Disclaimer: I do not own Iron Man 2, Thor, or the Avengers, along with the characters, the quotes, and really just everything associated with Marvel.
A/N: Merry Christmas (Eve) to everyone and happy holidays!
Apologizing for any spelling/grammar mistakes beforehand.
Hope you all like, review/favorite if you want!
Song Inspirations
"Girl" - Grouplove
Chapter 19
They returned to New York two days later. After the business in Chania ended, Coulson had lost interest in Crete and demanded they head back to the States. More specifically, outside a diner a block away from Rogers' apartment—the address courtesy of Sitwell.
Natasha sucked on her third glass of ice water in boredom and watched Coulson sit like a misplaced statue in his chair; stiff limbs jutting out in the most peculiar ways. "He's not going to magically pop up and say hi, Coulson," she said. Shaking the lone ice cube in her now emptied cup into her mouth, she waved the waitress over for a refill.
"Maybe not," Coulson murmured.
"What if he's still in shock?" Clint asked, resting his head in his palm and staring into space. "You did say he broke out of the hospital room and injured a bunch of our people."
"Two in ER," Natasha added.
They both gave Coulson a told-you-so look, which he ignored. He checked the time on his phone. Again, Natasha noted.
"What, are you tracking his arrival time?" She couldn't help but blurt out.
"Maybe."
"What are you gonna do? Run up and ask him to sign your merch?"
"Maybe not"
"But you want to."
"Maybe I do."
"Why don't you, then?"
"Maybe I will."
"You say 'maybe' another time, Coulson, and I'll have him sign your severed heart in a box."
"Cool."
Clint balanced on two legs of his chair and clapped Coulson on the back. "That one," he said. "Any chance?"
They all turned to the direction he pointed in. A man in a beige shirt and khakis strolled down the street, elbows tucked close to his body, hands raising bumps inside his pants' pockets. His head jerked this way and that like the pigeons by Natasha's feet in suppressed awe.
Clint had a no-good gleam in his eyes. She shot him a disapproving look and returned her attention to Rogers. Semblances between him and the pictures on Coulson's cards—which she'd seen on a few occasions—became more apparent as he walked towards them, but they were still meager. She summoned a mental image of Captain America and tried to match it with the blood and bones Rogers. Perhaps the humongous fashion difference had an impact on her judgment, but that was no Captain America. That was a regular guy with a grandfather haircut, overflowing with confusion and uncertainty and lost. Looked like they left a piece of him stuck at the bottom of the Atlantic.
Fifteen feet away. Ten. Rogers' eyes snatched onto the group around their umbrella table. Natasha ducked her eyes down to inspect the ice cubes bobbing in her cup and kicked Coulson's shoe.
The wave of reserve they signaled was enough to steer Rogers away to a different table. Natasha looked at Coulson. He was busy arranging the salt and pepper and napkins on the table, glass clinking against metal the only sound to come from him. Not once did he look up. Rogers asked the old women behind them for directions to an address he wrote on paper, which they happily gave, then carried on his way.
Clint spoke up. "He's headed for one of S.H.I.E.L.D's false front counseling units on thirty-ninth."
Natasha watched Rogers disappear around the corner and felt the same sort of disappointment she did upon her first meeting with Tony. Whether her opinion would change, only time could tell.
Coulson stared at the spot where Rogers had turned out of sight, his expression jumbled. "Director Fury would want to keep him close," he said, separating the layers from a napkin and folding squares with them.
"We gonna stay here a while, then?" Natasha asked.
"No, I'm thinking Oregon." He stuffed the folded napkin into the slit between the salt shaker and the umbrella rod.
"Yeah? She went back to Portland?" Clint butted in.
Curious to who this she was, Natasha shrunk away from the talk and let them carry on. She had never heard Coulson mention any female's name before that didn't seem to have a criminal background or isn't in S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint, however, looked like he had known about this for long from that face he had on.
"Said she can't handle New York. Plus, her orchestra is dying to have her back." Coulson smiled, looking proud.
"She's that good?"
"Yup. I told her I'm coming to her concert next week."
Coulson was seeing someone. As if Natasha wasn't surprised already, said someone had to be part of an orchestra. A god damned musician.
"I'm going to the bathroom." She stood up to go inside the diner, ignoring the way Clint gasped in mock surprise and clinked his finger against her water.
Fury called while she was inside. "Give the phone to Coulson." He didn't bother with greetings.
"I'm in the bathroom, can you wait?"
