Separation Anxiety
March 2010
Clint rolled over, pressing his face into the cool pillow and throwing his arm out to pull Natasha to him, but she wasn't there. Raising his head off the pillow, he looked around with one bleary eye. The smell of bacon frying hit him and he lay his head back down, smiling and soaking it all in: the smell of the bacon, the softness of the bed, her lingering scent, the fact that he was waking up in her bed - and that it was a regular occurrence. Damn, Barton, you lucky bastard. You’ve struck some kind of gold here.
Four months. Four months of togetherness with Natasha. He had no idea what they were called - partners? Lovers? Boyfriend/girlfriend? None of it seemed accurate. He supposed “partners” still fit, although it took on a whole new meaning now. They were a couple, and it didn’t need a damned name. She was his and he was hers and fuck all that extraneous labeling bullshit.
Only Coulson knew - or at least knew for sure. They’d both had open access to each other’s apartments for a few years and they both kept odd hours (all agents do), so it wasn’t unusual for their coworkers to see Natasha leaving Clint’s apartment at any time, or vice versa. No one seemed to think anything of it, or if they did they hadn’t remarked on it. As far as anyone but Coulson knew, they were partners in the field and best friends off duty. That's all anyone needed to know.
Within the first twenty-four hours of consummating their relationship, they’d agreed to keep their professional and private lives as separate as possible. With both of them living in company headquarters, it was impossible to separate professional and private entirely, but they tried. And then, of course, there were the missions where they had to pose as a couple… Clint smiled. Coulson, who it seemed was a romantic underneath all those grey suits, had sent them on two “couple” assignments right after Clint got back from London and debriefed. They were both cake missions, too: surveillance on certain targets for a set amount of time. Both times for a week. Essentially, Coulson had given Clint and Natasha a paid, working honeymoon in Rome and then in Atlanta. He hadn’t known how to thank his handler. He had just said, “Thanks,” and Coulson said, “For what?” That had been the end of it.
Clint and Natasha had had the bigger issue at hand of needing to keep their work and relationship separate to make sure they weren’t compromised. Clint knew, deep down, that he was already compromised: that he loved her and that any harm that came to her would be taken personally. If she were hurt or in danger, his primary objective wouldn't be anything but her. It had been that way for a long time, and there wasn’t anything that could change that or be done about it.
Natasha, however, refused to admit it. She insisted that in a crisis situation, she would be able to shut her emotions down and function like the spy and assassin she was trained to be - even if Clint were in danger or had been harmed. Clint knew her inside and out and saw the truth in her lie. He knew why she was telling it, he had heard all about the Red Room and the abuse she suffered there. He knew that she loved him, even though she refused to say it. He didn’t believe her bullshit about 'love is for children' for a minute, but it still hurt like hell to hear her say it. He stood down, though, and let her say what she needed to say and deny what she needed to deny to work through her thoughts and process her emotions. Her eyes told a different story, and they way she curled into him when they went to sleep, and the way her breath quickened at his touch. The truth was there. His Natasha was delicately wired: He knew this about her, and he loved this. He knew if he kept her safe and stable long enough, eventually she would open up to him. He would wait, he wasn’t going anywhere. But he couldn’t wait to hear her say those words, he really couldn’t. He was anxious to tell her, himself.
Clint dozed lazily until he realized that if he were going to get any bacon before Natasha ate it all, he needed to get his ass out of bed and pronto. He sat up on the side of her bed, stretching to crack his back, and looked around for his pants. He grinned a little at the memory of the night before; he had always heard that certain spices in Indian food were aphrodisiacs…he was going to have to make that restaurant a more common take-out order. Without a doubt.
He walked into the kitchen shirtless, sidling up behind Natasha and snaking his arms around her waist under his hawkeyes t-shirt, kissing her in the hollow where her neck meets her shoulder. She pretended not to be affected, but Clint felt her breath change and saw her bite her lip when he kissed her neck. He gave her a little squeeze. "Good morning, sweetheart.”
