Hey, welcome to chapter three. Sorry for the really long update time, I'm currently doing my mocks and haven't had much time to write. Thank you so much for the awesome response to this fic, it's my first one ever!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this fanfiction, or anything to do with Marvel (shocker, right?).
"It's about a twenty minute walk," Barton was saying, "On the outskirts." Natalia nodded, walking a
pace or two behind the young archer. The journey continued in silence and Natalia noticed that they were passing fewer and fewer houses as time went on. For the last five minutes, there were only a couple of small buildings at the roadside. Clint's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she saw that he had stopped.
"This is it." He was gesturing at a small, two room house, more of a shack, really, that was positioned a fair way from the road.
"This is your safe house?" She stared at him, incredulously. Clint just shrugged as he unlocked the door.
"No need to sound so enthusiastic, Red," She glared at him, but he either didn't see or chose to ignore it. "We don't get too many missions in San Paolo. After you." He pushed the door open and moved aside in order for her to step in. Moving past him, Natalia looked around at what appeared to be a very utilitarian space, consisting of a stove, a fridge, a two-person table, one bookshelf, a couple of cupboards and a small double bed in one corner. A threadbare carpet covered most of the floor and a battered old sofa was stood in front of an ancient, clunky looking TV. Natalia noticed only one door, other than the front one. This, on closer inspection, lead to a tiny bathroom.
"Wow." She commented, drily. He grinned (seriously, was this guy ever unhappy?).
"Yeah, you should see the one in Inverness." At the questioning look she gave him, Clint elaborated. "I managed to really piss off the bosses.."
"God, I wonder how." Natalia interrupted, not even attempting to hide her sarcasm. He mock-glared at her.
"Ha ha, anyway, as I was saying; I ended up spending four weeks freezing my nuts off in Scotland until Coulson persuaded the Director to let me back. It was horrible, there was no one to talk to except cows and the occasional farmer."
"Bored out of your tiny mind."
"Hey!" Clint protested, still grinning. Natalia almost smiled back. Almost.
"Well, anyway, Ice Queen," (she really hoped they weren't staying here long, she might have to accidentally murder him) "It's kinda late and, I dunno about you, but killing nasty bastards makes me tired." This earned him another eyebrow raise (she was serious now, they were going to get permanently stuck in the middle of her forehead if he didn't stop being such a fucking idiot)
"So," Clint continued. "you have the bed and I'll take the sofa."
"Are you sure?"
"I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't, Tasha." (Jesus Christ, was a three syllable name really too much for his tiny brain?) Natalia rolled her eyes at the nickname, but couldn't suppress a slight smile.
"Thank you." Barton's grin practically split his face open.
"Ha! You smiled!" This earned him another eye roll, as he walked over to a bag that had been dumped on the sofa. Clint rummaged inside it for a moment, before pulling out a clean t-shirt and pair of sweatpants. He proceeded to hand them to her, explaining that they were "For sleeping in, so you're comfortable." She nodded at him, accepted the clothes, and retreated to the minuscule bathroom to change.
Looking in the mirror that hung crookedly over the sink, her hair damp from the shower, wearing his t-shirt, Natalia paused for a moment. She'd never liked looking at her reflection, not since she was a child. Maybe it was something to do with the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that had lined the rooms in which she'd learnt both ballet and how to kill someone with her bare hands. That'd make sense. For once, Natalia looked herself right in the eyes.
"I can do this. I can start over and I will."
When she returned to the main room of the safe house, it was to find Clint making dinner. Well. He was heating up leftovers.
"Hey." He pushed a bowl of food towards her. Natalia glanced up at him, picking up a spoon.
"Hey."
"So," Clint began, as they sat down at the table. "I can't get hold of my handler until morning, because this mission doesn't have open comms unless I use the emergency channel, which will bring down a SHIELD fast-response team on our asses, and is about the last thing we need right now."
"Because they'll kill me." Clint smirked.
"Aren't you a little ray of sunshine. But, yeah, probably. You've got to get your side of the story over first, so we wait until I get contacted, and you can bowl them all over with your dazzling charm." Natalia glared at him.
"Very funny, Legolas." Clint shot her an exaggerated look of surprise.
"Did you just make a joke, Natasha?" She ignored him, steering the subject back to Clint's handler.
"So, we wait here until you get the call?"
"Yep, so you might want to get some sleep." He said, carrying his dish to the sink, then pulled a spare duvet and pillow from a drawer under the bed. Dumping these onto the couch, he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Natalia to wash up her bowl and sit down on the bed. This gave her an unwelcome opportunity to think about what the hell she was doing.
"You're taking a chance," She told herself. "There's red in your ledger. So much fucking red. Maybe this can help wipe it out."
So much fucking red. And now there was the hospital fire to add to the list of things she wanted so badly to forget. The children's ward...
No. Shut up. Shut up, shut up shut up. Concentrate on this, On leaving it behind. On the crazy, weird-ass archer in the next room who, for some bat-shit reason, seems to think you're worth a second chance. Just take it and stop fucking talking to yourself.