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sareaTitle: Chasing the Light (AO3)
Author:sarea_okelani
Rating: PG-13
Summary: A mission that goes awry tests two assassins and their partnership.
If you missed them: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
//\\
It was the middle of the night for most everyone else, but it was morning for them. The hotel bar was full of businessmen, high-class prostitutes, and 20-somethings playing at being sophisticated.
They had staked out a small table in the middle of the bar. Clint had ordered a red eye, then gone back up to the room to double check on their equipment – or more specifically, to make sure his favorite scope hadn’t been damaged by the careless bellhop. They were in Utah on a reconnaissance mission – SHIELD had gotten rumblings of a group of extremists who were particularly obsessed with biological warfare. Apparently, they’d been able to recruit a number of scientists who were working on a virus known only as AS-81; its specific effects were still to be determined.
Natasha’s orange juice arrived first. She accepted it with a Black Widow smile, which came automatically because she was wearing a slinky violet dress slit up to the thigh – basically a uniform of her alter ego. Unfortunately both the smile and the dress had done their jobs too well; she had just taken a sip of her drink when a man in a well-tailored charcoal suit took the seat opposite her. His head of salt-and-pepper hair was full and styled tastefully, and his smile was friendly, not smarmy.
“You looked a bit lonely,” was his opening gambit. “I hope you don’t mind?”
Impatience flickered in her veins and her thigh rig (on the side that didn’t have the slit) itched, but Natasha kept her expression neutral. “Just waiting for my husband,” she said coolly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clint enter the room. He spotted her at the same time and his eyebrows rose when he caught sight of the fact that she had company.
Her companion chuckled. “Of course. I should have known. Lucky man.” She saw his eyes zero in on the fact that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but he didn’t comment. “I’m Lee, by the way.”
Natasha shook his hand even as she sighed inwardly. The lack of a ring had likely convinced him that she wasn’t actually married, just trying to give him the brush off, so now he’d redouble his efforts in order to convince her that he was worth her while. “Allison,” she said. Clint’s expression indicated that he’d take off if she was occupied by choice. She shook her head and tried to send the message Get your ass over here telepathically.
Lee was doing his best to be engaging – and he was; if Natasha were a different woman she’d count herself lucky to be hit on by an attractive, obviously successful, and charming man, but she wasn’t a different woman, and she had a job to do. She made small talk with Lee for as long as it took Clint to reach the table. His red eye arrived at the same time.
“Here’s your coffee, sir,” the waiter said somewhat awkwardly, looking from Clint to the man who was sitting in the seat Clint had vacated not too long ago. He set down the drink and departed.
“Oh honey, there you are,” Natasha fairly gushed. “This is Lee, he was just telling me about all the great sights to catch while we’re in Chicago.”
Lee got up swiftly, a dull red flush creeping up his neck as he realized that Natasha had, in fact, been telling the truth – as far as he knew, anyway. “Hi,” he said, offering Clint his hand. “Your wife’s a lovely woman.”
“I know,” Clint replied in a friendly way, not losing a beat. They weren’t posing as a married couple in their official cover story, but he didn’t blink. He shook the other man’s hand gamely. “Let me tell you, the day she said yes was the brightest day an ordinary guy like me could ever hope to have. When I asked her father—” He suppressed a slight yelp as Natasha’s stiletto caressed his wing-tip loafers. Laying it on a bit thick was the message. “Anyway, thanks for the tips about the city. I’m sure we’ll put them to good use.”
“Great, I hope you do. Excuse me. It was nice to meet you,” Lee directed toward Natasha.
“Likewise,” said Natasha, not sorry to see the back of him.
Clint sat down and reached for the cream, a slight smirk on his face. “Can’t leave you alone for a second.”
Natasha ignored this. “Everything in order?”
“Yep, scope was fine. He seemed all right,” Clint said, clearly not ready to give up on the other topic. “Not your type?”
“We’re working,” Natasha reminded him, pushing the sugar cubes in his direction.
