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"
Alrighty, thanks to all who reviewed Chapter 11: GremlinX, Rogueroza, ELOSHAZZY, truefairytales, weemcg33, Batghost, Qweb, jaguarspot, Carolinagirl117, Lollypops101, Sandy-wmd, LostHawk, Cello06, R1dDL3M37h15, CyanB, discordchick, Nowgiveusakiss-a, Lona Beth Undorina, Kirstiej104, BatmanOtaku, GinervaMarieChaseEverdeen, burningupastar, thababes, Viviannafox, Jalani93, BooksAreMedicine, Wolfsdrache, JRBarton, Ch33tahp4w, yevguine, RAGAnne, donttouchlola447, ponyperson, darkdestiney2000, GreenLoki, Alice of Scots, Jesuslovesmarina, ladybug114, Sara, ILuvClintasha, Arlothia, and animexluva13
Shout out to those that have guessed the song for the chapter titles over the last few days: Evarria, Murphystarr, BookGirlMusicNerd, Jalani93
You can guess the song up until I tell you what it is in the final chapter!
As usual, thank you to my wonderful betas Kylen and JRBarton. Who knows where i'd be without them :)
Here are my replies to the questions/comments in reviews over the last few days. This is kinda long, so my apologies:
To Kirstiej104: yeah! It was! Oh man, that scene, whether it's in a one shot or an actual story will be hilarious.
To BatmanOtaku: there are 17 chapters total!
To FamousLastWords: I haven't read the book, but I've seen the movie!
To jaguarspot: you had a good theory with the moment Phil died, but as you've seen, it went down a little differently. I do watch Aos…but I'm not a HUGE fan, I'll admit. Even with the Phil…oh and your reviews make me smile every time.
To Nowgiveusakiss-a: Well, as you can see by now, Todd won't be showing up in future stores *cries*. However, Dan might turn up again ;)
To Natalia Grayson: Phil's fate in the VPU is yet to be revealed for certain. That's all I'm gonna say on that. There is a reason I killed Todd, it wasn't just a 'shock factor' thing, I promise. Todd dying, so suddenly and without warning, is an attempt to show the outcome of war. Nobody is safe. One moment, one decision can mean life or death. I couldn't get that message across with Phil's death because we all knew it was coming.
To Viviannafox: we may possibly get Dan's recruitment story one day. I've toyed with the idea of doing a prequel featuring Todd, Dan, and Phil's early friendship/days at SHIELD. Nat's lying to protect Clint from himself at this point. He knows what Loki did, he's gonna try to kill him, no matter who stands in his way or if he gets himself killed in the process. She's trying to prevent that.
To well done you: my friend, don't ever apologize for a long review :D
To Lillian: you live in Australia! That is so cool! I've always wanted to go there!
To skoreangirl tina: I write each story completely and have it beta'd before I ever start posting. That way, if I do have writers' block (which I get at least once EVERY story, usually more than once) I have time to work through it. The one downside to that methods is that sometimes the wait between stories is pretty long
To Zoeff: yeah, as previously stated in the VPU, Nat doesn't tell him till after Loki's gone, as you're about to see.
To Carolinagirl117: 17 chapters!
To ILuvClintasha: my friend, you NEVER have to worry about telling me the truth! I will never be offended by a reader's opinion. I get where you were coming from completely and I'm glad you were honest with me!
To BooksAreMedicine: I'm hesitant to bring in AoS characters cuz that would confuse everyone about Phil so…
To darkdestiney2000: I love The Hurt Locker! :D
To murphystarr: not living on base, we just bought a house :D And I miss Texas already! We hope to be back one day!
To Wolfsdrache: I know exactly which story is next. But I'm not telling until the end of this one.
To Batghost: I hadn't noticed that!
To Qweb: she's lying really only one reason now. If Clint KNEW what Loki had done. He'd try to kill him. Which could be a disaster in a lot of ways.
To yevguine: if you hadn't told me, I'd have had no idea English wasn't your first language. You're doing great!
Now, on we go!
Last time in The Untold Stories:
"I'm just tired. And as for the food? When Loki's gone, I'm sure I'll feel up to eating everything in the pizza joint downstairs. Just need that weight lifted, you know?"
She nodded.
"Well, then let's get the show on the road."
He nodded in return and they both reached for their jackets.
War: first, one hopes to win; then one expects the enemy to lose; then, one is satisfied that he too is suffering; in the end, one is surprised that everyone has lost.
