Avengers - Part 3 - From Time to Time

by theicemenace

Clint comes back in contact with a woman from his past. But that past brings more trouble with it as they try to figure out what they are to each other. Will history repeat itself leaving them both alone and wary of possible relationships? What price is Clint willing to pay to get back the woman he loves?

3. Chapter 3

A/N: 2012 winner of NaNoWriMo contest and exclusively Beta'd by the wonderful ladygris.

Thanks,

~Sandy

Avengers

From Time to Time

Chapter 3

Parking a half mile from his destination, Clint jogged to the nondescript home and knocked on the door. It was answered by an exotic looking dark haired woman in her forties. He smiled with genuine affection, speaking to her in Polish. "Isolda, my love. You are lovelier now than the first time we met."

"And you are full of crap, Jedrick." She responded in the same language as she presented her cheek for his kiss. He opened his jacket so she could see the Glock in the shoulder holster. Stepping through the doorway, he followed her to the kitchen where she poured coffee and set a plate in front of him. The spicy aroma of the bauernfrühstück stirred his appetite which was a good thing as it was expected that they'd eat together and share small talk before getting down to business. When he'd finished his meal, he wiped his mouth and nodded when she asked if he wanted more coffee. "That was the perfect start to the day, Isolda." "I hope the rest of the day will be as perfect." Her eyes looked over his shoulder and nodded, and before he could even twitch, he heard a round being chambered. From the sound, it had to be a P-64. "Don't move, my love, or Reuben will be forced to shoot you."

Clint kept his hands on the table trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Never had Isolda mistrusted him so much that she'd had him held at gunpoint. Projecting an air of confidence, he used the smile meant to charm, glancing over his shoulder when Reuben nudged him with the P-64. "If you wanted to have a ménage, Isolda, you shoulda said something and I woulda showered before I came over."

"Reuben is my brother and he's not your type."

Relaxing back in his chair, Clint swirled the last of the coffee before finishing it off. "What say we cut the crap and get on with business?"

Isolda nodded and the gun was removed from where it pressed into the back of Clint's head, the kitchen door swinging shut again as Reuben departed. "I was not expecting your call. When last we saw each other, the policję were loading you into the back of a black and white."

Shrugging, Clint crossed his knees, planting one elbow on the top knee. "I guess you could say I've been paroled. Just don't have to report to a PO every week."

"You escaped?" She was genuinely impressed.

"Yeah. Laid low for a while and now I'm here." Isolda reached for his plate, but he beat her to it, carrying it and the cup to the sink with her following. Clint stuck the plug in and added soap before starting the water. His hostess didn't move when he purposely brushed up against her side and she looked up at him with a smile.

"Can you stay?"

He knew what she wanted him to say, but he couldn't. In the past, he might've hung around for a day or so, and they would spend that time enjoying each other's company, but not this time. Not ever again. Taking his hands from the soapy water, he wrapped his arms around her from behind not worrying about the suds soaking the front of her top over her stomach. "Wish I could, but I gotta stay on the move. You understand."

"I do. What I do not understand is the request for this particular…product."

Clint returned to washing the dishes while Isolda dried and put them away. "I have a don't ask, don't tell policy. That's what they want and I gotta come through or else."

"This product is readily available. Why go through a broker?"

He shrugged. "There're lots of people who don't have the means to get it any other way. If you're agreeable, he'll send you an email when he needs more."

She accepted his explanation with another smile. "Reuben's gone to get it. Should be back soon." Tossing the wet towel on the counter, she turned around to face him, leaning her hips against the edge, her smile becoming seductive as she ran a finger down the center of his chest. "Sure you don't have time to…"

Clint trapped her against the counter, a hand on either side. "Could go for a little makin' out, love, but I haven't time for more. I've got a few more stops to make on the way out of town."

Before she could say another word, he covered her mouth with his while he was looking for a way out that would leave his a** intact when the front door slammed. Isolda pushed him away just as Reuben came into the kitchen. He passed Clint the package then crossed his arms and just scowled.

Isolda tapped the top of the box. "Check it out."

Clint broke the seal and slipped his thumb inside the edge to open the box to verify that the contents were what he'd ordered then pocketed the baggie leaving the empty box on the table. "Looks good."

"Aren't you going to count it?"

