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: On with the rewrites: In a previous A.N I've said that I'd most likely delete the Thor chapters as I go about chopping out the side POVs, but after taking a look at what those chapters actually consisted of I decided to condense all of Thor into one chapter (the only chapter in Clint's POV when rewrites are complete, hopefully) because turning that all into exposition or into dialogue wouldn't be pulling its weight, and people who haven't seen Thor might be in a daze.
Also, I really hope this story can make it over the 100K mark. I've all the remainder chapters written and it doesn't seem likely... especially when I'm deleting so much from the beginning. :/
The city was loud but the city was quiet. The chaos hadn't ceased even with the Chitauri gone. Or dead, at least. Helicopters replaced flying chariots. The army took their turn at herding and cornering civilians. Up on the top of Stark Tower, her legs dangling over the roof, Natasha looked at the patch of sky where the blue had healed over, unmarked, unaffected, mocking the destruction of everything beneath.
Whirring footsteps behind her. "Can't get a better view, I know," Stark said. "Usually."
"How was the view up there?" She gestured to where the portal had been with the scepter in her lap.
"Absolutely horrific. Too bad I couldn't video it." He paused, then started again. "Something wrong with Selvig?"
"Loki's spell. Regressing. I don't know."
"Barton... what about him?"
"..."
They faded into silence. Natasha cradled Loki's scepter in her arms, ran her nails into the engraved, sloping designs along its shaft, touched the scale-like golden plates at its neck, the beginning of the silver, curved top, the blue stone that, without its glow, looked like something from a dollar store.
"You need to come in." Stark broke the stalemate.
She followed him back inside. The team was there already, standing around watching Thor tie Loki up. Clint had an arrow nocked and aimed. Natasha shook her head at him.
"I am taking Loki back to Asgard come morning," Thor said.
"Yeah, about that. Get him out of here quick as you can,"Stark said. "Government's sending their sniffing dogs out soon."
"I would like for you all to be present at our departure."
"Done deal."
"Thor," Natasha said. "Erik Selvig is here. You might want to see him."
Thor perked at that. The team, save the Hulk, who stayed behind to watch Loki, ascended to the roof. Thor kneeled and put his hands on Selvig's shoulders.
"Erik?"
"...Thor?"
"Are you feeling alright?"
"Yeah. I—"
"Agent Romanoff said otherwise. Erik, are you alright?"
"No, not really." Selvig rubbed his eyes.
"Have you a clue what Loki did to you?"
"He made me feel... I've always wanted to know so much about the universe..." His head drooped in exhaustion. "But he gave me the wrong sort of knowledge... Now that I got my head back I—" Yawn. He didn't finish his sentence.
Natasha looked at Clint beside her. He stared at Selvig.
"What do we do with Selvig? Is S.H.I.E.L.D gonna pick him up or?" Stark asked. "I wasn't joking about that shawarma, you know?"
Natasha only half-listened to the group as Thor helped Selvig into the tower and onto a couch, as they locked up Loki, bound him to Thor's hammer, as the Hulk returned to Banner and they set out on the streets, followed Stark (out of his suit) into his lovingly described shawarma place.
The restaurant, living up to Stark's faith, was miraculously still open. Dim, flashing-on-and-off cheap lighting struggled to illuminate. A chalkboard menu leaned against the yellowed wall, on the brink of sliding to the sticky, tile floor.
The chef behind the counter had lightbulb eyes that wouldn't stop blinking as Banner wordlessly gathered a cluster of bistro tables into one, long rectangle, and Rogers helped arrange the chairs.
Stark went up to the chef. "We'll eat whatever you make. Just make it quick."
The group sat around the table. Thor occasionally got up to watch the chef cook. Banner and Rogers inspected an uninteresting spot on the table. Stark swallowed his third dose of Apsirins with a glass of weak tea and went through a half whining, half comforting phone call with Pepper that became the only noise in the place other than the sizzle and splatter of oil. Greasy, filling smells began to heat the room.
Something poked Natasha's side. Clint looked at her with his head low, his eyes rolling up so that it looked like he was glaring at her. His shoe kept prodding her. He mouthed something along the lines of let's go outside. She slapped his shoe away, but he rapped it onto her chair with harsh frustration, still staring, insistent as ever. So now he wanted to talk.
The food came in steaming red fast food baskets: thick toasted flatbread encasing shredded chicken, cabbage and cucumbers, half the filling falling out with the first bite. After the preliminary minutes of roaring appetite everyone slowed down, except Banner and Thor. Rogers stirred a puddle of ketchup with a french fry. Stark sweeped the crumbs on his basket with greasy fingers, licked them, and wiped his hand on his pants. Natasha chewed the same mouthful for five minutes until she had sucked out the last trace of flavor.
"What I think—" Stark sat up straight in his chair. "—is that you guys should stay in Stark Tower tonight."
"I have S.H.I.E.L.D," Rogers said.
"S.H.I.E.L.D's got plenty to deal with. I say you'd do them a favor by staying away a while. And you, Thor—your brother's fine where he is right now. Why move him around? Banner's got a residence permit with me already. Barton and Romanoff, I'm not sure about you two..."
"Stark Tower sounds fine to me."
"No," Natasha said. "We're returning to S.H.I.E.L.D."