“We have an hour. I would have made myself scarce if you’d wanted to get to know him better.” He seemed to be fishing for something, but she didn’t know what.
“Nope.” Natasha studied her partner. Lee might have looked good in his charcoal suit, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Clint in his tailored gray suit and midnight blue dress shirt. Clint had chosen to go tieless, and Natasha found herself staring at the smooth, tanned skin of his clavicle.
“I suppose he is a bit distinguished,” Clint said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“What?” She raised her eyes to meet his, which were crinkled in amusement.
“He’s too old for you,” Clint elucidated bluntly.
Lee could have been only a year or two older than Clint himself. “No, he’s not,” Natasha said swiftly, a little surprised by the vehemence of her own denial. “Physical age is only a small, insignificant element when determining compatibility.”
“Awww, I didn’t figure you for a sentimentalist. Are you saying it’s about how old two people are at heart?” Clint smiled, teeth flashing white. “In that case, we could be a perfect match, Tash.”
Natasha ignored the weird twinge in her chest. “Are you kidding me?” she retorted. “If that were true, you’d be way too young for me.”
Clint scooted his chair closer to hers and draped his arm across the back of her seat possessively. The heat of him along her bare shoulders and back felt good, and he smelled like soap and Clint. She would never admit it, but she liked the feeling of being physically close to him like this. She even let herself lean into him closer than she normally would, rationalizing that it was for other people’s benefit. They were supposed to be married, at least as far as one of the patrons knew, so they might as well act the part.
“Every man in this room wants to be me right now,” he said, and something in his voice made her eyes search his. But they were dark and unreadable in the dim lighting of the lounge. Natasha had heard such flattery thousands of times before, but never in Clint’s voice, with his mouth so close to hers. She swallowed. It would be easy, so easy, to close that short distance...
“Can I refill your drinks?” The appearance of the waiter broke whatever strange moment had fallen between them, and though Clint moved away only slightly, it was enough to introduce a cold draft where she had previously been warm.
At least, that was how Natasha accounted for the sudden trembling that went through her body.
//\\
From here the gray light of dawn falls gently over the bed where he lies, doing little to put color into his pale face. It’s the first time she’s seen him since their rescue; she’s spent a couple of days in additional quarantine and debriefing. He’s so still that for a moment Natasha wonders if they’ve lied to her, told her things she wants to hear in order to keep the Black Widow controlled. Then she sees the movement of the sheets as he breathes, his lips slightly parted, and she lets go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Reason returns at the same time. Of course they didn’t lie to her. Not because SHIELD wouldn’t lie to one of their agents, but because they have no idea what Clint means to her. How could they, when until a week ago, she’s not sure she realized it?
He’s her partner, the man who has saved her life more than once, who made it possible to reconstruct herself after she’d been torn down and reassembled again and again by people who saw her only as a weapon to be used. SHIELD knows they have a close connection; it happens naturally when two people put their lives into each other’s hands as often as they have. But he means more to her than that. Clint is more than her partner, more than a comrade, more than a lover. Clint is herself. Somehow, in her last rebuilding, she had remade herself around him without even realizing it, the way living tissue grows around a foreign obstruction until it becomes one entity. To excise him from her now would be to risk the same life.
She can’t help but wonder what other truths she’s been keeping from herself – how many other truths are still in her, waiting to be realized.
“Hey.”
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice when Clint opened his eyes and trained them on her. “Hey,” she replies, and wonders what he sees when he looks at her. She moves over to the bed and looks down at him, keeping her face impassive. She’s careful not to touch him, though she wants to, wants to feel the tangible proof that he’s still there with her.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, reaching out to take her hand in his, as easy as that. Clint’s never had her issues with intimacy; he’s always been almost belligerent about it. His hand is rough, and dry, and warm, and it’s shocking that something so simple can fill her up so satisfyingly. Nothing has ever felt like this.
Natasha’s eyes suddenly sting, but she doesn’t pull away. She curls her fingers to return the gesture, lightly at first, then with increased pressure until he’s almost wincing. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she counters.
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” he teases.
