"If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now."
Loki would never admit it to another soul, but a part of him, a very small part of him, was relieved that the Chitauri had been defeated. The destruction they had caused was in truth not what he wanted for the beautiful, glorious world he was destined to rule. Their one and only purpose had been to defeat the Avengers. Which of course they had failed, and rather spectacularly at that.
But just because a small, (again, a very small) part of him was relieved to have this ordeal over, it did not mean he was at all thrilled about the prospect of what was to come next.
Did his brother really just expect him to go home in shame, to live out what was sure to be a very extended prison sentence as well as who knows what other punishments their father declared, just like that? Not that they will be able to keep him contained for long. But such a humiliation was not to something he was going to tamely accept.
Yet, he admits to himself, he has very limited options at the moment. Escape at this point is… extremely unlikely. And as capable and skilled in combat as he is, not even his own extremely healthy self-esteem can convince him that he has a chance against these particular opponents. Especially all of them. At once. One of whom currently has an arrow aimed directly at his face.
His request is ignored.
"All right, get him on his feet. And I'll stand around posing up a storm later," Stark says. He looks so put-upon, like he is relieved to finally be done with this damn day.
Well, Loki's day has not been all that fantastic either. He searches his repertoire of snide remarks for some appropriately witty response, but his body and brain are still not back at their peak after the unexpected, and completely unnecessarily brutal beating by the living green steroid.
He is hauled up by his brother and promptly finds his hands locked into Asgard's most escape-proof irons. As the lock clicks loudly into place, the arrow pointed directly at his left eye is finally lowered by the bow-wielding SHIELD agent.
Ah yes, Agent Barton. His right-hand man until recently. He is still unclear on the specifics as to how Barton freed himself.
Barton's face is as hard as the Asgardian iron around his wrists. Even restrained, Loki can guess he is resisting a strong urge to shoot him anyway. His gaze is as locked onto Loki as his arrow was a moment earlier; his eyes full of every violent emotion imaginable. And something else. Satisfaction? Yes, definitely satisfaction, Loki decides, when a subtle but distinctly smug grin is directed at him as Barton sheaths that one remaining arrow. The expression stays put even as he looks away and heads for the bar. "Well, if he's not having one, then I will," Barton says. "You stocked up on vodka, Stark?"
Well, this absolutely would not do. He may have lost this particular war, but he has no intention of losing every battle within it.
"Who gets the uh, magic wand?" Romanoff asks. She looks like a fool the way she incompetently holds his scepter.
Loki thinks back to Romanoff's 'interrogation' of him in the helicarrier. His promised threats, and the answering horror in her eyes. Just how much of that was an act, he wonders. She had tried very hard to play off her reactions to his threats as merely a manipulation tactic. Perhaps that was the original intention, but Loki knew better. He had spent many hours in an uninhibited Barton's company.
"Careful with that thing," she cautions as she hands the scepter off to someone equally incompetent.
"Yeah, unless you want your mind erased. And not in the fun way."
Loki is struck with sudden inspiration and delight. Perhaps he can no longer fight back physically, but he has another extremely capable weapon that they have not yet disarmed. "Do I not get that drink then? Mr. Stark did offer me one," he asks politely.
"Revelry is for victorious warriors, brother. You are neither victorious nor a warrior, not anymore," Thor informs him before falling behind to speak to Rogers, something about…food? No matter.
"One would expect heroes such as yourselves to treat your prisoners kindly," Loki declares to the room, but then lowers his voice as he sees the SHIELD agents walk past him. "Or am I to expect the same kind of treatment as the daughter of a Mr. Dreykov?" The woman's head jerks sharply, to which Loki can barely contain his glee. Alas, it is only for a moment. She continues on her way, and the rest of the room gives no indication of observing any of it.
Barton, however, has stopped moving altogether.
"I suppose one cannot expect courtesy from individuals who would allow that sort of tragedy to come about. You must forgive me; I did for a moment forget just who I am dealing with." His words are directed towards the woman, but it is the man whom he is observing.
Barton is still, his back to Loki. His hand is clenched tightly around a glass of whichever of Stark's liquor stashes he had helped himself to moments earlier. Loki can only see a hint of his profile, but what he can see is beautifully ashen.