Karl Kraus
April 13, 2016
2:57 pm
Bethesda Terrace, Central Park, NY
Natasha pulled to a stop at Bethesda Terrace and shifted the car into park, killing the ignition. Clint was already looking out the window, eyes locked on Loki where he stood, bound and gagged, next to Thor and surrounded by agents.
He felt something like hate rise in him then. It was unfamiliar. He'd only ever hated one other man.
"Hey," Natasha called his attention back to her, "don't give him power over you, okay? It's over. He lost."
Clint didn't answer, reached instead for a pair of black sunglasses that had been left on the dash at some point. He slid them over his face, hiding his gaze. He always liked sunglasses, liked that it kept the true direction of his gaze a mystery. On this particular day it would also do a good job of hiding from everyone else, especially Loki, just how truly exhausted he was.
He wouldn't let the bastard know how hard his hits had landed. In fact, he intended to do his level best to appear as if not a damn thing was wrong. As if he didn't bear a single bruise, cut or scrape. As if, between his knee and his ankle, his left leg wasn't all screwed to hell right now. As if his back didn't ache and his neck wasn't sore. As if his head didn't feel like Loki had stuck the business end of an electric hand mixer into his brain and turned it on.
All the world would see he was just fine.
"Ready?" Natasha asked, as if she sensed his iron-clad resolve settling in.
He took an extra moment to square his shoulders and roll his neck. He could do this. He could be fine. He glanced at her and nodded.
Her gaze was worried – though that had been a constant thing since he woke up on the carrier – but she quirked her lips hopefully.
"Yeah?" she sought confirmation.
He nodded again.
"Yeah," he assured.
"Then let's send the bastard home."
Natasha and Clint exited the SHIELD company car in near synchronization. She couldn't help but look at him over the hood and check to make sure he hadn't face planted. He hadn't. In fact, he had managed to straighten to his full height and looked for all the world like he didn't have a care.
But she also saw the way his head angled towards Loki almost immediately. He didn't completely turn his head in that direction, but she was willing to bet his hidden eyes were locked on the god like he was a target down range.
"Hey," she called quietly.
He looked over the car hood towards her immediately.
"You good?"
"If you're asking if I'm contemplating all the ways I could try and kill him in the next 60 seconds, then yes, I am. If you're also asking if I will, no, I won't." He shut his car door and continued in a low mutter, "not like I'd be able to get past his blonde body guard anyway."
Natasha rolled her eyes and watched Banner approach them from where he'd been standing over near the perimeter of SHIELD agents that were stationed around them.
"Can I, uh, stash this in your car? Don't really want to carry it around and don't want to just leave it on the sidewalk because, well, this is New York."
Clint just stared at him for a moment and then silently reached for the back door, pulling it open and waving his hand to urge Banner along. The doctor nodded his thanks and tossed his bag in. Just as Clint shut the door, the rumble of an old motorcycle alerted them to Rogers' arrival. He parked his bike behind their car and gave them all a nod of greeting.
While Natasha rounded the front of the car, Rogers moved towards Clint. He held out his hand and offered her partner a kind smile.
"We never officially met. Steve Rogers."
Clint returned the handshake immediately, giving the Captain a nod of greeting.
"Barton."
Steve withdrew his hand and tossed a smile of greeting at Natasha. She quirked her lips in return and stayed close at Clint's shoulder. The four of them glanced at where Thor was standing with Loki, a small team of agents surrounding them.
"I gotta say, the sooner that guy's gone, the better I'll feel," Banner stated suddenly. "The other guy just can't seem to completely settle while he's still in our realm."
Rogers glanced at his watch.
"As soon as Stark gets here, we can get on with it. I'll feel better when Loki is gone, too."
Natasha glanced at Clint, but he was holding himself perfectly still, his laser-like focus pinned on Loki.
She nudged him and he nearly flinched.
He kept doing that. Completely zoning out. It wasn't like him, not even a little. Clint was excellent at keeping stock of his surroundings. He was always aware of everything going on around him. For him to get tunnel vision like that was unheard of.
She wondered again just what Loki had done to him and how much of it Clint had been aware of at the time. Whether he remembered it outright or not right now, he wasn't as unaffected as he was trying to pretend to be.