Her eyes trace the various crinkles in his face, the curve of his lips, the slash of his eyebrows, the line of his jaw. Each feature strangely and unexpectedly precious to her. How had he done it? Wormed his way into her defenses and filled her heart with unnamable things?
“You’re looking at me weird again,” Clint says. “I feel like I’m dying from another horrible disease or something. You’re going to give me a complex.”
If anyone’s been infected with something it’s me, Natasha thinks, but she says, “Durlak.”
“I’m not!” Clint objects. “That’s mean. I was trying to—”
“Get yourself killed,” she says, and squeezes his hand to reassure herself again that he hadn’t been successful. Coulson had explained that in later stages of infection, chemical imbalances in the brain caused by the AS-81 virus could cause someone to act out of character. That doesn’t mean she’s going to let Clint off the hook. She has to emphasize to him that what he’d done, what he’d tried to do, is out of the question, that such a thing is completely unacceptable.
“I wasn’t. I mean, I was, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. It wasn’t my fault,” he whines. “If I actually wanted to kill myself I could just drink your coffee.”
Natasha lands a fist into his arm, just below the shoulder.
“Ow, Jesus,” Clint says, using his other hand to rub the spot. “Go easy, would ya, Nat? You really need to work on your bedside manner,” he grumbles.
“I’m not your nurse.”
“Obviously. You’re not even wearing a nurse’s uniform,” he scoffs, his eyes traveling down to her chest.
Natasha’s about to punch him again when there’s a knock on the door. She drops her arm and tugs her other hand out of Clint’s – or tries to, anyway, but he’s holding on tight. She just manages to snatch her hand back and assume a more professional decorum when Coulson walks into the room. Clint’s lower lip is jutting out just slightly as he looks at her, before turning his attention to their handler.
She ignores the way her hand feels bereft without his in it. What is the matter with her? She is thinking and acting like the schoolgirl she’s never been. The Black Widow’s notoriety as a femme fatale is nearly as legendary as that of her skill as an assassin, yet now the idea of someone witnessing the intimacy of her holding her partner’s hand is something that sends uncomfortable prickles into her neck and cheeks?
“Agent Barton, glad to see you’re awake and well,” Coulson says mildly, a slight upturn to the corners of his mouth that could indicate a smile. Or it might not. “Agent Romanoff, a word?”
“She just got here,” Clint says, an edge to his voice.
“It’ll only take a second,” Coulson replies without changing expression.
Natasha follows Coulson out of the room while Clint hollers after them, “Don’t talk about me behind my back!”
“About Agent Barton,” Coulson says immediately as soon as the door’s closed behind them.
“What about him?” Natasha asks, senses going on full alert. “Is he all right?”
“He’s going to be fine, don’t worry.”
Her first reaction is to deny that she’s worried, that she’s just expressing concern for a colleague, but it’d be a lie and they both know it. So she bites the inside of her lip and waits.
“However, he’s going to be out of commission for a couple of weeks as he recovers his strength and stamina. The Director is likely going to send him out on a detail to New Mexico. It’ll probably entail light duties, nothing physically strenuous.”
“And me? I don’t want another partner in the interim,” Natasha says. The feelings she’s been having about Clint are confusing, but it doesn’t mean she wants to work with someone else. If the dangerous fact that she finds her partner attractive – she’s willing to admit that now – is removed from the equation, there’s no denying the plain truth that they are the most effective assassin team SHIELD has ever produced. And even if those feelings are taken into account, there’s no reason she and Clint can’t continue to be highly valuable assets; they are both professionals, the best at what they do.
Besides, Natasha’s not even sure these feelings will last, or if they’re just a form of momentary madness. She could wake up tomorrow and they might be gone, and Clint will just be her partner again, nothing more.
Coulson doesn’t even bother to acknowledge the latter part of her statement. “You’ll be babysitting,” he says.
“Who’s the baby?” Natasha takes the folder Coulson hands over, studying the photo and notes inside. “This baby has a goatee,” she remarks.