"Good morning. I really hope you weren’t trying to sneak up on me. If so, you’re slipping.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Good.”
Clint chuckled. “Testy this morning, huh?” He slapped her on the butt. She whirled around with the tongs and made a halfhearted grab at him, but he was out of her reach and grinning.
“I’ll have your ass for that, Hawkeye.”
“Promise?”
“Asshole.”
“I’m your asshole.”
She rolled her eyes and turned back around to the frying pan. “That’s gross.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “I didn’t even catch that. That’s pretty great.” He laughed a little more as he walked over to the counter beside the stove, snitched a piece of bacon, turned around and leaned against the counter, still chuckling as he chewed. “How’s about ‘I’m your dumbass’? Is that better?”
She looked over at him, amused but feigning annoyance. “I accept that. Your hair looks great, by the way.” He tried to smooth it down, a pointless endeavor. She snickered at his attempt. “You’re in a good mood. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just like bacon. That, and we have a couple of days off. I thought maybe we could have some fun around town or something. Or, you know, here.” He leered at her and she snorted.
“You have a couple of days off. I’m leaving tomorrow morning for California.”
Good mood status - 50% diminished.
“What’s in California?”
“I don’t know. You may be going too. Fury wants us in his office in two hours.”
Clint was wary. “I’m not sure I like this. Who told you you were going to California?”
“Coulson.”
“Did he mention me too? We haven’t been on a solo mission since I lost my comm in London.”
“I know. But he didn’t mention you.”
“So why does Fury want to see us?”
“I don’t know.”
“I don’t like this, Tasha.”
She stood on tiptoe and kissed his nose. “Stop worrying. It’ll be fine.”
~*~
They arrived at Director Fury’s office and waited for him to let them in. The doors slid open, Fury called out, “Barton! Romanov! In here!” and they went in to have a seat.
Coulson was standing in his customary spot, behind Fury’s desk and to the left, arms crossed in an unassuming way. Fury waited until they were seated and then got straight to the point.
“Okay, agents. I’m going to start out by saying that this meeting is a no-bullshit meeting. Don’t try to bullshit me, and things will go much more pleasantly for you. Ok?”
Clint and Natasha nodded.
“Now, I know that you two have a thing going. I’ve known it for a couple of years.”
Natasha spoke up, “Sir,…”
Fury held up a hand, “Wait. I said I’ve known it for a couple of years. I didn’t say you’ve known it that whole time.”
Clint fought back a snicker, Coulson brought up a hand to cover a quick smile. Natasha looked briefly indignant, then went back to her usual regal composure. “Yes, sir. We do have a relationship.”
“Four months, right?”
Clint spoke up, “Four months and one week, sir.” Natasha shot him a dirty look.
Fury said, “Well, see, I’ve known that. And even though it’s completely against S.H.I.E.L.D. policy and regulation, I let it go. I know both of you fairly well and Coulson knows both of you very well. I trusted him when he said that this was the best thing for both of you. And it seems that both of you have done fairly well keeping work and play separate. Until this last operation.”
Clint looked confused, Natasha looked blank.
“See, it would seem that there was some intel that would have been valuable to know. Like that one of our own congressmen was working with Mapene to spin this money.”
Clint recovered first. “Sir, we were diligent, and we saw nothing to indicate that any US Senator or Representative -“
Fury cut in, “I know you didn’t see anything, but I don’t know that you were diligent. I told Coulson I would let you two stay together until you blew it. I don’t know that you blew it, but one way or another, something got by you. Plus, I need you for other projects. So I’m separating you two for a while. You’re back on solo missions. We’ll see if you can’t work better separately for a while.”
Natasha closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, Clint just sat there. He was outraged, hurt, a thousand feelings at once - none of which he could express.
