Disclaimer: I do not own "The Avengers" or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works. I do not claim any of the directly quoted lines from "The Avengers" as my own, they belong to Marvel and the writers. The cover art came from a google search with the original source being pinterest where it was credited to Anthony Genuardi.
Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"
Today I started my journey to move from Texas back to Virginia with my son. We've been visiting family for the last several months while my husband is deployed. That being said, I will be posting updates from my phone and my ability to thank all reviewers will be severally crippled for the next few days. I appreciate every single one of you but it's either skip this part of the A/N or skip the whole chapter lol, and I think I know which one you'd all prefer. That being said, I'll answer all questions posed in reviews between now and when I arrive in Thursday's update.
Shout out to those that have guessed the song inspiration for the chapter titles: NevilleLongbottomLeaf
You can guess the song up until I tell you what it is in the final chapter!
As is my custom, thank you to my beautiful betas Kylen and JRBarton for their undying support and beta-powers throughout this story.
Trigger warning! Vague allusions to intended rape and abuse, nothing anywhere near explicit.
On we go!
Last time in The Untold Stories:
Natasha.
If anyone could head Clint off, could stop him from ever reaching the detention area, it would be her. Hell, if anyone had a chance of stopping Clint without the use of lethal force, it was her…maybe only her.
She would find Clint. She would stop him.
Only the dead have seen the end of war.
Plato
April 13, 2012
6:50 a.m.
Helicarrier
Natasha held her knee tightly against her chest, mentally working to push aside the pain from whatever she'd done to it in the fall.
She was shaking. She couldn't stop shaking. She tightened her hands on her leg.
She'd always heard of the Hulk. She'd seen videos of his brutality. She'd been shown pictures of the devastation he left in his wake.
But seeing him in person, running from him… It didn't even compare.
Her system still surged with unspent adrenaline and she knew she needed to move. She couldn't just sit here or it would only get worse. She needed to channel the energy. She needed to focus.
But she couldn't. Her thoughts were scattered and she couldn't drag them back into line.
Vaguely, she heard a call come through about another engine going down.
Then, Fury's response, struck her to her core.
"It's Barton, he took out our systems. He's headed for the detention level. Does anybody copy?"
Everything snapped back into focus.
Clint.
She couldn't let someone else go after him. She couldn't risk anybody else shooting first and never bothering with questions at all.
And just like that, she felt the tremors start to fade. She reached for her comm.
"This is Agent Romanoff. I copy."
Then she gritted her teeth and pushed to her feet. She had a purpose now, a place to channel the adrenaline. She was going to find Clint. She was going to save him, no matter what it took.
She went high, into the bowls of the catwalks that Clint would have to pass through to get from the bridge to the detention center. She'd been briefly concerned that he would take to the vents, but had then decided that stealth wasn't exactly his main concern at the moment. Stealth had gone out the window the moment he'd blown up one of the engines.
Part of her had been prepared for this, deep down. She'd known on some level that she was going to have to face Clint at some point, Loki had promised as much. But now that the moment was here, now that she was stalking the shadows hunting for him…she couldn't help but feel a fissure of fear.
She was a killer, named the Black Widow for her excellence in that particular area. But killing Clint wasn't an option, would never be. She would rather die herself.
And if what Loki had promised was true, Clint would be bent on making that a reality.
They'd only truly been pitted against each other twice – in Paris and then again in Germany. He'd bested her in Paris, her recent rib injury giving him a weakness to exploit. But even then, with her death as his mission, he hadn't killed her. Germany had been different. He'd barely even fought back when she attacked. He'd done what he had to do to defend himself, but nothing more. His lack of conviction to do her harm had led to his swift defeat.
She deeply hoped that now – with years' worth of history and shared time between them – he would lack that same conviction. That whatever part of him had grown to care so deeply for her would be stronger than whatever hold Loki had on him.
A flash of movement caught her attention and she focused on it.
She drew in a breath sharply when she saw the source.
Clint.
Her chest tightened at the sight of him, stalking across one of the catwalks below her. His walk was the same – that graceful predatory stalk that he always used when he'd zeroed in on a target. He was lethal when he wanted to be. Despite what Loki might claim, he hadn't turned Clint into a killer. He'd been one all along. Loki had just unleashed that side of him. He'd stripped away the one thing that always kept that killer in check – Clint's heart. His good, true, noble heart.
