miles per hour. The car was silent. The two children sound asleep at two a.m. made not a noise. Laura despite her earlier question seemed contented to continue to stare out the window blankly.
Natasha turned to Laura as she turned the vehicle into a long driveway, "We will be arriving at the landing pad soon. Your kids will be safe with me. I'll have an agent take you to Clint when we disembark, if you need anything, tell me."
Laura turned her head away from her window. "Are we taking a plane?"
Natasha made a face, "Something like that," she responded. "It will be a short flight."
The woman nodded and glanced into the backseat, "What did you mean when you said 'I don't want a fire fight'?"
Romanoff didn't turn, "Exactly what I said," she returned in a clipped tone as she approached an heavily guarded gate and slowed to a crawl. She flashed an ID card at a scanner and then punched in a fourteen digit passcode. For a moment nothing happened. Then a small light flashed and the gate rolled back silently.
The nearer she came to the MED-BAY, the tighter wound her emotions became. She disliked hospitals, and for good reason. Yet she always seemed to come back to one for one reason or other, this time that reason was her friend's request. She pulled into a garage and parked.
"What's a fire fight?" Lila asked innocently in that tired voice children use when they've just woken and are undecided as to whether they wish to remain awake or go back to sleep, as Romanoff unbuckled her and set her on the pavement.
Romanoff turned back to her. The girl within the hardened and jaded assassin melted. The innocent, young, child was, she believed, about to lose her father to the ugly reality of death. She would not have many memories of him. As she grew older she might even come to hate him for his choices in life.
'You promised, Natasha. You promised.'
Romanoff knelt down and held out her arms to the little girl.
"Aunty Nat, you're crying. Did—"
Natasha hugged Lila tightly. "It's when adults get really mad at each other…or when they are scared…and they try to hurt each other."
The young arms wrapped protectively around the SHIELD agent's neck. "They won't hurt you! I won't let them!" The child exclaimed passionately.
"I won't either," Cooper echoed wrapping them both in a bearhug.
That was how agents Landon and Chester and found her, kneeling on the ground holding two children to her breast. Agent Landon opened his mouth to speak but his partner shook his head. "The jet's this way, agent."
Natasha looked up at the two.
The hour long flight was silent. The children fell back asleep and Romanoff catnapped fitfully.
In the dim light of the displays Laura wondered what could have happened to put her husband in the hospital without much chance of survival, wondered what could possibly have been stronger than her archer.
When the group arrived. Natasha guided the sleepy children into a dim office that had been prepared for them to sleep in. Then she sat herself down and reviewed protocol as the clock ticked. An hour passed.
"Romanoff, he's asking for you." Natasha looked up, and to her astonishment beheld Director Fury. She didn't usually see him unless she was being sent on a more classified mission. He was a busy man. 'But,' she supposed, 'his best asset dying is a good reason for him to be present.' Clint was often injured, but rarely gave her any real cause for fear. She didn't move— didn't greet him or offer him the expected courtesy. She didn't question how he had entered the room silently, but she began to hope, because if Clint was asking for her, he was awake.
"Who'll watch the children?" Even to herself she sounded strange, stilted, robotic— she didn't want to hope. She knew she would no longer be an asset to SHIELD if Clint's heart stopped. She would have to retire, become Cooper and Lila's shadow. 'A fine ending for you, Widow,' she thought, 'a babysitter. A widow really.'
"I will."
She glanced up to gage her superior's expression. As always his face was tired. She rose to her feet as gracefully as she always did, but lacking her usual flair. With steady feet she made her way to the recovery room in which her friend was housed.
"You came Tasha," he drawled loopily as she stopped at the foot of his hospital bed. She smiled.
The woman sitting beside him sighed. "He's not himself, Natasha. Ever since he woke up a little while ago he hasn't stopped talking about arrows and you. The doctor said it was up to him whether he would push past or not, and that waking up was half the battle."
"Yeah," he murmured, "you made an arrow on me Tasha. You promised."
Romanoff looked him over, relief rolling off her in waves as she noticed the signs of his returning health. Then she rolled her eyes. "Good, just a week or two and we'll be back in the field."
"You made an arrow on my hand."
She shook her head as she examined Laura's worn and tired face and flopped tiredly down on his bed. "Quit it Birdbrain, you're scaring your wife. It's one thing to mess with the medical staff or even Coulson, but not your woman. Not everyone thinks your jokes are funny."
There was silence after her sharp rebuke. Just the steady beeping of the machines hooked to Clint in the stillness. Clint stared at her, and she knew he was contemplating the truth of her statement. A minute passed. Then another. His heart monitor beeped steadily. His IV dripped periodically.
Laura glanced between the two partners. Romanoff was breathing in sync with him. The rhythm was perfect and it was hideous. But she couldn't find it in herself to care, he would be fine. He had turned the corner, the doctors were often a step behind him and his strange quirks. He would be fine.
"What am I supposed to do, Tasha? Be the model patient?"
A relieved smile stretched over Romanoff's face, as her eyes drooped shut. "Nope. Who ever said anything about behaving? You have six minutes till a nurse is due to check in."
He grinned at the ceiling. "Of course I do."
A minute later despite Laura's protests Clint was propped up and oiling his bow procured from his footlocker and weakly whistling a tune while his partner draped herself at the foot of his cot across his feet and let herself fall into a deep, sound sleep.
When the nurse entered the room a little later she sighed and shook her head at the familiar sight of Agent Barton blatantly disregarding his own health for the sake of his routine, and his assassin partner sound asleep as though she had not a care in the world, or her own room. The sky was beginning to lighten faintly as she left the room to type her nth complaint about the two Delta teammates and another request to keep them separated during recovery.
In the other room where the two children were being watched over by Director Fury a device beeped alerting the man to two incoming messages. He glanced down at the screen.
AGENT BARTON SHOULD BE CLEARED
FOR FIELD WORK WITHIN NINE DAYS
IF HE CONTINUES HIS RECOVERY AT
THE SAME RATE.
—DR. *
He gave a relived sigh and opened the second massage.
STRIKE TEAM DELTA IS...
The message was rather long and it was one he had read before. He forwarded it to the team's handler and hoped that the agent would take care of it once and for all. By now the archer and assassin should have learned to appreciate the medical staff's work and strict protocols. He sighed again and rubbed his forehead. If one wasn't escaping death in the field or recovering from some minor injury in the MED-BAY of some base, then they were both off grid and unlocateable. He would take a few breaches in protocol over the loss of his best team any day or their voluntary vacations to a farm that shouldn't have existed but did because Barton had made it a condition of his service.