"I trust you." Clint turned his left wrist over. "Gotta go or I'll be late." He gave her another quick kiss, returned Reuben's glare and hit the front door, turning in the opposite direction from where he'd parked just in case he was followed.

Back at the tower, he took the elevator to three floors below the residential area and jogged to the end of the hall. Using the window ledge, he climbed up to the air vent, pried the cover open letting it hang from its hinge. Grasping the edges of the opening, he pulled himself up inside then closed the cover again. He crawled through the ducts always going up until he came to the vent above his bedroom.

Hanging by his hands, he let go, landing on the thick carpet with barely a sound. Using the bedside table, he closed the vent cover. Opening the safe, he removed a small portion of his purchase, dropped it into the bedside table, and put the rest in the safe. It required voice and retinal scanning to open so he wasn't concerned that someone would go snooping, though Natasha might give it a good try. If anyone concerned him, it was Stark, though their teammate and benefactor had promised never to invade their privacy here in the small sanctuaries they'd created for themselves. That didn't mean he wouldn't if he felt there was a need. All Clint had to do was convince them that everything was fine. That he was fine.

Clint felt a prickling on the back of his neck. Ducking and rolling, he came up on one knee, the Glock in his left hand ready to fire. He sagged in relief, releasing the hammer and shoving the weapon back into the holster under his right arm. "Nat."

"Eblan." Natasha stood just inside his room, arms crossed and an expression that promised him a world of hurt.

"Stop sneaking up on me."

She took two steps into the room and stopped. "You must have a guilty conscience to be so jumpy."

"I'm not jumpy or nervous or edgy or whatever adjective you want to use." Even to his ears the snort of humor sounded forced. "Let it go, Nat. Unless of course Fury's putting me under house arrest just for taking a few days off."

"That's not it and you know it, Hawkeye." Her demeanor softened as she came to his side watching as he tossed his jacket on the bed and removed the shoulder holster. "And most people don't carry weapons when they take a few days."

"You've been in this game longer than I have. We're not 'most people,' Nat."

She nodded, conceding his point. "Where've you been all day?"

Clint walked past her into the kitchen and she followed. The leftover coffee from this morning was dumped out and a fresh pot started. "Went for a drive."

"You're lying."

"Not lying."

Her hand came down on his shoulder stopping him from taking cups from the cabinet. "Yes, you are, and I want to know why."

Looking down into her green eyes, he softened the scowl. "Had some things I needed to do. Errands. No big deal."

"I just worry about you, you know?"

"Thanks." Wrapping an arm around Natasha's shoulders, he planted a kiss on her temple. "Ya tibyA l'ublyu."

Natasha felt him pulling away when he realized what he'd said. She laid her head on his shoulder before he could take it back or escape. "I know."

~~O~~

Crossing the gangplank onto the helicarrier, Natasha and Clint didn't speak. She would've stayed in New York, but Fury had called a special meeting. It was probably nothing, as most meetings were when the ship was docked, but as senior field agents, their presence was required.

She watched Clint go into his room with a heavy heart. While still hurting from the situation with Loki, his ex-girlfriend, the only woman he'd ever truly loved, had come back into his life, doubling the hurt. It didn't help one bit that Naomi was also in the position of being the one who would heal those hurts. Natasha didn't know how that could possibly happen if she was one of the causes.

Clint hadn't said anything to her about Naomi or Loki for that fact. Not in several weeks. He also hadn't mentioned his brother whom he'd just found out had been dead for three years. But that was Clint.

Setting her bag on the bed, she changed out of traveling clothes and into her uniform for the meeting. It was attended by senior and supervisory agents, and as she'd predicted, it wasn't about anything that couldn't have been sent in a department-wide email.

Goading Clint into a sparring session, she used the time to work out some of her frustrations. Most of which had nothing to do with Clint and everything to do with her ambivalent feelings toward Steve Rogers. Even in the midst of battle, she'd felt a pull, a special rapport with him that was similar to yet unlike what she had with Clint. With her partner, it was all about knowing each other so well that words were superfluous. They communicated in verbal and non-verbal shorthand that baffled the rest of the team and the other agents, and that's just how they liked it.

Clint got in a lucky shot stunning her, but only for a second. "All this energy is wasted on me."

She rolled to her feet, confused, as they circled each other looking for an opening. "What're you talking about?"

