Mission Nineteen: There's No Place Like Stark's
Nobody spoke in Sam's car.
Natasha knew that nothing she could say would heal the hurt Steve was experiencing, could take away the fact that he knew his best friend had been turned into a weapon for Hydra, of all people. She knew that he was still coming to terms with everything, and she recognized the crash that always followed high-stakes missions. He'd been able to keep himself going for so long because of the mission; now that they'd won (or at least mitigated as much damage as possible), he was lost in his thoughts.
She didn't want to interrupt him, and she appreciated that Sam didn't either.
Not that she would have been much better for conversation even if she'd wanted to be. She hadn't heard from Clint yet, and she wasn't sure if that was a good thing. She kept telling Steve that she trusted her partner—and she did—but that didn't meant she wasn't worried. She should have heard from him by now.
She'd considered calling Coulson but decided against it. It wasn't her place to reveal his secret to anyone he wasn't ready to reveal himself to. And it hadn't been long enough to worry, she kept telling herself. Not really. The dust was practically still settling.
As selfish as it was, she was glad that Steve was having his own crisis at the moment. It meant he had stopped asking her about her partner. But Sam… Sam was perceptive. He was smart, and he was king, and those two things tended to be a problem for people like her, people who wanted to keep to themselves.
She saw him glancing in the rearview mirror, and not because she had her shirt pulled down over her shoulder to attend to the bruises and burns and gunshot wound she had sustained. He wasn't looking at her body; he was looking at her face.
At a personal level, she was relieved to see that he was a decent man. At a professional level, she preferred men who weren't decent. They were easier to manipulate.
But then again, like she'd told Steve, she was trying to do better. And with SHIELD in shambles, was her job really to twist people around anymore?
She caught Sam's gaze in the rearview and raised a single eyebrow, and his gaze returned to the road.
He doesn't know what to do with us, she thought, both satisfied and unsettled by that fact. After all, she'd made her trade for so long in darkness and shadows that the idea that someone could know so much about her already… she still wasn't used to it, even though the events of New York had happened a while ago.
Clint, on the other hand, seemed to avoid the attention for a completely different reason. He still wasn't entirely past what had happened leading up to the events in New York; he still thought that people should hate him, not praise him.
Natasha sighed. And there she was thinking about Clint again.
"You know, eventually, somebody's going to have to give me a direction," Sam said at last, breaking the silence. "Hospital? Hideout? Wherever it is you guys go after stuff like this?"
Natasha glanced toward Steve, but he was still in no fit state to make decisions. He had a thousand-yard stare.
Or, at least, he had been staring. And then, just as she looked toward him, he looked up and met her gaze, and she realized that he was looking to her to make the call. He was waiting for her to pull something out of her hat, some place off the books. He didn't have connections in this century. Where could he send them that he knew for sure wasn't compromised?
She took a deep breath and let it out. "We need allies," she said at last and saw Steve nodding in agreement.
"No kidding," Sam said dryly.
Natasha smirked his way for that one, but before she could finish the rest of her thought, Steve put in, "What about Barton?"
"We can't—"
"We couldn't look for him while we were in the middle of a mission, Natasha. This is different," Steve said steadily. "We're not going to assume he's—" He cut himself off before he could say anything too emotionally compromising, but Natasha could see it all the same. Even if he hadn't been wearing his heart on his sleeve, even if she hadn't had all the training she had, a rookie could see he was desperate to help someone when Bucky was still out there without him.
Natasha took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. "The one thing you should know about Clint Barton," she said, "is that it's never hard to find him when he wants to be found." She allowed herself a small, affectionate smile, because Steve had figured it out, so why not be a bit more open? "If he's still alive, we'll know about it."
"If Hydra—"
"If he's still alive and Hydra has him, they'll regret it," Natasha said simply. It was a matter of fact. Already decided. And then, she realized who she was talking to, and she let her shoulders drop. "It hasn't been long enough to worry," she said.
"Maybe," was all he said.
Natasha sighed. "If he doesn't make his presence known within twenty-four hours, we'll go look for him," she decided.
After all, Steve might have been worried for his own reasons, but after that time frame, she'd be worried too.
…
Clint had a few different ideas of where to go, but he knew Natasha didn't know about, oh, ninety-five percent of them. Which was a big problem.
He had to figure out someplace that SHIELD didn't know about—or at least someplace that SHIELD didn't have records of. He had a few spots that he knew Coulson knew about, and he was as sure about Coulson being trustworthy as he was about Natasha still being alive and looking for him. Some things were unchangeable facts of the universe; he didn't make the rules.
He could also think of a few spots that not even Coulson knew about, places that he'd been with the Circus of Crime or even before that. He was pretty sure his family's old home in Iowa was still standing—if he was willing to trade his peace of mind for a safe place to bunker down and catch some sleep. And he had a few old haunts from when he and Barney had tried to run away on their own.
