Now don't get too excited, but this is a longer chapter! Woo! Also, since I haven't done this... ever... please remember that this is a story about adults with unsavory pasts. Just keep it in mind.

Ch. 17

As Natasha left her sleeping quarters and walked down the hall to the main sitting room she rehearsed her cover. Like a good mask, there could be no cracks or glimpses of reality. She was grieving. Clint was gone, maybe even dead. Unlike missions, when she took on a new identity and life, this had to be her. What would Natasha Romanoff do when faced with crushing defeat?

She would drink.

Reaching the bar, Natasha threw back a few shots of vodka before giving up altogether and taking the bottle. She drank as she paced the room, stopping only to turn on a radio for some cover noise. Noticing the unease amongst the guards, Natasha had the urge to laugh. She had a reputation in her homeland and it wasn't for being a silly drunk. Like a caged animal, she didn't do well in confined spaces. Add alcohol and... well, she had a reputation for a reason. Natasha took mental notes of who took charge and which guards showed their fear. In order to see how a well oiled machine worked, you threw a wrench in it, then see how the pieces come back together. The agents exposed their hierarchy the moment they saw her as an imminent threat; it was nice to know she still had that effect on her fellow Russians. The more she drank the easier it was to pretend she was hitting the point of desperation; sure she knew that Clint was just down the hall, but being alone in a room with a dozen armed men always brought out the assassin in her.

"Natalia, you are not thinking something you shouldn't, are you? I would be very displeased if I had to sedate you early, my dear." Dr. Z spoke as he entered the room. The effect was immediate; the guards became relaxed and void of emotion once again. What little fun Natasha was having melted away. She knew what was going to happen next and hated herself for not realizing it sooner. The radio was a mistake.

"No doctor. I am doing as you suggested- putting away my life in America. Tomorrow I will be ready to rejoin you, but for now I am simply a Russian woman, mourning in my own way. Should I go back to my quarters?" Natasha knew she wouldn't be that lucky, but it seemed worth a shot. Even without the first aid kit, she at least had the alcohol and could get food later for Clint.

"That won't be necessary Natalia. Did you notice the music? One of your favorites, is it not? Perhaps dancing will take your mind off Agent Barton for a time. It has been many years since I have seen you dance and it would fill my heart with joy."

She wouldn't mind filling his heart with something a little more painful than joy. Lead, for instance. While his words bordered on grandfatherly, Natasha knew she would pay dearly if she refused. Dancing had been her dream, ever since she was a child she wanted to be in the Russian Ballet. During her years in the Red Room she took lessons, wildly clinging to the hope that if she was good enough they would let her leave. Stupid, but hope was a powerful drug when you lived in hell. All the girls in the Black Widow program were allowed to pursue their favorite hobby in addition to their training. It helped them survive. It also gave their keepers a powerful control- only obedient girls could have their lessons.

Sometime after Natasha started field work, when her missions became increasingly violent, she started hating dance. Dance was the drug they kept her strung out on for years so that she was blind to the truth- she would only ever do one thing in this world. Dr. Z loved to watch her dance, he had for as long as she could remember. It made her feel like a trained monkey; something so intimate and emotional as dancing and he could make her do it with a snap of his fingers.

"Natalia? Did I lose you in your thoughts?"

Natasha smiled and set the vodka bottle on the table. As a new song began she allowed the music to fill her mind. It was a faster tempo than the last, but that suited her just fine. Using the whole room she spun, leaping and dropping between tables and armchairs as she improvised. It had been a long time, but Natasha didn't need to think about what she was doing. It was as natural as breathing.

As the song neared the end, the Black Widow moved her body lower and lower, appearing to be shrinking while the music faded away. She ended curled inward, crouched with her hands and feet flat on the ground, her head tucked between her knees. Directly in front of the one guard who was more focused on her moving body than his position and weapon.

