Crime and Punishment
"What have you got for me, Romanoff?" Fury asked, his eyes trained out over the dark city skyline.
Natasha stood opposite the director's desk, her hands clasped behind her back, her features carefully blank. Fury had allowed her a lot of leeway as far as her "interrogation techniques" with Loki were concerned, much more than she had originally believed. It had been over a month since he'd called on her for a new report, something which was unusual in and of itself, and now that she was finally here she was getting the impression that something important had happened.
Her chin lofted slightly and she squared her shoulders, despite the fact he hadn't yet turned to look at her, before she explained, "Loki is using us as a shield. He genuinely fears Thanos, and while he hasn't explicitly told me much of anything, it's my belief that he came here to enlist our protection in the event that his trail is picked up."
"That sounds about like what you told me last time I called you in here," Fury pointed out, still keeping his back to her.
"It is," Natasha conceded, "but it's more complicated than that. The terms of Loki's deal were the Tesseract in exchange for Earth. Since he couldn't deliver the Tesseract, Thanos wants Loki instead—"
"We know all this, Romanoff," Fury interrupted, finally turning to face her. He looked tired, weary even.
It surprised Natasha, but she was careful to keep her professional expression firmly in place as she continued, "Yes, but we don't know when he'll come for him. I believe we've been safe so far because Loki chose the last place—"
"Thanos is likely to look. The scene of the crime. Only an idiot would be stupid enough to hide in the same place he got caught," Fury supplied.
"Exactly. Thor told us that Thanos is searching the Nine Realms. To our knowledge, he hasn't visited Asgard yet which still leaves us some time to prepare."
"Prepare for what? This is what you're supposed to be finding out, Romanoff. So far I'm hearin' a lot of basic strategy and no useful information," Fury pointed out.
Natasha felt her heart rate elevate but she ignored it. "It's been...difficult, gaining Loki's cooperation," she admitted.
"You got it last time, which is exactly why I put you on this to begin with."
"I understand, sir," she continued carefully. She couldn't afford to misspeak at this point. "Loki is under the impression that when Thanos comes to Earth, S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to attempt to trade him in exchange for Thanos's peaceful departure. He refuses to believe otherwise and has been unwilling to work with me because of it."
"Well, he's not wrong," Fury said, glancing to the side briefly, his brows furrowing in thought. "Thanos shows up, that's the first thing I'm gonna do."
Natasha swallowed uncomfortably.
"You're gonna have to convince him otherwise," Fury added, turning his eye back to her.
"I don't see how that's possible, sir," she answered truthfully. She'd threatened Loki with that exact scenario enough times to know that any related conversations were a dead end. He simply wouldn't believe her, no matter how far under his skin she knew she'd traveled.
"Figure it out, Romanoff," the director told her. "You're authorized to use any means necessary. The fate of the planet could be at stake. If there's something Loki's not telling us or if he's got something up his sleeve, we need to know about it."
"Yes, sir," she answered automatically. "Is that all, sir?"
"That's all," Fury nodded, turning back to the skyline. Natasha walked almost to the door before he added, "And Romanoff...if you can't get it done, I'll find someone who can."
"Yes, sir," Natasha forced out before she left the office, closing the door quietly behind her. Her eyes slipped closed and she took a deep breath, willing herself to remain composed. The meeting had gone about exactly as she'd expected, but she didn't appreciate Fury's suggestion that she couldn't do her job. Loki had compromised her once and it hadn't stopped her from putting an end to an alien invasion. This, she vowed, would be no different.
The agent crossed to the elevator and directed it to the ground floor. It was getting late, and she figured that it was about time she headed home. Briefly her thoughts flickered back to Loki, where he was undoubtedly waiting in his cell for the next time she would come to him, but she forced them away again. She'd barely spoken to him the last time she'd visited, but the honesty in her silence was more than either of them were prepared for.
The elevator slowed to a stop, and when the doors whispered open Natasha took a couple steps forward. Her eyes were trained on the ground, and the only warning she had before a body smacked straight into her was a pair of black-booted feet only just entering her peripheral vision. She leaped backward immediately and got a hand between herself and the other person, her nerves too taut to consider the fact that it was likely just another agent before his voice hit her ears.
"Whoa, it's just me, Nat," Clint chuckled, giving her outstretched palm a cheeky slap. "You alright?" he asked when she gave a frustrated sigh.
She shook her head but answered, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just distracted I guess." She was in no mood to talk about what had just happened or the wire she was currently tiptoeing across.
"What happened?" Clint pressed anyway.
The concern and curiosity in his voice filled Natasha with an overwhelming urge to punch him. "Just reporting to Fury. Still figuring out a few things he said," she muttered instead, her eyes trained straight ahead.
"I know how that goes," he agreed sympathetically. "Listen, though—"
He reached out to her, wrapped his arm around her waist. She tried not to stiffen at the touch.
"—I'm headin' out, just got orders. South Africa, probably be gone a little while. I'm glad I caught you, didn't wanna leave without saying goodbye."
Natasha swallowed and looked over at him, a loving smile stretched across her full lips, putting a sparkle in her pale eyes. "Well, you caught me," she said sweetly. The irony in her words made her want to vomit.
"Lucky me," Clint chuckled. His other arm encircled her and he pulled her close. Natasha got her arms around his neck as he leaned her backward, dipping her like an old black and white Hollywood leading lady. He pressed his lips to hers, laying on her the kind of tender, silver screen goodbye kiss that would make any girl wish it would never end.
When the elevator began slowing to a stop and he finally straightened them up again, Natasha's head spun slightly and she found that she couldn't stop blinking. Concern flooded Clint's expression once again and he lifted a hand to her face, his thumb brushing lightly across her cheekbone. "Hey, I'll be back before you know it," he told her, planting another brief kiss upon her lips. "Love you, Tasha," he smiled.
Natasha bit her tongue and nodded, buying herself a moment before she forced out, "I love you, too." Clint's grin widened, and after another brief second he let her go and slipped out of the elevator.
The sound of Natasha's fist hitting the wall echoed around the small metal box.
Natasha sat curled up at one end of the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, her wine glass, a little too full, cradled against her bare collarbone. The apartment was quiet aside from the sounds of the dark Manhattan streets drifting in through the cracked window across the room. Clint had been gone for almost a week now, and she'd only left the apartment three times in his absence. All three had been to bring in his mail.
Most people would be going stir crazy, but not Natasha. She needed the reprieve, the isolation.
She turned the page of the fat novel and took a sip from her glass.
"Again that awful sensation he had known of late passed with deadly chill over his soul," she read silently. "Again it became suddenly plain and perceptible to him that he had just told a fearful lie—that he would never now be able to speak freely of everything—that he would never again be able to speak of anything to anyone. The anguish of this thought was such that—"
Natasha tore her eyes away from the page. The dull, musty leaves shook in her hand. Her fingertips were bone white, pressing little indents into the pages where she gripped them. Her heart beat uncomfortably fast.
She forced herself to drop the book, paying little attention as it tumbled over her knees and landed splayed across her feet.
Her now free hand flew up to cover her eyes, her brows furrowing almost painfully. Her fingertips gripped her temples and her lips pressed together in a hard line. The wine in her glass lapped at the edges of its vessel in time with her deep, almost steady breaths.
She had been doing so well lately.
A few long minutes passed in silence before Natasha dared move again, before she was confident she'd successfully banished her offending thoughts once more. Slowly she lowered her hand and blinked her eyes a couple of times, loosened the tight grip on her glass.
From somewhere behind her a voice called, "Crime and Punishment seems a poor choice for one with so much guilt."