//\\
Natasha opens one eye and stretches comfortably. She allows herself a few moments to soak in the soft sheets and warm sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She smiles as she remembers that they were staying in a decent hotel for once. She turns her head. The sheets are slightly rumpled and there is a slight indent where his head had been, but that is the only evidence he’s been there. She listens for telltale signs that he’s in the bathroom showering, shaving, or brushing his teeth, but all is quiet. She’s alone in the room.
He’d once again been able to leave without waking her. Natasha feels a bit disconcerted. It’s happening more and more lately. Is she losing her edge? How does she sleep so soundly around him?
Her toes sink into deep plush carpeting when she pads to the bathroom. She takes a long, hot shower, half hoping Clint will return and join her, but he doesn’t. She gets ready at a leisurely pace. For once they aren’t on anyone’s timetable but their own, and she is going to take full advantage. After Loki was sent off to Asgard with Thor, Fury had given his unofficial official blessing that she and Clint could go off the grid for a while, and they didn’t need to be invited twice. Their first stop had been one of their favorite B&Bs in Virginia, where they’d decompressed for a day or two. After that they’d headed south, without a specific destination in mind, and eventually found themselves in North Carolina. Last night Clint had brought out a map, and they’d sketched out a plan in broad strokes.
Today they’re going to drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway and take in the scenes to Boone. They might stop to hike for a bit, admiring the tulip trees and red maples, but they also might just drive right on through. Natasha can see through the windows that it’s a perfect day; the Appalachians are going to look amazing against the deep blue sky.
She frowns when she sees that Clint has packed both of their overnight bags, not because she didn’t want him to, but because she’s slightly discomfited by the fact that she’d apparently slept through that as well.
Natasha has just started the in-room coffee maker and is putting the finishing touches on her lip gloss when the phone rings.
“You still in bed?”
She suppresses a ridiculous shiver at the sound of his voice. What is the matter with her? “Nope, I’m about ready.”
“Great,” Clint says. “I’m having them bring the car around. Ready to hit the road? I’ve got warm croissants.”
“Be right down.”
Natasha fixes the two coffees and grabs their bags, making her way to the elevator. Clint is waiting for her in the hotel lobby, in jeans like her. He looks relaxed and comfortable, and smiles when he sees her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He takes his bag and a coffee.
“Where are the croissants?” Natasha demands, donning her sunglasses. “I hope you didn’t get me down here under false pretenses.”
“Would I dare?” he retorts with a grin. “They’re in the car. I’ve already checked out.”
Their white convertible, a Lexus IS C borrowed from Tony, is waiting for them out front, next to an opulent fountain that gurgles and splashes pleasantly. Natasha gets into the car while Clint tips the valet. She opens the pastry bag, inhaling deep. “Mmm.” She pulls one of the croissants apart. It’s just right, crusty on the outside, soft on the inside, and buttery all around.
Clint slides into the driver’s seat and takes a deep gulp of coffee. He turns to meet her expectant look. “Perfect,” he says with a smile that makes her want to purr like the engine of their car and blink unexpected moisture from her eyes at the same time. So many times. He has been lost to her so many times, but he has always returned to her. She will always find a way to get him back.
Natasha can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses she’s wearing, but she knows they’re the same color as the sea. She arches an eyebrow, then reaches over and puts the car into gear.
“Drive,” she says.
Every hope and dream that’s dying
Every time that I see you crying
Every step that you keep on climbing
Pray for you now, baby that you figure it out
As you keep chasing the light
= end =
I primarily wrote prompt #3, but also used elements from the other two:
Author’s notes: Here’s where I apologize for any inaccuracies in the medical details found in the story. It was oddly difficult to research, but I did my best to make it believable! The title of the story and lyrics are from Mat Kearney’s song “Chasing the Light.”
Author:
sarea_okelaniRating: PG-13
Summary: A mission that goes awry tests two assassins and their partnership.
If you missed them: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
//\\
It was the middle of the night for most everyone else, but it was morning for them. The hotel bar was full of businessmen, high-class prostitutes, and 20-somethings playing at being sophisticated.