But Natasha wouldn't know where to look for him there. And besides, he was pretty sure he needed medical attention. The low throbbing in the back of his head could only go on for so long before it either killed him or got addressed.
He'd tried calling Coulson from a pay phone, but he hadn't gotten an answer. And if Coulson had died in the Hydra uprising, he honestly didn't know what he would do with himself, so he tried very hard not to jump straight to that kind of conclusion. For all he knew, Coulson was busy fighting back an army with his new team. He was probably still alive, right?
With a sigh, Clint leaned against the wall of the bus stop he'd made his temporary thinking spot. The next bus wasn't due for another twenty minutes, so there weren't too many other people around. And he wasn't as recognizable as Tony Stark or any of the other Avengers, so it wasn't like anyone was going to bother him while he sat there and tried to figure out his life.
He needed medical attention, and he needed a place Natasha would think to look, and the more he sat there and watched clouds gather overhead, the more he had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly where he needed to go.
Maybe I should try Coulson again, he thought, but he knew that wouldn't be helpful. So, he sighed again, kicked off from the wall, and started to walk away from the bus stop—he always did better when he was moving.
He wasn't going to call Stark. That was just a little bit too far for his ego, as much as it pained him to admit it. He could tolerate the man when he needed to, but he didn't like listening to him talk about himself, his conquests, his plans, and his assumptions. The man hadn't been told "no" often enough in his life to be tolerable.
But… he had Pepper Potts' number.
He hadn't thought much of it at the time when she had handed him a card with her number on it shortly after the battle of New York. So many other things had happened at the time, and he'd still been coming down from the adrenaline that had fueled him through the pure pain and fear that had been his comedown from being Loki's minion. And then he'd been dealing with Coulson's death. And the hospital stay after Fury had ordered them to get themselves looked after. But for some reason, he'd decided to input the number into his phone—and had memorized it just to be safe, since he went through phones like they were candy. Or sunflower seeds.
He dialed the number and put the phone up to his ear as he walked around, letting some of his nervous energy out. He wasn't sure if Pepper would even remember him or if she'd just given him her number out of pity or something. For as open as she was, she wasn't easy to read.
He walked faster as the phone rang through and couldn't tell if he was relieved or even more anxious when Pepper did pick up with a crisp, "Hello?"
"Hey, I don't know if you remember me," he said and then cringed, because that was probably the worst possible way he could strike up a conversation with someone famous. Everyone probably said something like that to them and expected them to remember faces from crowds of thousands.
He was off to a terrible start.
Before he could dig himself any new verbal holes, he launched into a quick explanation: "This is, ah, this is Hawkeye, and I was kind of wondering if there was any chance—and you don't have to do anything, but if you can—I need a pickup or someplace to crash until I can find Nat again, so—"
"Are you okay?" Pepper asked, instantly concerned—which was at least encouraging. "Tony's been watching the news—we would have reached out, but both of you keep changing your numbers, and we weren't sure who we could trust in SHIELD with Fury and Coulson dead and Hill uncontactable—"
"I'm okay," he promised, even though he knew as soon as he got there that he'd get yelled at for lying. Hydra hadn't exactly handled him nicely. But she seemed worried, and he hated for her to get worked up over something as trivial as a few bumps and bruises and possible breaks. Nothing life-threatened, so no need to worry, right? That was how he'd always operated.
"Oh good." Pepper took a deep breath and then right back to talking a mile a minute. "Tony will be glad you reached out. He was able to hide Bruce—"
"Aw, crud. Banner." Clint ran a hand down his face. He hadn't even thought about the implications if Hydra knew where the Hulk was. He'd been so focused on what was going on with him and with Natasha and Rogers teaming up…
This was why he was always paired with agents who actually knew what they were doing when it came to spywork. He was willing to be Nat hadn't forgotten that Hydra might come after Banner while everyone else was in disarray. And he'd put money down on Coulson running behind the scenes getting people safe too. Making sure no one was forgotten.
"He's okay," Pepper assured him. "He and Tony were already in close contact anyway; Tony just ran over to help him finish up whatever experiment he was working on that couldn't just be left alone or left behind for Hydra to find, and they got everything cleaned up and packed up."
"Good. That's good." Clint took a deep breath and then let it out again. "Look, is there any chance—"
"Do you need a ride?" Pepper asked. From anyone else, Clint would have been worried about condescension or pity or disbelief or, well, anything other than the genuine care and concern Pepper was displaying. But she was so much like Coulson that it honestly had him pausing—because he hadn't realized there were more people like Phil in the world.
