TW for discussion of concentration camps and the horrors that happened there.
June 2014, Manhattan
As Natasha stood frozen, unsure what - if anything - to say, a soft noise broke through her shock, a wining sound coming from the other side of the connecting door, where the sound-proofing was just a little lower.
Jemma's eyes flickered open. "Is that a dog?"
"Nat?" Clint called softly, cracking open the door. "Lucky wants to come in; he knows someone's hurt."
"He's a good boy," Natasha said softly. "Are you okay with that?"
Jemma gave her a bright smile that made her look even younger than she already did, and nodded eagerly. "Yes please!"
Clint must have been holding Lucky's collar, because he came trotting in a second later. He took one look at Jemma and jumped up on to the comforter, laying his head on her lap.
Natasha smiled, giving his ears a scratch. "I'll leave you to rest. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Jemma echoed.
Natasha didn't quite close the door completely, in case Lucky wanted to come out during the night.
Or the day - it was almost dawn.
Clint took one look at her face and silently stepped back so she could cross into the other apartment. "Drink?"
"Not sure if it's too late or too early," Natasha muttered. "Why were they there? They're twelve."
Clint snorted. "Seems like it. I'm sure we'll find out soon enough."
Natasha sat down at the kitchen counter, accepting the glass of vodka he slid over to her. "Did they ever work with Phil?"
Even after two years, Clint still flinched at the name if he wasn't expecting it. "Not that I know of. Wasn't really his bag."
Natasha took a sip of vodka, trying to decide whether to say it or not. "Jemma seems to think he needs to be informed they're alive."
Clint had gone very, very still, which wasn't a good sign. "She's got a concussion. We'd know, Nat."
He didn't sound convinced, more like he was pleading with her to agree.
"Of course," Natasha said, hoping that she didn't sound as uncertain as she felt. "I'm just wondering if she could call Bruce back."
Clint relaxed a little. "Nah. He's got enough on his plate."
"How is Dr Fitz?" Natasha asked.
Clint shrugged. "Between him and Tony, I didn't really get a lot of what they were saying, but I'm fairly sure he'll recover." He reached across and squeezed her hand. "I'm sure she'll be fine. Remember when you had that concussion in Johannesburg and you were convinced we were skiing?"
"That was the morphine, not the concussion," Natasha said, narrowing her eyes. "And you promised you'd never mention that again."
"Technically, I promised I wouldn't tell anyone else," Clint said. "You got JARVIS monitoring her?"
Natasha nodded, finishing her drink. "If he can't wake her, he's going to wake me, so I'll sleep in my own bed tonight."
"Like either of us are going back to sleep," Clint said.
He was probably right, but she wasn't going to admit that.
"I feel like I should try," Natasha said. "So should you."
"If she still seems confused tomorrow, get Banner," Clint said. "Until then, let the kid rest."
Darcy had heard the drama unfolding because she wasn't asleep, but she remained where she had been, sitting in the lab Jane had been using, a few floors above the newly formed infirmary, and reading HYDRA files. If she was needed for some reason, someone would come and get her.
It was not lost on her that she was doing exactly what she had chided Jane for earlier in the evening.
Unlike her, however, Jane had fallen asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Darcy just couldn't, and she would rather do something productive than lie awake knowing that sleep was never going to come.
She had no idea how long it had been since the team had left and then returned, when footsteps sounded outside the lab, and Steve Rogers stepped in.
Darcy straightened up automatically - she couldn't help it. "Captain."
"Miss Lewis," he greeted. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be awake."
Darcy shrugged. "Can't sleep. Figured I'd keep reading."
"What are you looking for?" Steve asked curiously.
"I'm multi-tasking," Darcy said. "I'm sorting everything into files so they can be accessed easily depending on what you're looking for. I'm also scanning for any mention of Howard and Maria Stark, because Peggy's concerned that it might not have been an accident and she wants to hear about it before Tony does. Oh, and I'm looking for any and all mentions of the Asset or the Winter Soldier." She sighed. "That's not particularly fruitful."
"Natasha said she has the only file," Steve said.
