Same disclaimers as Chapter 1.

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update! I am honestly so ashamed I took so long! So here's a chapter, leading up to real big things, and with a guest star. I hope you guys like it. Thank you again and again for your kind reviews. And I hope you forgive me for my dreadful update rate. Enjoy!

He held me for a long time, one hand behind my head, one behind my shoulders. And my arms remained wrapped around him, clinging to his broad back.

"I am... so sorry, Tasha," he whispered into my hair. I heard myself whimper feebly into his shoulder. It was a pathetic noise, and I wished desperately it wasn't me that had just made it. But I just could get around the wrenching feeling in my gut that told me I wasn't ready for what he would tell me. I didn't want to hear excuses. Not just now. No, not ever. Because whatever they might be, it would change things. Things were already changing. I felt it with every passing moment I stayed in his arms, as if I could suddenly feel the earth shift beneath me and decide a new axis. But that didn't stop him, and he continued anyway, pushing us closer and closer to a cliff.

"I never left you. Never," he said. I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could block him out. Because I really, really, really didn't want to hear what he had to say. I knew, with a sort of matter-of-fact sureness, just as the sun would rise, he was about to drop a bombshell. And I felt vulnerable. Defenseless. With absolutely no weapon to fend off his attack.

"Please, Clint. Just don't," I whispered. I wasn't even entirely sure of what I was afraid of hearing.

"No. You need to know. I should have told you so long ago." He pulled me away, but I looked at the floor, a few loose curls hanging lankly around my face. "You might not have seen me, but I was always there, Tasha. Fury made it a condition for me to stay away from you during your parole if you had any chance of living. I was tried for treason and kept under surveillance. They wanted to make sure we weren't accomplices. If I contacted you, we would have both been killed. I am so sorry. I know what you must have thought of me those three years. Just thinking about it kept me up at night."

I bit my tongue to keep my composure, because my knees felt weak and my head was swimming. I took a wobbly step back, but he held himself to me, clutching my hips, falling to his knees in front of me. His brown eyes were wide and crazed as he looked up at me.

"You have to believe me, Tasha, you have to. I'm not a liar! You know I'm not! Every chance I could, I checked in on you, making sure you were okay, making sure you were getting along alright. And you always were. That's what kept me from sending you a message every time I felt weak. I had to remind myself to be strong like you... You were so different from everyone I'd met, Natasha. Bold and fearless. You fascinated me, Tasha. I never forgot about you. I never left you. I was waiting for you for three years, just to be able to talk to you one more time. Because the girl who raised her chin and prepared herself to die deserved an explanation. I swear I never forgot. You have to believe me..."

And I did. In a single moment, I believed him wholeheartedly. Without a single doubt.

He'd gone and done it. He'd thrown us over an edge. The world had shifted. I seemed to see him through new eyes. Hard as it was to wrap my head around, I now saw him as someone who had been as troubled by our separation as I had, instead of the vision of total disregard and carelessness I'd previously imagined. The idea was both comforting and unnerving. And I suddenly realized why I hadn't wanted him to say anything moments ago. I'd just received the answer I'd been waiting years for, but I hadn't wanted to listen because it meant facing a truth I'd been choosing to overlook since I'd arrived at SHIELD six years ago. And now that truth was slapping me in the face, demanding to be dealt with.

The truth was I cared.

I'd broken the first rule of my job: don't get emotions involved! The moment Clint had lowered his gun, I'd cared. I cared when he had disappeared. I cared when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere as if by magic. I cared when he'd chosen to mentor me. I cared about why he'd left. I cared that he trusted me. I cared when he turned everyone down to stay with me. I cared that he cared too. I cared that he was my partner. I cared more about his life than my own. I'd been trying to pretend so long that I didn't give a damn about anything, especially not "that good-for-nothing shady-ass Clint Barton," but I did.

I cared about him.