They had staked out a small table in the middle of the bar. Clint had ordered a red eye, then gone back up to the room to double check on their equipment – or more specifically, to make sure his favorite scope hadn’t been damaged by the careless bellhop. They were in Utah on a reconnaissance mission – SHIELD had gotten rumblings of a group of extremists who were particularly obsessed with biological warfare. Apparently, they’d been able to recruit a number of scientists who were working on a virus known only as AS-81; its specific effects were still to be determined.
Natasha’s orange juice arrived first. She accepted it with a Black Widow smile, which came automatically because she was wearing a slinky violet dress slit up to the thigh – basically a uniform of her alter ego. Unfortunately both the smile and the dress had done their jobs too well; she had just taken a sip of her drink when a man in a well-tailored charcoal suit took the seat opposite her. His head of salt-and-pepper hair was full and styled tastefully, and his smile was friendly, not smarmy.
“You looked a bit lonely,” was his opening gambit. “I hope you don’t mind?”
Impatience flickered in her veins and her thigh rig (on the side that didn’t have the slit) itched, but Natasha kept her expression neutral. “Just waiting for my husband,” she said coolly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Clint enter the room. He spotted her at the same time and his eyebrows rose when he caught sight of the fact that she had company.
Her companion chuckled. “Of course. I should have known. Lucky man.” She saw his eyes zero in on the fact that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but he didn’t comment. “I’m Lee, by the way.”
Natasha shook his hand even as she sighed inwardly. The lack of a ring had likely convinced him that she wasn’t actually married, just trying to give him the brush off, so now he’d redouble his efforts in order to convince her that he was worth her while. “Allison,” she said. Clint’s expression indicated that he’d take off if she was occupied by choice. She shook her head and tried to send the message Get your ass over here telepathically.
Lee was doing his best to be engaging – and he was; if Natasha were a different woman she’d count herself lucky to be hit on by an attractive, obviously successful, and charming man, but she wasn’t a different woman, and she had a job to do. She made small talk with Lee for as long as it took Clint to reach the table. His red eye arrived at the same time.
“Here’s your coffee, sir,” the waiter said somewhat awkwardly, looking from Clint to the man who was sitting in the seat Clint had vacated not too long ago. He set down the drink and departed.
“Oh honey, there you are,” Natasha fairly gushed. “This is Lee, he was just telling me about all the great sights to catch while we’re in Chicago.”
Lee got up swiftly, a dull red flush creeping up his neck as he realized that Natasha had, in fact, been telling the truth – as far as he knew, anyway. “Hi,” he said, offering Clint his hand. “Your wife’s a lovely woman.”
“I know,” Clint replied in a friendly way, not losing a beat. They weren’t posing as a married couple in their official cover story, but he didn’t blink. He shook the other man’s hand gamely. “Let me tell you, the day she said yes was the brightest day an ordinary guy like me could ever hope to have. When I asked her father—” He suppressed a slight yelp as Natasha’s stiletto caressed his wing-tip loafers. Laying it on a bit thick was the message. “Anyway, thanks for the tips about the city. I’m sure we’ll put them to good use.”
“Great, I hope you do. Excuse me. It was nice to meet you,” Lee directed toward Natasha.
“Likewise,” said Natasha, not sorry to see the back of him.
Clint sat down and reached for the cream, a slight smirk on his face. “Can’t leave you alone for a second.”
Natasha ignored this. “Everything in order?”
“Yep, scope was fine. He seemed all right,” Clint said, clearly not ready to give up on the other topic. “Not your type?”
“We’re working,” Natasha reminded him, pushing the sugar cubes in his direction.
“We have an hour. I would have made myself scarce if you’d wanted to get to know him better.” He seemed to be fishing for something, but she didn’t know what.
“Nope.” Natasha studied her partner. Lee might have looked good in his charcoal suit, but he couldn’t hold a candle to Clint in his tailored gray suit and midnight blue dress shirt. Clint had chosen to go tieless, and Natasha found herself staring at the smooth, tanned skin of his clavicle.
