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: Yes, I consider this a fast update for a chapter this size :)
Chapter 30
They brought Clint to the infirmary, and it took all her restraint to watch as they strapped him into a chair, wrists, midriff, legs, ankles. They looked skeptical about her staying, but left without argument, although two of them stationed themselves outside the door. Natasha sat next to him. When she couldn't stand it anymore she got up and removed all his restraints save the ones on his arms. Just touching him, a brush against his shirt here or his pants there, riled a hurting something that reminded: this person had, in the past forty-eight hours, allied with the enemy, shot Fury, ransacked public and private possessions, laid ruins to a good chunk of the Helicarrier ("If you're coming through the Wishbone hallways, well, they're not there anymore," Coulson had said), almost sent everyone on the ship into the Atlantic. Manipulated or not, she looked at him and couldn't shake the feeling off. He had aimed rogue bullets and arrows with eyes that had smiled at her. Stolen S.H.I.E.L.D property with arms that had held her. Yanked her hair with fingers that had combed through said hair. And the way he fought... not the style but the malice fueling it... cranked a rusted lever in her memory, a lever that she couldn't undo.
Clint stirred an hour, maybe two, later. It began with a twitch of a leg, that, stretched out across Natasha's unfocused vision, had snapped her back to attention. Then the same leg bent, knee rose and fell. He sucked in a noisy breath of air that inflated his chest. When his eyes opened he blinked a few times, then without warning, lurched forward as far as his cuffed hands would let him.
Seeing the restraints, he slowly leaned back, breathing hard. A sudden, violent shudder, and he began to shake his head, over and over, squeezing his eyes shut, his fists tightening and loosening, strained noises pushing past gritted teeth. He wouldn't look at her.
"Clint," Natasha said. "You're gonna be alright."
He glowered at his knees, shoes. "You know that?" He snickered, the sound so unlike him. "Is that what you know?"
She got up to pour him a glass of water. Anything would be good to tone out his brittleness.
"I..." He tipped his head back and sighed. "...I got no window... Have to flush him out..."
"You gotta level out, it's gonna take time."
"Oh, you don't understand, I..." He panted. "You ever had someone take your brain and play? Pull you out... stuff something else in? You know what it's like to be unmade?"
She tensed, and turned to meet his hesitant gaze. "You know that I do."
He looked away. Must have realized the ironic sting in his words. "Why am I back?" He asked. "How'd you get him out?"
"Cognitive recalibration. I hit you really hard on the head." Natasha sat down on the edge of the patient chair.
"Thanks."
She allowed herself a smile.
He looked at her, looked at her with wide, in-shock eyes and she couldn't help it. She began to unfasten the restraints on his wrists.
"Natasha, how many agents did I-"
"Don't." She cut him off. "Don't do that to yourself, Clint. This is Loki. This is... monsters and magic and nothing we were ever trained for."
"Loki. He get away?"
"Mm. Don't suppose you know where."
"Didn't need to know. Didn't ask."
She rose and walked to the door, eyeing the guards posted outside.
"He's gonna make his play soon, though," Clint continued. "Today."
"We've got to stop him." Natasha turned around.
He had moved to the side of the chair, drinking the water she had poured. "Yeah? Who's 'we'?"
"I don't know. Whoever's left."
He nodded to himself, not questioning who "whoever" consisted of. "Well, if I put an arrow through Loki's eye socket, I'd sleep better, I suppose." He chuckled softly to his own idea.
Natasha returned to sit next to him. "Now you sound like you."
"But you don't," he said. "You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war. Why?" His eyes flicked over her. "What did Loki do to you?"
"He didn't—I just—" Her throat caught. She poked her tongue around the inside of her cheek and stared down at her hands.
"Natasha."
She ran and reran the words in her head.
"I've been compromised," she said. "I've got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."
Clint stared at the wall, eyes blank, not saying a word of response but she knew. Knew that he knew.
"It's not you."
"I know. But that doesn't change anything, Natasha. I still helped-"
"Good. Shouldn't change the fact that you're my friend."
Who knew "friend" could hold so much negative intonations? Yet how could she say more?
