A/N: Sorry I didn't update last week! Also, you were all to polite to tell me a made a kind of major mistake and had them repeat the same conversation in two different chapters. Oops! Anyway, I went back and fixed it.
Enjoy!
Clint took a sip of his steaming coffee and replaced his arms on the sharp metal raining. The soft orange tones of the sunrise filtered over the city, but a midnight chill still hung in the air. He heard the scrape of the window behind him, but didn't turn as Natasha came to join him. She rested her forearms on the rusty rail, the ceramic sides of her own coffee mug warming her hands against the chill. The buildings channeled a crisp breeze through the alley, making the silky edges of her robe flutter. She dug her bare toes into the metal grate beneath them. Only the rustle of stray garbage broke the early morning silence.
"So," Clint said after a while. He kept his eyes trained on the distant city.
"So," Natasha replied. She took another sip of coffee and a few deep breaths before she added, "We are well and truly compromised."
Clint shook his head. "I told you, this isn't compromised. Not for us."
"This is the definition of compromised. You and I don't get special treatment."
"Fine, let's pretend that's true. How does compromised feel?"
Natasha glanced down to the alley floor five stories below. "Like we're on our way to Marrakech."
"Marrakech the time we hitchhiked in with that olive merchant or -"
"The time we dropped in from 10,000 feet," said Natasha.
Clint leaned closer to his mug and let the steam curl around his nose. "What are my chances that's a good thing?"
"Like that rush you get when your feet leave the metal, and all the anxiety you had before the jump flies away. All the courage you had to build up - and the push you maybe needed - seem worth it, and your so glad the crazy irrational part of you won out. The speed of the plane throws you forward and the wind whips around your ears. In those few seconds before you remember that you're plummeting to the ground and your parachute might not catch, you can't help but enjoy the free fall."
Clint looked over to her. "Again, is that a good thing?"
Natasha closed the gap between them and bunched his t-shirt in her fist, pulling him in for a kiss. "Yes," she said, "I think it is."
Clint brushed her hair away from her face. "Natasha," he said carefully, "what happens when we reach the ground?"
She fought the urge to look away. "I don't know. And I'm trying so hard not to care."
Clint looked over at the sunrise brightening the sky beyond the alley. "I can't believe Szabo wants me in today. On a Saturday morning. On this Saturday morning."
Natasha took his coffee mug and climbed back through the window. "Do you know why?"
"Whatever went down that night, they must need cleanup. Or maybe just extra muscle to guard the door."
"How did you say your relationship with András was again?" Natasha asked.
"Rocky at best," Clint replied from the fire escape. "Why?"
Natasha tugged on her sash and let the black silk fall away from her shoulders. "Because I'm wondering how he'd feel about you being late to work."
No flowers, no teddy bears, no pet names. Those were the rules.
"Call me anything other than Natasha, and I'll damage you for life."
"Whatever you say, Honeybear."
No dinner dates, no breakfasts in bed, no child's games.
"You'll never be my target; I'll never be your mark."
"Just promise me it's real."
No saying 'I love you.'
"There's no use. I already know."
And it worked. Clint had been right, and that killed her. He had been trying to tell her for years that the two of them as partners and as a couple were the same thing. He tried to tell her that they would't blow up, they would fall farther in sync. And they had. It pissed her off a little bit, how well he'd called what would happen.
Natasha looked up from keyboard at the picture frame on her desk. Snarky bastard, she thought as she studied the miniature of Clint's face, his hair bleached almost pure blonde in the light of the park. She ran her hand over the cheap wooden frame. She loved this picture. It wasn't the best photograph, just the two of them in Margitsziget, one of the island parks in the Danube. Unlike the photos behind it, this one was real. It hadn't been photoshopped to fit a cover; it didn't come with an explanation to memorize. It was theirs. Of course, Natasha hadn't wanted to take it, but Clint hadn't given her a choice. He'd spent the entire walk trying to make her laugh, When she'd finally lost control, he swung beside her and snapped the picture. She scolded him immediately, but every time she looked up at the frame, she was so glad he hadn't listened. The way he caught them laughing, he'd managed to make her look happy. Maybe it wasn't just a look.
Natasha tried to return to her work, but she couldn't focus. Especially not with the dull pain of a headache throbbing in her skull. Again. She reached down and pulled open one of her desk drawers. She shook two red pills into her palm and swallowed them dry. Replacing the travel sized plastic bottle, Natasha could feel how light it had gotten. She felt like she'd had a headache for the whole week.
Natasha closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. When a knock echoed on her door, she stopped rubbing her temple and looked up. "Hey, Adrienn."
"So I was just looking through the Hermitage case and I - Charlotte, are you alright?"
"Hmm? Just tired." Natasha replied. She tried to put the exhausted ache in muscles out of her mind.
"Are you sure? You look a little pale."
Natasha put on a smile. "Really, I'm . . . fine."
"So, like I was saying, with the big exhibit opening only a month away, we should . . ."