"Why, what's the matter, Agent Barton? Were you not aware of- oh, wait. Yes, you certainly are."
Barton is on him so fast Loki could swear that time skipped forward a few frames. His eyes flicker with barely contained flame, and his left hand clenches the front of Loki's collar in a fist, dragging him forward. "I still have one arrow left, man. And your pupil would make a real nice bullseye." His voice is just above a whisper.
"Clint." Romanoff finally acknowledges them. "Don't let him get to you."
"Listen to her, Barton," Loki advises kindly.
"Hear now, just what is the matter?" Thor asks after finally taking his simple mind away from food and noticing that Barton has him in a death grip.
"Just give me five minutes alone with him," Barton growls, and Loki's airway is cut into when his grip on his collar tightens.
"Barton?" Rogers asks, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "What's going on?"
"Clint." Romanoff's voice, soft but firm. "Come on. Don't let him get under your skin."
"Barton, we all have our issues with what Loki has done, but— "
"Just a few minutes, Cap. I promise I won't need any more than that."
"Clint, please!"
Everyone's attention is abruptly on Romanoff, who averts her gaze, as if startled by her own outburst.
"We don't need this. You can't let him…" she trails off, unwilling to finish.
"Natasha…?" Barton's voice is filled with near-tangible concern.
Well, this is delightful. "How touching," Loki taunts in his smoothest voice. "You will listen to her, of course, Agent Barton. You always have had a soft spot for Tasha, haven't you?"
Time skips forward again to a glass of alcoholic liquid shattering against his face, followed by Barton's elbow, then his left fist, then his right, connecting intimately with his jaw all within the space of a few seconds.
Perhaps he should have waited until Barton was no longer within arm's reach of him before throwing that particular punch.
He raises his bound arms in front of him in a desperate effort to protect himself. The alcohol spatters onto both his existing injuries and the new ones made by splinters of glass, causing them to scream in agony, but he refuses to cry out.
"Whoa there, who pissed off the Hawk?" Stark asks.
"Barton, stand down!" Rogers orders. He manages to catch Barton's next blow, but his glare shows no sympathy for Loki.
Thor is equally unbothered by this assault even as he pulls him out of harm's way. "You will learn when to shut your mouth, brother, or I shall do it for you."
"Looks like Barton did a pretty good job," Stark comments drily.
The whole room is spinning. "Please understand me," he manages despite the sting in his wounds and the pain of what he is beginning to suspect is a cracked jaw, "if you object to what I am saying, then your quarrel is with Agent Barton here, not myself. He was exceedingly helpful, and his intel was invaluable. If there is anyone that you, my dear Avengers, should like to have 'shut up,' then I would think it would be Barton. And while we are on the subject, just how did you manage to relinquish yourself from my persuasions? I must have dosed you at least triple what I did Selvig."
"Thor," Rogers says with trepidation as Barton jerks harder against him, gradually growing closer to freeing himself.
"Loki, shut up," Thor says, digging around for what Loki knows is a muzzle.
And then Romanoff is in front of him, placing herself ever so slightly in front of Rogers and the Very Angry Archer. How sweet. Is she coming to Barton's rescue?
She pats him none too gently where Barton's elbow had connected a moment earlier. "You know what? Let him talk," she says with a girlish smile. "We still have a few loose ends to tie up. Give me a few minutes alone with him and who knows what he'll tell us. He's actually one of our more cooperative hostiles," she leans in closer. "Aren't you?"
Loki smiles. He can play this game. "Oh no. It was Agent Barton over there that was the cooperative one. Come to think of it, we had quite the long talk about you, Agent Romanoff. I've gotten to know you very well." He sees Barton tug against Rogers' restraint in his peripheral vision, but keeps his gaze on Romanoff.
"You know nothing about me," she states with certainty, a hint of smugness in her expression.
She doesn't know, he realizes with glee. "Oh, but I do. That overflowing amount of red in your ledger is only the beginning. Like I said, Barton and I discussed you for hours."
"We've gone over that already, Loki. As you can see, I'm perfectly traumatized," she says, crossing her arms in front of her.
He can't help but laugh. "That is but the tip of the iceberg, my lady. "
She doesn't believe him. "Astonish me."
