The hunt was long but the fight is short, as always. And in the end, he does what they all do: threaten, accuse, bargain, and beg, though the order sometimes varies. It always seems to be the same. Sometimes I wish that they would present an actual challenge. Vengeance should never be boring.
He offers me anything I want, an empty promise that fills me with rage. It is a lie on its face. A snarl builds in my chest and I embrace what I am about to do.
"What I want, you can't give me." With a downward thrust of my blade I feel the steel pass through the soft tissues of his throat, through the rocky cartilage of his trachea, and into the slick silkiness of viscera. I watch as his brain attempts to process the pain before implementing protocol .exe. I can't enjoy the moment though, can't feel the old, familiar, grim satisfaction that has fueled me for five years now. Because I know she's there. I've been on high alert, nerves singing like over-tight piano strings, for so long. Even she can't sneak up on me now.
As I wipe my blade clean, the bastard's blood is hot in the crook of my elbow, a contrast to the cold of the rain. I stand, head low, steeling myself for what is coming. Suddenly I feel like I can't breathe, a heaving in my chest that is more emotional than physical, a reminder of the soul decaying inside me. I pull off my balaclava and let the rain pelt my scalp, cool my brain. "You shouldn't be here." I had hoped my voice would be commanding, steely. Instead my words sound like a plea. A trickle of icy water runs down the back of my neck.
"Neither should you." Her voice is as I remembered it, a clear rich sound with a ragged edge. I turn and look at her, shame twisting the ever-present knife in my gut. She looks the same and she looks different, as she always seems to, but there is a twist to her mouth, a tightness in her eyes that has never been there before. "What are you doing?"
I look away from her, trying to access the rage inside so as to drown the shame and fear and sadness in my chest. "I have a job to do."
"Is that what you're calling this?" It's less of a question, more of a rebuke. "Killing all these people isn't going to bring your family back."
Her words freeze me. I stare at the street, at the flowing rain that is tinged pink with the blood of my kill, at the bits of trash that swirl in little eddies in the filthy water. I am awash in emotions, in anger and in fear and in shame and in pain, and I resent her for being there and for saying those words, for confirming that my choices have all been for nothing.
I hear her step toward me, the rain pelting her umbrella. "We found something...a chance, maybe."
The colors of the neon lights around me collapse into jewels as tears rush into my eyes. I look over at her, willing her to stop. "Don't."
Confusion flashes through her eyes. I see clearly now what time and pain has done to her, the furrows in her brow, the downturn of her mouth. "Don't what?"
"Don't give me hope." Hope reignites the pain, pours kerosene on the agony. When you've lost everything, hope is the most dangerous enemy in the world. Please don't….
Her eyes sadden and begin to shine with tears, and it's all I can do not to run. I can't do this…
"I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you sooner." She reaches out, finger brushing my palm, and grasps my hand. Her hand feels so small beneath my thick gloves, but there is a strength in her grip, as always.
I've missed her so much.
The rain running down the back of my neck makes my hair stand on end and a shiver threatens. The back of my mind reminds me that standing at the scene of a multiple murder is probably the worst play at this point, reunions be damned. "Come on. Let's get you out of the rain."
She smiles with one corner of her mouth. "I don't mind the rain."
"Then let's get me out of the rain."
She follows me willingly, still grasping my fingers, and I try to ignore the ache in my muscles and in my heart as the adrenaline that has numbed me begins to ebb. We slip through alleys, wind through back streets, moving in silent concert until I feel we have eluded anyone who may have seen what I had done. On a side street, half-flooded with rainwater and floating trash, we duck into a dark, dingy restaurant and find a dark corner in the rear.
While the dim lighting suits my mood, the jingle-jangle of a lone pachisuro in the corner rattles my nerves. A bleary eyed waiter, barely in his teens, drops a kettle of tea on the table and shambles away, clearly uninterested in strangers of any sort. That's suits both of us fine. My blade, though hidden beneath my coat, digs into the small of my back.
"You have to come back, Clint." She gets right to the point, as always, staring at me with those serious, strangely haunted eyes.
A sigh gusts from my nose and I shift my eyes to the ceiling, shaking my head. "You don't need me, Nat. I mean, if you have Cap and Tony and Thor and Bruce...I don't really bring much to the table, if you know what I mean." I look back at her, twisting my mouth into a false smile. "You can do this without me."
"But I don't want to." Her tone isn't petulant or pleading, it is simply a statement of fact. "I want you back. We do need you."
Shame wells up in my stomach, hot and acrid like vomit, and I look down at the table, scratching my fingernail over graffitti inscribed in the wood. "I'm not the man I was, Natasha."
Her voice softens. "You're bent, Clint, but you're not broken." She shakes her head, mouth pinched. "You're punishing bad people, I get it. But that's not who you are, and they're not who you really want to punish. We have a chance to get your family back. To get the real you back. To get back everyone that we lost…"
The shame in my gut churns and boils over into fear and despair, and I have to resist the urge to double over in my seat. "I cant keep doing this." I wrap my palm around the scalding curve of the teapot, letting the heat sear the skin and give a physical manifestation to the emotions crashing against me.
"Then stop." She grabs my hand and gives my fist a shake in emphasis. I wrench away from her grip a little too roughly.
"I don't mean this…I don't mean killing. I mean living." I cringe internally as my mouth ignores my brain's order to shut the fuck up. "Every day is just nothing but pain. The only time I forget their faces is when I'm hunting. When I'm killing. There's nothing left for me here." I bite the inside corners of my mouth to stop my lip from quivering, and my voice is no more than a whisper now. "I'm so tired."
"I'm here." The tone of her voice shocks me and I meet her eyes, only to find them glazed with tears. "Look at me. Everything has gone to hell. I'm doing my best to keep it together, to keep moving forward." She pauses, and when she speaks again I can barely hear her. "I can't lose you too."
There is nothing I can say. She and I both know what my choice will be, and we sit silently, staring at one another and wondering what the hell we're going to do next. But there is a tiny glow of hope warming in me, despite my best efforts to douse it, because no matter what it is we have to do, we will do it together. We've already lost so much. We won't lose each other again.