He was halfway across the catwalk now and she knew she had to move.
She drew in a fortifying breath, focused her mind to prepare for the upcoming battle.
One way or another, this was going to be over soon.
She moved.
Clint moved swiftly across the catwalk, senses stretched to their limit.
She'd be coming. He knew she would. He'd gone out of his way to show Fury where he was headed to make sure she knew where to find him.
He slid under a large piece of duct work. That was when he felt it.
She was here, watching him from above.
Then as silent and graceful as the spider she was named for, she climbed down and towards him.
He could have fired on her then, but he didn't.
He wanted her close. He wanted to smell her blood, feel it on his hands.
Part of him knew that desire was out of place. How many lives had he taken since boarding the helicarrier? Too many to count. None of them had mattered. He hadn't felt a damn thing as he cut his way through the SHIELD agents sent to stop him. He had a mission, nothing would get in his way.
But she was different. With her, he felt it. He wanted it.
He should be questioning it, but he didn't.
Anticipation bubbled up as he sensed her draw closer. Without making a sound, she landed lightly behind him.
He smiled and turned, nocking an arrow and letting it fly before he'd even gotten his eyes on her.
She pushed his arm aside, sending the arrow sailing harmlessly by and tried to twist the bow from his grip. But his hands were made of steel, a lifetime of wielding a bow giving them strength that few could match.
He twisted it out of her grip instead and spun, driving his boot into her shoulder.
He advanced, swinging his bow like a staff. He was pleased when she dodged his attack easily, kicking him back and disappearing over the side of the catwalk. She wouldn't make it easy for him. That was good. He didn't want it to be easy. The harder she fought, the more satisfying it would be to beat her.
And he would beat her. He would destroy her in every way he could. And he would love every fucking minute of it.
He wasn't all that surprised when she popped up on the other side of the catwalk while he was still looking into the space she disappeared. The shot at his knee was painful, but easily ignored.
After that, it was instinct. She'd always been better at hand to hand than him and he'd need to call upon every dirty trick he knew to beat her. But he also had one very distinct advantage right now that she didn't have.
He wanted to see her dead and broken.
She wouldn't be willing to commit to the same fate for him.
And that was a weakness he would exploit.
Natasha stumbled back, face stinging from taking the bow to her face, but trapping the string with her arms paid off because she felt a certain victory when she was able to spin away with the weapon in her possession. But when he pulled the knife – one of two she knew he always kept on his person – from the sheath, those feelings of momentary triumph bled away.
She'd given him that knife, after the whole mess with Alexi, it had been one of the many ways she'd tried to show him that she chose him…she wanted him.
Seeing him draw it, intent on using it against her…he might as well have already stabbed her.
April 13, 2012
7:00 am
Infirmary hall, Helicarrier
Todd stopped at the corner, holding up a fist to stop the group of agents behind him.
They'd made it to the infirmary hall. The door was right around the corner. The small number of hostiles they'd encountered did nothing but assure him that the majority of them were already ahead of his team.
As if to prove his instinct true, he heard a barked order to 'take out the door'.
He keyed his radio and whispered into it.
"All teams, call out if you are in the infirmary hall."
He got a series of negative responses from all the teams. With a glance over his shoulder at his team, he nodded.
"Engage," he ordered quietly.
Almost as one unit, they rounded the corner, half going to their knees and the rest standing.
They dropped a number of them with that first wave of fire. The rest did exactly what Todd hoped they'd do, left the infirmary alone in favor of advancing on Todd and Echo team.
"Take cover!" Todd ordered sharply.
He slid back around the corner as the enemy started to return fire and the rest of Echo team did the same. Except one.
Jenner Stevenson.
His gun had jammed and he'd instinctively looked down at it instead of heeding the order to take cover. He was a new agent, freshly minted from training. Hadn't yet learned that when in combat, take cover first, worry about your weapon second.
So Todd did the only thing he could. He surged out from behind the wall, wrapped an arm around the smaller man's chest and spun back towards the corner. Gunfire had already erupted around them but even as they both fell into the waiting arms of two other Echo team agents, Todd felt the burn of lead cutting through him.
He distantly heard someone yell something about armor-piercing rounds, but he couldn't find the breath to confirm the call.
