Author's note:
I'm incapable of writing anything that isn't fluffy for Natasha/Clint. I'm so sorry. I just love these two too much okay? Enjoy!
"You know, he said he'd make you kill me in all the ways I fear, and then wake you up at the end to let you observe your handiwork."
Clint turned around slowly, disbelievingly in the musty passenger seat, while Natasha looked straight ahead and stared at the dirt road, her gloved hands tight around the wheel of the jeep. Unblinking, stony faced.
"Loki."
Natasha nodded, almost imperceptibly, and steered around a pothole. A rabbit flashed out across the road ahead of them, highlighted for a moment in the headlights. Then it was gone. Clint, half watching the road, half watching Natasha, was glad it didn't chose that moment to do a rabbit suicide and freeze in the lights.
He spoke half to himself. "The little shit."
Natasha glanced at Clint then, then back to the road. Her voice was steady, almost casual, but so much so that Clint thought it must have been through her astonishing self control.
"I'm not sure I've ever heard you swear."
"Probably because you never told me that before."
There was a pause in which she blinked, but didn't turn to him, "I shouldn't have said anything."
"No, you should ha-"
"I was just- you know when you turn something over in your head for too long?"
"Yeah."
"It just proves that being too close to anyone in this stupid organisation isn't smart."
Clint let a moment pass and didn't to know what to say, so he lamely, awfully joked, "Well just don't get up close and personal with Fury."
"I'm being serious. We probably shouldn't work together."
"Oh really."
Natasha snapped, "Yes, really."
There was silence for a few long seconds as they bumped along the dirt road again in the dark, the headlights uncovering the dusty potted track ahead of them as though it was eating it up.
"Did he say he would kill me afterwards?"
"No."
There was a pause, then, "Fury is fine with us as a team."
"He's not the Holy Grail of keeping his agents alive and sane."
There was a short 'sad about Phil' silence.
Clint thought Natasha was being unfair, but didn't say anything. He paused and flexed his fingers, looking away from Natasha and out of the side window, only to see the darkness press in closer and reflect his now grim features back at him.
He weighed up his next words before he spoke, but decided to go ahead and say them anyway as they were true.
"Loki didn't need to kill me, probably because he knew I'd kill myself, if I did do that to you."
Clint looked back to Natasha.
Natasha didn't respond, didn't pull over and kiss him, or ask him to marry her. She carried on driving, but slightly, just slightly, turned her head away from him. Clint thought her eyes were shining a little more than normal. Or hoped.
Her voice was slightly gruffer as she broke the next prolonged silence, quietly.
"I'm not sure I would kill myself."
"That's okay."
"How the hell is that okay?" Her hair spun around as she turned her head sharply, "You basically tell me that you l- you tell me you'd kill yourself if you killed me and I can't even reciprocate that."
Clint reached out a tanned hand, half afraid of his own actions as he did so, and gently touched her arm. She flinched a little, and turned back to the road, but Clint pressed on, "We're not the same- we're- me being this sentimental is probably a worse weakness than you not being sentimental enough."
"Stop touching me."
Clint obeyed and drew his arms back, and also drew back into himself. Just a little.
The next hour was silent.
They eventually arrived at the edges of the city, and the dirty lights and shabby houses crowded in on them from either side.
Their mission was far too easy.
-000-000-
They had three hours until the flight home.
Natasha was stretched out on the back seats of the old jeep, knees bent as even her small frame was too long to stretch out in a car. She lay on her back, eyes closes, hands folded over the black clad fabric of her stomach. Clint could see the rise and fall of her breathing but knew she wasn't asleep.
Clint was curled up in the drivers seat, cross legged. He played 'Angry Birds' on his phone, angrily, or at least with frustration. They were both used to waiting, waiting, waiting, but normally before a mission with the promise of something ahead. Now all they had was the awkward atmosphere and the pressing silent darkness outside the car. There wasn't even the danger of someone coming after them. Easy missions. Clint knew Natasha would complain when they got back.
On the back seat, Natasha held imaginary conversation with Clint in her head, as you do when you want to ask someone thing, discuss something, but it's just too awkward, not the way you do things, and too personal.
I didn't mean that about not working together. I'm sorry I told you that, as you went through enough of your own shit with Loki. Can we just not talk about this ever again and pretend it didn't happen and have make-up sex?
Natasha couldn't help that her lip curled into a half smile, but it was quickly smothered. Clint wasn't like that. He felt things too deeply, like he said- was too sentimental. She should have known that when he didn't kill her. What an awful assassin he should have made. Strange how it worked out otherwise. Natasha herself didn't buy into that love stuff. It just wasn't helpful, practical, and jeopardised so many situations. Sure she was super fond of Clint- but-
Natasha turned over frustrated, and sat up with a sigh, feigning a stretch as a reason for her movement. Clint glanced up at her.
"You okay?"
"Super." Natasha drew her legs under her and rolled her shoulders back. "How much longer till we can get moving?"
Clint looked down at the phone, "Two hours."
Natasha made a disparaging noise and looked out of the window. It was so dark, only her own eyes looked back at her in a pale face surrounded by a halo of red hair. She looked back at Clint.
He closed Angry Birds and silence fell in the jeep again. They'd talked about all the trivialities, gossiped about the other Avengers too much, and discussed upcoming and this current mission to death. What was there left to say?
"Can I sit in the back with you, or would you just punch me?"
Natasha smiled with her eyes, if nothing else.
"Really, one of us should be in the drivers seat in case."
Clint took it as the yes that it was meant to be, and after hesitating about climbing through the gap between the front two seats, opened the driver's door to a gust of icy air, then slammed it and quickly climbed in the back. It was getting cold enough now that his breath was visible as steam.
He slammed the back door and slid down in the seat, tugging the wrists of his black jacket down as far as possible to keep out the cold. Natasha watched him unblinking, in thought, he presumed.
"Cold."
She huffed in agreement, then leant back into her seat, so they both sat side by side but not touching, grim figures in black. Natasha closed her eyes again.
The car made minute creaking sounds of settling metal and cold machinery contracting. Otherwise, the world outside was deadly silent, not even the animals were out calling at this hour, in the icy air.
"Look, do you wanna talk about it?"
She opened them again, Clint was looking at her. Natasha looked at him coldly, "There's nothing to talk about."
"Sure, fine, sorry, I just thought I'd push the matter as you never talk about stuff like that. While we have hours in a freezing car- I thought it was a good time as any."
"Stuff like what. Stuff like nothing." She sighed and closed her eyes with a pained expression, then on second thoughts drew up her legs and leant across the gap between them into his side. Clint slid an arm around her pressed himself into her. He looked down at her head.
"This is a little warmer."
"Shut up; I don't want to talk."
Clint 'shut up' agreeably, and watched the road outside as best he could, even though he guessed there was nothing out there.
They stayed like that until the went to catch the plane home.