"I'm starting to believe that," Darcy said. She skipped to the next page with a flick of her hand, caught sight of a name she recognised, and grimaced. "JARVIS, file to the Red Room folder please?"
"Certainly, Darcy."
The file disappeared and was replaced by the next.
"Do you really think you can find Bucky through old files?" Steve asked.
"No," Darcy said absently. "I'm not trying to find him; he'll be by when he's ready. But if we're going to dodge a terrorism charge, we need as much evidence as possible about what happened to him. JARVIS, personnel please."
"He's a POW," Steve protested, as the next file appeared. "They're not going to charge him with terrorism."
Darcy laughed, not unkindly. "Steve, the US government will do just about anything to win brownie points. If they lock the Winter Soldier away and hush it all up, they've taken out the most prolific assassin we know of - who may or may not have killed JFK - and they don't have the stump up back-pay. It's a win-win for them. No, we need to make sure that it's not worth it for them."
Steve scowled. "That's disgusting."
Darcy shrugged. "That's politics."
"What makes you think he'll be by?" Steve asked.
"Well, if I were him, I'd want answers," Darcy said. "You have them. At the very least, he'll head for Brooklyn."
"What makes you say that?" Steve asked.
Darcy stretched, wincing as her back cracked a little, then tapped a couple of icons. "J, can you bring up the footage we talked about?"
Steve leaned closer to see it. "Is that from a security camera?"
"Yep," Darcy said. "Smithsonian. The Captain America exhibit." She grinned at the look on his face. "Don't grumble; it got you your old uniform, didn't it?" She tapped the screen again, freezing it. "See that guy there? Baseball cap, jacket? He stands at the Bucky Barnes exhibit for hours; doesn't move. You never see his face, but I'm pretty sure that's him."
"What made you look at the footage?" Steve asked.
Darcy gave another shrug. "Well, I figured if I met Captain America and he insisted we knew each other, and I didn't think asking him was an option, that would be a good place to figure stuff out."
"You think he'll be in Brooklyn?" Steve asked.
Darcy hesitated. "I think you're not going to find him until he's ready for you to find him."
Steve sighed. "That's what Natasha says."
Darcy wasn't surprised by that. "Anyway, what's got you awake in the middle of the night? Random rescue mission notwithstanding."
"HYDRA," Steve answered.
"Well, yeah, that would cause anyone to lose sleep," Darcy said, before she could think better of it.
Steve smiled slightly. "True. Peggy's dealing with a lot more betrayal than I am; it feels unfair to add to all of that."
"First rule of a relationship," Darcy said sagely, "share your troubles."
"Really?" Steve asked.
"No idea," Darcy admitted. "The longest relationship I've ever had was with the barista on campus at Culver. We weren't dating," she added. "I just had a caffeine problem."
Steve chuckled, which she counted as a win.
"If you want to talk about it," she continued, "I've been told I'm pretty good at listening."
Steve didn't answer, and of course he didn't.
This was the longest conversation they'd had.
Given that the first consisted of a quick introduction and a hello, this was probably the only conversation they'd had.
"It feels like I was pointless," he said suddenly. "I see everything HYDRA have done, and everyone they've hurt, and there was a child brought into being using my blood that was probably promptly murdered, and … Does anything I've done even matter?'
Darcy was quiet for a few moments, trying to figure out exactly how to answer. "Have you ever heard the story of the starfish?"
Steve frowned. "No?"
Darcy smiled, hearing the confusion in his voice. "There was a young man walking along a beach covered in starfish. He came across an old man, who was picking up starfish one by one, and throwing them back into the sea.
'What are you doing?" The young man asked.
'They will die out of water,' the old man answered.
The young man considered this, and then said, 'But you're wasting your time. There are hundreds of thousands of starfish on this beach. You can't save all of them. You can't possibly think you can make a difference.'
The old man thought for a second, picked up another starfish, and threw it back. 'Maybe,' he said. 'But it made a difference to that one.'"
Steve didn't respond for a while, and Darcy went back to her reading. This file was particularly dry and she was tempted to give up on it, but she had also realised that the more seemingly boring the file, the more important the information.