He hadn't been shot in years, not since he'd led his last mission that had ended with a team of dead agents and a long stay in the infirmary. Even as he fell, going first to his knees then getting caught by hands and lowered to the ground, he reflected that he wasn't sure how he'd managed to forget how much it fucking hurt to get shot.
Dan gripped his gun tightly, listening to the battle rage right outside the infirmary doors. He glanced around, seeing the various personnel hiding behind overturned gurneys and the intake desk. The five of them with weapons were all hidden behind various forms of cover between the rest of the personnel and the door.
The gunfire and shouting continued until suddenly it stopped.
The eerie silence that followed was broken only by the sounds of his own harsh breathing and the pounding of his heart.
"Should someone go check?" Jake asked as he eased out from behind the shelf he'd moved out from the wall.
"Nobody move yet," Christine snapped sharply. Dan nodded his agreement.
"She's right. We don't know yet if it's our guys that won. We sit tight."
Another few moments of silence followed, but a sudden shout made all of them jump.
"HELP! We need some help!"
Jake immediately – instinctively – moved to heed the call, but Christine appeared at his side, catching his arm.
"You don't know who that is or which side he's on."
He ripped his arm out of her grip but nodded sharply.
Across the room Dan nodded as well. She was right. It could be a trap to lure them into opening the door.
Another shout came, this time from right outside the door.
"Doctor Webber! It's Agent Wallace! You treated my broken finger yesterday! We need help out here!"
Dan looked to Christine, who nodded.
"We're on our way!" Dan announced.
Christine turned, facing the other doctors, nurses and orderlies.
"Triage protocols people. Pair up in teams, make sure you have a radio."
Dan turned too, adding on his own instructions.
"Keep your eyes open. This is not over yet, get whoever you can back in here. If they can't be moved, stabilize them enough so they can be. Got it?"
Everybody nodded, already moving to grab their kits and gather at the door.
"Jake, with me," Dan went to the head of the group and raised his weapon. Next to him, Jake did the same. "Be ready…if this was a trap…"
"I got it." Jake nodded firmly. "Just like paint balling with the boys back home … only hurts more."
Dan rolled his eyes slightly and reached for the door controls. The lock disengaged audibly and then he eased the door open, leading with his gun. All he saw at first was bodies. He pushed out farther, Jake at his shoulder and finally was able to turn and see the group of agents still standing.
He moved towards them, frowning at the way they were gathered around something…or someone.
An agent at the back nudged another one and nodded to Dan. After that they parted, almost as one, and gave him a clear view of whatever they were surrounding.
"Jesus…" Dan dropped his gun with a clatter, ignoring the way the agents in front of him all flinched at the action, and all but dove to the ground next to the downed agent. "Goddamnitall, Todd, what the hell did you do?" he demanded even as he shrugged out of his lab coat and balled it up, looking for the best place to apply pressure.
Todd swallowed thickly and the huffed a shocked, pain filled laugh.
"Goddamned armor-piercing rounds…" Todd shook his head slightly as if he couldn't quite believe it. Dan frowned, pressing his wadded coat onto one of the several wounds he could see, all to the torso. As far as he knew, the SHIELD-issued bullet-proof vests were near impenetrable, even to standard armor-piercing rounds.
As if reading his mind, an agent standing over his shoulder spoke up.
"Those were fucking SHIELD-issued weapons. Only our own armor-piercing rounds could have done that."
Dan shook his head. It made sense. Hadn't the infiltrators gotten their hands on SHIELD TAC gear?
"Jesus, Barton fucking sold us out," another agent scowled. That started a whole rumble of unrest that Dan just shook his head at and ignored. He leaned closer to Todd instead, eyes going to the young agent using his bare hands to put pressure on another of the wounds.
The young man's face was pale and his entire body visibly trembling. As if sensing Dan's gaze, the agent looked up with wide eyes.
"M-my gun jammed…I didn't…I should've…he broke cover, pulled me back…it's my fault." He looked down at Todd and swallowed. "I'm sorry."
If Todd had possessed the strength to scoff, Dan had no doubt he would have.
"Y' need t' lock that shit up, Stev'son." Todd swallowed thickly and then when he spoke again, his voice had grown even weaker, more slurred. "I m'ke m' own damn choices."
Dan looked at the wounds, shifting to hold his coat with one hand and use his bare hand to press down on another, trying to slow the blood loss as much as he could.