"I believe you," I said, so quietly I thought he might not have heard me. But he did. He looked up at me with new-found life as if I'd just thrown him a lifeline he hadn't bothered to hope for anymore. I surprised even myself when I leaned down to gently brush back his hair and place a delicate kiss on his forehead. "It's okay. I believe you," I whispered again.

He closed his eyes slowly as if he thought this was too good to be true. Maybe it was. Maybe I was dreaming. I did seem to be feeling strangely out-of-body, as if a stranger had taken over for me and I was simply watching, a detached third party. I didn't feel like myself. I felt shaky and weak, like I'd just thrown up.

I finally disentangled myself from Clint's arms, pulling myself away gently and turning without a word. He didn't argue. I walked silently to the bathroom, feeling Clint's gaze heavy on my back. I know he didn't want to leave me, but he didn't follow. He knew I needed to be left alone. He understood. Always without reprimands or questions. Just acceptance. He just understood.

I turned on the faucet to fill the tub and was glad I did that first because I bent over to throw up into the toilet immediately after, and I thought the running water covered up the noise quite well. I sat with my head between my shaky knees for a while after before finally undressing and slipping into the scalding water. My mind was a mess and, much to my disappointment, the hot water did little to knock me back into my senses.

I knew beyond the door, Clint was waiting for me. Waiting to ambush me with "a talk." Because there was always "a talk" after big changes. But I couldn't deal with it. I couldn't deal with his "talk," and I couldn't deal with his eyes that shone as if Jesus had just been reborn when I said I forgave him, and I couldn't deal with the residual tingling on my lips from his kiss that had set my bones on fire.

All of the above were side-effects of caring. And I couldn't deal with it.

The water cooled but I still couldn't bring myself to leave the bathroom so I drained the tub and filled it again with hot water. My mind drifted to the three faces of the Triad members, the ones I'd looked in the eyes and had been unable to kill because the threat of darkness in those eyes had been too much to bear. My chest tightened with rage and burning shame. I clenched my eyes shut and slipped underwater, wishing I'd go ahead and just die already.

I refilled the tub three times total before finally telling myself to stop being such a coward and go out to face him. Even so, I still dried myself slowly, brushed my hair with painstaking care, dressed myself with unnecessary absorption. Even I knew I was being ridiculous, but I couldn't quite help it. Finally, I forced myself out.

Only to find that—though he seemed to have put up a good fight, given by the fact he was still fully dressed in his tuxedo and the remote hanging loosely in his hand hadn't turned off the television he'd been watching—Clint had unavoidably fallen asleep. His chest was rising and falling slowly, his face the perfect image of peace and innocence. I found myself smiling at him, wishing nothing more than to climb up next to him, rest my head on his chest, and let his steady heartbeats rock me to sleep. I stood there, at the foot of his bed, torn by the sudden fervent desire to touch him, feel him, wrap myself up in his warmth; to wake him up and tell him over and over that it was okay, everything was okay, so long as he never disappeared again, because then I'd surely shatter like a broken mirror; to let him know it was only okay when he was around because he was my only protection against a darkness that threatened to pull me under any moment; to let him kiss me until I was dizzy and make sure his stupid, self-satisfied smirk was the last thing I saw before going to sleep myself.

Understandably, I did the only thing a girl like me could think to do. I ran.

I knew time was of the essence. I only had a few hours before he woke up, realized I was gone, and came looking after me. Just a few hours before he realized I'd gone and run off with his kiss still fresh on my lips. I decided I was forbidden to think about that.

I ran out the door with only my most necessary belongings, leaving him sleeping peacefully on his bed, completely unaware, while I took the first plane home. I spent the entire flight telling myself not to think about what he would think the moment he woke up, and thinking of nothing else as a result. My throat seemed tied in a permanent knot. Even breathing suddenly seemed extremely difficult. I was unusually fidgety, my hands twisting over themselves in a never-ending loop. I arrived at SHIELD in a flurry of anxiety and impatience, the same feeling of being pursued and knowing you just had to move faster if you didn't want to be overtaken.

