Upon realising Thursday is, in fact, New Year's Eve and that I might not have time to post this it's going up a little earlier than I had intended. Trigger warnings for very mild references to previous suicide attempts and some slight language. Part 3 should be up by the 7th at the latest and as usual I do not own anything marvel related. Please follow and favourite if you enjoy and thank you for reading.
After half an hour of searching, Natasha admitted defeat. She had checked everywhere from the archery range to the communal floors and without the help of Jarvis, she was struggling to track her partner down.
"Jarvis, where is Clint?" She asked again, not really expecting a different answer than the other times she had asked.
"Agent Barton does not wish to be disturbed and as such has asked me not to disclose his location." The AIs tone implied he was not too happy about that fact either.
She gave the ceiling a look. "J, you saw him earlier, do you really think he should be alone right now?" She queried. There was a pause before she got an answer.
"Agent Barton is in the vents. However, due to privacy mode being enabled, I am unable to tell you any more information about his whereabouts."
She groaned, leaning back on a wall and banging her head against it in despair. She had had a growing suspicion of his whereabouts for a while but was desperately hoping she was wrong. It would take her time that she didn't have to search all of the vent system, particularly if he knew she was looking for him. She cut Jarvis some slack, knowing there was nothing more he could do if Clint had privacy mode on and that, as the AI had explained many times, only Tony himself could give the order for Jarvis to override it. Whilst the high privacy and security systems usually made her feel safer in the place she called home, she was currently cursing them. She could always go and ask the engineer, knowing that he would, without a doubt, override the protocol for her if she asked. Past experiences had made them all a bit cautious when the archer locked himself away. But then she also knew the man would be unable to resist going digging and it would only be a matter of time before he found out about Coulson.
"Damnit Clint" She whispered, closing her eyes against the bright glare of the sun gleaming in on her face through the windows. Her search had led her to one of the communal kitchens, currently deserted as she leant on the grey wall facing the wall to ceiling windows.
Just as she was about to head to Starks lab, Coulson be damned, a muffled rattling floated across the kitchen to her ears. Brows knitting, she looked up around the kitchen; her hand drifting towards the hidden weapons cache that was disguised next to her. The noise continued for a few moments more before her eyes honed in on the chrome vent cover and she pushed off the wall.
"Clinton Francis Barton get your arse out of that vent right this instant or so help me god I will make you." She covered up the cracks in her voice with anger, nearly growling at the wall and surprising even herself with the force behind the words.
The steady movement in the vent stopped for a moment before moving closer again, the specially designed flip cover nearly flying off the wall with the force it was banged open. The archer gracelessly tumbled out, landing on his feet more from luck than intent and causing Natasha's worry to intensify sharply. Normally, her partner radiated grace with each and every step, his former gymnast training inherently obvious. She'd seen him perform better landings concussed and on three days of no sleep. One look at his haggard face confirmed her fears. His eyes were red and his hair ruffled as if his fingers had been through it repeatedly. It was only half an hour since she had last seen him yet he looked suddenly exhausted; as if all the energy had been sapped by the air of unease that surrounded him.
She moved to wrap him in her arms, stopping in surprise when he took a panicked step back. Her arms dropped to her side. Her eyes, wide and bright, roamed over his face once more.
"Clint." Her voice caught and face crumpled as she felt the true rush of her emotions, the hastily built walls falling down around her as she stared into her partner's face.
Her vision suddenly swam, legs turning heavy and ears ringing as she felt herself sway unsteadily where she stood. She reached out blindly for the counter as it worsened only to feel herself be wrapped up in her partner's arms. She felt limp against his chest as she had the slow realisation of what was happening. The sudden plunge in her blood pressure was indicative of one thing only, she was losing control of her programming. The suppressed conditioning of her time in the Red Room; the remains of the monster they had made her into. The stress of the day and sudden rush of emotions had awakened the mindless assassin inside of her. It was a rare occasion nowadays, but apparently not rare enough.
She was distantly aware of being lowered to the ground as the blinding panic hit her. She fought weakly in his grip, the feeling of her mind being ripped from her grasp assaulting her. Hyperventilating, the terror clear in her wide eyes, she fought back desperately, pushing against the foreign presence in her mind as she clung onto the sound of Clint's panicked voice above her, grounding her where she lay.
It took a minute but, eventually, her efforts paid off, the suffocating sensation retreating back to the dark hole where it hid. She lay there, trembling as the adrenaline faded from her system and she felt the heated tiles of the kitchen against her back once more. A wave of exhaustion hit her as she opened her eyes that she didn't remember closing to see Clint's face wavering above her. A quiet apology slipped out of his mouth as he grabbed her hand tightly, his calloused palms squeezing her delicate but no less deadly fingers. The trembling ceasing at last, she slipped into the arms of the blackness that fell across her vision, her tightly held body practically melting into the tiles as she succumbed to sleep.
LINE OF BREAKS
Awareness came slowly, her throbbing head pulling her out of the comfort of sleep. Her thoughts were slow and staggered as she woke up much slower than anyone in her profession ever should. It was only when the sound of voices floated to her ears that her mind was dragged out of sleep and she realised the true potential for danger her situation had. She felt like she had been drugged, her limbs feeling heavy and her mind both sluggish and ridden with gaps. She had no idea how she'd gotten here, the last thing she remembered was being in the kitchen. The sudden realisation hit, she'd lost control on her programming. The creature Clint had nicknamed The Widow had tried to make a break for freedom.
