2. God's lioness

Clint had been watching his fight with Natasha on a loop for nearly half an hour now. The narrow catwalk in the bowels of the helicarrier felt like an extension of his body it had grown so familiar. The rote of the scene had etched itself upon his brain so completely that at some point, without even noticing he'd begun to mime the actions, sometimes his own, sometimes Natasha's, his brain committing every nuance of the battle to memory.

On the screen his head hit the rail with a sickening crack despite the fact that the volume was so low that the sound could only barely be heard. He froze, holding his breath as pale blue drained from the eyes on the screen.

He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't admired her. If he closed his eyes now he could see her though the scope of his rifle. Her hair had been blonde then, her pale blue dress catching in the breeze. Her head turned, her eyes seeking him out though he knew it was impossible for her to see him. Fierce eyes, full of flame and life and courage. She knew she was about to die, powerless to stop it, so instead she faced him.

He'd thought at the time that she had no fear. It had taken years for him to realize that the only thing she truly feared was being alone.

He'd spent nearly two months on medical lockdown at SHIELD after the battle. He sat in silence in his psych appointments every morning, he worked out in the gym he skipped meals he lost sleep, he lived with the guilt, he lost weight. Though it all Natasha became more and more anxious. She was gone two weeks, back out in the field for the first time since the Battle. When she'd returned the look that she'd given him had sent a fresh wave of guilt over him. Four hours later she ambushed him outside of the firing range and dragged him to the parking garage, his duffle bag slung over her shoulder.

"Get in the car, Barton," Natasha ordered, opening the back door. Clint stared at her with a blank expression for a long moment, hesitating. The garage was all but empty, the sleek red Toyota was a reflection of it's owner, pretty without being remarkable. That was the way Natasha liked it.

"Get in the car or I will knock you out and put you in the trunk," she declared, the faintest flicker of anger in her expression. Clint made to answer but thought better of it, sliding cautiously into the back seat.

"Nat are you kidnapping me?" he asked worriedly. "Because if you are."

"Shut up and get on the floor," she snapped and much to his own surprise he complied without even thinking. She tossed the duffle bag on top of him, obscuring him from view, and slammed the door, climbing behind the wheel.

"Do not move, do not make a sound, do not give me away or I swear, Clint, I will break every bone in your body." She muttered softly as she drove toward the security gate. Clint wanted to answer but he found he couldn't. He drew in one long slow breath and held it as the car rolled to a stop. He closed his eyes, not even letting his chest rise and fall, a few moments later the car rolled forward again and he slowly let out the breath he'd been holding.

"Nat, you shouldn't be doing this for me," he said softly.

"I'm really not in the mood to debate this with you," she stated calmly. "Just stay down for now." Clint stared up at the roof, his palms sweaty and his heart rate beating out an uneven tattoo in his chest.

"Where are we going?" he asked curiously. He trusted Natasha, whatever she was doing now it was because she felt she had to, but Clint had seen her make more than one decision that wasn't in her own best interests for his sake. He wasn't prepared to live with that right now.

"Not far," she replied, slowing and turning a corner. Clint looked up though the window to see the unmistakable overhead lights of another parking garage.

"Nat if you're ditching the car then Fury doesn't know you're doing this," Clint said warily.

"No, he doesn't," she admitted.

"Tasha, don't do this for me," he pleaded, his voice warbling with desperation. "You're all..." he couldn't finish the sentence and he choked.

"I'm protecting Fury as much as you," she declared softly. "I'll contact him as soon as we're settled and let him know. It'd be better if you went off the radar for the next few days. You just have to trust me on this." She parked the car and got out, opening the back door.

"Come on, let's go," she demanded impatiently as he scrambled out of the back seat. He barely had his feet under him and his duffel slung over his shoulder before she was walking away toward a long black car.

"Get in, stay down, do not let anyone see you," she ordered sharply, waving him inside and climbing in after him.

"Ready ma'am?" the driver asked, only barely glancing over his shoulder at her.

"Yeah, we're good," she nodded as the car rolled into motion.

"Since when do you have a limo and a driver?" Clint half teased from his spot stretched out on the floor, his head pillowed on the seat across from her. Natasha fished her phone from her pocket.

"I borrowed it from a friend," she shrugged.

"You don't have friends, Nat," he pointed out. She gave him a withering look and he felt himself smile only slightly. It made his face feel funny. He couldn't exactly remember the last time he'd smiled.