Clint nodded, his unquestioned acceptance hurting more than she wanted to admit. His hands plucked the white chair cover like he was getting rid of a smudge. She wanted them around her. But she sat rigid, watched him watch his hands and listened to the scratching noises on cloth, then at last, she dared move her arm to his shoulder and squeezed softly, and that was all she could do.
"Go clean up," Natasha told him. "Wash the sweat off."
He went into the bathroom, and while the water ran she remembered something—the new uniform Coulson had had him wear when they were in P.E.G.A.S.U.S—did it survive the facility's downfall? She opened and closed the door quietly and set out for the one place it had to be in: Coulson's locker.
Walking around in the dim room of two-by-three feet compartments, Natasha located the aisle Coulson's was in. Someone was already there, rummaging through Coulson's things.
"Director Fury?" She asked, coming closer.
He looked up at her. "Agent Romanoff." Slipped something into his coat pocket. "What brings you here?"
"I wanted to see if Barton's uniform might be in Coulson's locker. The one they made in Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S."
"Barton woke up?"
"Yes, just now."
"Well, I didn't see anything that looks like a suit in there, but go ahead."
After the main door clicked shut she looked around the locker. A few paper-sleeved CDs took up a corner, a few binders, a jar of colorful rocks, a collection of Portland Symphony Orchestra posters and brochures. The items brought a pang to her chest, and the hurt lingered for seconds before she recovered. Coulson's dead. No more chiding. No more suppressed intolerance for her antics. No more padding from the rough corners of S.H.I.E.L.D. No more of the grudging acceptance he had shown to her and Clint when he found them together. No more Coulson. No more.
Natasha moved the belongings around. There, at the back, Coulson's Captain America trading cards sprawled in a disheveled stack, missing a good portion of the complete set.
So that's what Fury took.
What was he doing with the cards?
There was, however, no uniform. She'd have to check-in with weapons' department, then. Before she closed the locker she took a card from the remaining stack and slipped it into her pocket.
Returning to Clint with the suit, along with the redesigned quiver and arrowheads she had also managed to find, she leaned them against the wall. He came out from the bathroom not long after.
"Hey, these made it out?" He bent down to inspect the items.
"Mmm. Yours now."
He slid his fingers along the length of the quiver, then brushed them over the arrowheads in their foam padded box.
"I shouldn't."
"Clint. Stop."
"I can't take these."
He began to move away. Natasha held him back by his arm. He was rocks and embers against her skin and brought the hottest fires blistering her insides. "Take them."
"What makes you think I will?"
"Because Fury isn't stupid. We need you."
"You don't understand. I—"
"—Shot Fury. I know. But he's not dead. And knowing Fury that's good enough for him."
"Nat..."
"I want to see you using these when the time comes."
Clint went silent. He kept running his hands over his new possessions, never picking them up but expressing enough interest nonetheless to keep his feet rooted. Was she above wanting her skin under his palm instead? If only she could say yes.
"Give me a minute." He sighed, and locked himself inside the bathroom again.
Ten minutes later and he still wasn't out. Maybe she should leave him and go occupy herself elsewhere? Just when she made to leave, the infirmary door hissed open.
"Time to go," Rogers said.
"Go where?"
"I'll tell you on the way. Can you fly one of those jets?"
The bathroom door clicked open. "I can," Clint offered, a towel in hand.
Rogers looked at him, then at Natasha. She nodded her assent.
"Got a suit?" He asked Clint.
"Yeah."
"Then suit up." He left at that.
Clint stood over the P.E.G.A.S.U.S armaments again. "Guess you win."
Natasha took the damp towel from his hand and pressed it to the bruise on his nose. "Get out there and talk about win and lose. Not with me."
He gave a faint smile, picked up his gear and walked out the door. "I'll see you in a bit."
When she saw him again he had changed into the suit. He waited by the entrance to the re-opened hangar bay, murmuring to something Rogers said. At the sight of her Rogers nodded and led them to the jet.
"Hey, you guys aren't authorized to be here," the pilot on board said.
"Son, just don't."
"Look. Captain America. Black Widow. Hawkeye. I get it. But that doesn't change anything. Protocol is still priority and I need to see your-"
Clint shot forth and pulled the pilot's arms into an unnatural bend, making him gasp. "Not a word if you want to keep your job."