"Don't you get peppery with me. Get out there and give him the damn phone."
She knew better than to get on Fury's bad side and headed out.
Coulson twisted napkins into bread sticks the entirety of his one-sided exchange with Fury. A frown threatened on his face. "Let's go," he said once the call was over, and returned the phone to Natasha.
"What, now? You said the concert was next week." Clint looked surprised.
"I'm afraid we'll have to scratch that. Director Fury wants us back. Now."
A week ago Natasha was sure he'd rejoice at that news. Yet now, she realized that Coulson had a life outside his job, unlike her. He knew people outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. Normal citizens that went to work in little skirts and dresses and suits and ties; who came home exhausted to TV dinners and couches and not emergency rooms. Before she had thought S.H.I.E.L.D was Coulson's everything. Job before all else. He hammered that order pass her skull since the very first day, as if Natasha hadn't already revolved her life around that concept.
Having saw through hundreds of facades and worn just as many herself, it baffled her to have bypassed this side of Coulson for years. It reminded her that she had overestimated her control and awareness of what went on around her. Too often, she spent her time rolling and mingling in others' worlds, in turn alienating her own. She was more involved in her missions' universes than the one she returned to.
Fury received them in the main control room. "I need you two." He pointed at Natasha and Clint. "Coulson, I've got a brief waiting for you. It's in your profile's locker."
Tuning out the confusion on his subjects' faces, he led the field agents away to one of the laboratories. All without a word. Dull white paint replaced the reflective silver and obsidian of the walls as they went deeper into the facility. The telltale mix of chlorine and iodine diffused into the air. Then into a decontamination room, where a fine mist sprinkled them from head to toe, before the doors slid open.
"Agents," Fury started. "Before I begin, just remember that you have the choice to decline to anything I ask of you."
Natasha and Clint acknowledged his words with a nod and followed him into the room set out before them, scanning the place with wary eyes. Only a fool wouldn't feel unease. If Fury actually gave you say in matters, it had to be serious.
"We just set Rogers out his cage yesterday, y'all know that?" Fury said, then chuckled. "Of course you do. Coulson doesn't miss a thing, does he?"
Natasha tried to push away the image of Coulson, quieter than ever, shuffling salt and pepper shakers around while Rogers passed by. He sure didn't let anything pass unnoticed. But did that necessarily mean anything?
A table lined the end of the room, with a few swivel chairs parked against its edges. Fury gestured with a hand for them to sit down.
"The Hulk is no news to you, agents." He set his clasped hands on the table.
"It was but a year ago, Director, and green giants aren't easy to forget," Natasha said. "This isn't a mission, I hope."
"No no no. Not a mission." Fury pulled a face, like she'd just said something stupid. "Now, I'm gonna lay out the risks beforehand. This can be dangerous."
Natasha furrowed her brows in confusion. Fury was winding and twisting his words into an incomprehensible knot.
"What's dangerous? Are you gonna send Romanoff to monitor Banner next? Don't you have people doing that already?" Clint shifted in his seat.
"Are you listening, Barton? I said this ain't a mission."
Clint crossed his arms and went silent. Fury took the opportunity to resume. "As I said." He threw a haughty glance. "There's a risk factor in this, but what have we done that didn't include some risk?" Fury produced a remote and turned on the screen mounted on the wall beside them. Footage of last year's Harlem wreckage blinked on.
"We just concluded Project Recovery yesterday. I guess you can call it another rip off of the Super Soldier Serum, but I don't care."Fury said it like they should have known about Project Recovery since their day of birth, unconcerned at the clueless faces before him.
"Surely what happened to Blonsky didn't slip out your mind, sir?" Natasha asked. How many things were Fury gaming with at once? Extraterrestrial research, Phase Two, The Avengers Initiative, Captain America, the usual missions and regulations, and now this. Out of all things to do with S.H.I.E.L.D running like an overheating machine, he's clogging the engines with yet another dilemma.
"I'm not stupid. Our approach is different. We produced recombinant DNA using Rogers' as a blueprint, see? Therefore we know exactly what to expect in the recipients."
"Then what's the risk factor?"
"It's impossible to predict its effectiveness; whether you'll be able to lift a pound heavier or a hundred and how well your body will adjust."
"You want us as lab rats." Her stare flattened.
"A lab rat. One of you is enough." Fury nodded at Clint. "I suggest you consider this, the healing properties will fix your bones in no time. I've seen your X-rays."