The limo wound it's way though New York traffic and Clint closed his eyes, trying to shut out the noise and the construction equipment they passed. Cranes, poised like metal dragons arched over the streets and the rumble of heavy equipment was everywhere. The city was rebuilding at an astonishing rate but that didn't help to assuage his self incrimination. If he'd stopped Loki, this never would have happened.

The limo drove into yet another parking garage and rolled to a stop. Without a word Natasha got out and Clint drew in a deep breath before grabbing his duffle and following. This garage was disturbingly empty, the driver having stopped only feet from the elevator. It opened as if on cue and he hurried his steps to join her. The lift was sleek, titanium and ebony wood, and the elevator controls looked just the slightest bit star trek. It wasn't Natasha's usual bolt hole and Clint found that made him nervous. He'd have felt better in a dingy flat in Queens than in this place.

He didn't say that. He didn't say anything. The lift rose and Natasha seemed indisposed to an explanation. Clint was indisposed to an interrogation and perhaps that was all for the best, sometimes their friendship was better served by silence. Finally the doors opened and Natasha strode forward, her long elegant legs eating up the hard wood floor with the sharp click of her boots.

"Hungry?" she asked, leading him into a kitchen that was probably twice the size of the house Clint had grown up in. He froze on the threshold, his heart skipping a few beats as she made her way to the fridge.

"There's leftover Italian and," she paused, peering into the takeout container. "I think this is Thai, don't quote me on that."

"Hello," Bruce Banner was sitting at the table in the massive kitchen, tucked into the chair farthest in the corner, if the wide open space had actually had a corner to be tucked into. He was staring at both of them with a wary expression, his tablet clutched in his hand.

"Nice to see you again Doctor Banner," Natasha replied, not looking up from the fridge as she popped open a beer.

"We're in Stark Tower," Clint stated in a mixture of awe and horror. "Nat, what are we doing in Stark Tower?"

"Eating leftovers," Natasha stated, pressing the button on the microwave. Clint stared at her mutely, balling his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. He turned to look at Bruce who was watching them with a nervous expression. Clint would have laughed at the irony of that if he hadn't been equally terrified.

"This is pretty good," Natasha stated around a bite of pasta as she stirred it around the takeout container. "Is this Angelo's?" She forked a bite, shoving it into Clint's mouth before he could protest.

"Yeah, actually, it is," Bruce confirmed, still looking as if he couldn't decide if he should panic.

"I'm not hungry," Clint complained, the pasta falling into his stomach like lead.

"Shut up and chew," Natasha ordered, forking another bite into his mouth.

"Hey Bruce, I'm going to order…" Steve Rogers skidded to a stop in the opposite doorway, his eyes wide in surprise as he caught sight of Clint and Natasha, his voice trailing off in a choking sound. Natasha seemed unperturbed, taking a bite of her leftover pasta before shoveling more past Clint's lips.

"Hi," Clint half mumbled around his mouthful.

"I'm guessing you didn't know we had company either." Bruce observed uneasily, glancing at Steve.

"If I'd known we'd had company I'd have stayed in the gym where I belong," Steve pointed out. "No offense." he added quickly, a soft flush coloring his cheeks.

"None taken," Natasha assured, tossing out the container. "Are there cookies around here?"

"Pantry, third shelf, right side," Bruce replied automatically, his expression still guarded as Natasha sauntered directly to the pantry door, picking over the shelves as if she belonged there..

"I thought you were in… Duluth or something," Clint declared. This was all kinds of wrong. He was in STARK Tower when he was supped to be on medical supervision at SHIELD and Captain America was in STARK Tower when he was supposed to be touring the US and Natasha was in STARK Tower eating all their food like she lived here. He turned his attention to her nervously at the sound of a package tearing open.

"Yeah that's what SHIELD was supposed to think," Steve admitted bashfully, forcing himself to cross the room, still clearly nervous.

"Don't worry, SHIELD still thinks that," Natasha assured. "Oreo, Cap?" She held out the package and Steve took one on reflex.

"You, Captain America, you're hiding in Stark Tower?" Clint asked in disbelief.

"I had a rough month," Steve admitted.

"Stop griefing the man," Natasha scolded. "You spent the better part of the last week sulking outside the shooting range."