She didn't get a chance to say anything, though, because the loud roar of an engine drew all of their attention to Stark's arrival. Despite the flashiness of his car choice, he seemed to be in a somber mood as he climbed out, silver case in hand.
"Let's go," Steve decided, starting forward.
Thor, too, had apparently decided now was the time because he led Loki away from the agents and out into the open. Natasha waited for Clint to move before following him. He peeled to the left a little, flanking Thor and Loki. It was a tactical move that she wasn't even sure he'd done consciously.
She wished she was impressed by the fact that Clint wasn't even limping – he didn't appear to favor his left leg at all – but she wasn't. He could deny and ignore pain with the best of them if he wanted to. She'd see him get shot and keep going without missing a step.
Showing pain was a weakness to him. And he refused to be weak.
While Steve watched Selvig and Banner get the tesseract into a new container, Natasha watched Clint. Without giving her warning, he strode right up to Loki and leaned in, whispering something and then backing away. He went almost stock still then, silently glaring.
Loki glared right back.
Clint leaned in close to Loki and set his voice at a low growl.
"You lose. She's still standing and so am I. You didn't break me. You didn't even come close. I hope you rot in hell, you son of a bitch."
Then he backed away, glaring through his sunglasses. Maybe it was a little bit of a lie. He did feel broken, but not completely. He still had Natasha. He still had Phil. He would find a way to put back together the broken pieces. He'd do it in spite of Loki and in spite of how hard the god had worked to rip him apart.
He wouldn't break.
He would send Loki packing believing that he'd failed, that his promise to leave Clint shattered was the only thing that ended up broken. Clint was already able to look at Natasha without seeing what he'd almost done. He could touch her without those dark thoughts resurfacing.
Natasha was right. Loki had lost.
It was over.
He cut his gaze over when he sensed her move next to him. She twisted so that her mouth was near his ear and spoke lowly.
"Grapevine says Hulk tossed him around like a rag doll during the fight. I don't know about you, but I'd pay to see that security footage."
The visual alone was enough to make him smile.
A moment later, Loki's gaze cut away from his and that felt like a different kind of victory. He smiled a little wider. He saw Thor approach Loki with the tesseract, holding a handle out for the other god to grab.
Instinctively, Clint shifted, moving away from Natasha but closing off the only real gap in their ranks. Just in case. He didn't want Loki getting any funny ideas.
Then, less than a minute later…it was over. They were gone. Clint found himself blinking up at the sky, looking for any last trace of them, but even his keen eyes couldn't track them where they'd gone.
Natasha's hand found his arm, drawing his gaze back down to earth.
She smiled.
"Wanna get out of here?"
He quirked his lips. He already felt lighter. With Loki gone, it was like some weight had been lifted from his soul.
"Hell yes."
Together they headed back to their car. They were waylaid by Stark, who extended a hand.
"That bow of yours, fancy shit," the billionaire stated casually as he shook Clint's hand. "I've got some ideas for enhancements if you're interested."
Clint wondered if Stark had ever met a weapon he didn't have 'ideas for enhancements' about.
"I might take you up on that." SHIELD techs never let him enact any of his more creative arrow ideas. Maybe Stark would be more open to some free thinking on the subject.
"Agent Romanoff," Stark nodded at Natasha, though there was an air of playful suspicion in his gaze, "or whoever you are today. Always a terror seeing you."
Natasha gave him a tight-lipped, slightly murderous smile that had Stark's gaze narrowing.
"Well, I'm off then." He turned away without so much as a backward glance at them. "Bruce! What do you say you come check out my lab? My toys are way more fun than SHIELD's and twice as expensive."
Natasha shot Clint a grin as they continued on their way.
"I infiltrate his organization and spy on him once and he can't let it go."
Clint chuckled, rounding the car and habitually opening the driver's door as Natasha retrieved Banner's bag for him. He exchanged nods with the Captain and started to lower himself in.
"Oh no," Natasha was suddenly at his side, "don't even think about it. I'm glad you're feeling better but how about you let the one that's slept in the last three days do the driving?"
Clint didn't bother arguing, but did turn to face her with a teasing grin.
"You trying to whisk me off to some secluded spot where you can have your way with me?"
Her mouth slid into a seductive grin and she leaned into his personal space.
"The only place I'm whisking you is back to Brooklyn and into a bed."
He grinned wider.
"Not as kinky as I was hoping for, but I'll take it."
She laughed.