The pilot nodded frantically. Clint loosened his hold and shoved him off the jet.
The violent streak about his movements became more prominent after that. Loki's damage wasn't something she could just knock out of him. Oh, what could she do? For how long would his behavior continue shifting? She would be there for him always, of course, but would he want her to? No, she was over-thinking. But she couldn't convince herself to stop. If aliens and legends could become the common tongue in a practical world like S.H.I.E.L.D, then what effort would it take to waver her hopes?
"Where to, Captain?" Clint asked.
"As close to Stark Tower as you can. Loki's opening his portal there."
"Stark's already on this?" Natasha asked.
To answer her, a gleaming white ray whizzed in front of the Quinjet. "Of course I am," Stark's voice came into her ear. "He's barging into my house. Don't land your bird, Barton."
"I'm not about to," Clint snapped back.
"Ok, ok. You two shut up." Natasha cut in. "We'll hover until further notice."
"And ignore Rogers. Don't come near Stark Tower. Play by my rules."
Sometime later a low rumble came from outside the jet.
A blinding blue beam charged straight into the sky from the Stark Tower. At a certain height it collided against an invisible ceiling and penetrated, bringing forth a crawling black void that began to spread, like a wound, a scar, and the little dots of light that shot through infected the clear blue.
Forget Stark's rules. They flew the jet towards the tower. "Stark, we're on your three, headed northeast," Natasha said.
"What, did you stop for drive-through?" he said, like he hadn't minutes ago told them to stay put. "Swing up Park, I'm gonna lay 'em out for you."
The jet began its decent until it had lowered to flank the buildings. Clint lowered the machine gun. "Nat, all yours"
The next intersection led to where the battle had festered. She fired at a pack of Chitauri flying by. The creatures tumbled out of their jet-ski machines. Clint tugged hard on the controller and the jet swung upwards, dove through a cloud of smoke, and narrowly missed the building ahead. Stark Tower loomed before them. The jet climbed, circling the tower and shooting down any Chitauri in its way. When it peaked the top-level Clint turned.
"Nat?"
"I see him."
Green and red cloaks on the tower's curving terrace. Loki and Thor. She opened fire.
A blue streak of light hit the left engine. The jet stumbled in the air and dipped. "We have twenty-seconds flight max," Clint yelled. "Cap, hold on tight."
Like a rollercoaster they tumbled through the air. Smoke spun around them and hindered sight. Each scrape of a wing against some building brought them closer to the ground. With the last thirty feet they crashed, their heads rattling as the jet plowed over pavement and dirt.
As soon as everything stilled Natasha unclasped her seatbelt and, with the others, deserted the wreckage. Outside dust had dirtied the air. Civilians ran abundant. A low, rolling rumble came from the sky. Natasha looked up.
A shadow—almost too small for the portal—swam through. Scaly and grayish. It writhed towards them, its length rivaling that of a city block. Teeth the size of doors interlocked. Sets of fins lined its sides and flapped. Soon it mad it to the ground level, knocking over traffic lights and statues. Closer still. Close enough that when it flew by Natasha she could reach out and touch it. At the end of the block it stretched its slug-like body upwards and turned back. Chitauri hopped like fleas off of its back and belly and latched on to windows and walls.
"Stark, are you seeing this?" Rogers asked.
"Seeing—still working on believing," Stark answered. "Where's Banner? Has he shown up yet?"
"Banner?"
"Just keep me posted."
The Chitauri began to take over the street they were on. The trio retreated behind a few upturned taxis. Rogers went off to scout. Clint looked under the bridge they stood on and huffed in frustration.
"We've got civilians trapped under," he said when Rogers returned.
Explosions followed his words, rolling down the street below. The bridge shook as if it was about to collapse.
"They're fish in a barrel down there," Rogers said.
A blast of blue whizzed past his face. The enemy had advanced. Seven of them, with more landing by the second, holding energy rifles. Natasha pulled out her guns.
"We got this, it's good. Go," she told Rogers.
He looked to Clint. "Y'think you can hold them off?"
"Captain, it'd be my genuine pleasure."