Rocking forward, Natasha rolled her weight onto her hands and pushed off the ground, launching her feet upward into his chin. Her blow landed right on target, sending the man off his feat and onto his ass. Immediately the other guards were on her, pinning her to the ground with crushing force. She didn't struggle, though she contemplated it when she took an elbow to the face and tasted the tang of blood from her lip. As they hauled her to her feet with weapons trained on her, Natasha was unfazed. Her only concern was Dr. Z's reaction. He wasn't joking about sedating her early, but he would also know that her little dance move was nothing more than blowing off steam.

It wasn't until he began to clap that she released the breath she had been holding. A grin spread over his face as he clapped, causing the guards to lose confidence in their response. Half lowered their weapons and a few grips loosened on her arms, though the more experienced agents knew that Dr. Z could laugh one moment and order someone's death the next.

"Ah, delightful! Natalia, you are such a light to my old soul! That will teach him to focus on his work, eh? I knew the Americans did not change you so much- you are a Black Widow at heart. Now, would you like to join me in the dining car for supper, or shall I have it sent to your room?" Natasha knew she was in the clear. It was a high price to pay having to dance for the devil one last time, but now she was one step closer to taking him down.

"To my room please. Perhaps the first aid kit as well. I would like the rest of the night to myself, but tomorrow could I join you for breakfast? I'll be ready for my new life then." At his nod she turned, scooped up the vodka bottle, and sashayed down the hall to her room.

As she slipped through the door her hands began to shake. Natasha only had one fear; powerlessness. To have no control over what happened next. She felt it on the helicarrier when Dr. Banner transformed into the Hulk and all she could do was run and hide. In a different way, she felt it now. Dr. Z had a power over her that could only be achieved through years of psychological manipulation. How many times had she been forced to dance for him, knowing she couldn't simply return to her room afterwards?

Natasha realized she was on the floor, hugging her knees to her chest as her breath came in short gasps. She only had a few minutes before they came with her food. A few minutes of weakness. That was all she ever allowed herself anyway.

Clint heard the door open and shut from his hideaway above the storage cabinet. He waited for the whistle to signal that the coast was clear but heard nothing that put him at ease. Then the sound of her breathing, rapid and erratic, reached his ears. To him it was as if she were screaming for help- he immediately climbed down and went to her side. Switching on the small radio by the bed and setting the vodka on the nightstand he took a moment to check her for physical trauma. Other than the bloody lip, Natasha's pain was entirely internal.

Since he couldn't go out there and personally end the life of each guard and the doctor, Clint forced himself to take a few deep breaths himself. When his rage subsided he scooped Natasha into his arms and carried her to the bed. He had seen her like this once before, though she didn't know it. He was tracking her for a mission, just waiting for the right time to kill her. But when the moment came, he didn't find a cold-hearted assassin. He found a young woman being crushed beneath the weight of the world, her heart broken but still beating, grieving over the mission she was forced to carry out. That, more than anything she could have said, convinced Clint that the Black Widow had a future with SHIELD.

Now, after years of healing and transformation, she was right back to that place. There was nothing he could say to make it better, so he held her tight against his body and whispered her name, waiting for her to come back to him. Soon she stopped shaking, relaxing her rigid muscles a little at a time. Her breathing slowed as she listened to the steady beat of Clint's heart beneath her cheek and felt the rise and fall of his chest. He felt her arms unwind from where they had been wrapped over her body in self defense, moving instead to embrace him.

In that moment, he couldn't deny that he loved her.

They stayed like that until her guards knocked on the door. The noise brought them back to reality; Natasha's face became void of emotion, the picture of the Black Widow. Clint slipped back to the other room, noticing that his bullet wound was once again radiating heat in a less-than-pleasant way. This time Natasha gave a whistle that the coast was clear before turning up the music and entering the bathroom.

"Food or first aid?" She asked, making it clear that they weren't talking about what just happened. That suited Clint just fine- they weren't exactly the type of people that talked about their feelings.

