Prague
Prague, July 2009
In all of their missions together over the last few years, they’d never failed to accomplish an objective. They may have had some things that didn't go quite according to plan, but they never truly failed. For that reason, Strike Team Delta was known around S.H.I.E.L.D. as the team you called when you wanted to make sure shit got done.
They worked well as a team, better than either of them had ever expected. They were both masters in hand-to-hand combat (Natasha being slightly better than Clint), both were top notch assassins with knives, guns and poison, Natasha was the best interrogator S.H.I.E.L.D. had ever had and Clint was the best sniper, so they worked together more than they didn’t. Their styles were different, but complimentary. They had learned each other's movements, tells, weaknesses, strengths, and had gotten to a point where they could predict each other's movements. Clint and Natasha were a cohesive unit. When fighting together they moved as one, like well-trained dancers who knew how and when to curve around each other in order to complete the spin, gain the lift, catch each other. They were fluid, and beautiful to watch. Their trust in each other was total and implicit.
Over the years, the combination of shared high-intensity experiences and long hours together with only each other to rely on built a rock-solid partnership they both valued above anything else in their lives. They each protected the other with their lives, and had done so many times. They had put each other’s safety above their own more times than they could count, and had done so without thinking. They had shared secrets of their sad histories, made themselves vulnerable to one another. They would also protect each other’s confidences with their lives.
Nothing about this mission had gone right; Murphy’s Law had been all over this one. They had found the arms dealer - Michal Dominik - easily enough in Prague, but so far they hadn’t been able to get the intel they needed before the planned elimination. He was smart, he was slippery, and he hadn’t taken Natasha’s bait like they expected him to. Clint didn't know how to feel about that. He absolutely hated the honeypot missions where Natasha had to cozy up to a mark…the thought of her offering up her body made him sick to his stomach. But the fact that this man didn’t want her left him confused and almost offended. How could any man not want Natasha?
When she finally did catch his eye, they both seemed relieved that the mission could move forward. Dominik seemed to smell something, however, and Clint was antsy about it. He wanted to scrap the mission and go in another way, but Natasha felt sure she could get what they needed. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew he was smuggling weapons and meant to put a stop to it, but they didn’t know where the next stop in the line was and needed to know before they took him out. It had taken almost a week of Natasha’s best flirting before Dominik called for her. She had worn things that shouldn't qualify as clothes, in Clint's opinion, attempting to seduce the target. Finally, though, he had taken the bait of sexy arm candy that spoke Slavic like a native. Natasha's mission was to first plant eyes and ears as many places as she could, plus get him talking. Clint kept a watchful eye on everything and was armed every moment. He felt in his gut that this wasn't going to end well, though, and he was afraid for Natasha.
On the tenth night of the mission, Dominik brought Natasha to a sumptuous penthouse she hadn’t seen before. A large balcony overlooked the city beyond the open french doors and fluttering gossamer curtains. The penthouse was obviously creme de la creme with expensive velvet couches, a large bed with silk duvet…a very impressive spread. Champagne sat in a bucket of ice. A new place to plant wires. She smiled seductively at him and pulled off her silk wrapper, letting it dangle on one finger before dropping it on the couch. “You want to romance me in a new place?”
“Something like that.” He pulled out a brown hard-case briefcase with a leather cover and opened it, revealing some machinery with flip switches. Natasha recognized what it was immediately, and touched her hip where the panic button was hidden, pressing it. Two men stepped out from behind a door, pistols drawn and pointed at her. She took a couple of steps backwards, putting on a panicked look, knowing that's what the character she was playing would do. She looked around again, taking in her surroundings and looking for things to weaponize as she did out of habit.
“Who are you?”, Dominik asked cordially and seemingly unconcerned, looking up at her after he asked.
She smiled seductively and started towards him, hips swaying. “I’m Denisa, baby. You know this.”
He crossed the room in four large steps, backhanded her and spat, “Lies! And for every lie you tell, I will flip one of these switches.”
She looked at him with a bleeding lip, wary and pretending ignorance. “What do these switches do?”
“Patrik, Jakub, come.” He grabbed her by the arm roughly and dragged her to the balcony. The men with guns followed, one of them carrying the briefcase and setting it on a table beside Dominik. He directed her to look into the city, slightly to the left. “See that hospital right there?” She nodded. “There is a bomb at every entrance, exit and fire escape at that hospital. For every lie you tell me, I flip a switch and detonate a bomb. Think very carefully, Denisa." He snarled the name. "I know you are not who you claim to be. You’ve already told one lie.” He flipped a switch, and the emergency entrance exploded two blocks away, the blast pushing them slightly back. “And I see another lie in your eyes.” Another switch flipped, another bomb.
“NO!” she screamed, jerking her arm out of his grasp. “I am Denisa!” Another flip. Natasha screamed and brought her hands to her face. Another flip, this for no reason.
The accompanying blast seemed to knock the fog from her brain. She grabbed Dominik’s wrist, flipping him backwards over himself and onto Jakub, briefly immobilizing both of them. With her other hand, she drew the the knife she had hidden on her thigh and attacked, dodging Patrik as he put his arm towards her to shoot. He fired and she spun towards him, knocking the gun from his hand and stabbing him. She spun away, knife still in her hand as he roared in rage and charged. She arched away, slanting the knife and slashing Patrik’s throat. Then a swoosh and thud, a second swoosh and a thud, and Jakub and Dominik fell at her feet with an arrow in their chests, their attempts to get up thwarted, a red stain spreading across their chests.