“So here’s the deal. I’m putting you two on the Avengers Initiative, but separately. Romanov, you leave in the morning to go to California and do a detailed personality analysis on Tony Stark. You’ll be undercover, posing as someone in the legal pool - Natalie Rushman. Knowing Stark and his thing for arm candy, he’ll undoubtedly promote you quickly.” Clint groaned, Natasha took another deep breath. Fury took what he believed to be a reassuring tone. “All you’re responsible to do is watch him and assess him. You can do that from a reasonable distance.”
Natasha seemed to gather up her courage and then, “Sir, I’m not comfortable using my body -“
Fury held up his hand again. “You don’t have to. You just need to be pretty enough to get in the door. You'll probably be spending most of the time with his secretary, Ms. Potts, anyway. If he gets fresh with you, you have my permission to use whatever non-lethal methods you deem necessary to get out safely. I have a feeling we’re going to be telling him who you are before the mission’s done anyway.”
Natasha closed her eyes and bowed her head a little. Clint just moved his head back and forth between the two of them, like watching a tennis match.
“Barton.”
Clint looked at him. “You’re staying here. I need your help on a few things.”
He couldn’t say anything at that moment that made any sense. He just nodded.
Fury looked across his desk at his two best agents and their stricken faces. “Look, I know I’m an asshole, but I’m not a monster. I’ve told Coulson that you two are not to be apart for more than ten days without seeing each other, two weeks at the outside. Ideally, you’ll go less than a week. I don’t intend for him to keep you gone on missions all the time, any more than you are now. You two are the best I’ve got, and to be honest, I needed you on these projects anyway. I would have had to separate you eventually, but I don’t mean to keep you apart for long. You work well together, you’re goddamn legends in this agency. But I need you, and you two need to clear your heads.”
Natasha gave a quiet “thank you,” Clint just nodded.
“You guys take the rest of the day. I imagine there are things you need to do. Romanov, your flight leaves at 9:00 tomorrow morning. Barton, report to me here at 9:30.” They nodded. “You’re dismissed.”
~*~
Natasha wouldn’t speak to him in the hall on the way back to her apartment, and she let him open the door. This worried him; she had always been very concerned about keeping up whatever appearance they had to in order to keep people off their trail as a couple, now she was acting as if it didn’t matter.
They went inside and she walked straight to her turquoise and brown patterned couch, tossing accent pillows to the floor in frustration. She kicked off her heels and sat, pulling her knees up to her chin and ducking her head down, her hair making a curtain around her. “I knew it.”
“What did you know?”
“I knew I’d fuck this all up.”
Clint paused for a moment. He was in a delicate situation. They were both emotionally charged, but she needed comfort. He had to tread very lightly, or shit could go real bad here.
“Sweetheart, Fury was going to separate us eventually anyway. You heard him.”
“But we blew a mission.”
“We didn’t blow a mission, we missed a detail we weren’t even looking for. And it’s just as likely that he made that up to solidify his stance that we needed to be separate for a while. He is Nick Fury, for chrissakes.”
“You think?”
“I think it’s entirely plausible.”
She raised her head, running her fingers through her hair. “I don’t like this feeling, Clint.”
Here comes. “What feeling, sweetheart?”
“The feeling that I’ve made myself completely vulnerable.”
Clint sat silently.
“You could destroy me.”
He had to remind himself of her history when he heard that to keep from being offended. He took a moment to remind himself that she was coming from a place of utter destruction at every turn, and of course that would be her first instinct: to look for impending destruction.
“Natasha. I do not wish any sort of harm or destruction on you. I want the exact opposite for you. I want to build you up and make you stronger. It’s what I’ve been working to do since you came here four and a half years ago.”
She shook her head. “I know that. But you could destroy me if you wanted to. It would be so easy. And you wouldn’t even have to try. You could even do it accidentally, you have that kind of power over me. That’s what I don’t like.”
Clint scrubbed his face, then propped himself with his elbows on his legs. “Nat. Do you understand that you hold the same power over me?”
“Yes.”
“So then we’re equals?”
“Yes.”
“Doesn’t that comfort you?”
“No.”