"First aid. Letting Tony play doctor wasn't my best idea to date." He grinned sheepishly at the glare she sent his way before taking off his shirt and hopping up to sit on the counter next to the sink.

"Did you let him shoot you with a laser? God, Clint, just set yourself on fire next time and save him the trouble!" Natasha continued to mutter about his stupidity as she sorted the limited supplies they had. Obviously they didn't give her anything pointy or poisonous, but there were at least painkillers and antiseptic ointments. That would take care of any external infections, but only a strong antibiotic would help an infection beneath the surface. Natasha went back to the bedroom to get the vodka, which Clint gratefully drank to distract him from imminent pain.

"Oddly enough, that's exactly what Tony did. Going to the hospital wasn't at the top of my to-do list. Just do what you can and, Nat? Be gentle."

"Shut up and drink your vodka."

"Trying to get me drunk? I'm still not going to sleep with you."

Rather than reply, Natasha pressed gauze soaked in hydrogen peroxide to the wound. Clint hissed and swore at the sudden sting, thinking it was almost as bad as the actual cauterizing. Soon, though, the cool liquid became soothing compared to the burn and itch he was used to. As he held the gauze in place Natasha repeated the procedure to the identical wound on his back. With his free hand he continued to sip at the bottle of vodka, acutely aware of her free hand tracing the lines of old scars on his chest.

"Vienna?" Natasha asked, trailing a finger along an arc of marred skin that began at his collar bone and dipped a few inches.

"That crazy bitch with the switchblades, remember?"

Natasha smiled, "I liked her."

"You would."

She moved her hand along his skin and muscle, stopping just to the left of his belly button. He could tell she was trying to place this one, a double set of small scars almost like dotted lines. As she lightly touched each one Clint pressed the gauze to his wound a little harder to distract him from the more pleasant sensation she was creating.

At her raised eyebrow he said, "Hong Kong- the guy with the throwing stars. You weren't there, but I told you about it after. Someone blew my cover and the mark went all ninja on me at a bar. That was interesting."

She nodded, taking the gauze from his hand and throwing both in the sink. As she dried the wounds and covered them in ointment Clint let his eyes slip shut. He realized they both needed to get a few hours sleep tonight, especially with the amount of work they still had to do in the next few days. Natasha finished with the ointment and packed everything back in the kit, keeping an eye on Clint as she did. There was an understated calm that he exuded in every situation. He rarely lost control of his emotion, something she found nearly impossible to accomplish. She knew by the end of their first mission together that she could trust him in a way she had never before trusted another human being. There really wasn't anyone else for her in the world except Clint.

When his eyes opened and met hers, Natasha didn't glance away. Maybe fairy tales weren't complete crap after all, since she was sure that she was getting lost in his gaze. She felt rooted to the spot when he looked at her like that, both excited and terrified and completely unlike herself. As Clint slid off the counter and moved closer, Natasha thought this was true happiness. Surrounded by her worst enemy, hardly a chance of getting out unscathed, but incapable of wiping the smile off her face. Clint rested his hands on her hips, careful not to press his body to hers now that his wound was clean. He leaned in and began trailing kisses over her neck as he spoke.

"I need to check in with Rogers... The room is set for me to hide out... Do you want me to take first watch?"

"Hm? Uh, no. I'm not feeling all that sleepy. I'll keep watch. Just eat something first- you're such a baby when you wake up with a hangover." That got another smile out of Clint, who slid his hands just a little bit lower before turning to leave the room, Natasha hot on his heels.

Wow- the things I can accomplish when my car is at the mechanic all day! Sure I haven't started cleaning or my laundry, but I wrote this entire chapter for you! Did you like it?

Also, thanks for all the input about the rating system. When our two little killer lovebirds finally get their moment, in like 20 more chapters, I'll follow your suggestions on the T rating. :D

Remember, your thoughtful reviews make me happier than ice cream. Which, you know, is about the greatest thing on the planet. So thanks!