He smirked, just the lifting of one side of his mouth. "Rogers. Every time you two look at each other the temperature in the room goes up by at least…"

Natasha didn't give Clint a chance to complete that thought. In a flurry of blows, she ended their standoff with him on his back, her astride him, one hand raised to deliver the killing blow. "Screw you, Barton!"

Grinning, Clint relaxed and she did too, both of them panting, sweat rolling down their faces. She shifted her weight preparing to stand. He attacked and suddenly their places were reversed. "Me thinks the Widow doth protest too much."

Her arms pinned to the mat above her head, she glared at him with murder in her eyes. She could've gotten away easily, but let him make his point. "Let me up." The words were pushed through clenched teeth.

Chuckling, he released his hold and got to his feet, extending a hand to help her up. Going to the bench, he tossed her a towel then a bottle of water. They sat down, Clint leaning his elbows on his knees and wiping his face with the towel. "You like him, Nat. Admit it."

"Rogers? Of course I do. He's part of the team."

Slapping his thighs, Clint got to his feet, flipped the towel around his neck and took a long drink of water. "Just keep telling yourself that and you might even begin to believe it."

Natasha called him a name as he exited the gym with a wave leaving her there with only her thoughts for company.

~~O~~

Bringing her fists down on the desk made her coffee cup jump though it didn't spill, for which Naomi was thankful though just barely. Having her clothes ruined would've been one more thing she could blame on her father. This latest round of email tag was the last straw. Pushing away from the desk, she stood, tugging her silver-gray blouse into place over dark gray slacks. A black belt cinched her small waist.

The jewelry she wore was made from sterling silver with black, dark gray and white Zebra stones. The necklace had an oval drop accented by a single black Swarovski crystal and hung from a short black multi-strand chain, the earrings matching exactly. She also wore a silver bangle watch, more out of habit than because she needed it. The look was completed by black pumps with a short heel. Checking her face in the mirror satisfied her that she looked professional without overdoing it.

Exiting her office, she eschewed the shortcuts she'd finally learned to use, striding purposefully through the halls and onto the bridge without any of her former hesitation. Unfortunately, her father was not there. "Agent Hill, where is Director Fury?"

"In his quarters."

"Thank you." Making and about face, Naomi mapped out in her mind the path to get to her destination as quickly as possible.

Hill called out to her, "He asked not to be disturbed. May I ask where you're going, Dr. Marks?"

Without slowing down, Naomi said over her shoulder, "To disturb him."

She thought she heard Hill calling the director, but couldn't be sure, nor did she care as she hurried on her way. Stopping in front of his door, she straightened her shoulders and unclenched her fists before signaling her presence.

The door opened almost immediately and there he stood, for once without the long leather coat and in his stocking feet. One hand held a book, a finger holding his place.

Without a word, he stood back to let her in. Fury's quarters were on the port side of the ship facing away from the shore and were neither bigger nor smaller than those of his staff though he did have a window. He wordlessly offered her a seat, but she chose to stand.

"What can I do for you, doctor?"

"Would it be too much trouble for you to call me by name just once?"

He shifted in his seat setting the book aside and took a sip from the cup of tea on the table to his right. "What can I do for you, Naomi?"

"Explain."

"I'd be happy to, if you could specify."

From her pocket she took a photo and shoved it at him forcing him to take it. "It's a picture of me and Agent Barton. Clint. It was taken twelve years ago next Thanksgiving at Mother's."

"Why are you showing it to me?"

"Look at it again. What do you see?"

Holding it up in front of his good eye, he looked over the photo again. "What am I supposed to see?"

"Two people in love. But we didn't stay that way and it's your fault."

"How is that my fault?"

"Because Clint worked for you! And if you'd let him be a normal guy just for a while longer, he wouldn't have gone on the mission where he almost died."

Again, Fury gestured for Naomi to sit and she perched on the edge of the bed waiting for him to continue. "You and Agent Barton had a romance that ended more than a decade ago and you're blaming me." She didn't say anything. Just let him work it all out on his own. "His memories of that time are unreliable."

"Yes, I know. But…"

The SHIELD director held up his hand for quiet. "I'm not accusing or judging Agent Barton. His injuries were such that he may never get those memories back, so it's no surprise that he doesn't remember that he volunteered for the mission."

"Why would he volunteer? We had plans for the holidays."

"The mission was originally scheduled for January while the university was on winter break, but it had to be moved up."

