Shoutouts to everyone who reviewed! I tried looking back to do my usual individual ones, but it's a bit difficult to tell who reviewed when, so I'm just going to do a blanket thank you right now!

Thanks for being so patient, too. I know I've been awful about updating, and I'm honestly not sure when I'll update again, but just know I'm working on it! I'm trying to finish up my senior year of college, so we'll see how that goes as far as updating =)

For extra emotions, listen to: "Ghost (Acoustic" - Halsey. I'm pretty into Halsey these days, so expect more of that!

As always, please feel free to leave feedback (if you guys are still here, that is!) because I love getting it!

Enjoy! =)

Chapter 5

For an hour, Clint sat beside Natasha in complete silence. He didn't ask her questions, lecture her about being careful, or shower her with concerned words of love. He was just silent. And out of everything he could have been towards her at that time, Clint sitting beside her with no words coming out of his mouth was exactly what Natasha needed. She just needed this. She needed silence.

He didn't even touch her, either. He didn't try to hold her hand or stroke her hair. Instead, he remained professional about the whole thing, another thing Natasha appreciated. She knew she'd have to talk to him about what had happened at some point, but for now, she just wanted to sit still and have him near.

Finally, after a couple of hours of silence and an IV line stuck in her arm, Natasha moved. Clint's eyes remained glued to her as she slowly sat up and pushed the thin hospital blanket off of her. He wanted to speak, wanted to ask her what she wanted to do—what she wanted him to do, but he just sat in silence and read his partner's body language instead. After everything she'd gone through in her head on this mission, she would communicate better through movements than words.

Still silent, without making a single sound, Natasha put her feet on the ground and started to stand. The look on her face told Clint she wasn't very sure of herself, and he was tempted to reach out to her, but he didn't. She wasn't quite at the point where she needed his help just yet, and he wouldn't give if it she didn't need it. He knew her better than that.

"Let's go," Natasha said once she'd realized she was steady on her feet. Clint looked at her, his face emotionless.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"I'm ready to go," she said, taking a step towards the door. There was something tight in her muscles that let him know she was antsy, but there was also an exhaustion weighing down on her that didn't let her go quite as tight as she normally would have. Pausing, Natasha looked at him. "I'm ready to go home now."

"You sure about that?" he asked carefully. His eyes scanned over her, assessing her physically. Steve had assured him she'd been fine physically—she'd barely been in the fight at all—and Clint was checking her more out of habit than anything else, but he couldn't help needing that extra bit of reassurance.

"Yeah. I'm tired."

Clint couldn't argue with that, and he stood up, too. "Shouldn't we get you checked out first? See about your discharge papers?"

At that, Natasha just gave him a look, and she started towards the door. Like always, Clint knew better than to do anything but follow, and so he walked out the door with her. Natasha gave him a quick glance, her eyes scanning over him to do her own onceover on him, her own physical check in to make sure he was ok even though she'd been the one with the mission, and then she kept walking.

"If Steve sees me, he'll insist I stay," she remarked, her voice quiet. "I'm just tired."

"Well, we are spies," Clint said back to her, and when she looked up at him, she found him fighting back a wry smile. "We can bust out of anywhere without getting detected."

"You park outside?" she asked, checking their surroundings as they walked.

"Yep. Brought the car. Got it out front."

"Perfect." She walked beside him, stalking down the halls as if she owned the place, as if she knew that that was where she was supposed to be. Both of them knew that she should still be in bed, and both of them knew they still had things to take care of before they left, but Clint wasn't about to argue with her, and she knew it.

They made their way out to the car, barely pausing while Clint pulled out his keys and unlocked the car for them. Natasha, trusting him, walked to the passenger's side and got in. Every other day of the week, she didn't mind driving, but today, she knew it was best to just let Clint drive, so she slid into the seat and leaned back against the warm fabric of the seats while Clint started the car.