"They're limiting me to two hours a day!" Clint protested in frustration. "Supervised! With damn practice arrows! Do you have any idea how frustrating…" his voice trailed off as he realized they had an audience. This fact didn't seem to bother Natasha in the slightest.

"Barton, have they had you on lockdown all this time?" Steve asked, his brow furrowed in concern before turning to Natasha. "Is that why you're here? You had to break him out."

"I didn't break him out," Natasha insisted.

"You kidnapped me and stuffed me in the back of your car," Clint pointed out.

"I didn't break him out," Natasha repeated assuringly. "He's been on medical observation. My clearance level allows me to sign him out if I'm willing to take responsibility for him."

"Did you actually tell anyone you were signing him out?" Bruce asked curiously.

"Of course not," She shrugged, picking another Oreo from the package. "I'm not stupid."

"Yes you are," Clint scowled at her. "Because you're supposed to have a security detail of at least one other level five or higher operative! Fury is going to bust you down to level two when he finds out!"

"As it happens I did arrange for another qualified operative," Natasha replied with a smirk.

"Who?" Clint demanded angrily. This was not what he wanted, this was in no way what he wanted and his stomach churned over in anxiety, protesting the leftovers in his belly.

Natasha waved an Oreo at the door.

"Hey kids, see you found your way to the beer all right, Natalie," Tony Stark sauntered into the room wearing a crisp dove gray suit and a blue button-down, open at the neck, his salmon tie peeking out of one pocket.

"Nice to see you too, Stark," Natasha stated as he stole an Oreo from the package on his way to the coffee machine.

"Do you guys want pizza?" Tony asked. "We should probably order food."

"Tony," Bruce declared in exasperation.

"Yeah?" the billionaire asked, looking up from the k-cup machine in confusion. Bruce simply pointed at Natasha and Clint with what could only be described as a perturbed expression. Tony blanched a moment.

"Legolas is going to be bunking with us for a while," Tony stated. "With his chaperone. I told you that, right?"

"No, Tony, you did not tell us that!" Bruce snapped. Tony looked somewhat cowed, but then Clint couldn't help but notice that Bruce's expression suddenly bore a striking resemblance to one he could remember seeing on Pepper Potts.

"The elf from Lord of the Rings!" Steve declared excitedly, miming drawing a bow. His expression turned awkward as he lowered his arms at Natasha's glare. "I saw that film."

"Haven't you seen Lord of the Rings?" Tony teased her, a wide grin on his face.

"Only a dozen times," Clint shrugged, before Natasha could reply. "It's her favorite. She has a crush on Haldir."

"I do not," She protested half heartedly.

"The big blond brute who dies?" Tony asked.

"Haldir lives, for your information," Natasha sniffed disdainfully.

"Tony!" Bruce sighed in exasperation, struggling to pull the other man back on task.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony offered placatingly. "See, Barton needs to lay low for a couple of days and since SHIELD, in their infinite wisdom, seems to think he's a danger to himself, they're insisting that he not go anywhere without supervision. So I said bring him here and I'll… supervise."

"That might be the worst idea I've ever heard," Steve admitted. Bruce nodded in agreement.

"It would be if they were actually relying on me to directly supervise him." Tony agreed. "Thankfully JARVIS is incredibly responsible. Jay, say hi to the nice agent."

"Greetings Agent Barton," JARVIS stated. "Could you please provide me with a voice print in order to access Tower security?"

"Uhh…hi?"

"Very good sir, You are now authorized for level three access protocols." JARVIS declared smoothly. "Should you require anything please do not hesitate to ask, also be advised that should you attempt to leave the tower unescorted or in any way endanger yourself I shall be obliged to notify Agent Romanov and Mr. Stark immediately."

"That's a stupid voiceprint," Tony ridiculed.

"But easy to remember," Bruce pointed out.

"What the hell is going on here?" Barton demanded in confusion. "Why are there robots in the ceiling?"

"He's not a robot," Steve replied.

"And he's not in the ceiling," Bruce added. "That's just where the speakers are."

"And just what am I supposed to be laying low from?!" He added.

"The World Security Council," All eyes turned on Natasha who had, at some point procured a pint of french vanilla from the freezer and was spooning it into her mouth on Oreos directly from the container. "They're going to demand tomorrow that Fury allow them to interview you." Clint blinked at her for a long moment, his legs felt watery and the leftover pasta was churning painfully in his stomach. He gripped the counter, leaning against it heavily.