“I suppose he is a bit distinguished,” Clint said, taking a sip of his coffee.
“What?” She raised her eyes to meet his, which were crinkled in amusement.
“He’s too old for you,” Clint elucidated bluntly.
Lee could have been only a year or two older than Clint himself. “No, he’s not,” Natasha said swiftly, a little surprised by the vehemence of her own denial. “Physical age is only a small, insignificant element when determining compatibility.”
“Awww, I didn’t figure you for a sentimentalist. Are you saying it’s about how old two people are at heart?” Clint smiled, teeth flashing white. “In that case, we could be a perfect match, Tash.”
Natasha ignored the weird twinge in her chest. “Are you kidding me?” she retorted. “If that were true, you’d be way too young for me.”
Clint scooted his chair closer to hers and draped his arm across the back of her seat possessively. The heat of him along her bare shoulders and back felt good, and he smelled like soap and Clint. She would never admit it, but she liked the feeling of being physically close to him like this. She even let herself lean into him closer than she normally would, rationalizing that it was for other people’s benefit. They were supposed to be married, at least as far as one of the patrons knew, so they might as well act the part.
“Every man in this room wants to be me right now,” he said, and something in his voice made her eyes search his. But they were dark and unreadable in the dim lighting of the lounge. Natasha had heard such flattery thousands of times before, but never in Clint’s voice, with his mouth so close to hers. She swallowed. It would be easy, so easy, to close that short distance...
“Can I refill your drinks?” The appearance of the waiter broke whatever strange moment had fallen between them, and though Clint moved away only slightly, it was enough to introduce a cold draft where she had previously been warm.
At least, that was how Natasha accounted for the sudden trembling that went through her body.
//\\
From here the gray light of dawn falls gently over the bed where he lies, doing little to put color into his pale face. It’s the first time she’s seen him since their rescue; she’s spent a couple of days in additional quarantine and debriefing. He’s so still that for a moment Natasha wonders if they’ve lied to her, told her things she wants to hear in order to keep the Black Widow controlled. Then she sees the movement of the sheets as he breathes, his lips slightly parted, and she lets go of the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Reason returns at the same time. Of course they didn’t lie to her. Not because SHIELD wouldn’t lie to one of their agents, but because they have no idea what Clint means to her. How could they, when until a week ago, she’s not sure she realized it?
He’s her partner, the man who has saved her life more than once, who made it possible to reconstruct herself after she’d been torn down and reassembled again and again by people who saw her only as a weapon to be used. SHIELD knows they have a close connection; it happens naturally when two people put their lives into each other’s hands as often as they have. But he means more to her than that. Clint is more than her partner, more than a comrade, more than a lover. Clint is herself. Somehow, in her last rebuilding, she had remade herself around him without even realizing it, the way living tissue grows around a foreign obstruction until it becomes one entity. To excise him from her now would be to risk the same life.
She can’t help but wonder what other truths she’s been keeping from herself – how many other truths are still in her, waiting to be realized.
“Hey.”
Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice when Clint opened his eyes and trained them on her. “Hey,” she replies, and wonders what he sees when he looks at her. She moves over to the bed and looks down at him, keeping her face impassive. She’s careful not to touch him, though she wants to, wants to feel the tangible proof that he’s still there with her.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, reaching out to take her hand in his, as easy as that. Clint’s never had her issues with intimacy; he’s always been almost belligerent about it. His hand is rough, and dry, and warm, and it’s shocking that something so simple can fill her up so satisfyingly. Nothing has ever felt like this.
Natasha’s eyes suddenly sting, but she doesn’t pull away. She curls her fingers to return the gesture, lightly at first, then with increased pressure until he’s almost wincing. “I’m glad you’re okay,” she counters.
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” he teases.
Her eyes trace the various crinkles in his face, the curve of his lips, the slash of his eyebrows, the line of his jaw. Each feature strangely and unexpectedly precious to her. How had he done it? Wormed his way into her defenses and filled her heart with unnamable things?