"Wouldn't be our first breakout of a hospital, hmm?" he asked her. A small smile tugged at Natasha's mouth, and she shook her head.

"It wouldn't."

"Kind of reminds me of Heidelberg."

"When we had the weapons dealers mission?"

"That's the one. I got shot in the thigh, and before we could stop the citizens from jumping in and calling for help, I was in the hospital, and you were already planning our escape route."

"Those were the days," Natasha replied, her voice sounding a little distant. Clint knew something was up with her, but he didn't ask. He couldn't. Not now. Now when Natasha was like this. So he did the next best thing. He drove home.

As soon as Natasha walked through the doorway of the small apartment, she felt her body release tension. Her shoulders dropped, and her cheeks loosened, the muscles in the small of her back slowly letting go of everything they'd been using to hold her together during the past few hours. Even though the apartment was still relatively new, and even though she'd lived in nicer places, this small space of theirs felt like theirs. She caught the dark, square shapes of unpacked boxes still in the corner of the dining room, and for whatever reason, she found another small smile making its way over her mouth.

"Meow," Noelle announced, trotting into the room.

"Noelle! Hi, kitty cat!" Natasha greeted as she knelt down to pet the cat and pick her up. "There you are. Was Clint good to you while I was gone? Hmm?"

"I was very good to her," Clint said with a mild snort as he locked the door behind the both of them. Natasha gave the cat a quick kiss and scratched behind her ears while Clint set the alarm system on their apartment. "Wasn't I, Noelle?"

"Could you get me a glass of water?" Natasha asked, still scratching Noelle's head.

Clint paused, and he gave her a hard look, as if he were trying to figure her out. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Of course."

"Thanks," she said, and she watched him go off into the kitchen. She looked down at the cat and watched the small eyes close while she pet her. Clint would never let her live down how much she loved this cat, and she knew that to be a true fact. "You miss me? I missed you."

"She did." Clint appeared with a glass in his hand. Natasha crossed towards him and set the cat down before taking the glass full of clear, cold water from him.

"Thanks," she said again, and she took a small sip. For a few moments, neither one of them said anything. The air was heavy with things that needed to be said, and yet neither one spoke. Slowly, Natasha folded her arms over her chest, and she took another swallow. "You want to know what happened."

Clint blinked, wondering how in the world it was that he knew her so well and yet could still be surprised by her direct bluntness in moments like this. "Well…yeah. But you don't have to tell me now if you don't want to."

"I do," she said without pausing. "I need to tell you now."

"Alright. If you want to, I'll…I'll listen. You know I will."

Her face took on a peculiar look, but she nodded. "I do."

The expression was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and she looked down into her glass as another silence passed between the two of them. In her head, she had all the words she needed to say. She could practically feel the words in her throat, and yet she couldn't bring herself to say them just yet. How could she? It wasn't that she didn't trust Clint. God, out of everyone she knew, she trusted him the most. It didn't matter whether or not they were team partners, STRIKE Team: Delta, Avengers, or just Clint and Natasha. She trusted him with her entire life. But she still couldn't speak.

Quietly, she cleared her throat. "There isn't really a point in lying to you. I think after all our time together…we know how that turns out."

"Which time do you want to reference?" Clint asked in an attempt to joke. She smiled just a bit for him, but she didn't pull her eyes out of her glass.

"I don't want to lie to you. I don't…it's part of my day job enough as it is, and I love you and respect you too much to start lying to you now," she said, her voice careful and slow. "When Wanda fucked with our heads that time on the ship in Wakanda…I saw the Red Room."

She knew that this small piece of information didn't come as a surprise to Clint, nor did she expect it to, but she just needed to tell him. She needed to say it explicitly so that there couldn't be any questions, any doubts about what she'd seen. Again, she cleared her throat, and she took a breath. "I saw…all kinds of things I'd done. I saw myself shooting people…training…and I saw my graduation ceremony."

"Nat," Clint murmured, his voice soft.

"I know you know," she said flatly. "You do."