"God, you must be feeling better – or the exhaustion is making you loopy. Get in the car." She gave him a gentle shove to get him moving.
Clint just smiled and obeyed.
Natasha made quick work of the drive back to Brooklyn. She wasn't surprised in the least when Clint's head had tilted against the window before they even made it to the bridge. When she finally parked the car back in the garage that stood a block from their safe house, she drew in a deep breath and turned to watch him.
Loki leaving had lifted a weight, that was for damn sure. Maybe some part of him had need the god gone to truly believe he was free of him. Whatever it was, he'd been smiling easier and spouting innuendo like he hadn't even missed a beat.
She just wished it was going to last. She held no illusions. She knew that when he found out that not only was Phil dead, but she had lied to him about it – had robbed him of a chance at vengeance – he was going to be beyond angry with her. He'd only ever been truly angry at her once. The whole mess before her ill-fated Germany mission had left him pissed enough to walk away from her.
That had also been a lie – one of omission. It had been something kept from him because at the time it had seemed too personal. It had been part of her past. It hadn't concerned him.
She'd been wrong. There wasn't her past and then Clint anymore – there was just Clint. He was part of every piece of her life now. She'd promised him, after Germany and after they'd sorted out the whole mess with Alexi, that there would be no more lies.
Now she'd betrayed that and she wasn't sure she was ready for the fallout.
There was no escaping it now, though, he needed to know. He had to know.
She didn't reach out to wake him, instead opened her car door and stepped out. The sound of her door shutting roused him. By the time she'd made it around to the passenger side, he was pushing his door open.
The grogginess had settled back in and he wavered heavily once he was upright.
"Not much further, мой сокол." She pulled his arm over her shoulder and let him lean against her as they walked. (my hawk.)
It was a testament to his exhaustion that he just silently complied, letting her pull him along without protest. His limp was back, more pronounced than it had been, and his right hand had strayed to press against his right side. As hard as it was to see him in obvious pain, part of her was relieved that he wasn't trying to hide it from her.
Several minutes later, as they stood at the bottom of the first flight of stairs, he sighed deeply.
"Next safe house…no stairs. Not one. I don't ever want to go up another goddamned stair after this."
"No argument here." She waited until he moved before starting forward herself.
This trip up the six flights was somehow easier, for Clint at least. Whatever comfort he'd found in Loki leaving seemed to give him at least marginal energy to avoid outright collapse.
Natasha, on the other hand, found each step harder than the last. The closer they got, the closer she got to having to tell him the truth. And more than anything, she didn't want to.
Loki was gone. It was supposed to be over. But it wasn't.
Not even close. As much as she wanted to just let him sleep, to put off the truth, she knew that the longer she waited, the worse it would be. She'd already waited too long – maybe too long for him to forgive her for it.
The lie had been hard. The truth would be worse.
Clint pulled away from her once they were inside the apartment again, letting her turn to reengage the locks. He headed straight for the bed. It looked more comfortable than any bed he'd ever seen.
"I could sleep for a week." Maybe he would, if they could put off the debrief that was surely headed his way and the psych eval that would get shoved on him.
God, he was going to have to navigate that like a minefield.
"I think I could actually eat something now too. I'm hungry...hell, I'm starving." He sank down on to the bed and toed off his boots – left loose on purpose so he wouldn't have to bend to get them off.
He looked up to see Natasha was still facing the door, though he'd heard her key in the code already.
"Hey, you okay?" he asked in concern. He almost levered himself up off the bed to go to her. Something was wrong, he could sense it now. It was practically bleeding into the air around her. He started to push himself up in earnest now, worried that maybe one of her broken ribs had shifted, or that the head wound had been more serious than she'd let on.
She turned then and made quick strides towards him, using a gentle hand to keep him from rising. Then she went to her knees in front of him, but didn't meet his eyes.
"Nat?"
She looked up at him and he drew back. He could see it in her eyes. It wasn't an injury, it was something else, something worse.
"Clint…" she started softly, "there's something I have to tell you."
He frowned at the unusual waver in her voice.
"Tasha?" he reached for her hands, closing them in his own. "What is it?"
She licked her lips and drew in a breath.
"It's Phil..." she admitted, gaze locked on his.
Clint tilted his head, the beginnings of panic starting to creep up in his gut. He refused to acknowledge it, pushed it away instead.
"What about him?" he asked, grasping at ignorance, refusing to make any mental leaps.
