Hello my lovely readers! I have some sad news. Well it's not sad for me, but it might be fore you:( I'm going to be away at camp for about a week starting tomorrow, so I won't be able to update. However, I'll make it up to you and post two chapters right now! Please don't be too angry...
Coulson slid the mission file across the briefing table to his best team. Clint picked it up and skimmed through it, Natasha taking in the information with him.
"It will be pretty quick," their handler said. "Get in, deliver the virus to the main computer system, burn the building to the ground and get out. Should be quick and easy."
"Will there be any civilians in there?" asked Clint guardedly. He would not put those innocent lives in danger.
Coulson sighed. "There will always be that risk. It depends on if you're willing to take it."
"No," Natasha replied immediately.
Clint glanced at her sideways. "Nat, are you sure? This could be something bigger that what it looks like."
"No," she repeated firmly. "I will not allow civilians to be trapped in a burning building." Her voice was the slightest pitch higher than normal, and her eyes were starting to glaze over as she fought the stream of memories that was threatening to overtake her. The hospital fire. Only Clint seemed to notice her struggle.
"We're not going to take this one, Coulson." Clint verified.
The handler sighed. "Alright. I'm not going to force you to take a mission you don't want to." He gathered his papers up and stood up. "Maybe Jensen and Evans will take it," he muttered as he walked out. The second he was gone, Clint rounded on his partner.
"What's wrong, Tasha?" He asked gently, but she knew he demanded an answer. The Black Widow never turns down missions.
"It's not important," she said quietly.
"Something tells me it is," Clint replied.
Natasha closed her haunted eyes. "Red Room," she said simply.
Clint sighed tiredly and put his hand on his partner's shoulder. "When are you going to tell me everything that happened in your past, Tasha?"
"Never," she responded immediately. Clint raised his eyebrows questioningly. She nodded seriously.
Clint took a steadying breath. "Look at me, Natasha," he said gently. She complied unhappily. "I know that your past is horrifying. I don't know any words to try to describe it, and I speak more languages than I can count on my hands. But the point is, you're not the only one. I've told you my past, and you accept me." she looked away, knowing what was coming, but Clint took her face in his hands, gently forcing her to look at him. "We can't run from this forever, Tasha," he whispered. "You can tell me what they did to you."
"You don't want to know, " she whispered blankly.
"Yes, I do," he pressed, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I want to know everything about you. I want to know you, to be there for you when your past haunts you, to always be by your side. I want you, Tasha. No one else. You."
She suppressed a shiver, hearing the truth in his words and feeling them in his caring touch. No one had ever said anything like that. Most men treated her like trash, in the endless cycle of use, abuse, and discard. And yet somehow she sensed that Clint Barton was not most men.
Natasha exhaled. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into," she warned truthfully.
Clint shook his head. "I don't care."
"You're an idiot." But she gave him the smallest of smiles that no one else got to see, and that meant the world to him.
Clint laughed. "If it means that I'll get you, then I'll be the biggest idiot in the world."