With pleasure. "Oh, let's see. Shall we talk about Ohio? The Red Room? Aliana? Karina?" He leans forward. "Yelena?"
He only sees it because he watches for it. The brief flash of shock, disbelief, is gone in less than a millisecond. She's good.
She shrugs. "What's in the past stays there."
"Or shall we move on to when things got really interesting? After you joined SHIELD, and all the little, unreported adventures and mishaps you got into while on missions with Barton?" He thinks back to the stories he found particularly titillating. "Morocco? Kiev? Kyoto?" She holds his gaze impressively, but he can see the apprehension in her eyes. "What really happened in Budapest?"
"You son of a bitch!-" Barton charges him, and again would have reached him if it were not for Rogers and his quick reflexes hooking him by the shoulder at the last second. He quickly turns his gaze back to Romanoff, who is still valiantly trying to look unbothered.
"Natasha?" Rogers checks with her, concerned.
"It's fine," she says tightly.
Such a noble effort.
Stark tries (and fails) to remain unheard as he whispers to Rogers, "Should we leave, or...?"
"Well, if that is not interesting enough for you, shall I tell everyone here what your deepest, darkest fears are, Agent Romanoff?" Loki continues. "For instance, that although you claim to have been open about your past, deep down you fear that one day your comrades will learn of the more... distasteful atrocities you have committed, some not even that long ago, and be rightfully horrified at their abject brutality.
"Or worse, that the one man on this planet you have dared to trust will one day open his eyes to what you really are. Will curse the day he decided to spare you, and turn his back on you like everyone else has. That he will take what you have shared with him and use it to destroy you, because no one could ever really care about you, Natalia."
Her breath quickens, and her eyes are suspiciously shiny, but she does not shed a hint of a tear. She will not show weakness.
He holds her in his gaze like a serpent unto its prey. "You say that love is for children. But we both know why you say that, don't we? You reject the notion of love because no one could ever give it to you. No one could ever really love you, Natalia, because nothing will ever be enough to pay for what you have done!"
"Nat, you know that's not true! Tell him he's full of shit!" Barton begs. He, evidently, does not have the same determination to conceal weakness that his partner does. "Don't listen to him! Don't let him turn you back into what you were! Tell him it's not true!"
She looks at Barton. Looks at Loki. Back at Barton. Her face twists up into a grimace and she turns her back to them.
"She can't. Because it is true." He turns to Barton. "Did you really believe that you could still be trusted after all this, Agent Barton? After effectively exposing the flaws of your organization, your allies, and especially your dear friend here to the entire world? You told me yourself, she trusts no one more than she does you."
The room dissolves into silence. Barton's chest is heaving, but he can't seem to get any words out. After a minute, he bows his head in anguish.
Thor is stunned and seemingly frozen in place. Rogers looks heartbroken even as he continues to hold on to Barton's shoulders, probably wanting to say something sickeningly inspiring but not having the appropriate words. The green tantrum is uncharacteristically silent. Even more so is Stark.
Loki cannot keep the grin from his face. He wants to laugh at how pathetic they are. Let them take him to prison. It does not matter. He has won.
The sound of laughter breaks the silence, but it is not Loki's.
It is…Barton? Loki's brow crinkles in confusion.
Barton looks up at him, and winks.
"Is that the best you've got?" Natasha says, turning again. Her face no longer has even the slightest trace of distress. She looks somehow both amused and slightly irritated.
Loki falters. He looks back to Barton, whose chest is still bouncing in quiet laughter. He has a horrible sense of deja vu. "What?" Surely this wasn't just…
"You have no idea what I really fear, Loki. What you just described would be temporary inconveniences at most."
"But, Barton-"
"Had more control over himself than you thought, it seems."
"Do you take me for a fool?!" Loki spits.
"We don't take you for a smart one," Barton pipes in, now released from Rogers' grip. He approaches Loki, that infernal grin still on his face. "That's what, twice now that she's played you?" He pats his cheek. "Most people would have learned the first time."
Loki can feel rage about to burst out of him. "No one can resist that spell!" He glares at Romanoff. "I know you, Agent Romanoff. I know your every weakness, and you can rest assured, I will remember each and every one of them."