"Todd, shut the hell up," he ordered harshly, the logical side of his brain knowing that talking or not, it wasn't going to make a difference.
"Chris!" he shouted over his shoulder, "I need a hand over here! And somebody bring me a goddamned stretcher!" He turned back to Todd, resolutely pressing a little harder with his hands.
On the ground, Todd's nearest hand slowly shifted, pushing weakly at Dan's.
"Jus' stop…please, st'p…"
"You know I can't do that," Dan shot back sharply. He couldn't give up, wouldn't.
"We b'th know," Todd paused to cough wetly, red bubbling forth to stain his lips, "we b'th know h'w th's ends…"
Dan stared down at him, resisting the urge to push harder, to try harder. When he went to speak, he found his throat so tight he could barely force the words out.
"As…" he paused, clearing his throat against the dryness suddenly there. "As I'm always telling Barton, shut the hell up and let me be the doctor."
At the mention of Clint, Todd's expression tightened in a different kind of pain.
"You gotta tell 'm i's n't his fault…" his eyes cleared slightly and his voice grew stronger, "The pain in the ass will bl'me h'mself." His hand suddenly wrapped around Dan's wrist, squeezing with remarkable strength. "You tell him it's not his fault."
The effort cost him, because a moment later Todd squeezed his eyes shut, groaning loudly.
Dan nodded, unable to find the words to respond. He just hoped between him, Phil and Romanoff they'd actually be able to get Barton through to the other side of this mess. A hand landed on his shoulder, startling him.
"Doctor Wilson…" Christine's voice, always so fucking formal, sounded more empathetic than Dan had ever heard it. Her next words were something bordering on apologetic. "There are other wounded agents that need help."
The 'agents that can be saved' went unsaid but was still heard loud and clear.
"Go…" Todd's hand on his wrist released with a slight push. "I kn'w I didn' get 'm clear…I'll b…I'll be 'kay…"
It was a lie if Dan had ever heard one, but the doctor in him couldn't fight the urge to visually check over the young agent still hovering on Todd's other side. His expert eyes found the increasing dark stain on the agent's side almost immediately.
"Jesus Christ, don't they teach you kids anything these fucking days?" He instinctively reached for the source of the wound, shifting the agent to the ground. But even as he pushed him down, the agent suddenly tensed, fighting against him.
"No!" he shouted, but his eyes weren't on Dan, they were on Todd.
Dan knew, immediately. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and pulled in a breath.
There but for the grace of God…
Then he opened his eyes and used his full weight against the struggling agent.
"Stop. NOW. I need you to look at me."
But the agent shook his head, still trying to fight his way back to Todd's side.
"No! Help him! Do something!"
Dan pressed his hand harder against the agent's side, to get his attention.
"I can't!" Saying the words physically hurt, but he forced himself to go on. "But I can help you." His voice sounded fierce even to his own ears, but he hoped that got him so obedience. "Now, LOOK. AT. ME."
Slowly the agent's gaze shifted to his, eyes wide and bright.
"He saved me…it's my fault…"
Dan shook his head.
"Stop. Of all the people whose fucking fault this is, yours isn't even on the list. Now. Tell me your name."
"Jenner Stevenson." The reply was automatic, instinctive and carried no real emotion.
Dan nodded anyway and looked over his shoulder, forcing his gaze above and over the body next to them.
"Beth, pull the medical file for one Jenner Stevenson and then meet me in Surgery 1." He waited for Beth to jog back into the infirmary and then turned back to Stevenson. "So, Stevenson, ever had a bullet pulled before?"
The agent paled a little further and shook his head.
"I-I just graduated training last week."
Dan managed a sad smile and clapped the kid lightly on the shoulder.
"Welcome to SHIELD, kid."
April 13, 2012
7:10 am
Detention Center, Helicarrier
Phil knew as soon as he got to the detention center that it had already been breached. The door standing wide open made it pretty obvious. He heard voices inside and quietly moved through the doorway. Loki was standing over near the cell controls and Thor was trapped inside, a spider web of cracks up at eye level on the glass. There was one more hostile between them, Phil crept up silently behind him.
"The humans think us immortal. Shall we test that?" Loki taunted his brother.
His hand moved towards the controls. Time to step in.