At that he rose from his cover and shot arrow after arrow at the aliens. Rogers nodded and jumped the bridge. When Natasha and Clint had dealt with the ones on ground they pushed forward, clearing and freeing civilians from inside and under vehicles.
The numbers flowing in soon overran the number of aliens they took down. Natasha reduced to close combat. The rifles. She needed to get a hold on one of those rifles. As she fought she kept trying to take possession of one, but those aliens had a grip stronger than any human's she's ever encountered. She hoisted herself onto the shoulders of one Chitauri, rocked backwards so that her thighs squeezed its throat, and when its hands momentarily loosened she snatched the rifle and stabbed it into its neck. As it dropped with a gurgling sound its slit throat sprayed her with black liquid.
Her attacks became much more efficient with her new weapon. With it she and Clint managed to gain ground once more. She kept an eye out for him, watching that dreadful edge to his movements. Yes, he was efficient. More than efficient. Armed with but his bow and arrows he dealt with four Chitauri at a time without trouble. But she saw it. When he whacked his bow onto a skull he swung it wider than needed. When he pierced necks with arrows he hammered them hard enough to nail heads into the ground. Only when he properly used the weapons did the Clint she was familiar with fade in. She watched him and grew conscious of herself. Then an idea hit her.
"S'just like Budapest all over again," she shouted over the gunfire.
"You and I remember Budapest very differently." His reply was seamless.
Momentarily her unease lessened.
She still had him.
After over three dozens of the creatures Rogers joined them. With three of them it got easier. But fresh ones kept dropping out of the sky and off buildings, and Rogers' presence lured substantial numbers to the fight.
A zzzzzap of lightning from above. White tendrils electrocuted the Chitauri into rancid corpses. Thor thudded onto the bridge. He limped towards them, body stiff.
"What's the story upstairs?" Rogers approached.
"The powers surrounding the cube is impenetrable," Thor said.
"Thor's right," Stark chimed in, though he's nowhere in sight. "You gotta deal with these guys."
"How do we do this?" Natasha asked.
"As a team," said Rogers.
Thor: "I have unfinished business with Loki."
"Yeah?" Clint said, cleaning an arrowhead. "Well get in line."
Rogers: "Save it. Loki's gonna keep this fight focused on us and that's what we need. Without him these things could run wild. We got Stark up top. He's gonna need us to-"
Out of the ruins came Banner, hunched over a small, battered motorbike.
He got off. The group walked towards him.
"So, this all seems horrible."
No trace of the Hulk. Just like he had taken a long bathroom break and came late to the fray. Did that mean she could brush off that flailing attack in the Helicarrier? No. But in a situation like this, it wouldn't be such a... horrible idea to...?
"I've seen worse," Natasha said.
He looked at her. "Sorry."
"No, we could—" she made up her mind. "—use a little worse."
He nodded, picking up on her lead, and it was like a cool stream of water had soothed the inflammation between them.
Meanwhile Rogers had alerted Stark of Banner's arrival. "Stark, we got him," he said.
"Banner?"
"Just like you said."
"Then tell him to suit up," Stark said. "I'm bringing the party to you."
The unceasing rumbles that enveloped the city grew louder. Stark swerved in from behind a building six blocks away. Behind him trailed the leviathan, rippling through the street.
Natasha frowned. "I don't see how that's a party."
Banner walked towards the creature.
"Dr. Banner," Rogers called. "Now might be a really good time for you to get angry."
Banner turned around. "That's my secret, Captain." He stopped and looked back.
The leviathan almost filled their line of sight.
"I'm always angry."
No labored breathing this time. No sweat. No saliva dribbling. In a second Banner shed into the Hulk. With a roar dwarfing what Natasha had heard in the Helicarrier he smashed his fist into the leviathan's head.
The monster's body flipped over itself with unsatisfied momentum, its back arching the wrong way. The armor on its body flaked off and clattered onto the street. The leviathan's body loomed, about to fall and crush anyone in its way. She couldn't move. Natasha stared at it and couldn't stop staring.
"Hold on!" Stark said. Something shot into the leviathan's exposed body from his direction.