Natasha whirled around and there he was on the next roof, her savior, all in black with a red light still trained on Jakub’s chest in case he stirred.
~*~
One entrance to the hospital was left undamaged and a large number of people were able to escape. Thankfully, it was the third shift and they were running on a skeleton crew. The casualties, however, were heavy. In particular, the maternal/fetal medicine unit and pediatrics ward had been destroyed. Clint brought a silent and bloody Natasha back to the safe house. He called in to Coulson, giving a brief report and requesting transport out.
He hung up the phone and turned around. “They’ll have us out of here in five hours…Nat?” He had figured she would stay where he was so they could prepare for debriefing as they usually did, but she wasn’t there. “Nat?” No answer. He looked around the house, calling out gently, and found her in her bedroom, in her bra and panties curled around a pillow and crying silently. She had cleaned the blood off of herself, there were bloody towels next to her discarded cocktail dress and high heels, but she still wore her diamonds and her mascara was making a terrible mess. He walked over and sat softly on the bed in front of her knees, putting his hand up to stroke her hair. “Nat?”
“I choked. I fucking choked, Clint. And I killed all those people. That’s on me. Oh, God…the babies…” and she sobbed in earnest, not trying to hide it.
“Hey, hey…c’mere.” He scooped her up like a child and pulled her into his lap, cradling her gently. She put her arms around his neck, burying her face into his neck. He laid his cheek on her hair gently, inhaling her scent, and rubbed circles on her back idly as she sobbed brokenly. “Nat, sweetheart, shhh. We’ve lost civilians before. What’s got you this time?”
She couldn’t answer for a while, she just cried. He rocked her gently, knowing what she needed and how to comfort her: what no one else could give and what she would take from no one else. She nuzzled deeper into him, seeking his warmth and protection without thinking. He whispered sweet nothings, letting her know that he was there, she was safe, she would always be safe with him. After a while he went silent, sensing she wanted - needed - to talk. He tucked her head under his chin, letting her know without words that he would listen while he kept rocking and softly stroking her back gently.
“I froze," she said. “I don't know what came over me. I’ve not panicked in years. But something happened, and I just…I choked.”
He waited a few moments to see if she would say anything else. When she didn’t, only snuffled and gave short sobs at intervals, he soothed her. “That happens to all of us, Nat.”
“All the other times we’ve lost civilians, it’s been because they were caught in the crossfire, or something else. This time, it was directly because of me…and…I just…oh!” she started crying again, and he kissed her head, noting her scent again.
“It’s okay. It's okay, sweetheart. He was going to do what he did anyway. He used you as an excuse. Okay? This is not your fault. You did everything you could. You did much, much more than anyone else in your situation would have or could have done. If it had been anyone else up there, that hospital would have burned to the ground. You saved people tonight. I wasn't there in time to stop him, but you stopped him from killing everyone. You’re a hero.” She let a little sob go with that and he squeezed her gently. “You are. I’m proud of you.” He brushed his lips in her hair, letting them linger. “You’re my best friend, Tasha. I don’t hang around with shitty people.” He squeezed her gently and hesitated a few beats, deciding. “You saved me tonight, you know.”
She looked up, blinking red-rimmed eyes at him confusedly. “What? How?”
“It’s true.”
Natasha wiped at her eyes distractedly. “I’m not following.”
“I got there after you disabled Dominik, when you were stabbing that bodyguard.” She tucked her head back down onto his chest as if she wasn't hearing what she expected and didn't want to hear the rest. He began rocking her again. “If you had pressed the panic button a second later, or had attacked Dominik a second earlier, I wouldn’t have made it in time. You could have been killed. And Nat?” He raised her chin up with one finger to look at her, and she looked at him with watery green eyes. He pierced her with his vibrant blue eyes, bleeding sincerity with every word.
“If something happened to you, I would never be okay again. Never.”
Tears spilled from her eyes. He brushed them away with his thumb and kissed her forehead, then put his cheek there and rocked her a bit more. She snuffled and stayed quiet in his arms. He held her for a long time, stroking her back softly with his thumb and listening to her sniffle occasionally. After a long while he said, “Here, let’s get you in the warm before you catch your death.”
She smiled weakly but let him deposit her in the bed. He kissed her on the temple after he covered her and turned to leave. “Goodnight, Natasha.”
“Wait!” She sat up in the bed, clutching the covers to her chest and he turned around in the doorway. She looked all around the room, anywhere but at him. Then, seeming to make a decision, she looked directly at him and asked, “Will you stay?”
They looked at each other for a long moment. They had shared beds and slept beside each other countless times. They had seen each other in various states of undress. They were as close as two people could be without being lovers. But he looked at her now, her swollen raccoon eyes and red nose, soft and vulnerable, asking for his protection, and…
Clint smiled softly. “Scoot over.”
She obliged, he toed off his boots and laid down. She rolled over into the crook of his arm, twined one leg with his and whispered “Thank you.” He kissed the top of her head one last time, pulled her close and closed his eyes. He felt rather than saw the tears staining his shirt as she drifted off to sleep.
Clint laid awake, realizing that he had just lost another battle in a war he’d been fighting for a couple of years, and wondering how much longer he could hold out.