Phil hefted his weapon, slamming it into the back of the hostile's head so that he fell to the ground, unconscious.
"Move away, please," he instructed in his most diplomatic voice.
Loki stepped back sharply, looking a little surprised. Phil titled his chin at his weapon.
"Do you like this?" he asked with a smirk. "We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don't know what it does. Do you wanna find out?"
Clint would have been proud. He always did love a good round of taunting, he'd have to tell-
"Ahhh!"
Pain erupted in his chest, spreading in a frozen wave.
"NO!" Thor shouted, but Phil barely heard him as Loki jerked the spear free from his back and let him fall. He hit the ground hard, falling to rest against the wall.
He gasped, refusing to relinquish his weapon, but unable to focus on anything but the ice racing through him. He had never known cold to hurt so much. The ice spread, encompassing every part of his body and as it did, Phil felt himself start to fade.
Memories were slipping through him, on his mind briefly before fading away to nothing. He felt like he was watching a movie – a movie of his life with Clint.
Maybe this is what they meant by your life flashing before your eyes at the moment of your death…his life had been nothing but Clint for almost nine years now. It seemed fitting that those were the memories on his mind as he faded away.
His attention was ripped away from the fleeting memories as he watched Thor suddenly fall, disappearing into open sky beneath them. He tightened his grip on the weapon and turned his eyes to Loki. The would-be king was looking at the space his brother had just occupied with a victorious little grin. Then, without a glance at Phil, he turned away.
"You're going to lose," Phil insisted suddenly, trying to delay him, keep him here until help arrived…or he got close enough for Phil to pull the trigger.
"Am I?" Loki asked with a patronizing air as he moved to face Phil, standing over him.
"It's in your nature."
Loki all but scoffed.
"Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky. Where is my disadvantage?"
Phil quirked his lips.
"You lack conviction."
Loki frowned, sufficiently distracted.
"I don't think I – "
Phil fired the weapon, watching with meager satisfaction as it blasted Loki in the chest and sent him flying into and then through a wall.
He huffed.
"So that's what it does…"
After that, he waited. Help would come, too late probably, but it would come. For now he was alone…alone with the feeling of ice in his veins and a fleeting glimpse of a movie in his mind that he couldn't quite focus on anymore. He tried to bring the memories into focus, to embrace them and dwell on them. They felt so important, like they encompassed a large part of life, maybe his whole life.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to grasp them.
April 13, 2012
7:12 am
Bowls of Helicarrier
Clint grunted in pain when Natasha managed to twist his arm, feeling the bones in his shoulder grind together as she forced them out of alignment. Pain and he were old friends though, so it was an easy thing to ignore it. He tossed the knife up, turning to catch it with his free hand.
He almost had her. His goal was so close now that he could taste it. Every part of his being wanted her blood on his hands, wanted her life ended brutally and violently. It drove him, that want.
He swung at her with the knife, fully expecting her to dodge. She didn't disappoint, latched onto his knife hand just like he'd anticipated she would. After that, it was an easy thing to manipulate her into a position where his strength would be his alley…and her enemy.
She could try to hold him off all she wanted, but he was stronger.
She tried to arch her head away, to protect her neck, but he locked his iron grip around the back of her head, fisting his hand in her hair and forcing her neck towards the blade of his knife.
The knife she'd given him.
The look in her eyes when he'd brandished it had been a sweet victory all on its own.
He had her now. All he had to do was push with his knife and pull her closer. He'd be able to cut her deep enough to be fatal, but not so much that she went quickly. It would be easy. The fight would be over and he could then take what every bloodthirsty part of him was demanding.
He drew in a sharp breath, almost impressed by the strength of her resistance, and her scent – vanilla, sweat and gunpowder – filled his nostrils, strengthening the intensity of his own desire.
He met her gaze. He expected to see fear. To see realization that she had lost, that he had beat her. He wanted to see the defeat in her eyes as he pushed the blade against her throat.
But instead…what he saw…it wasn't fear, it wasn't anything close.
It was…
For the barest of moments, it felt like the floor had dropped out beneath him. The connection to Loki that had become a constant pressure in his mind momentarily dimmed and the tiny flicker of defiance – that had been trapped in the deepest, darkest corner of his mind ever since Loki had re-established his dominance – flared to life.
He knew what that look in her eyes was now. It was the same look she always had when she wanted to tell him the depth of everything she felt for him but couldn't find the words.