Rogers shot in front of her and raised his shield over the both of them. Slimy, reddish-black chunks splattered onto the ground, hissing and steaming.
The hit had detoured the creature's demise, blasting it one street down. "Everybody ok?" Rogers shouted.
For a limited moment the group—team—acknowledged each other.
"Look," Rogers started. "We barely know one another. For some of you this is a first time meeting. I don't care. All I want is to end this mess. This is a very bad impression of-"
"Guys?" Natasha interrupted.
Out of the portal came two more leviathans, as well as a sudden influx of regular Chituari soldiers.
"Call it, Captain," Stark said.
"Alright, listen up." Rogers changed course in a flash. "Until we can close that portal up there, our priority is containment." He turned to Clint. "Barton, I want you on that roof, eyes on everything. Call out patterns and strays." To Stark. "Stark, you got the perimeter. Anything gets more than three blocks out, you turn it back or you turn it to ash."
"Wanna give me a lift?" Clint asked Stark.
"Right. Better clench up, Legolas."
In a blast they were gone. Next Rogers turned to Thor. "Thor, you've gotta try and bottleneck that portal; slow 'em down. You've got the lightning. Light the bastards up."
Thor swung his hammer and took off. Natasha's turn. "You and me, we stay here on the ground, keep the fighting here. And Hulk—"
The Hulk gave an attentive grunt.
"—Smash."
With a bend of his knees he jumped and latched onto the wall of a building. In moments he was out of sight.
Rogers looked at Natasha. With a raise of his shield he ran off where the Chitauri crawled thickest. Natasha took the opposite direction.
At the first squadron she launched onto the closest of the creatures, quickly snapped its neck and took its energy rifle. The next took her off guard and knocked her face first into the gravel with a staff. The rifle slipped from her grasp. Glass cut into her forehead. Blood warmed her skin. She rolled around just before the tip of a knife dug into her back, and reclaimed the rifle.
After countless aliens had dropped dead Rogers returned. In a frenzy she pointed the rifle at him. When she realized who he was she lowered the weapon, breathing hard.
"Captain, none of this is gonna mean a damn thing if we don't close that portal."
"Our biggest guns couldn't touch it."
She looked to the source of the portal. "Oh, maybe it's not about guns."
"If you wanna get up there, you're gonna need a ride."
"I got a ride." Natasha dropped the rifle and pointed at one of the flying chariots. "I can use a boost, though."
"You sure about this?" He asked, although he had already positioned his shield for her.
"Yeah. It's gonna be fun."
She ran at him, jumping on and off the hood of a car to land herself onto his shield, and he propelled her up into the air in time for her to grab the back of a chariot whizzing by. Her shoulder felt like it would dislocate, yanked from its socket. She reached and held on with her other hand. With a burst of energy she clambered on. She severed the back rider's linkage to the vehicle with her knife and kicked it out of the air. The knife went back in her belt, replaced by two small hooked daggers. Natasha launched herself onto the driver Chituari's back. The daggers sank into its flesh. It gave an insect-like, slurping sound.
The chariot, which had been steered by shoulder movement on the alien's part, spun aimlessly now that her blades had disabled the muscles. She used the impaled daggers to shift its body around and willed the chariot to obey. After a bounce off the edge of a building she managed to take control. Another chariot pulled up to hers and fired. A second later it was gone. Stark blasted pass her. "Sweet ride," he said.
Not soon after another found her. Natasha looked behind.
"Oh, you."
Loki showered shots at her. She looked around. No one in sight. Clint... Clint had to spot her.
"Hawkeye!" She called out.
"Nat, what are you doing?"
"Uh, a little help?"
And she saw him, perched atop a roof ahead. She swung the chariot to the right to lay Loki in a clearer range.
"I got him..."
A shrieking explosion followed his reply.
Stark Tower was right below. She flipped off the chariot and tumbled onto gravel and sand.
The machine yards away stood over eight feet, quivering with a blue force field. Black wires fanned out like arteries. In the center spun the Tesseract. And to the side of it all, propped up on an elbow, Erik Selvig leaned and looked over the edge into the battle.
"The scepter..."
"Doctor?" Natasha crouched down next to him.
"Loki's scepter... the energy... the Tesseract can't fight. You can't protect against yourself."