"Maybe I did fear those things, once," Romanoff admits. "But I have made peace with my past, and I have nothing to hide from those closest to me. SHIELD is aware, and my allies are aware, of both who I was and who I am. And as for my partnership with Agent Barton," she glances at said archer with a hint of a grin, "as long as he hasn't blabbed about the more embarrassing things I have said and done when I've had a bit too much to drink, I'd say our partnership is safe." She looks back at Loki. "It is something I am honored to be a part of, not something that causes me fear."
"It is a weakness!" Loki spits. "One I now have intimate knowledge of, thanks to your dear friend here, and you can wager that I will one day use that knowledge to create spectacular ends for you both! Just as I told you earlier, Romanoff. That precise end awaits you both!"
"It'll be a little hard to do all that from the inside of a cell, won't it?" Romanoff has the audacity to sound almost bored. She comes closer, stopping just short of bumping their noses. Her voice drops several degrees. "Listen here, you spoiled child. This is what's going to happen. You're going to go back and face daddy and pay the price for your expensive and rather dramatic little temper tantrum here on Earth. Then you're going to be grounded for the foreseeable future, like all spoiled children. And we are going to go and live our lives, and probably forget you by next week." She smiles. "You must be forgetting what our day jobs entail. I've heard worse threats in my daydreams, Loki. I'm hardly going to lose sleep over yours."
Silence encompasses the room for an entire three seconds before Thor bursts into hearty laughter and exclaims "Glorious!"
"Nice burn, Romanoff," Stark says, grinning.
Hulk lets out a disturbing roar that is probably the closest he can get to a laugh.
Loki clenches his jaw so hard he hears something crack.
Romanoff turns and assesses Barton. "Want another drink?"
"Sounds great," he says, throwing another wink at Loki before he tosses an arm over Romanoff's shoulders as they move back toward the bar.
"I have not witnessed a woman so thoroughly humiliate Loki since Lady Sif, shall we say, likely revoked his ability to sire children after she caught him cutting off a lock of her hair!" Thor exclaims, still thoroughly diverted.
"Shall I inform them of the many times I succeeded in doing the same to your hair, Brother?" Loki hisses.
Thor abruptly sobers and clears his throat. "All right, that's enough of this foolishness. It is time to get Loki back to where he belongs so that he may face the wrath of my father."
Loki rolls his eyes.
"You do that," Rogers agrees, putting his finger to his earpiece. "Copy that. On my way down to coordinate search and rescue."
Really, how could they say things like that and keep a straight face? Loki morphs his form to that of the most annoying patriot in the country. "On my way down to coordinate search and rescue!" He mimics, before reverting back to his original form. "I mean honestly, how can— "
"Shut up," Thor demands, slapping a muzzle over his face. There goes his last weapon.
He's shoved into the elevator, but catches another brief glimpse of the two SHIELD agents standing together talking softly near the bar. Loki desperately wishes he could hear what they are saying. Despite what they clearly want him to think, he imagines them at odds; Romanoff unable to hold back her betrayal and horror at what Barton has revealed. Loki heard from Barton's own mouth that Romanoff had wished to keep her past concealed at all costs. They aren't looking at him, but they are smiling. Why? That does not make any—
"Whoa, Buddy! What do you think? Maximum occupancy has been reached!" Stark declares to the Hulk, who is visibly displeased.
"Take the stairs!" Thor says.
Loki waggles his fingers at the now very angry green menace, whose mass cuts off his view of the two agents.
Loki tells himself that he still won this round. This is not the end.
Clint's face closes off the instant the elevator doors put him out of sight of his former tormentor. His arm slides off of Natasha's shoulders as he moves out from behind the bar.
Natasha follows him with her eyes. Ever so in-tune with his partner, Clint had caught on to her manipulation tactics almost immediately, quickly choosing to follow her lead. They had played Loki beautifully, and Natasha rejoiced in the fact that there was no way that Loki had left truly believing that he had broken them. That he had won.
Because he hadn't. Right?
Over the years, she had seen her partner at his worst, but as she watches him she considers the possibility that she has never seen him more vulnerable than he was in this moment. He had undergone so much trauma and violation within the past few days, and she knows the guilt he must be feeling on top of that for effectively betraying his agency, his allies, and his best friend, however unintentionally, must be a tremendous burden to bear.
But they were alone now, and Clint has no need to pretend.
