Same disclaimers as chapter 1.
AN: Hugs and kisses to my readers and reviewers. You guys make it easier to keep writing. Here's the next chapter! Hope the wait wasn't too grueling. Enjoy!
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"You know how I'm always having to tell you to relax?"
Clint's voice reached me as if from a long ways away. I turned to him slowly as we wove through the busy streets of Moscow. It'd changed little since I was a girl, and I greeted it with a mixture of nostalgia and apprehension, like meeting an old friend you weren't sure you still liked.
"Yes, why?" I asked absentmindedly, clinging closer to his arm against the evening chill. We were both dressed formally to attend the gala event that had been organized solely for covering a secret Triad meeting. And it was our cover to get in as well. It turned out our return from Greenland had coincided quite nicely with this event, which made things a lot easier for us. Even if I didn't like to admit it because the smugness on Clint's face whenever he said "I told you it'd work out," made me want to shoot myself in the foot. And the short amount of time left meant we didn't have to hide in dingy rat holes while we prepared. We got to stay at a five-star hotel, and I couldn't bring myself to complain with that.
I was wearing a simple black cutout dress with my thick curls pinned up, but Clint looked particularly dashing in his black suit and bowtie. I'd jokingly called him a "proper 007" when I'd first seen him emerge from the bathroom, but I hadn't been able to ignore the hungry growl deep within me when I'd approached him to straighten his bowtie and had been taken in by his deliciously appealing cologne. The change was a good one, as agents usually became accustomed to only smelling of sweat and blood.
"Because you need to relax," he said pointedly, shaking me gently to break me out of my musing reverie of times past in these same streets and of how Clint's handsome suit might look on the floor.
"I am relaxed," I said with an easy laugh that would have fooled anyone. Anyone except Clint. I'd found out quickly that I was particularly good at lying to manipulate information out of people, but all my techniques fell to ashes with Clint. It was like he could see right through me to the little girl he'd found all those years ago still hidden inside. And sometimes the ease with which he did it scared me.
He scoffed. "Just try, okay? You'll only fuck yourself up if you try to be perfect," he said calmly. "Besides, we're supposed to be a happy couple going to an important event. Yay!" he whispered with mock enthusiasm as the illuminating lights spilling out of the open doors of the event hall fell over us, casting a warm glow over Clint that made him look so unbearably attractive I wanted to hit him.
We walked, arms linked, towards one of the many young men in suits taking the names of guests to allow admission. "Names?" he said politely in a voice betraying a subtle Russian accent that actually stole a smile from me because of its familiarity.
"Mr. and Mrs. Smith," Clint readily replied. I tried not to snort. Clint had been in charge of coming up with false identities and sneaking our names into the guest list, so I'd known nothing of it. The boy quickly found and scratched off our names, bowing us in as he bid us a good time.
"Mr. and Mrs. Smith?" I asked incredulously as we walked away. Clint shrugged, but his familiar smirk was back.
"I thought it'd be funny," he answered simply as we entered a grand ballroom, the walls covered with exquisite tapestries and the high ceiling dominated by an enormous sparkling chandelier. The large room was already busy with hundreds of finely-dressed people, milling about to chat and eat or moving swiftly on the spacious dance floor.
"Let's dance," Clint said readily. I accepted; dancing was the fastest way to scope out the room in all directions without looking suspicious. Basic spy 101. The fact Clint was clinging tightly to my waist was merely a bonus.
We moved lithely in wide circles, our training somehow also lending us an easy grace as we held onto each other and let our eyes rove freely over the other's shoulder. On our third turn around the room, I muttered quietly into his ear, "Left side of the room, there's a door waiters are using to come in and out of, but there's two guests standing on either side that haven't moved since we started dancing. Probably bodyguards."
"Hm?" was the only vague response I received. I turned my head slightly to see Clint resting his chin gently on my pale shoulder with his eyes closed and the subtlest of smiles pulling gently at the corners of his lips. So, obviously I'd been the only one scoping. I slapped his back.