"It's not your fault. You didn't know what you were doing."
"Well, actually I think I did." Selvig looked past her at the machine. "I built in a safety to cut the power source."
"Loki's scepter..." Natasha caught on.
"...It may be able to close the portal." His gaze shifted down again. "And I'm looking right at it."
She left him and, with a grappling hook clawed onto the roof's edge slid down a rope to where the scepter lay on the penthouse. On the other side of the broken glass, Loki stretched out on the ground, cradled by a crater of smashed flooring material, his eyes bulging, chest heaving. Natasha picked up the icy scepter and straddled across the ruined wall, her boots crunching white glass. She stood over Loki and poked him with the scepter.
His eyes rolled around and focused on her. A toothy, open-mouthed smile pulled on his face.
"That's how I took Barton, you know?" He patted the scepter's silver tip where it pushed against his heart. "Just like that."
She felt something rip, like it was her the scepter dug into, and she pushed it harder into him.
"I sense your doubts," he continued, unfazed. "I sense your doubts of him. The lies and excuses you use to cover them up. You better wrap them warm around yourself if you want to keep your blood that hot and your spirit that ardent, Natasha Romanoff. Even now I feel it inside you. Windstorms and sandstorms and thunderstorms. It's a rare thing."
She blinked, expressionless. "That's nice," she commented. "It's a nice sentiment. Saved it for what?"
Loki's grin resurfaced. "I guess we'll find out."
Natasha lifted the scepter off his chest and left him. Not enough oxygen. She stood with the wind in her hair and couldn't breathe. Once she turned out of Loki's sight, she leaned against a wall to catch her breath, then she pulled herself up the rope again and rejoined Selvig.
"Stand right there." Selvig pointed to a spot near the machine. "Right at the crown." He stooped to erect a fallen laptop stand and began clicking furiously on it.
Natasha pushed the scepter past the force field, and its energy vibrated everything it touched, until her skin shook under her suit and her heart shook even harder. Blue and white sparks sputtered and swirled.
"I can close it," she said. "Can anybody copy? I can shut the portal down."
"Do it!" Rogers replied at once.
"No, wait." —Stark.
"Stark, these things are still coming!" Rogers protested.
"I've got a nuke coming in. It's gonna blow in less than a minute... and I know just where to put it."
"Stark, you know that's a one way trip?
A nuke? Were their own kind against them, too? Stark whizzed towards the tower, holding the bomb over his head. A sudden arched ascent. He zoomed pass the top of the tower just yards away from Natasha. Higher. Higher. White smoke billowing. Melding into the blue mouth of the portal—and gone.
Nothing. Nothing happened. Then a fiery spark from the other side ignited. The flying chariots and the leviathans dropped from the sky. Chitauri untacked from walls and roofs.
"C'mon, Stark..."
The growing supernova rolled closer.
It would reach them in no time.
"Close it." Rogers' voice was resigned.
Natasha jabbed the scepter into the base of the machine.
The energy beam dissipated. The portal contracted and warped. Just when it completely sealed shut something fell through.
As he plummeted her relief soared.
The machine before her ebbed and died. Natasha withdrew the scepter and threw it to the side. Selvig had retreated to a corner, curled up, arms wrapped around his knees and rocking back and forth.
"Doctor, it's ok." Natasha put her hand on his shoulder.
He didn't listen. He muttered to himself. She leaned in closer and could make out nothing but gibberish. Then he scrambled off the ground and ran around, jabbering and yelling at the sky. When he stumbled dangerously close to the edge of the roof Natasha pulled him back and shook him. "Doctor Selvig, with me. Now."
Selvig squirmed. Out of options, she drew a length of thin cord from her belt and bound his wrists, then his ankles. Still he rolled around. She tied him to the portal machine.
"Agent Romanoff?" Rogers said. "We've got Stark. We're coming to the tower now.
Oh, god. Hopefully the whole battle scene didn't bore you to death.
Note: Speech/scene changes did occur to help with flow.
Film dialogue quiz: A two-line exchange from earlier in the movie has been transferred into this chapter, said by different people under different circumstances. Extra cheese on your pizza if you found it!