The voices she was hearing became clear in her mind; it was only one voice - Clint. It sounded like he was talking to someone, a hypothesis made clear when she cracked her eyes open slightly, peeking out slightly whilst still keeping the facade of sleep.
Her partner was facing away from her, perched on the edge of the bed, hair still ruffled and finger twirling in the tassels of an old hoodie from his early shield days. His shoulders were hunched and his other hand was clenched around her phone that he held against his ear. She could only hear his side of the conversation but she knew near immediately it was Phil he was talking to.
"Yeah, we're both fine, she's still sleeping it off and the Widow didn't even come out for me to get hurt." His reply sounded short, the tense tone mimicking his posture.
Only a few seconds later he cut off whatever their old handler was saying. "Look, Phil, you said you needed help. Something must have happened for you to contact us now and something is obviously going on with you, so spill." She watched her partner as he listened to the older man's tale, as his hand slowly moved from the tassels of his hoodie to rubbing his forehead.
"Lakatos?" He seemed just as surprised as her to hear that news, though he sounded significantly more unhappy about it. Despite never having met the man, Clint seemed to have developed an alarming amount of hatred towards him.
He sighed, running his hand down his face. "I'll help. But not for you, I'll help for the girl". There was a pause. "I'm still mad at you Coulson, but it would be wrong not to help her when she's had nothing to do with it. I can't sit here and leave her to die when she can't be blamed for your fuck ups." Natasha felt a surge of relief at his agreement. She would have liked to say that she always knew he would help, but then she would be lying. Clint was well within his rights to refuse, to hang up and never speak to the man again. The other man had hurt him, yes, but at the end of the day, he was still the first person Clint had trusted in a long time. They had been a family more than a team and to lose a part of that family had been a shock to them both. Even if Clint could stop blaming himself for just one of the deaths he felt he'd caused, then it would be worth him accepting their old handler back into their lives.
"Right, we'll see you then. Yeah, that'd be great. Cheers, Phil." He pulled the phone from his ear as the call ended, staring at the screen blankly as if what had just happened was only just sinking in. She spoke up before he could get any further.
"Phil?" She hated how rough and tired her voice sounded. Her partner whipped around in surprise, barely saving himself from falling off the edge of the bed. She smiled.
"Some assassin you are." Her wisecrack went unnoticed as he searched her face.
"How are you feeling?" She would have rolled her eyes at his question if she didn't think the motion would make her throw up.
Her response was automatic. "Fine." The look on his face told her what he thought of her answer. She sighed.
"Get me some water and ibuprofen and I'll certainly be a lot closer to it." Her statement did nothing to alleviate the worry in his eyes even as he gestured to the bedside cabinet in response. She shifted over to it and took the two small painkillers before proceeding to chug the entire glass of water. She looked up to see his eyes hadn't strayed off her.
"You haven't had one of those in a while." A noncommittal hum was all that he got in response. "6 months in fact." His voice was gentle but probing. She gave him a look.
"Nat, you can't just brush this off. Are you gonna be okay to do this?" She started pushing herself up off the bed even if just to shut her partner up.
"Watch me. And you've seen me fight whilst injured in every way imaginable, I don't think a little headache is going to stop me. Also, you can hardly lecture me, you're not looking too hot yourself." She replied. She was starting to get a little snippy with her partner and it was showing in her tone.
He shifted across the bed to join her where she was now sitting up. "I meant with the widow."
"It will be fine. I know what I'm doing, Clint." He didn't look convinced but went with it all the same. "Who called who?" She asked, nodding towards the phone. She bit back on the 'are you okay?' that threatened to escape, already knowing her efforts would be futile.
He passed the phone back to her as if only just remembering he still had it. "Your phone rang, it was a Shield number, so I answered it. I didn't expect it to be... Him." She took the phone off him, glad to see her hands had stopped shaking so much. They answered each other's shield calls all the time; they mostly were for the both of them anyway but Coulson used to have his own contact. Still did actually, she had never been able to bring herself to delete it. It made sense for him to be ringing from a different number though, if he was meant to be dead Shield would have had to reallocate his old number for appearance's sake.
"Yeah, he said he was gonna call me back, check if he was stopping or not. How far away is the plane?" She asked. She had already fixated on the idea of a nice strong coffee and was just hoping she'd have enough time to enjoy it.
"'Bout an hour." She can't have been out for that long then, she thought. Also, plenty of time for a coffee She pushed herself up carefully, watching out for any grey encroaching on her vision but glad to see the swan-dive her blood pressure had taken hadn't left lingering effects. She'd looked to the side to see Clint was still watching her, a crease in his brow and slight frown across his face.
"I'm fine." She reiterated, making shooing gestures with her hands. "I'm going for a coffee and then to pack and you, Clint, need to go for a shower. You've been crawling around the vents and Tony will kill you if you traipse muck around the tower again." He nodded, looking down at his clothes and picking at a piece of fluff he'd picked up along the way as he rose off the bed.
Jarvis opened the lift doors automatically, already having it ready for them. He dropped Clint off at his floor before taking her up to the main floor where the good coffee machine sat. She had one on her own floor granted, but this one held the Good Coffee. Stark had designed it himself and whilst she would normally settle for the still very expensive machine on her own floor, today had been a Good Coffee kind of day. She leaned on the counter, sipping the drink with her hands wrapped around the cup, making the most of the warmth radiating off of it.
She sat there for a while, talking lightly with Jarvis before she looked at the time. Nerves fluttered in her stomach and she sighed gently. It was time to go face Phil.