"I—You're back!" was the first thing Maria said when I burst into her new little office in the administration building. It was clean and neat and held an air of efficiency. Very Maria.

She jumped up immediately and hugged me, her joy at seeing me seeming to override the fact that I shouldn't have been back for another few days.

"I need a favor," I said immediately. She pulled back.

"Of course! Anything," she said eagerly, though her smile seemed to falter the longer she studied me. "Are you alright?"

I dug deeper than I would have thought possible to conjure up a smile. "Of course," I said easily.

One of her eyebrows twitched up an infinitesimal amount: she didn't believe me. Her eyes narrowed slightly but she smiled anyway, as if to say, "Alright, I'll play along."

"Well, then what do you need?"

"I need a mission. Now. The farther, the better," I said, not able to fully conceal my restlessness. She gave me an odd look before circling back around her desk and sitting at her computer, beginning to type immediately. I sat uneasily in one of the chairs in front of her desk. Sitting had the definitive feeling of doing nothing, making no progress forward, falling farther and farther back with each passing second so that your pursuer might catch up at any moment. I swallowed my anxiety and sat anyway.

Maria was clicking away at her computer, biting the side of her cheek. "We don't really have anything right now. I mean, nothing good."

"Anything, give me anything," I interjected, causing her to look up suspiciously.

"All we really have right now is recon and I know—"

"I'll take it," I said, jumping up almost at once. She turned away from her computer, studying me closely.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked. "Where's Clint, anyway?"

My jaw clenched. The simple mention of his name took me back thousands of miles to where I was sure he still lay asleep, each second that ticked by bringing him closer and closer to consciousness and the truth.

"He stayed back to finish up the paperwork and whatever." I shrugged with what I hoped looked like nonchalance. "I just went ahead."

Maria's face didn't change but I could read it as clear as day that she didn't believe me. I cleared my throat uneasily.

"But you're both okay, right?" she asked, a trace of worry painting her voice. I met her eyes.

"Yes, we're both okay... But when he comes, he's probably going to ask for me. You have to promise not to tell him where I am, okay?" I said ardently, trying to tell her without words that everything was fine but she just shouldn't ask questions. Not this time. "Promise!"

She got the picture. "Okay, okay, I promise! My lips are sealed." She turned back to her computer. "Well, if you're in such a hurry—"

"I am," I cut in, making her look at me suspiciously again. I bit my tongue. "So, uh, where am I headed?"

She scrolled on her computer before finally stopping. "Oh, I've got a treat for you."

I doubted anything she had could possibly be a treat for me right now, but I looked up curiously anyway. "Where?"

"Malibu." She grinned, as if that explained itself. If it did, I didn't get it.

"What's in Malibu?"

Tony Stark. That's what was in Malibu.

I flicked through the mission file I'd picked up, eager to busy my mind with work. The overview promised this to be simple character profiling recon. Easy. I'd known nothing of Tony Stark as a girl and up until I'd looked through his file, had only general knowledge of him, like the fact he was the heir to the top weapons manufacturing company in the world as well as the son of one of the original SHIELD founders. Most importantly, however, he had recently shook the world by coming out as Iron Man with a weapon-equipped metal suit the entire world was dying to get their hands on.

I set the folder down on my lap, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples. I was suddenly exhausted, and only then realized I hadn't slept in two days. I hadn't had time at base, either. I'd hurriedly gone back to my room in the agent living quarters to throw my things down and pack new clothes before going to pick up the mission file I had lying in my lap now, and jumping on the next jet out of there. I hadn't been at base more than two hours total. I was long gone when Maria came to my lonely room during her lunch break to invite me for some coffee and a little catch-up. And I was already touching down in Malibu when Clint arrived at base in a frenzy hours later, still wearing the blood-splattered tuxedo from the night before, his hair uncombed and his eyes haggard, asking anyone he could get his hands on whether they had seen me. No one had.