"Dammit, Clint, listen!" I said more insistently, though a small smile had crept on my lips as well. I shook it off, however, because tonight wasn't a night for smiles. I needed focus. He snapped up slightly as if someone had just woken him.
"What?" he said in a voice hinted with subtle annoyance, as if I was the one being obnoxious.
"That door over there," I said, spinning him so he faced it, "There's two men standing guard but there's a lot of traffic. I think we can sneak through." I pulled away from him as the song ended and weaved us through other dancers toward the edge of the room.
"You sure you don't want one more dance? We're gonna be working all night after this," he said with a wide grin. I rolled my eyes and turned away from him in way of answer. I seemed to have finally got him to focus, however, because he was the first to speak in regards to any sort of action plan.
"Well, the waiters are dressed nicely, so I'll fit right in, but you're a bit of a sore thumb, Tasha."
I'd long since stopped trying to fight him about calling me anything other than the nickname he'd given me on our first mission. Whatever I told him went in one ear and out the other before I was even done saying it, and the truth was, the stupid nickname had begun to grow on me.
"Meet me at the end of the hall those doors lead to. I'll find my own way," I said calmly, already mentally scanning the floor maps we'd memorized for another route. And it was looking a lot like I'd have to go through the vents. I groaned inwardly. Vents reminded me too much of my last mission.
Our eyes met as we acknowledged we'd be separating and we gave each other our nod at precisely the same moment. I expected him to leave right after but he still held my gaze. And I would have told him to fucking get going but I suddenly felt frozen in place by his stare. Finally, he seemed to blink himself out of it and turned without a word, disappearing into the swarm of tuxedos.
I turned on my heel, quietly making my way to the bathroom. It was enormous and clattering with women. Thankfully, the stalls were tall, tall enough to cover the vent in the wall I meant to go through. And the deafening chatter of the women was enough cover. I hovered near the stall where I knew the vent to be, pretending to powder my nose until a slim woman finally exited and I rushed in. I locked the stall, removed my stilettos and immediately set to work on opening the vent. Thankfully, it opened with ease and I was making my way through the large air vents in less than a minute.
Left. Right. Another right. I pulled up to a vent showing me thick red carpet through the grate and pulled it quietly out. I peeked my head through and saw Clint standing idly a few feet away with his back turned. I smiled, letting myself fall through and landing on the thick carpet soundlessly.
"Are you lost, sir?" I whispered into his ear in a vaguely Russian accent I didn't have anymore.
"Fuck!" he said, turning on the spot. I grinned. "I'm not sure if I should be worried or proud that you're the only person who can sneak up on me."
I shrugged, putting my shoes back on. "Come on. Let's find the goddamn meeting room," I said, turning down the hall. We moved quietly deeper and deeper into the building, dispatching more guards than I could count on all my fingers and toes. The closer I felt we were getting, the more my anxiety seemed to spike up. I imagined I could feel the blood pounding in my temple. The feeling wasn't pleasant. I could hear Clint padding quietly behind me and several times I seriously considered turning and telling him we should just go home, that we needed to get the hell out of here. I suddenly felt we'd bitten off more than we could chew. This was suicide.
I had to remind myself we were the best. I had to remind myself of Natalia, a little girl with her whole life ahead of her. Stolen. I kept myself moving forward for her. For me. I needed this.
"Tasha. Over there…" Clint whispered to me as he peeked over a corner. I pressed myself to him to peek over as well. Two guards flanking a large ornate red door. We suspected these to be the last. An organization as secretive as theirs would never allow anyone to be in the room of the meeting. They'd have to count on the surrounding area being well-protected. Tonight, they'd counted wrong.
Clint and I nodded and rushed around the corner, closing the space between us and the door in moments, each of us taking a guard before they could yell out any kind of warning. Mine fell to my feet with a snapped neck. Clint's fell with a line across his throat spurting red. I looked away.
