Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man 2, Thor, or the Avengers, along with the characters, the quotes, and everything else associated with Marvel.
A/N: Since I'm pretty sure a lot of you don't remember the little things (I've got terrible memory myself), you might want to look back at the start of chapter 10 to click with what's going on in the first parts here.
Apologizing for any spelling/grammar mistakes beforehand.
Hope you all like, review/favorite if you want!
"Feels like my life is ready to blow
Me and my love we'll take it slow
I hope she knows that I'll love her long
I just don't know where the hell I belong."
- Mind Mischief, Tame Impala.
Chapter 16
Natasha might have forgotten the distinction in their movements, but the low laugh and the artful subtlety of the collar the woman held gave her identity away now that she'd paid closer attention. Sofia would be up in her face by now, crackling with fire and wreathed in smoke, none of the collected Siberian wolf her sister was.
"Valeria," Natasha acknowledged, standing up and pulling her shoulders back, her old competitiveness returning.
"No need to get cocky, darlin'." Valeria cooed. She jingled the collar and smiled again.
Natasha kept her gaze from the shimmering light and focused on its owner's eyes instead. "I thought you avoided the States if they let you."
"There's no more 'they', Natalia. I go where the fortune goes."
"You left the academy." Natasha swallowed the surprise she felt. Valeria and her twin had enrolled in the extended program, eight vigorous years, at the time she turned to the lure of contract assassination. While she was restless to fly off like eaglets from the nest, they were consumed by what the academy had to offer. Why did Valeria drop out?
"I've learned enough." Valeria smirked. "You know how the constriction feels."
"What of Sofia?" Natasha changed the subject quickly. She didn't want to be associated in that way at all.
"With me, of course."
"Who are you working for?" The cloud over the store moved away, and as the extra sunlight ran over Valeria's face Natasha saw the raw hunger of a starved dog. Something she remembered all too well herself.
"Silly girl, is that any way to get information? Are you a Black Widow or are you a house spider?"
A rush of blood stiffened her neck at the insult. Natasha narrowed her eyes and tightened her fists.
"You've outgrown her, Tasha. You're better than her."
Am I truly better, Clint?
She loosened her fingers but kept her gaze on Valeria' smug face
"S.H.I.E.L.D's retriever dog, hm? I never imagined that future for you, certainly not after the fire in Sao Paulo." Seeing the eye-widening blink she garnered from Natasha, Valeria continued. "All that potential, that ardor, the Room wanted you back after that little show you did, you know that? They considered forcing you into Extension with me and Sofia." She rubbed the pads of her fingers over the collar in her hand casually and relished the reaction it had on the other woman. "But then you never knew anything."
Natasha's lips trembled with a question she did not want to ask.
"Step aside, Natalia. For old time's sake if not anything else. All I want is Sheerin."
Did she think her not worthy of a fight? That she'd so easily let her pass? Parted for barely half a decade and Valeria held her nose higher than her wits. Natasha slipped a knife from her pants to her hand. Guns would be her last resort, she did not want to create a commotion; the devils take her if Clint saw her with her old accomplice.
Let's see what you've learned, she thought as the knife flew from her grip.
Valeria dodged it with a breezy sway of her hips to the left, and the blade shot into a shelf of tortilla chips. "Why so held back?" Chuckling, she flung three of her own back. "Don't you want everyone to see? Don't you whore over the attention anymore?"
Natasha ducked beneath the counter. The sound of steel biting into the wall behind her thumped like her heart in her ears. She scuttled a few feet to the left and let loose a handful of darts, one after another until she was out. One of them buried itself into its victim's side, and Valeria yanked it out in irritation. The darts were short and did not bite deep. No matter, they were a mere distraction.
Natasha advanced, slashing with a knife. Valeria lurched back from the sing of the weapon until she found a gap in the swipes coming her way. She clamped down on Natasha's wrist. Crushing like a canine's jaw, and twisted. Fire shot through Natasha's arm to her fingertips. She gritted her teeth and held on to the knife. Valeria twisted her wrist again, forcing the blade to drop from her stubborn hand. She sent the weapon spinning off with a kick and yanked Natasha close. Red hair clashed against black from the momentum. Valeria laughed lowly.