Natasha swallows thickly, turning her attention back to the vodka in her glass. She pours herself another. As far as emotional manipulations of targets go, she considers her performance just now to be mediocre at best. Although Clint had caught on almost immediately, he was truly and deeply upset by what he had been through, and she suspected a lot of his reactions had been genuine. Even she, who had trained at mastering her emotions for her entire life, found it hard to tamp down her own thirst to take vengeance. At least, she thought, they had wiped that incorrigible smirk off of Loki's face, which was the least she could do for Clint.
After a moment she dares to look up at said distraught partner, who had wandered over to the window, gazing out at the world beneath them. On a normal day, the view of the city from so high up would probably calm him, but the destruction outside was sure to do anything but that for him now. She glances at his hands, which are fisted at his sides. "Want another drink?" she calls to him casually.
He does not answer, nor show that he even heard her.
She pours him one anyway.
"I want to see the footage."
She nearly drops the glass. She did not expect him to speak without at least a few drinks in him first. "What?"
"When you spoke to Loki. I know it was recorded. I want to see it."
Why? Why does he insist on doing this to himself? "Clint…"
"Just let me see it, Natasha!" he snaps.
This is a battle she is destined to lose, so she doesn't bother fighting him. It takes Jarvis only a few seconds to pull up the feed on Tony's computer, and she casts it to one of the few surviving screens in the lounge. She downs her drink.
He sits down directly in front of the screen. The recording starts when Natasha enters the holding area.
"I want to know what you've done to Agent Barton."
"I'd say I've expanded his mind."
She hears Clint growl.
"Is this love, Agent Romanoff?"
"Love is for children. I owe him a debt."
"Tell me."
She pours herself another drink and tries not to listen; it's not something she particularly wants to relive. She would prefer to focus on Clint instead. Even though it hurts her to see how much emotional turmoil he is in.
"And what will you do if I vow to spare him?"
"Not let you out."
"Oh, but I like this. Your world in the balance and you bargain for one man."
As if asking Loki to spare Clint had ever been a serious request. Fat chance of that. But it had been a way to make herself seem vulnerable, to make him feel confident and talkative. Interrogation 101.
But, she admits quietly to herself, if it had come down to it, she would pick Clint over the world any day.
"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Dreykov's daughter?"
Clint is suddenly on his feet, rubbing his hands over his face as he begins to pace.
"São Paulo? The hospital fire? Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping."
"Oh God…" Clint murmurs into his hands.
She wants to turn it off, but knows he won't have it. He won't stop until he sees everything. Everything Loki said, every tiniest bit of ammunition that Clint armed him with to direct at those he cares for.
The footage is only a few minutes, but to Natasha it feels like hours.
"I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you. Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear. And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work. And when he screams, I'll split his skull!"
Natasha's eyes close when Clint suddenly drop kicks the nearest coffee table clear across the room. "Damn it, Natasha!"
She pauses the feed. "Clint, come on," she pleads.
"Don't even try it, Nat. Don't you dare." His head swivels around abruptly. "Is this what you meant earlier when you said you'd been compromised?" he asks with realization and horror in his voice.
She hesitates. It was, but not in the way he means. "Clint—"
"Shit!" Barton paces to the other end of the room, his hands in his hair. He rocks back and forth from one leg to the other in front of a shattered window for a minute before he lets out a guttural growl and swings his foot up into an axe kick that smashes away any remaining glass. "How could you not tell me about this?!"
She decides to be honest. "I didn't see what good it would do."
"I deserve to know what I did!"
"It wasn't you."
"It was me! Maybe not on purpose, maybe not in person, but it sure the hell wasn't Loki's ad-libbing that unsettled you just there!" He stomps back to the monitor and skips back a few seconds in the feed, pausing on her look of horror and betrayal as Loki threatened her. He gives her a pointed look, eyebrows up into his hairline as he stabs a finger at the screen.
"That was an act, Barton! You know better than anyone how I work!"
"Don't lie to me, Natasha!" he shouts, something almost venomous in his voice. Natasha reminds herself that his anger is directed at himself, not her. "I've seen you manipulate more marks than I can count. I know you. The open mouth is an act, the tears are an act, but the horror behind your eyes is not! Not all of that—" he plays the footage, pointing to the recorded image of a very distressed Natasha, "—is an act!"