"Yeah," Clint said, letting his shoulders drop. "Yeah, I could use a pickup."
"Okay. Stay where you are," Pepper said, sounding more like Clint imagined a CEO would sound now that she had a concrete way to help. "We'll come get you."
"We?" Clint repeated, but Pepper was talking to someone else, the sound muffled. She must have pressed the phone to her shoulder.
And then, she came back: "Okay, we have a lock on your location. Don't go too far, and keep this phone booth in your sight, alright?"
Clint blinked a few times and then decided not to ask too many questions. A free ride was a free ride, after all. "Okay," he said, and then hung up the phone.
…
"He has been redesigning his tower with just the letter 'A' on it," Natasha said as Sam pulled the car to a stop not far from Stark Tower. She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince that they could trust Tony. She'd spent time undercover with him herself and knew how to work with him. Steve had come around to him after the Battle of New York. Sam… well, he didn't know much about the guy other than the regular donations he made to help veterans' mental health charities, among other veterans' services. So Sam seemed alright with him too.
And they did need allies. That much was still true.
But the thing that made her pause—and she hated to admit it to herself—was that Clint probably wouldn't go to Stark Tower if he found himself in trouble. He'd never liked her assignment with him, and even after the Battle of New York, his impression was that Tony was caught up in his own hype. And while some of that was true, Natasha wasn't willing to discount a bit of jealousy behind his distaste.
She knew they couldn't afford to sit around waiting for Clint, though. And it wouldn't be fair to the others to make them wait around for a better opportunity just because her partner didn't like Stark.
And yet, she also knew that Steve wouldn't hesitate to change plans if she voiced her concerns. And that was also giving her pause: the fact that she had found a friend who was so good that he'd throw away strategy for her comfort.
She wasn't used to that. She was barely used to Clint doing it, and they were dating. This was entirely different.
And if she was honest with herself, she rather liked the novelty of a completely non-transactional friendship. Even with Coulson, he was part of SHIELD. With Clint, there was romance. With Steve, he was just… there. Dependable.
She could see why Coulson idolized him.
"Hasn't exactly been great about reaching out, though, has he?" Steve said. Even though he was on board with the plan, she could see him second-guessing, preparing for yet another disappointment. She didn't blame him. After what he'd learned about Bucky, after everything that had happened with SHIELD, a big letter "A" wasn't enough to work with when they were showing up on Stark's doorstep with hats in hand.
Natasha smirked and bumped his shoulder, trying to cheer him up. "You're still mad he didn't call you about the Mandarin?"
"Sure seemed like there was going to be a little more outreach and teamwork than there was after what happened in New York," Steve said.
"That's Tony," Natasha said—and that was that.
Sam chuckled, still with his arms crossed. "Personal experience?"
"Undercover mission."
"Not gonna ask what you were undercover as."
"Not whatever you're thinking."
"Okay, fair enough."
Steve smirked at the two of them and shook his head. "If you two are finished…"
"What, I can't like your friends?" Natasha asked, even as she strolled up to the door. She kept her body language lazy, open, easy to like. Even though she trusted these people by that point, she kept defaulting to that, and she was worried it meant that, even without a tactical reason, she wanted them to like her.
Getting sentimental, Romanova, she thought, shaking her head. That's dangerous in times like this. Look where it's gotten you so far. You could barely focus knowing Clint was gone; you just about lost it when Fury was "dead." You really want to make that weak spot any easier to hit by adding more people to that list?
She looked over her shoulder at two tired, battered-looking men and realized that it was already too late. She'd already decided she liked them.
As she tried to figure out how she'd managed to get herself into such a mess, she swiped the keycard that Pepper had given her after she'd left Stark Industries' official employment. Natasha hadn't put that in any official reports; she didn't want anyone to know she had a key to get into the building that SHIELD didn't know about. And considering everything that had just happened, she felt vindicated in her paranoia.
Unfortunately.
She knew the security cameras must have caught her, Sam, and Steve on their way up to the property, so she wasn't too surprised to see that Pepper was already coming down the stairs to greet them. She was, on the other hand, surprised to see that Pepper was smiling so widely.
And she was surprised even more when Pepper said, "I was wondering when you'd get here."
Natasha didn't let her surprise show—she never did—as she took that information, processed it, and ran with it. "Right, you've probably seen SHIELD imploding on the news," she said, gesturing toward one of the many monitors around Stark's place. "I can promise you it was more spectacular on the inside than it must look on camera."
"I know," Pepper said, still wearing a smile. "Your partner called ahead of you. Tony's with him right now; he was pretty banged up—"
"Barton?" Natasha was too tired to pretend she wasn't instantly focused on Clint's welfare. She had been through too much to play social games. All she wanted in that moment was to find Clint, find out who hurt him, and then start her next mission.