She just needed to figure out what kind of science it related to so she could decide who to give it to.
Eventually, Steve sighed. "I do see what you're saying. It doesn't feel like that's the case for me."
"Then let me tell you another story," Darcy said softly. "Once upon a time, there was a sixteen year old boy in Eastern Europe, who was arrested for being Jewish and sent to a concentration camp. The camp was full of men, young and old. Some had been there for a while, some were new. Every Saturday - the Sabbath - they were marched to the edge of camp. They were told to line up, and the general would walk along the line, counting them. Every tenth man was shot in the head."
It was a story she had heard many times, and the words still stuck in her throat like bile.
"They fell back into the ditch, already filled with the corpses of earlier victims. Sometimes, if the ditch was full, they'd be moved along to the next patch and be forced to dig the next grave. One Saturday, as the general was counting, the young man realised he was going to die that day. He closed his eyes and braced himself. The gunshot came - but he was still alive. When he opened his eyes, the general was dead on the ground in front of him, and there were American voices."
Steve sucked in a breath, staring at her. "I remember that."
"You and the Commandos liberated that concentration camp," Darcy said. "The young man moved to America and married a nurse, and they had five children. Named all five of them after Commandos. When he passed away in 2010, he had eleven grandchildren, and eight great-grandchildren. The youngest child - Jack - he married his childhood sweetheart. Wasn't his brightest move - she's a bitch - but you can't have anything. They had three daughters. I'm the youngest." She smiled a little sadly; four years on, and she still missed him. "So you see, Captain, it made a difference to that one."
To Natasha's surprise, she did get some sleep. When she woke, the sun was well up, and she had a sudden thought that she had never really slept in before.
She wondered if it counted when she had been up half the night.
"JARVIS, how is Dr Simmons?"
"Still asleep, Ms Romanov," JARVIS answered. "She has woken each time I have alerted her, and her vital signs are far more stable. Lucky is still with her. Kate has finished her formal schooling, but she has some summer work to complete, so Clint is going to use your kitchen so he doesn't disturb her."
"Is my kitchen stocked?" Natasha asked.
"It is," JARVIS said. "I have suggested Clint bring milk."
"Thank you," Natasha said absently. "If and when Jemma joins us, can you please begin recording if it sounds like we're debriefing?"
"Certainly."
It was only now that Natasha realised that most of her clothes were next door.
Had it just been her and Clint for breakfast, she might not worry too much about what she was wearing, but she really didn't want to make Jemma uncomfortable if she did wake up - or Kate, for that matter, if she came looking for her dad.
She managed to find a pair of sweatpants (which might have been Clint's at one point) and a Hawkeye t-shirt (which definitely hadn't been).
It didn't have his name on it, real or call-sign, because no one knew who he was yet (and somehow no one had made up another name outside of 'mysterious archer', which Natasha was lowkey disappointed by), but it was bright purple and had a bow and arrow emblazoned on the front in silver.
She was looking forward to seeing his reaction to it.
He claimed he wasn't possessive in any way, but she had noticed that he really liked it when she wore his merchandise.
Sure enough, when she emerged, he was already in her kitchen and greeted her absently, before doing a double-take. "Nat, what is that?"
"I picked it up in DC," Natasha answered, trying not to smile. "Why, does it look bad?"
As soon as she was in reach, he tugged her into a not-so-chaste kiss. "You know it doesn't."
Natasha smirked. "I never look bad. What are you making?"
"Breakfast," Clint answered.
"Smart-ass," Natasha muttered, hip-checking him away from the refrigerator. "Is it even breakfast time?"
"Closer to lunch," Clint conceded. "But not quite lunch, so I'm saying we can still do breakfast food. I'm making pancakes and bacon. Figured that's fairly generic, and we can feed Dr Simmons as well."
"I'm fairly sure you can have pancakes any time of day," Natasha said, pouring herself a glass of orange juice.
"Someone needs to put that on a t-shirt," Clint said, glancing at hers again. "Be honest, did you get that to wind me up."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Is it working?"
