Aaaaand we're back
Chapter 2: Head On, Head First
Today, she's still asleep when a knock is heard at the door. She quickly releases herself, frowning at the deep red marks imprinted where the cuffs pinched into her skin. She wraps her opposite hand around the blemish then opens the door. Barton, as always.
"Hey sorry for waking you but you and I have some errands to run, we need to get an early start." She stares him down expecting him to elaborate. Instead he let himself into her dorm without permission and makes a beeline for the small kitchenette. He opens every cabinet then turns to her, "A bottle of water and a single granola is not nearly enough food to keep in here," he pads over to sleeping area and glances around, "No personal items, whatsoever. You know they pay us, right?"
He smirks as she swings her arms, exasperatedly and shrugs her shoulders. He smile suddenly creases and she immediately murmurs angrily at herself, regretting the actions. All eyes in the room fall onto the deep red marks, once expertly concealed now clear as day.
"Natasha," he swallows audibly, "what-?" Something clicks and he glances at the bedpost where metallic glimmer of handcuffs is peaking from under the blanket. He shifts back to Natasha who swears in Russian and practically sprints to the bathroom. Clint catches her and hooks his arm around her waist. She squirms against the hold but doesn't try to escape. "Romanoff what's going on?" His voice has a military tone to it and her body is pressed his.
She refuses to meet his eye, "The Routine". Her voice is quiet and embarrassed, she desperately tries to cover her wrist with her hand but she can't reach it in this position.
Barton, to his credit, appears to fully understand what "The Routine" means. He uses his free hand to cradle the reddening wrist in question. He brings it to eye level and examines it closely. Natasha is still in his grasp taking shaky breaths. "Every night?" he asks not taking his eyes away.
"I have too," she persists. Barton hums an unpleasant noise.
The reality of the situation suddenly falls over her like a bucket of cold water. How did he manipulate her into revealing her intimate details of her life? She feels compelled to break free from his hold and she does moments later.
"Stay out of it, Barton." Her eyes are dark as she growls the warning.
"Natasha, as your friend I don't feel comfortable knowing this is happening." He holds his hands up defensively.
"You think you're my friend?" She snorts, "I'm your project, Barton! Your little experiment that you show attention to so that SHIELD doesn't blame you when I eventually fail."
He reels back, offended. "Tasha, you're not going fail."
"Stop manipulating me! Leave."
"Tasha?"
"Leave!" And he does, because Romanoff has just taken a threatening step towards him and he doesn't underestimate the various ways he can cause her pain.
Natasha slumps to the floor in frustration. The Routine, has more control over her than she originally imagined. Barton will give up on her, she'll be back on the run and the nightmare will continue.
She doesn't leave the dorm that day. She doesn't see Barton all day, it worries but relieves her.
The next day Barton, wakes early. His mind on his partner. He request that they both have the days off. He dresses nicely and makes a list of things they should do today, if she'll allow him. Open a bank account, find out if she has a valid American drivers' license, buy clothes, food, and something she wants, something personal she can call her own.
With plans heavy on his mind he finds his way to her door. He barely knocks once before Natasha swings the door open. Fully dressed but seems a bit… off? She chewing her lip and rubbing her wrists, her eyes carry bags and her skin doesn't glow. She looks restless and tired.
He immediately changes his preplanned introduction. "Breakfast?"
She looks a tad hopefully and nods. He leads her through the halls and bypasses the cafeteria entirely, leading her out the building. She wonders silently what his plans entail.
They find their way to a diner. It's a classic 1950s diner where you're assaulted with smells of homemade burgers and pancakes. As they step inside, a young and pretty blond hostess turns to greet them. She's wearing a short, tight blue skirt with a white blouse and black apron. She noticed Barton first. "Clint! What ever did we do to have your company?"
Clint laughs, "Heather you know how busy I am. I still have to make time for some of Buddy's French toast."
The blond giggles. "Aye Buddy! Our James Bond friend is here!" She yells back towards the kitchen. Moments later a larger black man wearing oil stained garments and a cheery smile. Natasha takes a moment to understand what is going on. Clint's outside of SHIELD life, that he's willing showing her. He trusts her, he wants her to know that. Suddenly, as she tunes out the diner noise and the hearty laughs Buddy and Heather are sharing she looks at Clint. He's smiling freely, looking years younger than usual. Natasha pieces everything together and concludes how wrong she was to make those accusations yesterday. He trying, going above and beyond to not keep her alive but to be her friend.
She's vaguely aware when Barton gestures for her to come over. He introduces her as his coworker stumbling awkwardly over the term friend, then deciding against it. Everyone's extremely friendly, Heather takes them to a clean booth and the two of them are left alone.
"We should talk," Clint grows very serious.
"I'm sorry," Natasha murmurs with her head down, ashamed. She sets her right hand on the center of the table and pushes up the sleeve of her gray sweatshirt. There is an absence of angry red marks on her wrist. "I tried sleeping without it."
Clint looks down wide eyed at and gently grasps her wrist, "Why?" he says in disbelief.
"For control. They're still in my head, Clint. Telling me how to live my life, I may not work with for them but there still in me, controlling me." Her voice has grown low and rough and her eyes have darkened.
Clint nods, releasing her wrist. He's takes a breath to respond when Heather and her bouncing blond locks sways over, "Alright Clint, Bud's cooking up a pile of French toast for ya'. What about you sweetheart?" Turning to Natasha, "What are you having?" Her peppiness is almost nerve wracking to Romanoff.
"I-I I'm sorry I didn't look at the menu." Natasha stumbled over her words, breaking her concentration from spilling her private life out.
Clint swoops in while Heather has the decency to look uncomfortable, "Tell Bud to fix her a plate of French toast too, darling."
The blond bops her head and makes a tactful escape.
"You'll break free, you know?" Clint asks reassuringly. She looks unsure so he continues, "You've been here 6 months, Natasha. After a lifetime of living one way you're breaking everything you knew, even you're name got stripped from you."
She looks down, "I've always been either the Red Room's puppet or an alias." She looks up and smiles. Oh God, was that the first time he's seen her smile, even with fatigue features it would bring a man to his knees. "As theatrical as it sounds, I've never been me."
His face brightens, she actually just smiled, and he won't get that imagine out of his head any time soon. "Actually that fits perfectly to what we're doing today." Natasha raises an eyebrow and Heather interrupts again, this time with food.
"Alright my dears, we've got coffee and tons of French toast. You know where to find me if you need anything." Clint smiled graciously as Heather took her leave.
He turns back to Romanoff, "Today were getting you everything you need to be a normal adult." Natasha smiles, curious by what he means.
So since I forgot to post this earlier and I'm not crazy about this chapter, I'll post the next one tomorrow. Thank you for all the support! Please reviewwww!