"Barton can wait it out. He'll be cleared for combat in two weeks." Natasha defended at Fury's attempts to lure Clint in.
"Well then Romanoff, you're in?"
"Why us? I'm sure there are agents lining up for the job. Shouldn't you keep us as far from enhancements like this as possible?"
"Enthusiastic individuals are the one thing I'm trying to avoid here. Nothing good ever comes from them."
"Fine. I'll do it."
"Natasha!" Clint exclaimed beside her.
"Such positive response," Fury jested. "You both want to? It's no trouble."
"No, I will." Natasha headed for the door she presumed to lead to the project in question.
"She'll keep that pretty face." Fury smirked at Clint's glare. "Won't turn green and ugly even if she wanted to."
"Then what's with mentioning the Abomination and the Hulk?" Clint shot back.
Fury snorted. "That was Sheerin's idea of a joke. This is nothing close to Ross' serum, don't worry." He opened the door and stepped in, vanishing from their sight.
"Don't." Clint clenched his fists in his lap. "Natasha, he gave you a choice. You don't have to do this."
Natasha sat back down and spun her chair to face him. "I'll be fine. He said so himself."
"Yeah? And you're positive he's telling you the truth? Is that really a gamble you're willing to play?"
Natasha plucked at a loose thread on her shirt to detour from her impending irritation. If anything, that question worked against his intentions. "I do what I want, Clint. I don't need you proofreading my every decision."
"And you're not doing the same to me? Fury asked me first, and I would've agreed if it wasn't for you sticking your tongue into my business."
"You're in no shape for this."
"He said it can help me. What's wrong with that?"
"And he tells you everything?"
"I won't let them play genetics on you." He reached forward to pry her fingers from her shirt and locked them with his.
"For fuck's sake, Clint. I won't let them to you." A sickening feeling wrenched inside her at the thought of someone tinkering with him in any way. Still, she attempted to wrest her hands away.
"Romanoff, get a move on!" Fury's yell penetrated the wall.
"I'll be ok." She managed to yank herself free. Clint looked like he was on the cusp of doing something more and she didn't need her decision to crumble.
"Tasha, please…" His voice faded as she escaped through the door and shut him out.
"What's with the Titanic in there?" Fury asked, his face passive. "Was I not clear that you won't die or go crazy?"
"You were clear, sir. We weren't having any problems."
He snorted and wagged a thumb at a TV in the corner. "Not what my little eyes told me."
Natasha cursed herself for the slip. After a week of letting herself go, she almost forgot that she priorities switched once back in S.H.I.E.L.D. Cameras and ears everywhere. Home was the place to raise her alarm.
"Alright, Ms. Romanoff. Chair's over there. I'll go prep." She recognized Sheerin's voice. The scientist darted behind the white curtains. So that's what you're really here for, she thought.
Natasha sat down and said, "Are the effects instantaneous?" She didn't know who she expected to answer.
"No," Sheerin replied. "You'll ease into it. The formula will alter the maximum amount of cells as possible, then it's a matter of waiting for those cells to multiply and replace your old ones." He emerged with a metal tray and knelt in front of her, smeared an alcohol wipe over her arm, then jabbed a needle in. The amber liquid inside winked as it invaded her bloodstream.
"Assuming that all goes well, what happens?" Natasha asked.
"We don't know. That's why you're here." Sheerin extracted the needle and handed her a wad of gauze to press over the puncture. The surrounding flesh had swollen.
"Take these pills." He gave her a bottle from the tray. "Once a day only, don't overdose. It'll terminate cell division in your old cells and accelerate in the ones with the new marker proteins. Headaches are a known side effect for the first few days of usage, but it should fade in less than a week. Don't use Aspirin or Tylenol or anything like that. Let me know if something goes wrong, 'kay?"
Natasha nodded, slipped the pills into her pocket, and was about to go when Sheerin flapped his gloved hand at her. "Where do you think you're going? You're staying here for at least twelve hours before clearance. Your room's to the right, take a left turn at the second intersection, first room in that corner."
"But-"
"I'll tell Coulson and Barton." Fury volunteered. They won't miss you, I've got work cut out for them."
Her concerns somewhat pacified, Natasha followed Sheerin's directions to her quarantine room, no bigger than a prison cell with just enough room for a cot and a low table. The full magnitude of what just happened slammed into her as the blank walls closed around her.
What did she just do to herself?