Natasha.
But then like a rubber band that had been stretched and released, his connection to Loki strengthened again, brutally beating back the defiance and giving renewed power to his dark desires for her destruction.
But it was too late. She'd sensed his hesitation and grasped it like a lifeline.
Her teeth sunk into his arm.
He was momentarily stunned, not by the bite, the pain was fleeting, but by the bout of numbness that shot down his arm as a result. He didn't even have a chance to mount a defense before she was flipping over his arm, and spinning.
He saw the rail coming and tried to reach out, but wasn't quite fast enough. His forehead hit the metal with a resounding clang.
The rubber band of Loki's control, wrapped so tight around his mind for so long now, snapped.
In its absence, was nothing but pain, confusion and an overwhelming wealth of suppressed emotion.
He struggled to pull himself up from the ground with a groan. Finally, after failing that, he just braced his hands on the floor beneath him.
He couldn't think straight…he'd been…he'd been fighting?
He glanced around in confusion, trying to piece together the fractured pieces of shattered memory – cast asunder by the tidal wave of emotion still crashing through him.
Where…? Was this…? This was the Helicarrier. He remembered now, he'd been on the Helicarrier.
A presence loomed over him.
Even in his confusion, he knew that presence.
He looked up, facing her with a confused blink.
"Natasha?" he wasn't sure what he intended to say, but he never got the chance. Memories crashed back into him, piecing themselves together with dizzying speed. Him drawing her to him. Their fight. His dark, twisted desires.
Oh, God…
When her fist came flying towards his face, he welcomed the pain and embraced unconsciousness for the relief it brought him.
April 13, 2012
7: 17 am
Detention Center, Helicarrier
The passage of time is a funny thing. Sometimes it can seem to drag on, minutes feeling like hours and hours feeling like years. But sometimes the opposite is true. Minutes can pass in seconds and years can go by in what feels like a matter of days, leaving you wondering where the hell all the time went.
And sometimes, if you were lucky, you would live your life in such a way where both felt irrevocably true. Where the good moments made time pass quickly, left you blinking in the face of years past. But where, at the same time, you could look back and see how far you'd come in those years and that distance told you just how long those years had been, how hard you had fought to make it through each one.
Time didn't make sense to Phil.
Every day had 24 hours, didn't it? Every week, seven days? Every year, 52 weeks?
Time was uniform, should pass with that same uniformity. But it didn't.
As Phil sat slumped on the ground, the wall the only thing keeping him upright, with the director suddenly kneeling in front of him, he realized that time was a fickle little bitch.
These, which he was increasingly certain would be his last, minutes had passed like seconds as he tried to focus on the memories of the life he'd lived. But they had felt, at the same time, like they'd taken hours as he sat here alone, dying.
A fickle little bitch, time.
Fury's gaze was intense, that one eye carrying more weight than double that of a lesser man, but there was a rare hint of fear hidden in its dark depths.
"I'm sorry, boss," Phil felt compelled to explain his current situation. He, after all, wasn't prone to sustaining injury on a mission. And that's what this had been, in the end, a mission to stop Loki. "The god rabbited."
"Just stay awake," Fury commanded. When Phil tried to look away, the director's voice came back firmer, "Eyes on me."
Phil turned his gaze back to Fury's, meeting the intensity in that one dark eye with the fading life of his own.
"Oh, I'm clockin' out here." Maybe using a metaphor was too light, didn't allow the gravity a situation like death warranted. But saying the words, it felt like it would be an admission of defeat. Phil wasn't one to give up, even with words.
"Not an option." Fury's tone was insistent, demanding obedience. He was the director of SHIELD. He was used to be obeyed. He too, wasn't used to giving up…wasn't used to failure.
"It's okay, boss." Phil couldn't let this be a source of failure. They could use it, turn it in their favor. They'd brought together fireworks with the Avengers, with more than one match among them. They needed something to unite them, to give them a common cause. Apparently saving the world just wasn't enough when you had a guy who'd lost touch with that world for 70 years, a god who was from a different one, a guy who hid from it, and a guy who could barely be bothered with it. "This was never gonna work…if they didn't have something…to…"
Time faded, Phil realized. It was something he'd never known until now, as his lungs refused to draw in air again…time could choose a moment to cease to exist all together…to just end.