Natasha used the proximity to knock her head against the wolf's. Valeria yelped, her hold loosened momentarily for her prey to pull away. Natasha kicked her in the stomach and sent her crashing into the racks of flowers and plants behind her. Packets of geranium seeds were knocked down. A vase of fresh white lilies plummeted to the ground in a mess of broken glass. Valeria stumbled up and lunged forward.
Disheveled, she was easy to trip and tumble down. Natasha secured Valeria's legs flat on the ground with her own, and pinned down her arms with a hand. The other hand she used to punch her in the nose, more out of anger than to harm. The blood that trailed from Valeria's nostril made the throb in her knuckles worth it.
"Out, Valeria." She pressed the flat of a dagger into the wriggling neck beneath her. "Sheerin's mine."
"This isn't about him anymore." Valeria panted. "Kill me, Nellie. I dare you."
Natasha faltered. Her hold on the other's legs slipped. Valeria drew them up to kick her in the stomach, and she held in a gasp. The dominance shifted as Valeria rolled them over. She loomed over Natasha, glaring, all traces of her training fleeing her face.
Rabid wolves were not silent.
Locking Natasha in place, Valeria let her weight drop onto the smaller woman under her. "You don't deserve that pretty face." She extracted a thick, handled needle from her hair. "It's wasted on you."
Natasha could hear the hot ice in her voice. Burning with more zeal than any fire.
The needle point skimmed past her forehead and between her eyes. For a moment she thought Valeria was going to blind her. She struggled more wildly and tried to extract her arms from their hold above her head. Twisted her body to squeeze away from the weight. Whatever hold Valeria used on her, it was strong as hell. Valeria yanked her up and slammed her head back onto the floor. Natasha bit her tongue from the impact and tasted blood.
Picking up the needle again, Valeria returned its path along the length of Natasha's face. "Wasted," she repeated in a whisper. Her own plain face contorted into a crazed, unstable mess. The very expression the Red Room strove to breed out of their girls. She dug the needle in on the top of Natasha's lips and drew it down in a diagonal. Pass the corner of her mouth and down under her jaw. Valeria smiled at the thread of blood.
Jealous. She was still jealous.
Jealousy could reduce any amount of discipline to dust.
Freeing a hand at last, Natasha swatted the needle away from her face. It spun in midair, and she snatched it to slash at Valeria, who lifted herself up to avoid the attack. A mistake. It was all the space Natasha needed to shoot up and flip their positions. She locked her in a choke hold. Valeria'a wheezing blew air into her face.
Valeria's glinting, steely eyes reminded Natasha of the shine of the chain collar. "Spit it out, Valeria," she demanded. "What's wrong with me?"
Valeria's eyes gleamed with satisfaction at the quake in her question.
"Tell me." Natsha raised her voice the first time the entire match. When Valeria didn't respond she tightened her hand around her throat.
"For a world class spy, Natalia, you believed incredibly stupid lies." Valeria coughed out, short of breath.
A gunshot cracked as Natasha was about to question her further. Valeria twitched under her. Natasha turned to the source of the sound. Clint glared at her, his gun out and pointing in her direction.
"Up, Natasha."
A warm wetness seeped into where her leg touched the floor. She twisted to see blood pooling from Valeria's calf. The woman kept the pain from her face and sneered. "S.H.I.E.L.D dog," she spat.
"Natasha," Clint repeated, almost to a shout.
Avoiding his gaze, Natasha uttered a gruff reply. She removed the remaining weapons on Valeria: seven knives all over, two guns, and a dozen more of those vile needles lining the insides of her sleeves. Once that was done she picked herself up and whisked towards Clint.
"Go help Sheerin with the equipment. I'll take care of things here," he ordered, his gaze fixed on Valeria. His face was passive but the pulse on his neck told it all. Natasha didn't argue, she had no place to. As Clint pushed pass her to the exit she reached for him, but he walked on without any acknowledgment at all.
Sheerin leaned against the wall on the other side of the door, a waist-high fort of briefcases and boxes surrounded him. A short snicker, and he let her be. They trudged the equipment in silence.