The more Adrienn talked, though, the less sure she was that that was true. Her muscles ached, her exhausted eyes wanted nothing more than to close and shut her body down, and her stomach had been rolling uneasily all morning. Only 'run for your life' missions made her feel this way. And throw in a blow to the head to account for the pain in the back of her skull.
" . . . István really wants the Edouard Beaulieu to round off the collection, but he said he would settle for the Gioacchino Luzzatto if . . ." Adrienn was saying.
Natasha grabbed the arm of her chair. The uneasy rolling in her stomach sank into and angry churning. A gagging knot rose in her throat. "Adrienn, would you excuse me for one second."
She left the office as calmly as possible, forcing her legs not to break into a run until the bathroom door swung shut behind her. Natasha's knees hit the burnt umber tiles as she vomited into the toilet.
When she finished, she rolled back on her heals and leaned against the stall partition. Natasha wiped her mouth and took a few deep breaths, even though her throat stung with acid. What the hell? I haven't felt like this since -
It was all she could do to keep what was left of her breakfast down. Natasha hurried to the sink. She let the cool water run between her fingers, and rinsed out her mouth. Letting it pool in her palms, her bent down and splashed her face. Natasha leaned her arms against the counter and looked into the mirror. Her skin glistened with tap water, appearing even paler under the bright halogen lights. "No," she said out loud.
The more she thought about it though, the more panicked Natasha became. A knot of fear and anxiety slithered up her spine, clamping down on her shoulders and making her shiver and sweat. Natasha placed to finger to her neck, hoping to prove she was just imagining the hammering in her chest. "No. No way in hell."
Still, there was no way she could focus now, not with that thought stalking the back of her mind. Natasha hurried back to her office. Forcing her hands not to tremble, she grabbed her jacket and purse and locked the door behind she. "Tell the boss I'm taking the afternoon off," she muttered absently.
Natasha scurried down the stairs. She had barely made it to the third floor landing when the queazy churning hit her again. Damn, she though as she cheeks flashed hot in panic. Without thinking, Natasha shoved open the nearest door and threw her head into a round black trashcan. That's not proof of anything, she thought.
The nagging little voice in Natasha's head muted momentarily, as she realized she didn't recognize this room. It was a huge empty space, much like the storage room below, but instead of being lined with shelves, massive sheets of clear plastic hung from the ceiling. Freestanding construction lights gave the plastic an eerie glow. Inside the plastic, Natasha could just make out the shape of framed canvases. This must be the restoration room. In her panic, she hadn't even registered the "RESTRICTED ACCESS" sign painted on the door.
Better not stay much longer, Natasha thought. She had no doubt István was watching. She had probably triggered an alarm. Scanning the room one last time, her eyes caught on the only two words she needed to see: Mérnöki Industries. Natasha returned to the stairwell and hurried out of the building.
Not wanting to stay in a cab any longer than she had to, Natasha walked the last few blocks home. The afternoon air swirled in a soft, cooling breeze, but did little to calm her down. That stupid thought kept nagging her. The harder she tried to banish it to the back of her mind, the louder it seemed to yell in her ear, until it was practically screaming at her. Or maybe that was just the headache.
The screams rolling off the school playground cut through the air. As soon as she heard them, Natasha turned onto an adjacent road. That was just something she couldn't handle today.
She found herself on an unfamiliar street, but judging how far she'd cut away from her road, it would only take her an extra ten minutes to reach the apartment. Natasha walked as quickly as she could, although she didn't know why she was bothering. Being home wasn't going to be any better than here on the street. Either way, it was just her alone in her mind.
Natasha kept walking, trying to outrun herself, when the bright lights of a convenience store caught her eyes. She could find out, right then and there. But did she want to? Well there's no way you're right little voice, so why not end this?
Natasha walked into the store and looked casually though the overcrowded shelves. She picked up a bottle of painkillers, then placed it back on the shelf. Natasha nodded politely to the cashier as she left.
When she rounded the corner, Natasha pulled a little cardboard box from beneath her jacket. There was no way she was letting this get back to Fury.
Two minutes. Those were the directions. Natasha paced back and forth across the kitchen floor, running her fingers nervously through her hair. With each tick of the kitchen timer, she was less sure she wanted to be doing this. Shut up. There's no way, she tried to tell herself. But, if she was so sure, why bother with the test?
And what if it were true? What was she going to do if that little voice was right?
There's no way, she wanted to scream at herself, but even still she nearly jumped out of her skin when the timer rang. Her heart hammered against her ribs and she picked up that stupid piece of plastic.
Natasha felt like she'd just taken a bullet to the vest. She couldn't move; all the air left her lungs. Her heart pulsed so hard it hurt.
She choked and finally managed to pull some air into her lungs. She picked up the plastic and ran to the window, throwing a wild, furious punch at the heavy bag as she went. She threw the window open with a loud clack that reverberated through the alley.
Natasha screamed. She shouted a deep, furious, panicked scream as she threw the little piece of plastic away with all her might. Once it left her hand, and the scream died in her throat, Natasha collapsed against the metal bars of the fire escape and buried her head in her hands.
The pregnancy test clattered to the ground in the alley below, where only the rats and pigeons would be able to see the little plus sign.