"Well shit," he declared softly.

"Does Fury know about this?" Steve asked worriedly.

"I'm certainly not going to tell him," Natasha shrugged. "It's in his best interests to look as shocked as possible tomorrow when the council calls."

"I'm not sure I want to ask this but how do you know?" Tony questioned with a frown.

"I have my resources," Natasha answered cryptically.

"That's not ominous at all," Tony observed.

"I thought this was taken care of!" Steve declared indignantly. "Barton wasn't the only one affected and Doctor Selvig's reputation…"

"Yeah, well, Selvig has conspiracy theories taped to his wall," Natasha admitted. "And he draws Yggdrasill shaped equations on his windows with magic markers… in his underwear."

"Well that's comforting," Bruce cringed.

"So what," Tony looked affronted. "They're miffed that Katniss is dealing with this better than a crotchety old academic?"

"I think they've proven that logic isn't their strong suit," Steve pointed out.

"I'm pretty sure they'd let it go but there's brass all over them for some sort of explanation," she admitted.

"What did I do to piss of the military?" Clint demanded peevishly.

"I don't think it's anyone you know," Natasha explained, scraping ice cream off the insides of the container. "He's a self obsessed three star I have some prior with. Name's Ross." Bruce, Steve and Tony visibly flinched but Clint was far too busy staving off panic to give it much thought.

"Anyway," She added, tossing away the empty ice cream container. "You settle us in and I'll run out somewhere that's not here and call Fury."

"What are you going to tell him?" Clint asked worriedly.

"That you look like hell and I'm not losing you too," She answered frankly. Clint blanched, it was a low blow but one that only he would truly appreciate.

"She's right, you look like shit," Tony agreed. Clint only glared at him. He turned a pleading look on Natasha and she spared him a soft smile.

"It'll be fine," she assured gently. He nodded in resignation.

"Right, you're on Seventy-Three, Robin Hood," Stark declared "Rushman, you're across the hall. That is unless you two…" Tony's hands fluttered in a gesture that wasn't meant to be obscene but still managed to give that impression regardless.

"You're an idiot," Natasha declared drily, patting Clint on the chest and disappearing out the door.

"Did she just eat half a package of Oreos?" Bruce asked with a frown.

"She had help," Steve admitted around a cookie, his cheeks coloring.

"Fine, I'll order food," Tony snapped grumpily. "JARVIS, give Birdbrain the fifty cent tour and show him where to unpack their stuff."

That first night in the tower had been the best he'd slept since before Loki and the tesseract and the dark regret of things beyond his control. He'd awakened the next day to find a world without judgmental stares or nervous glances and with a private shooting range he could access at his leisure. He'd been wary of Bruce and Steve at first but as it turned out their hesitation had more to do with with their reluctance to have SHIELD in their personal lives more than anything he'd done.

Natasha shadowed him almost constantly if he left his room, he couldn't always see her but he could feel her presence. After the fifth day she eased up enough to allow JARVIS to watch him at least on occasion. Even that had been better than his gilded prison at SHIELD. It had been like a weight off his shoulders to feel free, even if he wasn't entirely. He'd never admit it to anyone but the day Tony had suggested they stay on had left him almost dizzy with euphoria. Nat had seemed almost as relieved. The idea of going back to SHIELD had been more than he could bear.

"JARVIS do you know anything about mind control?" he asked, his eyes flickering over the fight still playing out on screen.

"I'm afraid my information in this instance is limited at best," the AI admitted. "However some time ago, at Ms Potts' request, I did extensive research in psychological and drug induced techniques of reeducation."

"When Tony came back from Afghanistan," He nodded. "She was afraid he might be compromised."

"You would be correct, sir," the AI answered. "Thankfully Mr. Stark as never shown any signs that he has been unduly influenced."

"But you can undo it," Clint stated. "You can fight it off."

"Based on my research I believe there is very little an individual can do to resists such types of torture without assistance," JARVIS answered, his tone gentle. "Particularly in cases where pharmaceuticals have been involved."

"I tried to kill her," Clint stated, staring at the screen. "I can blame Loki but that is me there on the screen Jay, trying to kill my friend."

"I do not believe that it is, sir," JARVIS insisted. Clint sighed, swallowing down the misery.

"You weren't there," he reminded. "I was."