Tomas came skipping back when they were half done with loading, and waved a ziplock bag of money at Natasha. She told him to stay out, fetched his groceries for him, told him to keep his money and sent him off with a wave. Sheerin gaped at her, aghast."Twenty bucks, no big deal." She shrugged. How is that tiny kid carrying that burden? She thought, watching Tomas march away with his cargo, oblivious to the show inside the store.
When Natasha returned for the final load Valeria had supported herself up and over a few feet away. She'd wrapped her leg with towels, their origin unknown, and was whispering into her Bluetooth. Alarmed, Natasha quickened her pace and chucked whatever expensive microscope or samples or recorders into the trunk of the van. Sheerin yelled at her to have more care and demanded she straighten out everything. Clint had other ideas. "Let's hurry before Sofia comes," he said, his tone trimmed.
So he had heard. Natasha slammed the trunk shut and walked around him to the car door. The dull shine of his comm shone now that she paid attention to it. She'd forgotten to disable the two-way. Natasha recalled every word of her conversation during the fight and shivered. She had a lot to catch him up on, none of which was the least bit pleasurable to tell.
They left Valeria locked up in the store. It won't keep her in, or Sofia out, but it would do to block out the curious citizens long enough for them to make extraction. Clint was alarmingly messy and didn't bother to tie Valeria up or remove her communication. It went against the rules, but Natasha didn't dare mention it. She didn't dare do a single thing against him. Not when he drove rougher than Hogan on the freeway and made tighter corners than Stark loose on a racetrack, the veins on his arm twitching with a life of its own. The more she glanced over at that too-calm expression and the contradicting crackling knuckles the more she wanted to climb out the window. His easy waves promised a tsunami that would unleash once Sheerin was out of range.
Too bad the scientist complained of cold. Otherwise Natasha would have cracked that window long ago.
Once on the jet, they confined themselves to their own corners and forced their attention on anything but each other. Sheerin splattered sandwich drippings over his lap as he ate, and Natasha wondered how a sloppy man like him could keep the precision and hygiene needed in a lab environment. Clint twanged his bowstring over and over. She played Tetris.
"Why didn't they come after us?" Clint asked when Sheerin left for the restroom.
Valeria wouldn't be the one on their tails with that hole in her leg. Sofia, she was a wildfire. Unpredictable, uncontrollable and a headstrong tracker, she liked to make her presence known from the start like smoke in the distance. No, she wouldn't be here. With Sofia you wouldn't feel the icy terror of an ambush. You'd feel her with each step you take until you dropped.
Natasha kept playing, but she held the same questions as Clint did. Why didn't Sofia come after them? She was sure the twins were promised good money for this contract, S.H.I.E.L.D's enemies would bleed themselves dry to nick at the organization. And specially targeting Sheerin, not the hero who'd be worth mountains more, the grubby scientist was more than what meets the eye.
"That's a lot to look through," Natasha started once Sheerin sat down again to read through his packet.
"This font, my God it's bad. It is so hard to change it to something legible?"
"They've a lot of work cut out for you, with all this reading to do."
"Mhmm. Just my luck."
"A forty-nine page brief dedicated to the studying of cells," Natasha stated, watching his reaction.
Sheerin fidgeted as predicted. "It's an interesting topic."
"Very interesting. How about an insight, doctor?"
"I'm tasked to study the cell samples of the subject."
"Is that all?"
"That is all."
Natasha leaned in from her place across him. "The fact that they targeted you out of all the other recruits for this project, care to explain?"
"I'm here for Operation Frostbite, nothing more."
"Just Frostbite? And just a cytologist?"
"Correct."
Bullshit. Natasha knew a lie when she heard one.
She would have questioned him more, but Clint was watching them. His blank mask had slipped a little, and she could see his shoulders rise and fall with the slow, steady breaths he drew. She wanted to go to him and lean against his shoulder, or even just to have a corner of his shirt to hold onto. He gave no encouragement for her to do so. Natasha didn't know if that would change when Sheerin was off the scene. He held her gaze for the barest of seconds and turned his head aside, his jaw working hard.
Coulson had stayed up to wait for them. A packaged smile and handshake for Sheerin, and his attention focused on the dried line of blood down Natasha's face. "Who was it?" He asked once he sent the scientist off.
