They sat aboard the StarkJet side-by-side holding hands, their fingers intertwined. Clint stroked her thumb with his and tried not to watch her as she started out of the window. He had heard Natasha tapping on the phone yesterday morning in the wee hours and she’d been preoccupied ever since. He couldn’t prove it, but he’d bet good money he didn’t have that Steve Rogers had been tapping on his phone at the same time as Natasha was tapping on hers.
Goddamn Captain America.
Clint looked over at her. Her head lay back against the back of the seat, turned to the side, and she stared blankly with an inscrutable face at the clouds passing below. Clint feared that face, dreaded what it may mean. This new facet of their relationship was too new to feel secure in it - it could all fall apart any minute. He had begged every deity there might be for her love for years, he didn’t want to lose it. Please God, don’t let Steve Rogers screw this up for me.
Clint was a lot smarter than most people gave him credit for, he just let people make the assumption that he wasn’t. It had served him well more than once. He and Natasha had played chess on boring missions to pass the time and they were evenly matched. He loved puzzles, riddles, anything that required him to think. If he had to put a lot of mental effort into a problem, he typically enjoyed the exercise, whatever it was.
But Clint hated playing mind games: he despised battling wits with people who were not targets. The people he matched wits with were usually intended to be killed, so when he went into a mental battle with someone, he almost always went in with a life-or-death mindset.
He’d been forced into a mind game now, and he wasn't pleased about it; although, to be fair, he might as well have his life riding on this one. He and Steve had engaged into a chess battle with Natasha as the prize, and he felt dirty just thinking about it.
Should he leave it alone, and let Cap fill her head with all the terrible things he had done? Should he try to convince her — again — that he’d reformed? What should he do? If he had less riding on this he would leave her alone about it. Let her make her own decision. That was a dangerous gamble, though, at this point. Steve Rogers was a master tactician who had the advantage of being right about the fact that he had hurt her. Taking the 'if-you-love-her-let-her-go' route was the honorable course of action, the course he wanted to take, the thing he knew he needed to do. He felt that that would win him the day in the long run. But his instinct was to cling to her and beg her to ignore every word that spangled asshole had said.
What the hell should he do?
“Tasha?”
She turned her head to look at him, her expression softening a touch. “Yeah?”
“You ok?”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to London.” She gave him a small smile.
Clint hesitated a moment and looked down to his thumb as it stroked hers. “You don’t seem yourself.”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“You don’t seem happy. Not since you talked to Cap yesterday morning.” He looked back up at her.
Natasha narrowed her eyes at him and tugged slightly at her hand. “What makes you think…?”
Clint kept his hold on her hand gently as he sighed. “It was a lucky guess. Or unlucky. But you were talking to Steve, weren’t you?” She didn’t deny it and he hung his head for a moment before he looked back up at her. His voice was small, the defeat loud although his tone was quiet. “So what did he say to you that has made you like this? What damage has he done to us?” Clint squeezed her hand and tried to smile. It was more of a grimace, but the smile wouldn’t come.
“Nothing,” she lied. “He wished me a happy belated birthday.”
“I’m sure he did, but that’s not all he said, is it? You typed on that phone for a good hour.”
She smiled indulgently at him. “It was no-“
“Natasha,” he said gently. “Please don’t lie to me. Not about this.”
“I was -“
“Please.”
His voice was gentle entreaty, the anticipation of hurt riding every syllable. Natasha looked into the blue pools of his eyes and saw the hurt of not knowing the truth, of imagining the worst, of having everything he had wanted hanging by the thread of her words. She felt her heart flutter wildly in her chest like a trapped sparrow looking for escape as her mind raced decide how best to protect them both.
She took a deep, steadying breath.
“Steve is concerned that you may hurt me again.”
Clint let go of her hand and brought it to his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He does, huh.” His voice was flat, dull as he made the statement that was supposed to be a question. Natasha watched him carefully as he leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and letting his head hang. Her hand twitched, wanting to reach out and comfort him, but stopped. This wasn’t the time. Not yet.
He turned his head to the side without raising it and looked at her. “What do you think?”
She studied him, weighing her words. Her eyes flicked all over his face: his dilated pupils, his crinkled forehead, the sadness weighing at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. I told him so.”
Clint sat up, agitated. “Then why so distant, Tasha? If you don’t believe him, why have you shut me out all of the sudden? What do I have to do to make you believe in me? Just tell me. Tell me and I’ll do it.”
“It’s not like that, Clint. You can’t just pay a penance for something like that.”
“Steve is determined to see that I do.”
Natasha could say nothing to that.
“Maybe he’s right, Natasha. Maybe I don't deserve you after what I did. Hell, I know I don’t. I know what I deserve, and it ain’t happiness on any level.”
“Clint -“
“Do you understand what he’s doing, Natasha? He’s doing his best to do his only little bit of mind control. It’s not the same, certainly, but he’s trying damned hard to bend your way of thinking to his.”
“He’s not Hydra, Clint.”
“I know that he’s not. But I also know that he’s trying really hard to get you to think things that aren’t true. He wants you to believe things are a certain way. Steve has got a complete advantage here…he’s got the fact that I screwed up before and he’s never fucked up ever. He’s the perennial hero and he wants you to forget that I exist.” Clint ducked his head and rubbed his hands across his forehead, muttering to himself, “Jesus, I feel like Jimmy Olsen.”
“Who?”
“Jimmy Olsen? You know, from Superman?” Natasha looked perplexed and Clint shook his head. The fire that had heated his words and the tension that had coiled in his muscles drained slowly, something like determined resignation taking its place. “Not important. What matters here is that he’s painted me into a corner where I have to compete with him. I’m up against Captain America for you.”
Natasha shook her head. “It’s not like that, Clint.”
“What’s it like, then? Because we were in our own little bubble — that ‘new-relationship’ bubble — and it was burst by Steve telling you that I’m not good enough for you. To most people that would imply jealousy, and that leaves me in the unenviable sitiuation of competing with Captain America for the woman I’ve loved for years.”
“Clint - “
“No, listen. I’m not going to force you into a choice, because that's not my style. You’re a big girl and I’m not going to even try to dictate your thoughts to you, because I know that you hate that. You’re the Black Widow, you don’t need any man trying to pull this kind of shit on you. I won’t pretend I’m not jealous, because I am. I won’t pretend I’m not worried about the outcome, because I’m terrified. And I’d like to tell you that I’m not going to ask you for anything, but I can’t."
Natasha swiped at her eyes and Clint took her hand. “I’m not going to say anything to you to try to influence your decision about this except that I love you, and I want you to do me a favor.”
She blinked. “What?”
“I want you to think back to the things that convinced you I was better, that I was clear of Loki and Hydra. That I'd reclaimed myself. Don’t forget them while you’re weighing what Cap said.”
“Clint -“
The flight attendant stepped up to the edge of Clint’s seat. “Ms. Romanov? If you would come with me, please, the pilot had a question for you.”
Natasha glared at the attendant. “Can it wait? This is a really bad time.”
The fight attendant looked at her, unfazed. “I’m sorry, but the pilot was most insistent that he needed to speak with you right away."
Clint tried to smile as he leaned back into the seat to let Natasha pass. She grumbled when she passed him, “Hold that thought. I won’t be long, I promise.”
“I’m not going anywhere, zovetnaya.”