The Natasha on the screen turns her back on Loki as if unable to face him anymore. "You're a monster," she simpers.
Clint looks back at the screen. "Okay, well. That part was," he murmurs flatly.
"For the love of God, Clint," Natasha says, pausing the recording again with a huff.
"Don't. Don't try to spare my feelings here."
He's still so angry, and she's at a loss of how to pull him out of it. A part of her wants to slap him. "I suppose you think it wasn't an act just now, either?" Her arms lift up and then drop with a dramatic slap. "Do you need me to tell you that I wasn't actually brought to tears by spoiled Prince Shakespeare's poison word salad?!"
He chooses to punch things again in lieu of answering her.
Natasha curses softly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as her partner takes out his frustration on Tony's destroyed property. She paces back to the bar, leaning her hip against the side to wait him out. She reminds herself that Clint is having a Very Bad Day, and the more of that turmoil he can release the better.
It's a good two minutes before he stops, the room looking considerably worse than it did before, which was an accomplishment of any room where the Hulk had been present.
He half sits, half collapses on a sofa, out of breath and looking so utterly defeated that Natasha can hardly stand it. He was a man of confidence, skill, and accomplishment. Seeing him so empty, so violated, so full of self-hatred, had her nearly vibrating with a fury greater than she thought herself capable. She gets a sudden vivid image of herself rushing downstairs and shoving her foot down Loki's unsuspecting throat. "Are you done?" There is no reproach or criticism in her question; she genuinely wants to know.
Clint does not respond, just drops his head into his hands.
Natasha takes this as a 'yes' and pours another glass of vodka for herself, picking up the one she'd poured for Clint in her other hand. Her boots crunch over broken glass as she approaches him, and she brushes a few more shards off the sofa before sitting beside him. "Here," she says, offering him the glass. When he predictably ignores her, she pokes at him insistently. "Take the damn drink, Barton."
His sighs and sits up, takes the drink from her. He holds it and stares straight ahead.
They say nothing for a while. She sips on her drink while he simply holds his own. Natasha knows him well enough not to push him. She is more than willing to wait until he is ready to talk.
SHIELD communications trying to run damage control outside, and occasionally Tony's sarcastic commentary, intrude over their comms from time to time. She notices Clint turn his off when Tony gets on a particularly inane monologue comparing Steve's manner of speaking to young boys in 1950s sitcoms, that really, he does not need to share with the entire task force. She turns hers off as well.
"What have I done, Nat?" Clint whispers finally.
He sounds so broken that she wants to cry.
"I told him about Yelena. What else did I tell him? Where you keep your spare guns? Your most frequently re-occurring nightmares?" He lowers his voice, "Ivan?"
His voice has just a hint of hysteria that alarms Natasha. "It wasn't you," she says again, even though she knows he won't hear her.
"It was me. It was what I know. About SHIELD. About you." His voice gets quieter until it is no more than a whisper. "I need to know."
"I'm confident he's spilled all he knows already. What he told me back on the helicarrier, and what he said just now," she says softly. "How much do you remember?"
"I don't know," he moans, his eyes blinking blearily. "It's all in bits and pieces. Jumbled up. I can't even tell what's real and what's just a nightmare."
Her heart aches for him. "Let's start with what you do remember," she prompts gently.
"I don't know. I remember shooting Fury. There are bits and pieces of… attacking you. And, I don't know. I…" He pales. "Wait. I do remember something."
She ignores the sense of foreboding that comes over her. "What?"
He shakes his head his again, as if trying jostle all the rubbish out of it. "Thought maybe it was a dream. Or a nightmare. But, it's too… vivid. I think it's real."
She waits patiently.
"I think he… released me once. Briefly."
"He did?" That she did not expect. "When? Why?"
Clint takes a long moment to answer. "To try to break me, I suppose. Or to use me against you."
Natasha thinks back to her own talk with Loki and silently agrees that he may be right. She has many questions but she knows Clint needs to tell her in his own way. "What happened?"