"Freelancer," she said simply. Valeria Vasilieva. Red Room graduate. A skill level that at least evened with hers, if not higher after their years apart; these she would keep from Coulson as long as she could before he sticks his nosy neck deeper into the matter.
If Coulson had been less preoccupied over Rogers he would have grilled her further, but all he added was yet another full-body scan over Clint, and strode off down the same hallway Sheerin had headed in. He didn't even bother with debriefing.
Finally, they were left alone.
Natasha inched her hand towards Clint's, only to have him shake his head at her, his eyes drooping, and walk off. She followed and scolded the twist in her stomach. Clint's withdrawal pained more than she'd predicted. Where was his comfort and support when she needed it now? Which bit of spilled information today had her chasing after him instead of the other way round? San Paulo, the twins, or...
Her skin chilled at the possibility, only making her miss his warmth more.
Clint left the door open to his room, invitation enough for Natasha to slip in after him. He insisted with a gesture for her to change out her jeans, dark with Valeria's blood, her white shirt mottled with dust and dirt. He draped a blanket over her exposed skin and left. When he returned with a fresh set of clothes for her Natasha understood where he went. But why bother unlocking when her door took only seconds to hack?
She rocked on the edge of Clint's bed, wiped her sweaty palms on the sheets and listened to the rush of water as he wrestled with her dirtied clothes.
When he came out and dabbed a warm towel over the cut on her face she stilled her fidgeting.
Underneath his indignation she sensed a quiet, surrendering acceptance. His eyes looked more tired than flinty now. Natasha itched to grab him. She wanted to know what he thought of her.
Clint noted her inquiring stare and sighed. He tossed the bloodied towel on top of his clothes pile on the back of a chair and sat next to her. Natasha felt something tight inside quiver and undo. She leaned his way, bit by bit, until they touched, and let her weight shift onto him. His arm hanged luring by her side for a long time. She waited, rationing her breath to shallow sips.
A soft "fuck this," under his breath, and he finally embraced her after what felt like an eternity of feet knocking against the bedframe. She dropped her head onto his shoulder and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her hands to stay clasped in her lap and wondering when she had become so besotted with him.
"That was quite a crash-course on your biography I had today."
Natasha rubbed her cheek rougher against his shirt. The cut that Clint had just cleansed stung.
"I've been a jerk." He fussed with the hair tumbling over her face, tried to push it back with no avail. "I..."
She batted his flitting hand away. Told him with a tacit look that she didn't want to hear it; not when she had a daring impulse that would waver if she waited for him to finish his babble. Fury had told her once that there's nothing stronger than a made up mind. She didn't know where she found the strength for such a feat. But it wouldn't last, that she knew. She looked up at him.
"I'll start with the Sao Paulo fire."
Clint's lips parted. They were close enough that his breath grazed the tip of Natasha's nose. Her heart throbbed in her throat, but she didn't feel choked. She saw this coming. She chose it. She knew exactly what to say.
An alien emptiness consumed her, but she didn't feel alarmed.
Clint was a good listener.
She cornered Coulson the next day in the mess hall as he walked by with a sloshing coffee. Yesterday had left her with wild reckless blood. And although her confiding words change not a thing in the world, she no longer felt as if her actions carried consequences. With nothing precious to keep to herself, it no longer mattered what she did and did not do. She was free.
"What's S.H.I.E.L.D doing with Steve Rogers?" All her suppressed suspicion slammed full force into her question.
"As I've said before, it's none of your concern." Coulson's face remained unaffected but his knuckles whitened around his mug.
"I'm level seven."
"Know your place, agent Romanoff."
" Don't you mean 'know your place, Black Widow'? That's what it always comes down to, no? You think I'm going to sell your information? Think I'm gonna sell you out?"
Clint seared behind her. People put down their lunches and gawked like they're watching a bullfight. It was rare to hear her speak in public at all, even less when she was this loud.
Coulson thinned his lips. "If you know better you'd-"
"I do know better."
He leaned in close, his gaze a borderline glare, and said lowly, "If you know better, agent Romanoff, you'd put your hand off that gun and stop this nonsense before you get flagged. If you hold any respect for the Director and me at all you'd keep your mouth shut. We're on a tight line with the Council because of you. Make our sacrifice worth it."
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