But he knew. He could see the answer in her eyes.
He let go of her hands and pulled his own back. She let hers fall to rest on his knees.
"Loki…" she explained, her expression slowly – piece by piece – started to crumble. "Loki killed him during the attack on the carrier."
Clint stared at her, unable to process what she'd just told him.
"Loki? What…?"
He shook his head and stood abruptly, shoving past her and pacing away. He rounded on her, pitching his voice low to reflect the anger he felt boiling up inside him.
"I asked you, point blank, if he was okay and you said he was."
"I know," she stood and moved towards him, but she stopped just within arm's reach when she caught the fierce glare he sent her way. "We needed you. We needed you focused and ready to go to war."
He shook his head again, looking away from her, over to the doors that would lead him to the roof. Phil couldn't just be gone. He couldn't just be dead.
It didn't feel right. It didn't feel true. He'd know if it was. He was sure he would.
He shook his head again, more sharply this time and turned his fiery glare back on her. She was still hovering a foot and a half away, eyes full of apology and sadness of her own.
"It's not true. It can't be." He growled out the denial. "Phil's not dead."
He just wasn't – plain and simple.
"Fury was there," she explained quietly. "He was with him in the end."
"Then Fury's full of shit," Clint spat. "He's not dead, Natasha. I would know if he was."
"Clint."
"No," he denied sharply, moving towards the balcony doors. "I don't know why you're lying to me, but you are."
"I'm not." She followed him and pushed the doors closed as he tried to pull them open. "I'm not lying, Clint." He tried the doors again and she pressed her body against them to keep him from escaping. "Look at me!" she demanded. "Look me in the eyes and tell me if I'm lying."
He did, he looked her right in the eyes. He saw the same thing he'd seen the moment she started this whole conversation. She believed, with everything she had, that Phil was dead.
He shook his head, more frantically this time.
He wrapped his hands around her shoulders and forcefully moved her away from the doors. The pang he felt when she winced at the manhandling was swiftly pushed aside in favor of taking his escape. He scaled the ladder to the roof in record time, stumbling away from the ledge and going to one knee when his left leg finally decided it'd had enough.
His already abused knee cracking into the hard top of the roof had him pitching forward, catching himself with his hands before he could face plant. But then he just allowed his descent to continue until his forehead pressed into the concrete of the rooftop.
Phil was dead.
He dug his hands into his hair.
Phil was dead.
He fisted his hands, clenching his eyes closed.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to allow some sort of release for the overwhelming emotions boiling inside him. But he didn't, couldn't. Letting it out, acknowledging the pain and the anger…it meant accepting it.
It meant accepting that Phil was actually gone, was actually dead.
He couldn't do that. Wouldn't.
So instead he dug his fingers harder into his scalp and pressed his forehead more firmly against the rooftop.
And he controlled it, he forced the emotion down. He buried it deep, locked it up and turned his back on it.
After that…all he felt was numb. And he welcomed it.
He started to shift, but then aborted the movement.
He didn't even know if he had it in him to stand.
He heard her on the ladder, felt her gaze as she crested the ledge and moved out onto the roof.
He didn't move.
She stopped a couple of feet away, but didn't speak. She was just there, waiting.
Slowly, he pushed himself up and shifted until he was on his butt, legs bent before him and elbows braced on his knees. He threaded his fingers into his hair and stared across the rooftop, refusing to meet her gaze.
Slowly, she crouched into his line of sight, still quiet, still waiting.
"You lied to me." His voice was low and angry – he knew that – but he couldn't help it. As much as he had buried any acknowledgement and reaction to what she'd said about Phil, he hadn't forgotten the lie.
For two people who lied for a living, the act, ironically, wasn't tolerated between them. It hadn't been for a long time.
He watched her flinch like he'd put an arrow in her. The last time she'd lied to him about something this serious, they'd called it quits on whatever this was between them. They'd walked away from each other and then he'd nearly lost her in Germany. He'd promised himself then that he'd never walk away from her again, no matter what. And he wouldn't.
But goddamn, it fucking hurt.
"You lied to me," he accused again, voice as sharp as a blade.
"I did," she admitted quietly, but firmly. That was just like her. She was never afraid to own her imperfections. "Because I knew what you'd do. And we needed you focused."
That hurt too. Manipulation was a trick of her trade. She used it on marks, on the enemy. For some reason, he'd never thought she'd use it on him.