Naomi's straight posture sagged and she was unable speak as she absorbed this new information. Clint had volunteered to go on that mission. She understood why he couldn't tell her at the time and now she knew why he hadn't uttered one word in his own defense during their argument. He didn't remember.

A glass of water appeared in front of her. She looked up into her father's face and saw nothing but sympathy for her pain. She also knew he was a spy trained to deceive. "I've been able to piece together bits and pieces from the official records and from what Clint-Agent Barton remembered. Phil Coulson came to see me one time, just once, and that was it. From what Clint didn't say, or rather the way he didn't say it, he either knew or had been told that you were supposed to keep me informed of his condition while he recuperated, but you didn't."

Settling back into his chair, Fury took a breath and let it out. "I thought it was for the best."

"The best? For whom? You? SHIELD?" On the verge of crying, Naomi covered her mouth with her hand until she could speak. "Did you even once think that what would be best for Clint was to have someone there who cared about him to provide support while he healed?"

"As I said, I thought it was for the best. In retrospect, I can see that it was perhaps not the wisest course of action."

Naomi finished off the water, set the glass on the bedside table and got to her feet. At the door, she turned. "It was the not knowing that hurt so much. Just like when you abandoned my mother and me. Well, I'm not that five year-old girl anymore, the one who idolized her father. Going forward, Director, we should keep our relationship strictly professional. And I'll even do us both a favor and not tell Mother I've seen you."

~~O~~

Fury watched his daughter leave without trying to stop her. Until she was ready to listen, there wasn't much he could say that would change her mind. Going to the closet, he took down a small case, rubbing his thumb over the fingerprint scanner to unlock it. Inside were several photos albums.

He opened the top one and there on the first page was a photo of Naomi as a baby with her mother and father. Smiling fondly, he turned the pages watching his child grow into a beautiful young woman. Perhaps one day they would get to a point where he could show her that though he hadn't been around, he had kept track of her, had even attended her high school and college graduation ceremonies. One day, maybe, they could even have a real father-daughter relationship.

Setting the case aside, he went back to reading his book.

~~O~~

Clint jumped back out of the way when Naomi came running out of Fury's quarters. Whatever they'd been talking about had made her angrier than he'd ever seen her. Wishing there was something he could do and knowing his options were limited, he decided to do nothing. For now.

Hours later, he was in bed staring up at the ceiling in the dark when he remembered that today was his birthday. He hadn't really celebrated in years-didn't even remember how old he was-and given the events of the past few months, the less attention on him the better right now.

On the bedside table lay one of the Ambien and a glass of water, but for some reason he still hesitated to take it. He wanted to be able to return to his work detail in New York and the only way to make that happen was for Naomi to release him. While he was pondering all the likely scenarios, he fell asleep. The dream began almost immediately.

He was in a room tied to a chair while a man alternated asking questions and beating him with a closed fist. But no matter how the questions were asked, he always gave the same answers.

"My name is Marlow Fenwick from Abilene, Kansas. I'm an unemployed construction worker. Heard you were hirin'. I'm just lookin' for a job."

And always the same response. A punch to the head, the ribs, the kidneys. If he fell, they would leave him on the cold hard floor and kick him in whatever part of his body was available. Usually the stomach or legs, but his back, shoulders and head got their share as well.

The beatings eventually segued into torture. When the smaller of his two captors pressed his hand against a hot iron, he awoke screaming and trying to crawl away from the figure silhouetted in the dark.

"Sh! It's okay, Clint. You're here on the ship and I'm here with you." Natasha was sitting on the side of his bed gripping his shoulders and shaking him. He was panting so hard he was in danger of hyperventilating. Natasha must have seen the signs because she handed him a paper bag.

Clint reached for it, but the moment he touched it his hands felt as if they were on fire making him hiss in pain. "Ow! Damn!" He maneuvered himself around until he was sitting with his back against the wall holding his hands in his lap.

Natasha held the bag over his mouth for him. "Breathe," she ordered, and in a few minutes his heart slowed down and his breathing became more normal.

Pushing her hands away, Clint accepted a glass of water, drinking it all down at once. He handed the glass back, untangled himself from the sheet and stood, Natasha coming up beside him, one hand touching his arm. He was still shaking and the concern in her green eyes was touching. "Thanks. I'll be okay now."

"No, you won't. You need…"

"What I need…" he urged to toward the door and out into the hall, "…is for you to go back to bed."