Clint takes a deep breath. "Suddenly I was back. I had control again. But I think I was pretty out of it. It's incredibly jarring, like coming out of deep hypnosis. Then he came to me, as you. He did that-that-that appearance illusion thing he does. He looked like you. With the scepter. He… or you, I thought, said you'd stolen it, and that you'd come to rescue me. I look back now and it was obviously a ploy, but I was both extremely disoriented and incredibly happy to see you, so I didn't even think to question the fact that we made no move to escape." He rubs his hands over his face, as if trying to prepare himself for what he needs to say next.
"You were… visibly upset. It was unlike you, and so I asked if you were all right. You said that…that Loki had hurt you. Had done things to you. Things taken from memories from, before. Things that you'd thought you'd put behind you, forgotten even. Awful, horrible things. 'How did he know, Clint?!' you asked me, and you were trying so hard not to cry, Nat. I'd never seen you so upset, and I couldn't stand it!"
Natasha feels the threatening burn of real tears, but she forces them back.
"I couldn't remember telling him those things, but I knew it had to have been me. It could only have been me. But I couldn't bear to tell you that. To break you even more. So I just held you, and tried to comfort you, but then suddenly you were screaming at me, that I was the only one who knew. That you'd… trusted me." Clint's voice breaks and he looks to the window.
Natasha idly wonders just how feasible it would be to stow away to Asgard, assassinate a prisoner, and escape back to Earth without being captured. She already has a working plan in her head when Clint interrupts her thoughts.
"I think he was testing to see how I would react. Trying to guess how you would react in a similar situation. I don't know why he would release me otherwise. He obviously had no difficulty extracting information from me under his control."
He has that tone of self-loathing in his voice again that makes her wants to smack sense into him, but she restrains herself.
"He changed back to his real form then, taunting and laughing at me. But I just felt relief. Because it wasn't real; it was only a trick. Then he did it again, pulled me out of my own body and forcibly stuffed his own will into me, and all I could do was look on with only partial awareness. But…it was real, wasn't it? I... told him everything."
Natasha does not know what to say. She cannot bear to confirm what they both already know is true. Denying it would only make Clint even more upset. "Clint…"
"Oh God," he exclaims with new panic. "What if I told him about Laura and the kids?!"
"You didn't," she exclaims with confidence.
"What if I did?"
"He would have mentioned it. That's another reason I let him talk so long. There is no way he would have withheld the opportunity to threaten them. He spilled all he knows, Clint. He obviously found it more satisfying to probe you for info about SHIELD, and me. If our positions had been reversed though…" she shudders at the thought of jeopardizing the safety of the Clint's family, people who had become family to her.
"What if I did though? I gave you up," Clint chokes out, as if that's all the proof they need. He sounds so miserable that Natasha can't decide if she wants to hug him or shoot something.
"You didn't. And you were forced to tell him whatever he asked about me."
Clint scoffs.
"The fact that you literally had no choice in the matter should mean something, Barton," she chides.
"I… I know I couldn't help it. That it was some kind of weird alien mind control. But it doesn't matter. Whatever I told him, was not mine to tell. You… I—" he shakes his head, unsure of what to say.
But Natasha knows what he means.
She thinks back to that first arrow, so long ago now, ready to pierce through her skull. To her certainty, and reconciliation, that she was going to die.
She thinks back to when Clint first brought her in. About Clint's completely unwavering and completely unfounded faith in her.
Their first mission together. The first time she saved his life. The second time he saved hers.
She thinks about the days-long stakeouts. The missions gone wrong. The secrets shared in air vents and sewage drains.
She thinks about the hug Laura had given her within five minutes of meeting her. Of the first time she had successfully rocked Lila to sleep.
She thinks about the hand that holds her wrist on nights when sleep does not come easily. About the tiny arrow that rests on her collarbone.
She thinks about the secrets that she had shared and entrusted to him, now in the head of a narcissistic power-hungry demi-god. The knowledge of just how much trauma she had experienced, her deepest fears, just how red her ledger really was, now at the disposal of a maniac.
They could conceivably be dealing with the consequences of this for the rest of their lives.
"Clint." She sighs, when he doesn't react. "Look at me."
He resists for a moment, but eventually relents and turns to meet her gaze. His face is hard, but his eyes are shiny like they were in the med-bay earlier, when he had had to ask just how many good people were dead because of him.
Natasha can guess that he wants to know what else has suffered that same fate, and she feels a surge of affection for him. "I told you not to do this to yourself. Monsters and magic, remember?"