Clint chuckled. "You know what I mean, Nat."
"I saw it," Natasha said. "It made me think of you. It made me smile. So I picked it up."
Clint kissed her temple. "You're so good to me."
"Well, at some point, they're going to do proper Hawkeye merch, and you are going to lose your mind," she said.
Clint bushed a finger against the bare skin just under the hem of her shirt. "When that happens, we're staying in bed."
Natasha shook her head with a fond smile. "Watch your bacon."
As though the word was a summons, the spare bedroom door opened and Lucky came trotting out.
Clint pointed at him. "Bacon is bad for you."
Lucky sat down at his feet, looking up at him with one wide eye.
"No," Clint said. "It's not happening."
Natasha smiled at Jemma, who followed him out. "Lucky will be getting the bacon."
Jemma smiled back weakly. "I'm not surprised; he's a sweetheart. How's Fitz?"
"Stable," Clint answered. "But on a ventilator. Bruce is pretty confident he'll make a full recovery though. How are you feeling? And what do you like on your pancakes?"
"Butter and syrup please," Jemma answered. "I'm a traditionalist. Fitz likes jam on his; he eats them like toast because he's weird."
"That is weird," Clint agreed absently. "Nat likes caviar on hers."
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Once. In a hotel. In Bratislava."
Jemma giggled. "And I'm feeling much better, thank you. Did anyone manage to get hold of Agent Coulson?"
Clint flinched, a full body shudder, and Natasha took a step closer to him, so her shoulder was pressed against his.
"No, we haven't, but …" Natasha paused, trying to figure out how to approach the situation without sounding like she was questioning Jemma's sanity. "Jemma, how long have you been working with Agent Coulson?"
"Oh," Jemma said, sounding surprised. "I assumed … Well, about sixteen months or so. I'm not sure Fitz will ever forgive me for dragging him into field work."
Now Natasha felt ice in her veins, pressing her shoulder firmer against Clint's arm. She knew that Coulson had never worked with FitzSimmons for a length of time like that.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"Oh yes," Jemma said enthusiastically. "Well, some of it wasn't such fun. There was a Chitauri helmet that almost killed me … and then I had to shoot Sitwell with the night-night gun … and yesterday wasn't fun either. But it was nice to actually see what we were working on, you know? Rather than just getting facts and figures and not knowing anything else."
There were at least two parts of that Natasha wanted more information on, but she had to focus, because her partner wasn't in any state to. "It must have been a surprise to see Agent Coulson."
Jemma gave a little nervous giggle. "I thought the'd made a robot at first. But then he explained about the resuscitation and the recovery and … Well, I was flattered, really, that he'd wanted us on the team so much that he made them increase our security clearance so we could be read in."
"What clearance are you now?" Natasha asked, grasping the only hope she had of making some sense of this.
"Level seven," Jemma said.
Shit.
Clint had gone very, very still.
Before Natasha could say anything, he had turned away from the stove, a plate of pancakes in his hand and an easy smile on his face. "Pancakes are up."
Natasha observed him for a second.
That wasn't Clint Barton.
That was Martin Richards, IT analyst. Or maybe it was Philip Walters, legal advisor.
She retreated behind covers sometimes.
He almost never did.
This was bad.
"Clint …"
"Bacon's in the oven," Clint continued, setting the plate on the table. "Hate to love and leave you, ladies, but Pepper has a meeting that she wants my input with." He kissed her cheek and disappeared out the door.
"Is everything okay?" Jemma asked.
Natasha took a deep breath. "No. JARVIS, where is Agent Carter right now?"
"She is in discussions with Miss Potts and Secretary Roberts of the UN about logistics," JARVIS answered.
Natasha winced as her suspicions that Clint was not going to be with Pepper were confirmed. "Okay, never mind then." She retrieved the bacon from the oven. "Jemma, I was level eight, and Clint was level seven."
Clint had been with SHIELD for more than ten years when he recruited her, so should have been promoted way before her, but his habit of turning down ops he disagreed with had held him back - she was fairly sure that people were hoping it would change his ways.