"Ready?" he whispered as he came next to me to face the door. Normally, I would answer immediately. Not only because missions always depended on speed, but because I was always ready. But I found myself faltering. He turned to look at me quizzically, obviously noticing. I didn't meet his eyes. He turned forward again, standing next to me in silence.
We stood like that for several moments, Clint's head bowed, my eyes glued to the red door. I couldn't say why, but my stomach was knotted and my throat felt like I was being choked. I wasn't afraid. I didn't feel afraid. But I couldn't bring myself to move any further. To open that door. To face what might be inside. To face a swallowing darkness and have my soul sucked out again.
I shook away the thoughts. I reminded myself all I would find inside was three more targets, same as all the others. I touched Clint's hand softly to tell him that I was ready… and that I was grateful he waited for me without needing a reason. He looked up slowly.
"Okay," I whispered. Clint nodded and we both moved forward. We needed to be fast. After this moment, the element of surprise would be gone. With one final look in my direction, Clint pulled a gun and shot the lock on the door; I followed right after with a strong kick that made it burst open.
"To the floor! Get on the floor!" I yelled as I ran in, pulling my own gun from a hidden hip holster. The three men seemed to barely be reacting to the first gun shots as we ran in. They were seated around an unnecessarily large table, clad in fine suits, shouting calls of surprise in Russian. Two were dark-haired, one blonde, all of them in their late forties.
"Do what she says!" Clint yelled more viciously than I could have ever imagined him to be capable of. We each took hold of one immediately while Clint kept his gun poised on the third. I threw the first to the floor, one of the dark-haired ones, and pulled the two guns out from his sides. "You make a move and you die!" I heard Clint yell behind me.
I moved to take the blonde one from Clint as he went around to get the last one. I rid the blonde of his weapons while Clint handled the last one then moved around the front, his gun still at the ready.
"On your knees," I said. "I know you understand me. Get up!"
They moved slowly and I moved around to the front as well, Clint standing behind me. With their faces finally up, I could identify them. The one on the far left was Akim Safronov. The only blonde, of course, was Filipp Yarmonik. And the one of the right was Valentin Antonovich, who I remembered sometimes coming into the Black Widow facilities when I was a girl.
"Hands behind your head!" I yelled, my gun pointing from one to another in turn.
"Who the fuck are you!?" Safronov yelled back, his accent extremely thick, as he put his hands up. I stepped forward, suddenly incensed.
"What? You're saying you don't remember me?" I yelled, standing in front of him. I walked over to the blonde. "Do you remember me? Huh!? Natasha Romanoff ring any bells!?"
I walked over to Antonovich and I saw recognition flicker in his eyes.
"Yes. Yes, you were the budding prodigy. The girl who went missing years ago," he said, his accent just as thick.
"So you do remember. Except you didn't think I was missing. Let's not kid ourselves. You thought I was dead," I said, disturbed by the slight trembling in my voice.
"Death is common to us," Yarmonik, the blonde, finally spoke up.
"That's right. You send thousands of girls out every day to die. Who cares if they come back," I growled, my throat burning.
"We send fighters!" Yarmonik retorted.
"Girls! You send girls! Little girls! You monsters!" I screamed at a pitch even I didn't think I was capable of. "But I didn't die! I did come back."
I steadied my gun on Safronov on the left. His eyes widened before he clamped them shut.
"No! Open your eyes! Confront your death the way I was ready to do for you when I was seventeen! Open them!" I screamed. The shaking in my voice was back and more pronounced. I told myself it was my anger, all the resentment I'd ever felt welling up in me and tying my throat. He opened his eyes slowly, looking like a miserable coward. My finger readied on the trigger. I tried to tighten it, to shoot, but instead my whole arm seemed to start trembling, making the end of gun shake. I clenched my jaw and tried to tighten my grip to stop the shaking, but it only shook more. No! I couldn't look weak! Not in front of them!