Clint stayed silent after that. His arms flexed in a way that holding a sandwich shouldn't have required. He began to squeeze his eyes shut and stay still for seconds on end, frowning whenever a sound louder than crumpling wax paper disturbed him.
Before anyone could get up to pay she slapped a fifty-dollar bill in front of Stark. He looked at her knowingly and paid the waiter.
When did it happen? When did Clint hit his limit? Out of a sudden he shot up from his seat. Out the doors. Boots slamming into rubble ground into her ears. Natasha bolted after him, almost tripping over the chalkboard that had fell onto the floor. He was faster than she remembered and already one block ahead. She caught up. He stopped, pushed his palms against the door of an upturned taxi. Breathed with his whole body.
"Clint. Clint."
He shook his head.
Before she could say or do more the sound of a Quinjet grew close. It landed half a block away. A troop of four white-coats rushed out, and in seconds they shoved him flat against the car. Natasha watched. Her limbs refused to move. One of the medics drew a syringe from his great white pocket and stabbed the needle between Clint's shoulder blades. As the clear solution drained into him the heat drained from her body.
"How long did he go without it?" One man asked another.
"Two hours. Three max."
"He needs stronger doses."
"He needs different doses."
Before Natasha could get a word in, Fury stepped off the jet.
"It's for his own good, Romanoff."
She turned to him. "You didn't tell me anything about this."
"Well now I did. You seem to have figured it out by yourself, anyway."
Clint had passed out. The medics struggled to get him into the jet.
"What is he on?" She asked.
"Concentrated tranquilizers. I've got Sheerin working on something that'd suit him better."
Sheerin... Why Sheerin? The answer didn't hit her. It had paced and fretted in her mind's cage too long to surprise her.
"Barton took the Project Recovery serum, didn't he?"
"He asked."
The medics called for Fury to board the jet. He nodded, and guided Natasha along with him by her shoulder. She felt lightheaded. "This... the tranquilizers... they're temporary?"
"'Temporary' is a wide range," he said. "Treat it like a live thing. It's all about environment. Which brings me to something else I need to talk to you about, but we'll get to that tomorrow."
S.H.I.E.L.D Central seemed the most surreal thing. In a daze she watched Sheerin enter Clint's hospital room, click around on a monitor screen set up by his bed, draw blood samples, avoiding her. Which was easy to do anyway; she kept her distance. When a few nurses came in to change him out of his uniform the imprints of seams and zippers that dug into his skin were an overdue wake-up call, an alarm clock she'd been pressing snooze on, and she had to accept that he had changed, more than just Loki's work. While the serum had minimal visible effects on her, on Clint it took off. Sheerin rambled on about the success as he worked. Success? She had never lost more.
He woke within an hour, right after Sheerin left in the late afternoon. Had he been awake the whole time? It took one look at those confused, then surrendering eyes for her to conclude that no, he had just regained consciousness. She settled onto the edge of his bed and adjusted the tilt so he can sit up.
"They told you?" His gaze was testing.
"More or less."
She took his cold hand in her cold hands.
"Where's Coulson?"
"Helicarrier. He's holding HQ while Fury deals with Manhattan."
"What's he gonna do with us?"
She squeezed his hand.
"What will that mean?" He asked again. "Will Fury—"
"I don't know. I don't know."
"What do you know?"
She couldn't answer.
He took his hand from hers and pulled her gently by her arm. "I couldn't find a way to tell you about the tranquilizers. I almost did."
"But you didn't want to." She didn't look at him; kept enough tension to let him know that she wanted him to release her. "If I was... if I was a hard drive for you to just upload and delete files with, you wouldn't have told me."
"Because your disk space was crammed enough."
"But that's not what I am."
"Then what are you?" His voice shifted to razors and spikes. "Tell me what you are. You get orders. You execute them. You don't think. You're a machine on steroids that does everything with so much hate. If I tell you anything, you're gonna save it, aren't you? Then give it away to the highest pay? Kill your client right afterwards and sack everything they have? That's what you do, right? And that's only the bottom of the list."
Expanded his mind. Loki did not lie.
He was squeezing her arm hard enough to bruise. She didn't notice. Before, he had told her that Loki stuffed something else into his brain but he wouldn't tell what; nevertheless his actions had left a trail of puzzle pieces that conjoined no matter how much she wanted to scramble them. Now the complete, chilling picture glared back at her. She didn't realize the full scope, how truly disgusting she used to be until she saw it reflected in him.
Natasha forced her arm to relax in his grip.
"Yes." She looked into the eerie blue pulsing behind his eyes. "But I won't let you do the same to me."
His features dried somewhat of the rage, shed into confusion. Then the realization caught up with him. He took his hand off her.
"Natasha... please..."
The monitor at the head of the bed recorded everything. A flat blue line erupting into spikes, piercing the otherwise black screen like knives and swords.
"I'm going back to the team," she said. "They're going to need an explanation."
He nodded. Didn't try to keep her. "And... if it's possible... can you find out when Coulson's coming? I have some things I need to..." He trailed off.
Maybe it was for the best; he'd learn the truth sooner or later. Maybe she just wanted to strike back at him. Natasha put her hand to the back of his neck and pulled him to her. As he rested his head on her shoulder she slipped the trading card from her pocket and stuffed it into his fist. Then she tore away from him and out off the room before she could watch him stare down at the card.