April 13, 2012
7:18 am
Bowels of Helicarrier
Natasha watched Clint closely, looking for anything to suggest that his lack of consciousness was an act. But he didn't twitch, barely seemed to even be breathing. She knelt cautiously at his side, pressing her index and forefinger to his neck, feeling for a pulse.
She found it easily. It was hard to miss. His heart was pounding so hard and fast she was suddenly concerned about more than just his mental health. She lowered her cheek to his mouth, feeling the rate of his breaths on her skin. It was erratic at best.
She rested her palm on his chest and looked up and around. She caught site of a team headed her way. She waved them closer when the lead agent spotted her.
"Get him to the infirmary," she ordered sharply. When they neared and saw just who she was kneeling over, they collectively hesitated. She felt her expression harden. "Now!"
A few of them jumped at her tone, never having been exposed to her Black Widow side. But the lead agent just nodded and motioned a few of his guys to come forward and do as she'd asked.
She stood and backed out of the way when they stooped to get a grip.
He'd recognized her. She was sure of it. Not in a delusion, not through the haze of Loki's control, but honest-to-God recognized her. He'd said her name, said it like he always did…like she was everything to him in that moment. There was no faking that, not with her. The tones of her name on his lips was something she knew better than anything else in the world. He was still in there.
She was distracted abruptly by the director's voice over the comms.
"Agent Coulson is down."
Her breath left her in a rush and she turned slightly away from Clint and the agents, as if Clint would know what was happening if she was facing him.
"A medical team is on its way to your location." A nameless agent announced, but Fury spoke almost as soon as the agent finished.
"They're here." Natasha held her breath, waiting for more. "They called it."
Her eyes closed of their own accord, a pain so deep reverberating through her chest that she couldn't breathe.
Phil.
Her hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her skin as the pain settled deeper, weighing her down and nearly bringing her to her knees.
He couldn't be gone, not just like that. Not like this.
Phil was family and for her, family was rare. He couldn't just be…
Her jaw tightened as she fought for control, fought to lock down the emotion threatening to tear her down.
Natasha wished in that moment, with everything she had, that she wasn't the Black Widow. That she wasn't expected to be unshakeable and infinitely strong.
Because all she wanted to do was go to her knees and scream. She wanted to let her pain take over and let it out. She wanted…
A thud behind her brought her focus back abruptly.
And all at once her own pain faded to the background.
She turned, eyes seeking out Clint's lax features as the agents lifted his torso from the ground.
Clint.
Whatever she felt right now, whatever pain this loss brought to her, it wouldn't compare to the absolute devastation it would bring to him. Whatever Phil was to her, he was more to Clint.
She watched the agents start to drag him down the catwalk, his boots bumping along behind them. Something in her snapped at the careless treatment and every protective instinct she had for her archer flared to life. She felt new resolve solidify in her gut, resolve to focus on Clint, to push aside her own pain and focus on his. It was what she did. It was what he would have done. It was why they had each other.
"Be careful!" she snapped as she stalked after them. Obediently, perhaps sensing the razor's edge she was on, another agent fell in at Clint's feet and picked them up, carrying him now instead of dragging him.
She followed after them, eyes fixed on Clint's face. With hands fisted tightly at her sides, she poured her energy into controlling her emotions and her focus into planning how to deal with his.
This would break him. He would let it. After what happened with the attack on the New York base two years ago, she knew that to be a fact. The promise he'd made to Phil wouldn't matter. Nothing would matter, not any more. Clint wouldn't know how to survive this.
Somehow, she'd have to show him he could. And more importantly, she'd have to convince him to want to.
End of Chapter 8
*sobs in the corner* if you think that was rough, just wait till Clint finds out! And it's not even just Phil...TODD! *SOBS* If you can see through your tears, drop me a line. And if you can't, well...just drop me a line of gibberish.
Until tomorrow, let this preview sustain you:
Clint came awake with a gasp, pulling hard against whatever was holding him down. He looked around wildly, trying to recognize the room, trying to piece together fractured memories. His muscles strained to break his arms free from their confinement.
"Clint, you're gonna be all right."
His head snapped around at the voice, instincts raging to the forefront in an attempt to gauge the threat.
A woman sat across the room, watching him with concerned eyes.
He knew her…maybe…he thought he did…