“You’re looking at me weird again,” Clint says. “I feel like I’m dying from another horrible disease or something. You’re going to give me a complex.”
If anyone’s been infected with something it’s me, Natasha thinks, but she says, “Durlak.”
“I’m not!” Clint objects. “That’s mean. I was trying to—”
“Get yourself killed,” she says, and squeezes his hand to reassure herself again that he hadn’t been successful. Coulson had explained that in later stages of infection, chemical imbalances in the brain caused by the AS-81 virus could cause someone to act out of character. That doesn’t mean she’s going to let Clint off the hook. She has to emphasize to him that what he’d done, what he’d tried to do, is out of the question, that such a thing is completely unacceptable.
“I wasn’t. I mean, I was, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. It wasn’t my fault,” he whines. “If I actually wanted to kill myself I could just drink your coffee.”
Natasha lands a fist into his arm, just below the shoulder.
“Ow, Jesus,” Clint says, using his other hand to rub the spot. “Go easy, would ya, Nat? You really need to work on your bedside manner,” he grumbles.
“I’m not your nurse.”
“Obviously. You’re not even wearing a nurse’s uniform,” he scoffs, his eyes traveling down to her chest.
Natasha’s about to punch him again when there’s a knock on the door. She drops her arm and tugs her other hand out of Clint’s – or tries to, anyway, but he’s holding on tight. She just manages to snatch her hand back and assume a more professional decorum when Coulson walks into the room. Clint’s lower lip is jutting out just slightly as he looks at her, before turning his attention to their handler.
She ignores the way her hand feels bereft without his in it. What is the matter with her? She is thinking and acting like the schoolgirl she’s never been. The Black Widow’s notoriety as a femme fatale is nearly as legendary as that of her skill as an assassin, yet now the idea of someone witnessing the intimacy of her holding her partner’s hand is something that sends uncomfortable prickles into her neck and cheeks?
“Agent Barton, glad to see you’re awake and well,” Coulson says mildly, a slight upturn to the corners of his mouth that could indicate a smile. Or it might not. “Agent Romanoff, a word?”
“She just got here,” Clint says, an edge to his voice.
“It’ll only take a second,” Coulson replies without changing expression.
Natasha follows Coulson out of the room while Clint hollers after them, “Don’t talk about me behind my back!”
“About Agent Barton,” Coulson says immediately as soon as the door’s closed behind them.
“What about him?” Natasha asks, senses going on full alert. “Is he all right?”
“He’s going to be fine, don’t worry.”
Her first reaction is to deny that she’s worried, that she’s just expressing concern for a colleague, but it’d be a lie and they both know it. So she bites the inside of her lip and waits.
“However, he’s going to be out of commission for a couple of weeks as he recovers his strength and stamina. The Director is likely going to send him out on a detail to New Mexico. It’ll probably entail light duties, nothing physically strenuous.”
“And me? I don’t want another partner in the interim,” Natasha says. The feelings she’s been having about Clint are confusing, but it doesn’t mean she wants to work with someone else. If the dangerous fact that she finds her partner attractive – she’s willing to admit that now – is removed from the equation, there’s no denying the plain truth that they are the most effective assassin team SHIELD has ever produced. And even if those feelings are taken into account, there’s no reason she and Clint can’t continue to be highly valuable assets; they are both professionals, the best at what they do.
Besides, Natasha’s not even sure these feelings will last, or if they’re just a form of momentary madness. She could wake up tomorrow and they might be gone, and Clint will just be her partner again, nothing more.
Coulson doesn’t even bother to acknowledge the latter part of her statement. “You’ll be babysitting,” he says.
“Who’s the baby?” Natasha takes the folder Coulson hands over, studying the photo and notes inside. “This baby has a goatee,” she remarks.
//\\
Natasha opens one eye and stretches comfortably. She allows herself a few moments to soak in the soft sheets and warm sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. She smiles as she remembers that they were staying in a decent hotel for once. She turns her head. The sheets are slightly rumpled and there is a slight indent where his head had been, but that is the only evidence he’s been there. She listens for telltale signs that he’s in the bathroom showering, shaving, or brushing his teeth, but all is quiet. She’s alone in the room.