"I…" he paused, but then he nodded. "I do."

"And there was the whole issue of my memory being erased. Voloshin was the one who got it back for me, but even then, after everything he did to help get it restored, I didn't remember everything. And I was ok with that. I was because even if I couldn't remember parts of my past, I at least had references for them. If I couldn't remember certain parts, I filled those parts in with information, and I was content with that being all I'd have to do." She paused and took a quick swallow of her water, looking up but over at the wall instead of him. "And whatever Wanda did to me gave me back everything. I remember every little piece I've had filled in with just words before. Now I have…I have pictures to go along. I know exactly what happened, when, and how it felt."

Suddenly, Clint felt sick to his stomach, and he looked at Natasha, trying to quell the wave of nausea he felt deep inside. "Natasha—"

"And I don't know why it is, but I can't forget it, and I think I'd honestly give anything to forget it all," she said quickly before he had the chance to speak. "So I don't know what exactly is going on, but I know that I'm remembering all kinds of things, things I've never remembered before, and I remember it all in each of my senses. It's like…it's like she didn't give me back my memory as it had been before, but she gave me an HD version of it, so I can't forget anything. I'm caught in this terrible, terrible movie that vaguely resembles my life, and I know it is, but it just seems too—"

She stopped talking and pressed her lips together, and she looked down at her hand, noticing how it shook. Hoping Clint didn't see it, she quickly brought it up to her glass and tightened her grip on it in hopes of getting the shaking to stop.

"You don't have to talk about this now," Clint said quietly, his face sincere as he looked at her. "You don't have to. I'm serious, Natasha. You can wait. Take a few days off work."

At that, Natasha finally met his eyes, and she shook her head fervently. "No. I'm not taking off."

"Nat, don't you think that'd be a good idea?" Clint asked as he frowned a little bit. "You went through a hell of an ordeal today, whatever it was that happened."

"I was hit with more memories. That's what happened," she said, snapping at him a little more than she'd intended. "I was all right, and then I was reliving what the Red Room had put in my head versus what actually happened, and I just…I lost it. But I'm ok. And I can get back to work tomorrow."

"Natasha." Clint's voice was still gentle, but it was a little firmer this time. "Come on."

"I can't just stay home and feel sorry for myself," she said, shaking her head still. "I can't. I'll go crazy here. What am I supposed to do? Stare at the empty boxes? Wait until another memory hits me square in the face? I can't do that, Clint. I need to be at work—I need to be able to get out into the field and work this out. I can do it. You know I've worked through worse."

"Ok, maybe physically yes," Clint said, his voice careful now. "But this is some serious shit, Nat. You can't just expect it to go away overnight. These are memories coming back to you, and they're not very good ones at that."

"I know. Which is why I need to work them out. I need to physically move them out," she said, as if she were explaining a very logical extraction plan to him. "That's how I work through my shit the best."

"I'm not sure Hill's ready for you to come back," Clint replied. He tried to make his tone as gentle as possible, but the look on Natasha's face was enough to make him feel like he'd physically hit her.

"What?" she asked, confused. "What do you mean Hill's not ready for me to come back?"

"She knows you skipped your psych eval."

And just like that, Natasha went still. Her whole body seemed to drain of energy, and all she could do was stand there and look at him. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but when nothing came out, she closed it again. She stared at him for a few seconds, her mind racing and her heart hammering as she tried to think of how to get out of this one.

"I was going to go," she said, feeling a little lame as she said.

"Come on, Nat, what'd you just say—you learned the hard way not to lie to me?" Clint asked, showing frustration for the first time since she'd seen him after the mission. Natasha twisted her mouth to the side, and she narrowed her eyes as she stared hard at him.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked.

"I want you to tell me what's going on with you, and I want you to agree to listen that maybe staying home tomorrow would be good for you. Because if you go in tomorrow, I'd bet you $100 that Hill will bring you in for a meeting, whether it's disciplinary or the start of a psych eval, and then when she's done with you, she'll send you home," Clint said logically, his voice staying even, never once raising his voice.