Two days later, I found myself dressed in a button-down shirt and dark pencil skirt, my long curls nicely brushed, my heels clicking rhythmically as I made my way up to the entrance of Tony Stark's grand home on the edge of an ocean cliff. I'd donned the name of Natalie Rushman, ready to fill the position of assistant to Tony Stark now that Pepper Potts had been promoted to CEO of Stark Industries. It was easy to forget who I was when I took on a new name and immersed myself in research for a new mission, but this time, I couldn't quite get out of my head completely. And I knew why. It was Clint. Clint kept me tethered. But I gave it my best effort anyway because remembering proved to be too painful to deal with.

I rang the doorbell to the large house, idly speculating on how fast time could pass, how fast things could change, how fast I could suddenly find myself on the other side of the world if I wanted to. I was admitted quickly, clutching a folder with fake paperwork Stark was supposed to sign. I was led to what appeared to be a large gym, the room empty except for three people, all of which I recognized from pictures in my mission overview. Sitting a little to the side, flicking through papers, was the redheaded Virginia "Pepper" Potts. Circling each other in a boxing ring was the famous Tony Stark and Harold Hogan, his bodyguard and chauffeur. Almost all at once, all the eyes in the room turned to me curiously. Pepper stood at once, obviously recognizing me as the new "assistant", and coming over to shake my hand. She had a friendly, freckled face and the same air of efficiency that reminded me of Maria.

"Tony, this is Natalie Rushman, our new assistant," Pepper said, approaching the ring. Tony looked at me idly. He was as handsome as his pictures promised, with the iconic beard that men across the country were donning in his honor. His dark hair was currently plastered to his face with sweat, and through his thin shirt, I could see the icy blue glow of the infamous device in his chest that was keeping him alive: the arc reactor.

"In the ring. Now," he said. Pepper sighed.

"No, Tony, not now," she said, but he had already turned away, looking at me closely as if to see if I would rise to the challenge.

"Come on, get in."

"I'm sorry, he gets like this sometimes—"

I smiled easily at her. "It's fine." I ducked through the ropes into the ring. Tony seemed impressed.

"Mr. Stark," I said, "I have these papers for you to sign."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll take those. Miss Rushman, this is Harold Hogan. Get acquainted. I'll be right back," he said, taking my folder and ducking out of the ring.

"Um, alright," I said to no one in particular. But Harold seemed to understand.

"You get used to him. Wanna go for a round?" he grinned, giving me an appraising look. "I'll go easy on you."

I fought back a snort. "Okay," I said innocently.

"That was fun, thank you, Harold," I said as I pulled myself off him. I'd brought him down easily by hooking my thighs around his neck and throwing my weight around him. It was my preferred way of bringing down big fellas. He coughed, obviously trying to recover his breath. I ducked out of the ring, seeing both Pepper and Tony staring at me with wide eyes.

"I'll take those, if you're done with them," I said, gesturing toward the papers in Pepper's hands. She handed them to me with a vague smile. I gave them both my most winning smile before turning on my heel and exiting.

I was almost at the door when I heard Tony whisper behind me, "I want one."

I rolled my eyes. He wished.

Such was what my life became in the months I was set to observe Tony Stark. He acted, for all intents and purposes, like a self-proclaimed rock star, complete with the cockiness, the mood swings, and the parties. And people just ate it up because he was the world's first brand of superhero. Besides, the wit and cockiness and sarcasm just seemed fitting of him. I learned quickly to stay on my toes when addressing him—he wasn't a fan of stupid people—and when at all possible, give him what he wanted. When it wasn't possible, I just had to try harder.

When he was being particularly hard to manage, which was often, Pepper always helped plenty. She was easy to get along with, probably in part because she reminded me so much of Maria. She seemed to be the only coolant to Tony's fire. On bad days, I had to wonder how she was able to handle it for so many years. I finally realized why when Tony was attacked on an Italian racetrack by some vengeful Russian named Vanko. I saw the answer in Pepper's eyes when we'd rushed Tony's bruised body to a hospital, much to his displeasure. She looked at him, her eyes flooding with relief that he was simply alive enough to complain and I just knew; she was in love with him.