"So you used me…manipulated me," he said darkly. He heard her draw in a steadying breath.
"Yes, I did."
There she went again. She would own it. She wouldn't try to pass the blame off or excuse it away.
That was Natasha.
"But it was about more than that," she went on. "When you woke up…when you were having those flashes of what Loki had tried to make you do, I could see that you were on some invisible ledge. I knew I couldn't tell you then. I knew it would've pushed you over."
His jaw clenched. She wasn't wrong. Loki had shoved and pushed and nudged him until he was standing on the edge of an abyss with the ground crumbling beneath his feet.
If she had told him then, when Loki was still here – still shoving, pushing, and nudging him – he'd have gone over.
But when Loki left…he felt like he'd been able to shift back to stable ground.
It had been the tactical call, maybe even the right one.
But it still felt like a betrayal.
"So you waited for Loki to leave."
She nodded.
For several long, quiet moments he just sat there, head in his hands and eyes pinned on some spot on the concrete. He should be furious with her. He should be pushing her away and telling her to get the hell away from him.
But he couldn't.
Because deep down, a quiet voice was reminding him that she cared about him. It was telling him that if he would stop and look, he'd see that lying to him had gutted her. That having to tell him the truth was destroying her.
And that same voice was whispering that he was lying too. And unlike Natasha, he wasn't coming clean. He wasn't owning it.
He was a lot of things, but a hypocrite wasn't one of them. So he drew in a breath and met her gaze.
"I get why you lied."
She wasn't expecting the absolution. He could tell by her stunned blink.
"If you'd have told me, I'd have killed him…or tried to."
He still had half a mind to find a way to Asgard and put the bastard down for good.
But Thor had taken the only key that opened that particular doorway. Revenge wasn't an option and maybe that was a good thing. If Loki was here…Clint didn't know if he'd have the strength to stop himself from trying to kill him. Hell, he wished with more intensity than was healthy that he'd put an arrow in the son of a bitch when he had the chance back in Stark Tower.
But he'd promised Phil, two years ago, that if the worst ever happened, he wouldn't go backwards. He wouldn't embrace the darkness, no matter how much he wanted to.
And Clint didn't break his promises.
So he did his best to let go of the vengeful thoughts, but found it harder than he'd expected.
Not long ago, Clint had looked Loki in the eye and told him he'd lost.
It had been a lie.
Loki hadn't lost.
He'd won. Clint just hadn't known it yet. He'd done exactly what he'd told Clint he would do – he'd broken him. He'd distracted him so completely with the bloodlust towards Natasha that he hadn't even seen it coming. Looking back, it had probably been his plan all along.
He knew he should be letting himself feel something. He should be letting emotions overwhelm him. He should be screaming and crying and reacting. But he'd buried all of that. He wasn't going to let himself feel it. If he opened that door, he didn't know if he'd ever be able to shut it.
So instead, he just embraced the numbness. And he did feel numb – beautifully, blissfully numb. Like the world was moving around him but he was stuck, frozen, unable to interact.
Maybe that was good. Maybe numb was better.
"Clint?"
He blinked, bringing her face back into focus. Worry clouded her gaze and she'd come a few inches closer. He didn't even have it in him to be mad at her anymore.
"Why don't we go back inside? You need sleep."
Clint just stared at her for a moment. Sleep? Yeah, his body demanded it at the moment, yearned for it. So he moved.
Slowly at first, then faster. He made it to his feet and didn't even sway, though the world did tilt around him. She led the way back to the ladder and went down first, more than likely to be there to catch him if consciousness fled.
But he descended after her without incident.
No, it wasn't until he walked ahead of her back into the apartment that the world flickered. It was a strange, but not entirely unfamiliar, sensation. Like someone had flipped a switch on his vision, turning it off and then back on in rapid succession.
He knew he should call out to her, warn her that his body had finally given up and called it quits. He'd run face first into the proverbial wall hours ago and had climbed over it.
He opened his mouth, but then the room flickered again. His hand reached blindly for something even as the switch flipped off once again.
It didn't flip back on.
He didn't even feel his body hit the floor.
Natasha breathed a sigh of relief when Clint's feet hit the balcony.
She was worried.
She'd gone up to the roof expecting fury and had been met with understanding instead. She'd expected some broken combination of sadness, pain, and anger.
But instead he didn't seem to be feeling much at all. He almost seemed…numb.