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, but he maintains eye contact. Searching for the answer to an unasked question.
"You and I both know that nothing can be done to change the past. Weren't you the one who told me that all we can control are the choices we make going forward? You gave me back the ability to make choices for myself years ago, Clint Barton," she recounts, pulling his untouched glass out of his hand and setting it on the floor by their feet. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to let some psychotic demi-god take the best one I've ever made away from me." She slides his now empty hand into hers. "And Loki is full of shit."
Clint laughs just a little, then swallows thickly and glances down briefly at her hand in his, and Natasha can't help but smile softly when he squeezes her hand tightly, then slowly leans his forehead down until it rests against hers. "Still think I should've put an arrow through Loki's eye socket when I had the chance," he says after a minute, his voice husky.
"I could call Steve?" she suggests. "Find out where they are. I'm sure Fury's got them busy with a bunch of paperwork before they ship him back to Asgard. We could sneak in real easy. Budapest all over again."
He chuckles softly, tightening his grip on her hand. They both know that although she is joking, she would do it if he asked. "Tasha—" he blurts without thinking, then curses and pulls away.
Natasha's jaw hardens. 'Nat' was her friends called her, but 'Tasha' was his. Just for him to use, when it was just them.
Loki had taken even the smallest things that were theirs and poisoned them.
She refused to let Loki to hurt them anymore. "Monsters and magic, Barton," she admonishes him, nudging him with her arm.
"I know, I know. I'll work on it," he promises softly. "It's just, monsters and magic notwithstanding," he looks back at her, "I'm so sorry. And... thanks."
She tilts her head. "For what?"
"For not letting Loki win. For always having my back. For hitting me really hard on the head."
She smiles and threads their fingers together more tightly, and feels something in her chest loosen when he smiles softly back.
"Sorry, am I interrupting something?" Tony's voice sounds from behind them. He's on one foot, as if in mid-step. "I would have knocked but, you know, it's an elevator…" He waves a finger behind him. "It made a dinging sound."
"What is it, Tony?" Natasha asks patiently.
"Loki's on ice. Packed away with fancy Asgardian keys, and we're all going for lunch. Post-battle team bonding. Something called shawarma. I've never had it before and would like to try it. Plus, Hulk just stomped down over a hundred flights of stairs and is like, super hangry right now. You guys in?" He looks around. "What the hell happened in here?"
Natasha looks back at Clint. She's starving, after the day they've had, but Clint's having a much worse day than she is and she's leaving the decision completely up to him.
Clint grins, squeezes Natasha's hand one more time from where Tony can't see it behind the sofa, then lets go and stands up. "I'm down. It's been a hell of a day. Mind control really takes it out of you, turns out."
Natasha looks at him sharply, but he winks at her, and she exhales with relief.
They're going to be okay.
—
Steve and the others are waiting for them down in the lobby. "All right let's get this show on the road!" Tony declares, and Natasha wonders where he has gotten this new burst of energy. Wasn't this the same man that had fallen through a weird space portal just a few hours ago?
"Everything okay?" Steve whispers to Natasha, eyes flicking briefly to Clint.
"Everything's fine," she assures him with a small smile.
He puts a hand on her shoulder as they walk out onto the street. "I know we haven't known each other very long, but I want you to know that you can tell me anything, Natasha. No one will judge you for anything that may have happened in the past, and no one is going to judge Barton for what he's been put through either."
"Thanks. Clint has a ways to go, but he'll get there. And don't worry about me either. Loki was pulling stuff out of his ass toward the end there." Her eyes glide over Clint, who is sharing a laugh over something with Thor. "I haven't had fears like those in a very long time."
Steve smiles. "I'm glad to hear it."
Natasha observes Clint carefully as they eat, just on the off chance he has a setback. But he behaves normally, kicking Tony out of the chair next to hers so he can claim it for himself, propping up a leg behind her, stealing bits of her food when she looks away. Clint being Clint.
When he catches her watching him, he gives her a nudge with his leg and winks at her. "You know, I never did get that drink," he comments.
She grins broadly. "I've got some old scotch I've been waiting for the right excuse to break into?"
"Can't say no to that."
She grins. Monsters and magic are gone, and Clint Barton is back.