Pepper's smile was a bit more turned up at the corners than Natasha was used to seeing it as she stepped aside so that there was room on the staircase for someone to go past her. "Second floor. You'll see the glass doors to the lab."
"We should all probably get looked at," Steve started to say, and Natasha knew he was gently pointing out that she, too, had been hurt—but she didn't care. She didn't care at all, because Clint was there, and she hadn't allowed herself to feel the full weight of how worried she was until he was okay. And now, she had to pay the debt for putting off her emotions.
She wasn't used to this. Was this what it was going to be like for the rest of her life, constantly bearing the weight of terror on her shoulders when someone she loved—
No, she didn't have the energy to think about that too much. Maybe later.
Just as Pepper had said, the lab was easy enough to find. It looked like Tony had prepared for anything that the Avengers might need, even though they hadn't actually acted like much of a team since the incident in New York. But Tony, ever the planner, always desperate to prove he was needed, always showing his affection by building things, had obviously been renovating his entire tower on the off chance that someone on the ragtag team might need it.
From Tony, it was a gesture of pure love, and Natasha was genuinely touched.
Or, at least, she would have been if she didn't have other things on her mind. She could be touched later, after she made sure Clint wasn't dying or anything like that.
He was in one of six beds and hooked up to several monitors. Tony was standing off to the side, reading over something on a holographic screen in front of him, while Bruce had his glasses on and was studying something on a computer near Clint. Both Tony and Bruce looked up when the doors opened, but Clint was distracted reading something on his phone, his eyes narrowed because of whatever he was reading.
"I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?" Natasha asked with exasperation that didn't match the relief she felt all the way down to the pit in her stomach.
Clint looked up from his phone and broke into such a wide grin upon seeing her that she almost forgot she was mad at him for scaring her—almost. "Like you're one to talk, showing up here with a bullet like you're trying to smuggle a souvenir in your own body." He started to sit up, but Bruce laid a heavy hand on his shoulder to stop him, so he settled back down.
"He has a point," Tony said, both eyebrows raised as he appraised her shoulder—and the rest of her body, in that order. He couldn't resist.
Natasha shot Tony her driest look and waved both of them off with her good hand. "I'm fine. What happened to you?" she asked pointedly, grabbing the nearest chair to drag it over to sit by Clint and utterly ignoring any of the other medical personnel. They weren't important. Not until she knew, for herself, what was going on with one of the few people on the planet she cared about.
"Oh, didn't you get kidnapped by Hydra?" Clint asked. "No, of course not," he said before she could answer, and the way he slightly slurred his words told Natasha that he the medical team had him on painkillers. "You don't get kidnapped by Hydra. You're too good at your job for something like that. What a silly question."
Natasha shook her head at him. "It was a close thing."
"Oh, sure," Clint said with his eyes wide, nodding seriously. "That's why Hydra was having a come apart trying to find you guys." His gaze drifted past Natasha, and he seemed to suddenly realize Steve was there. "Oh, you're alive too. Yay!"
Steve didn't even bother to hide his smile. "Yes, I'm alive," he agreed. "I'm glad you're okay too. Natasha was worried."
"He's exaggerating," Natasha said immediately—and then glared at Sam when he audibly snorted.
Sam held up both hands defensively. "Hey, I know I'm not part of the superhero club or anything, but even I know that's a lie."
"You should think very carefully about your next words," Natasha said, letting her expression fall into one she used often, one that had absolutely no emotional cues.
But the effect was completely ruined by Clint, who started to laugh. "I like him. I thought you were a loner, Tasha; how come you're making friends and mine are all traitors?"
Sam grinned, but Natasha's expression fell. "Who?"
"The nice girl who makes my arrows," Clint said, and his gaze fell to his hands for only a second before he recovered his smile. The others might not have seen it, but Natasha knew: Clint didn't have a big circle of friends, even though he was easy to like. Betrayal hurt him in a way she didn't fully understand, because she came to expect it. But she knew it did hurt, and that was what was important.
"I'll kill her myself," she said without hesitation, and Sam swore under his breath—though when she looked back, he was smirking.
"I'm not saying anything," Sam said.
"She's got you trained up already, huh?" Clint gave Sam a crooked smile, and Natasha could see the relief in his expression that the conversation had turned away from Beth.
And her name was Beth. Natasha remembered that. She had met her, and she'd been surprised by how clearly oblivious Clint was to the fact that Beth liked him so much. He was so smart, and he was so oblivious.
And she was so relieved to see him alive that she couldn't even manage to tease him like she wanted to.
So instead, she sighed, shook her head, and repositioned herself so that she could sit facing him with her hand resting just above his elbow. "I think," she said with a soft smile, "that we should compare notes."