She squeezed his hand. "Call if you need anything."

"I…" A thump to his right startled him, his left hand twitching toward a weapon that wasn't there. But he needn't have bothered. He and Natasha saw Naomi just ten feet away. She was crouching to pick something up she'd dropped. To Clint it looked like a photo album and a paperback. The album must've been old because all the photos fell out. She hastily gathered everything up as he took a step in her direction. There was a flash, a brief reflecting of the light off of something that seemed familiar dangling from her hand. "Naomi…"

To Clint's surprise, she turned and ran. When she disappeared around a corner and her footsteps could no longer be heard, Natasha said, "She thinks we're…"

He looked at the two of them standing in the hall in their pajamas. "Everyone else does. Why was she over here anyway? Her quarters are on the other side of the ship."

"And you know that how?"

He couldn't keep a smirk from turning up the corners of his mouth. "I make it a point to know where everyone sleeps, just in case."

"Really?" Natasha shifted her weight onto one leg and crossed her arms. "What room is Davis in?"

"Um… You know, it's more of a general guideline than a hard and fast rule."

A rueful smile twisted her lips. "Hill?"

"Starboard, aft."

"Cassandra Blevins?"

Clint thought for a moment. "Port, fore, by the maintenance hatch." At her "oh, really?" stare, he explained, "I'm a guy and secure enough to admit that I have…daydreams…about some of the women on board. Sometimes more than one at a time. Especially the, uh…"

"The dangerous ones?" One perfect eyebrow lifted. "Fantasies. They're called fantasies."

He didn't deny it, and when she covered a yawn, Clint turned her in the direction of her room and gave her a push. "Back to your web, Black Widow."

~~O~~

Turning the corner out of Clint's line of vision, Naomi kept going until she reached her room and the door closed behind her, hands clenched so tightly the pendant dug into her palm. She'd gone to Clint's quarters to see if the photos and other items would help remind him of the things he'd forgotten, some of the happy times they'd shared.

But when she saw Natasha coming out of his room in sleepwear and holding his hand, she thought that all the rumors of them being more than partners were true. Not that it was any of her business though it did have to be factored in when assessing Clint's mental readiness to return to his job as a spy and an assassin.

Her feelings on that wavered from day to day with her moods. Clint had killed her stalker all those years ago by putting an arrow through his chest. If he'd actually wanted him dead, she now knew that he'd have found a way to do it without leaving a trace. And if he wanted to go back to that life and was emotionally fit for it, he should go. She had no right to stop him from doing the job he'd been trained to do.

Sitting on the side of the bed, Naomi picked up the album and carefully put everything back the way it was, wishing that it was as easy to fix her life…and Clint's.

She'd seen the news reports on the invasion while she'd been teaching a class at the University of Leipzig, Germany. The news had concentrated on Iron Man, Captain America, Thor and Hulk while the contributions of Hawkeye and the Black Widow had been downplayed. Naomi understood. They were spies and assassins and needed anonymity to do their jobs. But in today's world, one didn't have the expectation of privacy once they stepped outside their home, and the cell phone footage had been the first she'd seen that had focused on Clint and Natasha.

Calling up the link on her personal computer, she again watched the YouTube video that already had four million hits. Naomi just hoped it didn't hinder their ability to do their jobs. With a heavy sigh, she pushed the computer away and shoved the photo album in the bedside table.

~~O~~

The next morning, Clint dressed in his workout clothes and made his way down to the gym. As he neared, he could hear music. Not the usual upbeat, fast paced arrangements that most of the staff worked out to, but softer and slower with lots of strings. Classical. His mind supplied the details: The Sleeping Beauty by Tchaikovsky. This version had been performed by The Russian Philharmonic. This particular piece came from the second act, the awakening of Princess Aurora by Prince Désiré.

With a sad smile, he thought how beautiful Naomi looked in her pink leotard and wrap-around thigh length skirt that swirled and flounced in the air with every step. When they first met, she'd mentioned taking ballet and it saddened him that he'd never gotten to actually see this side of her before.

He watched transfixed as she pirouetted, leaped and frolicked around the room, her movements lithe, flowing easily from one step to the next showing off the grace and elegance that had drawn him to her like a magnet twelve years ago. It pulled at him again now.

And in that moment, he remembered all the reasons why he'd fallen in love with her the first time.

TBC