It wasn't healthy, but maybe it was best. Maybe it was the only way he could cope right now.
He headed inside ahead of her and she followed slowly, frowning when he paused briefly just after crossing the threshold. She opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but then everything happened too quickly.
His hand drifted out and then he just went down, dropped like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The impact was jarring to witness, but he didn't make a sound. More than likely, he was already unconscious. She went to her knees next to him, pulling him onto his back and reaching for the pulse point on his neck.
She found it easily, strong and true, if not a little fast.
She let out a relieved breath and dropped her head down to rest on his chest. She felt it building then, the weight of everything that had happened in the last few days.
Clint going missing. The frantic search that yielded no results. Capturing Loki. The interrogation. The attack on the carrier. Running from the Hulk. Fighting Clint. Losing Phil and Todd. Watching Clint fight his way through withdrawal symptoms. Lying to him about Phil when he woke up. The battle in the streets. Finally winning.
Only it didn't feel much like winning right now. Not with Clint unconscious on the ground and with so many people dead – people that were important to them.
Natasha shifted, carefully lifting his head into her lap. She'd have to haul him over to the bed soon, but right now she didn't even know if she could make herself stand back up. So instead, she just curled her body protectively over him, pressing her forehead against his.
Telling him had been worse than she'd imagined. She'd seen, as her words sunk in, his heart break in his eyes. Then the wild, stubborn denial had come as he clung to something, anything, to make the hurt less. But that had been better than the numbness that had seemed to come over him since, almost like he was checking out, separating himself from the reality he found himself in.
Loki's final blow had been the most devastating and with it, he'd done what she hadn't believed possible.
He'd broken Clint Barton.
In a way, she'd helped, by lying, by manipulating him to fight in the battle, by keeping him from a chance at revenge…and then by being the one that told him the truth.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered softly. Sorry for the lies. Sorry for the truth. She felt hot tears burn her eyes so she squeezed her lids closed to trap them. "I'm so, so sorry, мой сокол."
She was the Black Widow. She was a stone cold killer, unshakeable and strong.
But right now, she didn't feel like any of those things. She felt lost. She felt broken.
She felt like even though they'd won, they'd lost. They'd paid for their victory in blood and she was terrified the cost had been too high for her hawk or her to handle.
She curled tighter around Clint, clenching one hand around the collar of his jacket, and carefully cradling his head with the other.
When the first tear broke free, she couldn't do anything but suck in a fractured breath. She let it out just as brokenly, feeling another tear slid down her nose, rolling onto Clint's temple and sliding into his hair.
She growled in frustration, willing the overwhelming emotion away.
She wouldn't break. She couldn't. Clint would need her to be strong.
So she straightened, wiping at her eyes and taking a deep, composed breath.
You are control. You are discipline. You are precision.
The Red Room mantra rolled through her mind without warning, making her hand on Clint's jacket tighten. Ever since her run in with the rogue Red Room instructor in Germany, those old, nearly forgotten lessons had been simmering closer to the surface.
What had Clint said to her after she'd recovered from that and she'd finally told him everything? He'd held her, he'd kissed her gently and he'd slowly and passionately made her forget the Red Room even existed. And afterward, he'd whispered softly in her ear,
"You are in control. You are strong. You are beautiful. And you are everything to me."
She let out a slow sigh and looked down at Clint, gently tracing her fingers through the hair of his temple.
He had accepted her, and all the darkness that went with her, without question. He'd loved her in a way that she hadn't even known was possible. And even though she returned those feelings, with absolutely everything she had, she hadn't told him. She'd thought her actions were enough. It wasn't until Alexi had nearly destroyed everything that she'd finally told him.
When Alexi had looked at her and told her to choose, she hadn't even hesitated.
But the doubt Alexi had planted in Clint's heart had grown strong and she'd been too caught up in the demons of her past to notice.
But what Alexi hadn't understood, what she'd done everything in her power to convince Clint of, was that there hadn't been a choice. There had only been Clint. There would only ever be Clint.
She leaned closer, putting her lips right next to his ear.
"You are everything to me, мой сокол."
Then she drew in a fortifying breath and hooked her hands under his arms, forcing her tired legs under her. She'd had to carry Clint, actually carry him, exactly once in their long history together. She'd only succeeded because of adrenaline and desperation. She was strong, but he was nothing but solidly built, lithe muscle.
In short, he was heavy.