"How'd you even know I skipped?"

"She came to me about it. Told me she was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Because she is," Clint said, and he let out a small sigh, lifting his hand and running it through his hair. The short blond tufts stuck up, and if Natasha weren't feeling this mix of emotions, she probably would have smiled and laughed and made some kind of comment about it. "It's as simple as that, Natasha. I promise. She's worried about you, and hell, since we have this whole no lying thing going on, I'll just go ahead and tell you that so am I."

"Well, I'm ok. You don't need to worry about me," she replied, frowning deeply. Suddenly, Clint's eyes flashed, and he took on a defensive position as he put his hands on his hips.

"Are you joking?" he asked. "I literally just mentioned how we don't have a lying thing, and you're telling me you aren't ok? After everything you just admitted to me about these aftereffects of your memory coming back?"

"Here's a crazy thought—have you ever considered that you don't know me better than I know myself?" she spat back. Anger burned deep down in her chest, and she didn't know why she was feeling it so intensely now, but she couldn't stop any of the words from spilling out of her mouth as she felt that anger churn inside her. "You think you know me, and ok, I'll give you that, but you don't know me better. You always say you trust me, but you can't seem to trust the fact that I'm all right. Because you think you know the truth, I'm the one who's wrong."

"Natasha, that's not—"

"Not what you meant?" She cut him off with a fierce gaze. "Is that what you were going to say? Because I think it's what you meant. And Clint, I'm aware of myself. I'm aware of what's going on with me. So yes, I know I skipped my psych eval. Yes, I have my reasons for it. No, I don't need you and Maria fucking Hill to lecture me about it."

"Natasha, I'm not trying to attack you," Clint said, but this time, his voice went quiet. He was quiet, and he stared at her with tired eyes. All the tension drained from his body, and he just looked exhausted and much older than he actually was. "I'm just worried. And skipping your psych eval isn't something you do. Nat…I know patterns. And as much as we're trained not to have patterns, I know your patterns. I know mine. We're not doing our best right now."

Natasha's shoulders tensed, and she folded her arms protectively over her chest. "I know we're not. I never said I was perfect. I just said I'm ok."

"You know what?" Clint sighed and let his arms drop to his side. For a second, he stood in silence, and then he lifted a hand to run through his hair as he shook his head. "I don't think you're lying. I think you think you're ok. And if you want to get mad at me and yell at me about how I think you know better than you know yourself, ok, but…I'm tired. We've been through hell and back these past few weeks. We lost a teammate, you're training a girl who fucked your head up, and now whatever happened to you on your mission decided to rear its ugly head. If you don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. But I think we know at some point, we've got to stop lying. 'Member when I lost my hearing? How you let me wallow in my own self-pity before you forced me to come to terms with what happened? I want to help you, Nat. God, I want to help you."

Natasha swallowed hard and looked away. She knew he was right. Far in the back of her mind, she knew Clint was right, but she didn't want to admit it. She wasn't trying to fool herself in why she'd skipped her psych evaluation. If she'd gone, she would have been marked as incapable of field performance, and she couldn't resign herself to that. Not now. She'd been through so much in the past, things that had made her willingly step off to the side to take time to recuperate, but not this. She couldn't let this one go.

"But I'm not lying," she said. In the silence that followed, the seconds seemed to take years to tick by. Clint blinked, his age piling into the lines of his face on the longer he stood there and looked at her.

"Yeah," he finally said, his voice tired far beyond the point of exhaustion. And as he turned to go the bedroom, he turned his head to the side, and he gave her a taste of her own medicine. "And I don't love you."

Even though Natasha knew he was lying, knew he was using that to make a point, she felt her throat swell up, and she turned away.

I'm sorry, she wanted to say.

I can't speak, she longed to tell him.

I remember, Clint, she thought to say, I remember.