How much of what Fury told her was the truth? Why did she agree to this when she could have, like Clint had begged her do, rejected the offer?
She wanted to trust Fury.
She wanted to prove herself wrong. That she wasn't the equivalent of a drugged tiger in a circus, living in a different reality and suppressed by a dose of lies.
When the clock on the wall ticked five, she remembered her pills and popped one into her mouth. There was no water in the room, and she had to down it dry. The bittersweet mix of the green sugar-coating and the black insides had her sucking on her tongue for hours to chase the taste away.
At some point she supposed that that's it. Nothing would happen to her. Her skin looked fine, and she felt fine. She didn't have x-Ray vision or iron flesh or whatever else Captain America had to brag about.
She wasn't sure when Clint came into her thoughts, but when he did, she wished he hadn't. She lied on her stomach in the cot and thought about how much warmer she would be with him here. It wasn't that she was cold, but she wouldn't mind having sure arms to hold her or to wipe away the cold sweat on her forehead.
The headaches started just when she managed to drift off.
She couldn't find Clint the next morning. Chagrin followed her like the throb in her head; she had looked forward to letting him know that she was ok. With reluctance, she sought out the one person she knew apart from Fury who had perfect control over everyone's whereabouts.
Hill had her eyes half on her laptop and half on the fork in her hand, digging into her Styrofoam cup for little worms of noodles. "Agent Romanoff," she greeted, and wiggled her fork at Natasha.
"Agent Hill. Have you seen Barton around?"
"Not today, I'm afraid."
"Well, what about Coulson?"
"Fury sent him off to Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S yesterday afternoon. Actually, why aren't you and Barton with him? It was in the logged instructions."
"I'm sorry?" She got more confused by the second.
"Fury called you all in yesterday for the flight to the Adirondacks, didn't he? Coulson's already there according to the satellites. I don't know what you two are doing here." Hill adjusted the laptop screen and opened a new window. "You want to know where Barton's at? I need to check anyway, he's not supposed to wander around..." Hill trailed off as her attention turned to her typing.
"No, thank you." Natasha wanted to find him herself. "I should head over to P.E.G.A.S.U.S now?"
"As soon as possible. I'd prefer you to go with Barton though. We've limited birds to spare with all the upgrading and shipping Phase Two material around."
Duty came first. Natasha gave up her hunt to read the brief Coulson had uploaded while she was away. Yet another dull assignment. Overlooking progresses with the Tesseract; like she was any use in that department. If this was Fury's idea of pulling Coulson away from the hustle bustle of Central, he'd struck gold. Natasha couldn't think of anything more yawn-inducing than crawling inside P.E.G.A.S.U.S's rabbit holes, watching specialists and analysts and scientists and whatever else "-ists" in existence hobble around with tests and cart.
Her room's door clicked just when she finished reading. Clint slipped in and started to pack her things for her like he was scheduled to do so. Natasha watched him cram in her belongings, grab her lipstick—her favorite one with the cold cap—off the top of her drawers and hammer it in along with other various items she had no idea he knew she'd need.
"So," he said once he zipped up the bag and hoisted it over a shoulder. "Let's go."
She barely managed a nod and followed him out. The faint sound of a shaking pill bottle jingled from somewhere. Strange, Natasha remembered putting it away before Clint came.
...
"You feel anything out of place, Nat, you tell me. You hear?" He said from the back of the jet. Less than ten minutes had passed since boarding and he had already lost control over his worry. It didn't help that he was prohibited from piloting. One less distraction.
"For the four hundred and twenty-third time, I'm ok."
"That's not what I'm asking. I want you to tell me if something does happen."
She couldn't help but snap. "I wish you'd gotten the damn shot yourself so you can shut up."
"Kinda makes me regret not shutting you up yesterday."
"Alright. We're turning back." Natasha gave the jet a violent jerk to the left. "If you want it so bad then go ahead. See if I care."
No response. She steered them back on course and looked back at Clint. He had his headphones on and his tablet shielding his face. Too late to fix her words.
I'm not sorry, she convinced herself.
Agent Blake received and drove them to Coulson, who in turn showed them their quarters and had them report to his makeshift office. There wasn't much to discuss; he looked fed up with their assignment already. Except now Natasha couldn't tell if it's because he had to leave Rogers or his orchestra lady.
"Barton, keep a close eye on Selvig. He's been contacting family and friends. I want all forms of communication confiscated. And you." Coulson turned towards Natasha. "Watch Barton."
Thanks for reading!