When he was at least semi-conscious, he was pretty good about keeping his feet under him if she took the brunt of his weight through an arm over her shoulders. But when he was deadweight, like now, dragging became the name of the game.
Dragging was easier than carrying, but was hell on the back.
She back pedaled towards the bed, pulling him after her and climbed backwards onto the mattress. She had to heave a little to get the bulk of his body up onto the bed with her, but she managed. Once she had him all the way onto the mattress, she rolled him to his side, working his layered hoodie and leather jacket from his shoulders.
That done, she quickly stripped him of his pants and manhandled him under the blankets. She sat back on her heels with a sigh, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face.
Exhaustion pulled at her and she slowly unzipped her boots and kicked them carelessly to the floor. Then she dropped her own jacket into a heap next to them. Her own black pants followed and then she was snuggling down into the blankets next to him.
Her phone suddenly sounding off from the fresh pile of clothes had her sighing. The ringtone – Johnny Rivers' "Secret Agent Man" – had been downloaded by Clint and she'd found it amusing enough not to change it.
It was always good to know when it was Fury who was calling.
She eased over the edge of the bed, feeling for the device and wincing as her ribs ground together.
Finally, she found it and laid back even as she answered.
"This is Romanoff."
"You two squared away?"
"Well, Clint's unconscious, does that count?"
Fury sighed over the line. He sounded tired. She knew she did too.
"Do you need medical?"
She rolled her head over to study Clint's profile. His breathing was steady, skin only a little pale.
"Nothing physically that I couldn't handle." God, she hoped she hadn't missed anything.
"And the non-physical?"
Natasha felt her throat tighten.
"Why, Director, is that concern I hear?"
He didn't sound as amused as he normally did when teased in such a way.
"I take the evasion to mean you've told him."
She swallowed and blinked away the moisture building in her eyes.
"Yes."
Fury sighed again.
"I need him in for a preliminary debrief as soon as he's conscious. Call ahead and I'll have a jet sent to pick you up."
"Can't it wait?" she asked, her tone sharper than she'd intended.
"No," he answered simply, sharply.
"I'm sitting in and no contact with the Council." She really wasn't in a position to be negotiating. Fury was her boss. But she wasn't leaving Clint to handle this, any of this, alone.
She heard him draw in a slightly irritated breath.
"Romanoff, he played for the enemy team. Whether it was his choice or not, answers are being demanded. I'll do what I can, but you and I both know that the Council won't back down until they can judge his loyalty for themselves."
She bit her lip, closing her eyes against her own frustration. Clint was perhaps the most loyal man she'd ever met. He'd disobeyed SHIELD exactly once in his tenure with them, to save her. That they questioned him at every turn, looked for any excuse to discredit and discipline him…it made her question sometimes just who exactly they were working for.
"He's not ready." Not to face the Council, not even close. She wasn't even sure he'd have it in him to talk to Fury.
"Like I said, I'll do what I can. Best case, I can delay his meeting with them. Give him time to regroup."
She nodded even though he couldn't see her and went on when she didn't reply.
"Romanoff…" it wasn't like Fury to hesitate and it gave away the true weight this whole situation was putting on him, "keep him in once piece."
Why didn't he just ask for the impossible?
"I'll try, but…"
"I know." He sounded like he did. Then his voice strengthened. "See you soon."
She tossed the phone back to the floor even as the call disconnected.
Then she did the only thing she could. She curled her body around Clint's and closed her eyes.
To her surprise, sleep came quickly.
End of Chapter 12
So...Clint is dealing with this...pretty unhealthily. But you can see how six months later, in Vantage Point, he's still...not coping. When you think about it, he's dealing with this in the same way he deals with physical injuries. He ignores it. He powers through. He does whatever he has to in order to SURVIVE.
So on that depressing note, we'll meet back tomorrow and continue on.
Same time, same place! Drop me a line if you'd be so kind and to prepare you for tomorrow...have a preview
He wasn't sure what he expected, maybe for all the emotion Barton tended to keep locked down to finally break free. Maybe he expected grief to show or anger. He hadn't expected this, for Barton to have just withdrawn into himself.
Though it fit, he supposed. It was what he'd been like when Phil recruited him. Only now, Phil wasn't here to break through that steel-reinforced shell.
Nick had an idea of what to do about that, though. There was no one man that could replace Phil Coulson, but a team of men? Maybe they could.