I swung it toward the blonde, Yarmonik, who faced it much more bravely than his colleague. And still, my hand shook ever so slightly. And my finger refused to pull the trigger. WHY!? Frustration stung the back of my eyes. I clenched them shut and turned away with a groan. I didn't look at Clint. I couldn't.
I turned back around, training my gun on the last of them, but still the bullet would not shoot out. The pounding in my head was suddenly unbearable. I willed myself to tighten the trigger, I willed the bullet to come out, I willed them to just die, but none of the above happened.
"God damn it!" I yelled, turning away again. I came up next to Clint, my body facing the exit while his still faced the three men. I closed my eyes tight, my hand searching for Clint's, because he was suddenly my only anchor to reality, the only thing that kept me from slipping into my own personal darkness. His hand welcomed mine, with just the right touch of gentleness and strength, of comfort and security. And he knew. He just knew. I didn't have to tell him, but I felt his body shift as he raised his other arm.
I kept my eyes firmly shut as I heard the three gunshots and three resulting thuds as each of the bodies hit the floor in turn.
"Let's go," he said quietly. I didn't need to be told twice. I needed to get out of there. I let my hand slip from his and rushed out, suddenly wishing I was alone, because I couldn't face him and my shame at the same time. I could hear him behind me but he kept his distance. I was almost sprinting as we exited the building. I inhaled the night air deeply but found no relief. Suddenly, it seemed to smell disgustingly of blood. I continued rushing through the streets, Clint trailing behind me. We barely made the hotel room in time before the tears that had been burning my eyes suddenly erupted.
"Hey! Hey! It's okay!" Clint came toward me, trying to take me in his arms as I choked between sobs and gasps for breath. But it wasn't okay. It just wasn't. Whatever I was, I was not okay. I was broken beyond repair. And the pieces just didn't fit together anymore. They'd broken me and not even their deaths had been able to put me back together.
"It's not okay!" I gasped, trying to wrench away from him, but his strong hands held my arms firmly.
"It is! It is okay. I'm here," he said as I continued my struggles. I looked at him through watery eyes, suddenly feeling a burning hate toward him, too.
"NO! YOU'RE NOT! YOU LEFT ME! YOU LEFT ME! I WAS JUST A GIRL!" I screamed, pounding my fists against his hard chest since I knew all attempts to rip myself from his grip were futile. Every bad, angry, resentful thought I'd ever had about him during my first years at SHIELD suddenly all came rushing back to me, overtaking me like a wave, drowning me in hate and despair and the loneliness of a lost girl.
"You left me!" I kept screaming, over and over, my fists continuing to hit him, hurting me more than I'm sure it hurt him. And he was trying to say something, but I couldn't hear him over the rushing in my ears. Hot tears refused to stop stinging my eyes. I could feel my hair start to fall apart from all my furious twisting and wrenching.
"Tasha! Tasha, listen, please! Natasha!" I dimly heard him say. He clenched his arms around my back, suddenly, locking me to him with my arms pressed between us as he suddenly bowed his head and pressed his lips to mine.
I froze, my eyes left open in surprise, all my shouts dying in my throat. Not a full moment had passed before my eyes slowly closed and I felt my body loosening as if it was melting into his arms. He held me closer, kissing me again, and I welcomed him numbly because I suddenly felt like play-doh in his arms. I wiggled my arms out from between us to move my hands up to the sides of his face, touching him delicately, wary of this new way of touching him. I felt a final tear fall from my shut eyes, but he caught it on my cheek with his lips before holding my head and hugging me to him.
I dug my face into his shoulder, clinging onto him, my only anchor. Here was the place where I was safe, where my darkness couldn't reach me. I realized in that moment just how much I'd grown to need him, this one Clint Barton who'd spared my life.
And it terrified me.