I thought her stupid at first, silly for falling victim to that ultimate weakness. But the sudden thought of Clint cut off my condescending thoughts before I was even done thinking them, like a mother reprimanding an unruly child. And then I thought myself stupid. Because I wasn't in love with Clint so it didn't matter anyway and I could think whatever I wanted to think.

But I didn't. From then on, whenever I saw Pepper looking at Tony like that, I couldn't help feeling a pang of sympathy for her.

Time passed, sometimes dragging, sometimes speeding before I had a chance to note what day it was, but pass it did. The nightmares came back. The nightmares from my childhood. Darkness. Drowning. Screams that cut off when I suddenly ran out of air and suffocated. Haunting whispers. A sea of blood that stained my hands and refused to let me arrive at any shore. A crushing weight on my back of all the bodies I was accountable for. And the taunting laughter of the three men I hadn't been able to kill. It eventually got to point where I was sitting up in bed, gasping for air, every damn night. And of course, I never forgot Clint. Not for a moment. I'd find myself staring at my phone on those nights, teetering on the edge of calling him, finding him, running to him wherever he might be. Until I threw my phone across the room and told myself he hated me now. Clint, who had thought me bold and fearless. What would he think of me now?

That's when Clint started starring in my nightmares. Dying at the hands of some unknown villain because I was too late to save him or taking me in his arms and killing me himself. And nothing I did to fill up my waking hours could quite wipe those images from my mind. No amount of alcohol in my veins, no amount of focus on my work, no amount of new hands on my body. Nothing could quite do the trick. I still woke up screaming every night.

Sometimes I screamed for him.

My mission could have been completed much sooner except that I didn't really want to finish it. Because I was never quite sure what I would be returning to. The actual reconnaissance was as easy as the overview promised. One thing was clear, anyway. Whatever this "Avengers Initiative" was that SHIELD was cooking up, Tony just didn't fit into the equation. He was egotistical, and reckless, and just didn't play well with others. My little recon mission went astray, however, when thousands of Iron Man droid wannabes suddenly took the streets, bent on killing people, and the mission became a matter of national security just like so many others. I again donned my agent get-up and clicked my widow belt back around my waist. It felt comforting. Like gaining back a tiny bit of myself when I so often felt like a shell nowadays.

My cover was blown, of course, and once the violent droids were finished, I knew I was headed back to SHIELD. I was almost sorry because I'd grown to like Tony. I had a feeling we were more alike than we both cared to admit. Plus, he'd won some points when he finally admitted he loved Pepper, too. I liked them together. Tony wasn't as bad as he liked people to think. They deserved each other.

But in all honesty, my real anxiety was going back and running into him, my ally and adversary and savior and destroyer.

I found myself on a jet back to SHIELD faster than I would have thought possible; too fast for my taste, anyway.

"Maria?"

"He's not here," she immediately answered, and I felt the breath go out of me. But I felt completely empty. Both relieved and disappointed. She'd gotten used to these calls because no matter how strongly I'd fought against contacting him, I'd been weak in calling Maria for information about him.

"I need a new mission," I said, trying to pretend that wasn't why I had called. But we both knew that was a lie and I could almost see Maria rolling her eyes.

"Something just opened up, actually. Not recon. Although you have pretty good luck with that, huh?" she said, joking about the fact that a national crisis had still somehow followed me on my "little recon mission."

"I'll take whatever," I told her blandly, staring out the plane window at a darkening sky.

"You'll get your hands dirty," she warned. Lately, she seemed to have gotten into the idea that I wasn't prepared or emotionally stable for actual fighting missions. Maybe I wasn't, but it was a good distraction. Anyway, I'd helped save the world not three days ago, so I think I deserved a little credit.

"It's never stopped me before," I answered coolly. "Where am I headed?"

I heard her clicking away at her computer for a few moments before she answered.

"Budapest."