Joke was on them - Clint really could not have cared less.
"We had no idea Agent Coulson was alive."
Jemma sucked in a breath, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Oh, I'm so sorry! If I'd known …"
"It's not your fault," Natasha interrupted. "It was on him to tell us, not you. Just … Do you know what happened?"
Jemma hesitated. "According to his medical file, he was medically dead for eight minutes. They managed to restart his heart, but it was a close call."
"We pulled everything from the Trisk," Natasha said. "We haven't found any medical files."
"They were held on a separate server," Jemma said. "HIPAA."
"Right, of course," Natasha said. "What happened after he woke up."
Jemma sighed. "He spent six months recovering in Tahiti. It's a magical place."
The last line was delivered quite monotonously, and Natasha gave her a sharp look. "Was that code for something?"
Jemma shrugged. "No idea. That's what he always said. That exact tone."
Natasha moved to take the seat opposite her, then rethought it. This wasn't an interrogation, and she didn't want Jemma to feel like it was. She took the seat beside Jemma instead. "You had doubts?"
"He asked me to do a full physical within a few months of being on the team," Jemma said, pouring syrup over her pancakes. "He said it was because SHIELD had asked for it, but his was up-to-date. I think he was just worried."
"But he was alright?"
"Perfectly fine," Jemma assured her. "He said his muscle memory was off, but I couldn't find any sign of it. He said once that he felt like it was longer than eight minutes. Recently … Well, we learned that it wasn't a normal resuscitation."
"What do you mean?" Natasha asked. "Surely resuscitation is pretty standard."
"It should be," Jemma said softly. "But we found out that he was right; he had been dead for longer than eight minutes. It was eight months. It wasn't resuscitation, it was resurrection."
Natasha's first thought was that at least he had actually been dead when they went to his funeral.
Her second thought didn't actually arrive because her brain came to a halt.
"How?!"
"Some kind of alien tech," Jemma answered. "He was still looking into that, but … I think May knew. She didn't look surprised."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Coulson talked May back into the field? How'd he manage that?"
"We've got the Bus," Jemma answered.
Natasha hid her grimace. The Bus was a highly secure plane (for want of a better word - it was not quite a helicarrier, but it was certainly more like a floating building than an aircraft) and if they now thought that Ward had betrayed them (which they would), it would be near impossible to find.
Especially if their Rising Tide hacker was as good as Ward claimed.
She was also certain that May had been offered the Bus before, so she had a feeling that May had been there more to keep an eye on Coulson than to be a pilot.
"Is Lola on board?" She asked aloud.
"Lola?" Jemma asked.
"Coulson's car," Natasha said. "Red Corvette."
"Oh," Jemma said. "Yes, she's there."
"Good," Natasha said. "He hasn't completely lost his mind then. What happened yesterday?"
"Actually, that's what we were looking in to," Jemma said. "The resurrection, I mean … It was supposed to be another SHIELD base."
"Jemma, I don't mean to interrupt," Natasha said, "because I can see that this is hard for you, but … Phil does know that SHIELD doesn't exist anymore, right?"
Jemma faltered. "That's not what Director Fury said. He asked Agent Coulson to carry on as interim director."
Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh good God … Okay, carry on."
Jemma looked confused, but took a deep breath. "Agent Ward went with us. We were supposed to be finding out if anyone knew anything about what happened to Agent Coulson. And then Garrett …"
Natasha reached out to press her hand. "He turned out not to be SHIELD after all?"
"And neither was Ward," Jemma said tearily. "Garrett gave him the kill order, and we ran, and we ended up in the escape pod. He just … He pressed the button." She wiped her eyes with her spare hand. "He … He jumped out of the Bus once to save my life."
"He saved your life yesterday as well," Natasha said. "If he hadn't gotten you out, you'd both be dead."
"We'd also be dead if you hadn't shown up," Jemma said.
Natasha smiled. "That wasn't a coincidence. Ward is our eyes in HYDRA. He sent Agent Carter the coordinates. That's how we got there so quickly."
Jemma burst into tears properly at that, and Natasha winced.
How did she end up dealing with this?