He hung his head and closed his eyes. God, make this not happen. Stop her. Please. And if Nick Fury just caused me to lose the best thing that ever happened to me, I swear to you and every other holy thing I’m going to fucking kill him.
“Nat. Sweetheart.” His voice cracked almost imperceptibly. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m not doing anything. I just think there’s a lot of thinking that needs to be done while we’re apart. A lot of soul-searching.”
Clint sat up and looked at her. “Natasha, you and I both know how we feel, whether we express it or not. We know it. It’s there and its not going away. It’s scary as hell for me, too. This is a terrifying place I’m in right now. But I know what this is, I know what we are, and I’ll wait until you figure out that you know what it is and what we are, too.”
~*~
Natasha slept alone that night for the first time in four months. Well, “slept” isn’t exactly the right word. She couldn’t get comfortable without Clint’s comforting weight beside her and his heavy, rhythmic breathing. She hadn't expected to get so used to having him there in such a short time...in four months she shouldn't be so accustomed to having him beside her that she couldn't sleep, should she? But apparently she was. And her thoughts were chasing each other around like weasels fighting over a mouse. Natasha missed him already, missed him so much she physically ached. She had never loved anyone - not since her parents - so she didn’t know how it was supposed to feel, but she knew that she loved Clint and how this love felt. It was agony. It was beautiful. It was a nightmare. It was a dream. She didn't want to be anywhere near him, and she couldn’t live without him. But above anything, she couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she was madly, deeply in love with him.
He knew. She knew he knew. But she just couldn’t bring herself to verbalize it. It felt almost superstitious, like if she gave it a name it would suddenly become a Real Thing, visible to the outside world and thus vulnerable to attack from outside forces. If she kept it quiet and didn’t talk about it, nobody could harm it. It could be her little secret. She didn’t have to share it…she could just treasure her love for him and no one need know. And no one could get hurt.
Only now people did know. And Clint was hurting. She was hurting, too. So why was she still refusing to give it a name? So more people didn't find out? So more people didn’t hurt? God, what she wouldn’t give to be a normal person - someone who wasn’t so fucking broken.
She laid awake, smelling Clint on her nightshirt and sheets, cuddling his pillow, sometimes crying, until she finally gave up at 4:30, put on yoga pants and went to his apartment.
She let herself in expecting everything to be dark, but saw the living room lights and TV were on. Clint was watching Spaceballs, and had a near-empty bottle of Jim Beam on the coffee table in front of him.
“Clint?”
“Hey.” He didn't look up.
She sat down beside him gingerly. “You okay?”
“Couldn’t sleep. You weren’t there.” She didn’t say anything, just looked down at her hands. “So I came in here to watch one of our movies and try to knock m’self out.”
“How’s that going?”
“Not so swell, actually.”
She stood up, took the glass from his hand, set it down and tugged on his hand. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”
He stood up, just the tiniest bit unsteady, put his hands around her waist, and asked, “Tasha? Why can’t you say you love me?”
“Clint…”
“I know you love me. I just want you to say it.”
"Come on, Clint..."
"Please, Nat."
“Just come to bed, Clint. Please.”
He took several angry steps away before turning back to face her. “Goddammit, Natasha, why? Why can you feel it but not say it? Don’t you know it’s killing me? Does that matter?”
She faced him cooly. “Clint, I will tell you when I’m ready. Pushing me will not help at all. I came here because I missed you terribly and didn’t want to sleep even a couple of hours without you. Will you punish me by not holding me because I can’t verbalize something? I have to leave for California in four hours. Is this how you want to leave things, Clint? Is it? You drunk and angry and refusing me?”
He blinked at her, then sat down heavily on the couch, burying his face in his hands. “I just don’t understand, Nat. I don’t. I try to, but I can’t make sense of it.”
She sat down beside him and put her hand on his back. “Would it be any comfort to know that I can’t make any sense of it, either?”
“Not really, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Come to bed with me, Clint.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to be gone in a few hours, and I want to be as close to you as humanly possible until the last possible second.”