He’d once again been able to leave without waking her. Natasha feels a bit disconcerted. It’s happening more and more lately. Is she losing her edge? How does she sleep so soundly around him?
Her toes sink into deep plush carpeting when she pads to the bathroom. She takes a long, hot shower, half hoping Clint will return and join her, but he doesn’t. She gets ready at a leisurely pace. For once they aren’t on anyone’s timetable but their own, and she is going to take full advantage. After Loki was sent off to Asgard with Thor, Fury had given his unofficial official blessing that she and Clint could go off the grid for a while, and they didn’t need to be invited twice. Their first stop had been one of their favorite B&Bs in Virginia, where they’d decompressed for a day or two. After that they’d headed south, without a specific destination in mind, and eventually found themselves in North Carolina. Last night Clint had brought out a map, and they’d sketched out a plan in broad strokes.
Today they’re going to drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway and take in the scenes to Boone. They might stop to hike for a bit, admiring the tulip trees and red maples, but they also might just drive right on through. Natasha can see through the windows that it’s a perfect day; the Appalachians are going to look amazing against the deep blue sky.
She frowns when she sees that Clint has packed both of their overnight bags, not because she didn’t want him to, but because she’s slightly discomfited by the fact that she’d apparently slept through that as well.
Natasha has just started the in-room coffee maker and is putting the finishing touches on her lip gloss when the phone rings.
“You still in bed?”
She suppresses a ridiculous shiver at the sound of his voice. What is the matter with her? “Nope, I’m about ready.”
“Great,” Clint says. “I’m having them bring the car around. Ready to hit the road? I’ve got warm croissants.”
“Be right down.”
Natasha fixes the two coffees and grabs their bags, making her way to the elevator. Clint is waiting for her in the hotel lobby, in jeans like her. He looks relaxed and comfortable, and smiles when he sees her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He takes his bag and a coffee.
“Where are the croissants?” Natasha demands, donning her sunglasses. “I hope you didn’t get me down here under false pretenses.”
“Would I dare?” he retorts with a grin. “They’re in the car. I’ve already checked out.”
Their white convertible, a Lexus IS C borrowed from Tony, is waiting for them out front, next to an opulent fountain that gurgles and splashes pleasantly. Natasha gets into the car while Clint tips the valet. She opens the pastry bag, inhaling deep. “Mmm.” She pulls one of the croissants apart. It’s just right, crusty on the outside, soft on the inside, and buttery all around.
Clint slides into the driver’s seat and takes a deep gulp of coffee. He turns to meet her expectant look. “Perfect,” he says with a smile that makes her want to purr like the engine of their car and blink unexpected moisture from her eyes at the same time. So many times. He has been lost to her so many times, but he has always returned to her. She will always find a way to get him back.
Natasha can’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses she’s wearing, but she knows they’re the same color as the sea. She arches an eyebrow, then reaches over and puts the car into gear.
“Drive,” she says.
Every hope and dream that’s dying
Every time that I see you crying
Every step that you keep on climbing
Pray for you now, baby that you figure it out
As you keep chasing the light
= end =
I primarily wrote prompt #3, but also used elements from the other two:
1. Trapped. Whether together, or separately. In a cave, or in a firefight. Do they escape? Are they rescued? Does one rescue the other? Does one of them utter the phrase: “Not again!”
2. Road trip with a third party. They could be escorting him/her somewhere. Could be going somewhere together. I love stories where you get to see a relationship from the outside\
3. Someone is hurt badly/quite sick and medical assistance is not readily available. The other person has to make tough decisions.
Things I like: Secret marriages/relationships, silent communication, team bonding, personal growth, recalcitrant people sharing feelings.
I don’t want to receive: children, rape
Author’s notes: Here’s where I apologize for any inaccuracies in the medical details found in the story. It was oddly difficult to research, but I did my best to make it believable! The title of the story and lyrics are from Mat Kearney’s song “Chasing the Light.”
