Ghosts
Spring, 2013
Clint Barton could be described as many, many things. One thing he could not ever be called, however, was "good patient." As soon as he was thoroughly awake, he started demanding to go home. The doctors insisted he had to be closely monitored a while longer, at least five days and that he would not be well for a long while. Forty-eight hours later, Natasha busted him out and took him upstairs to their apartment. It didn't make any difference, really, medical just came to him now, but mentally he felt better. The doctor threw up his hands and said if it helped, then he'd go along with it.
Natasha did everything she could to make him comfortable. She wasn't a nurse, but she had cared for him when he was injured enough to know what he liked and what he didn't. She made his favorite foods and brought them to him in the recliner, she helped him get around, she played along when he downplayed his injury and pain in front of other people. But the truth was that a GSW to the gut is a serious injury, a perforated bowel is a big damn deal, and abdominal surgery is hard to get over. So she babied him...while no one was around.
He insisted on sleeping in their bed, so she walked him him in there with his arm thrown across her shoulders, supporting his weight and laid him down, propping pillows and making him comfortable. He seemed to relax a bit, then he said, "Now, you. Come here."
"Why?"
"I need to hold you."
She shook her head. ”I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't, sweetheart. And even if you ripped me wide open, it would be worth it. It's been months. Please, I need to hold you.” She hesitated, debating. “Please, Tasha.”
Natasha relied on her training as a spy to crawl on the bed as gingerly as possible, so she wouldn't jostle him. She made her way next to him, slid in beside him into his arm delicately, and lay her head softly on his shoulder.
He turned and kissed her head. "I'd forgotten how good you smell." She put her hand on his chest over his heart and counted the beats, grateful for every one. Closing her eyes, she thought back to her prayer on Christmas night and thanked God for giving him back.
"Tasha?"
"Hmm?"
"I never stopped thinking of you as my wife. I can't turn that off, and I don't want to."
She kept silent, not knowing what to say, or how to say it if she did say something. She was afraid she'd cry if she did...all the agony of the last four months, not knowing, trying to turn off her feelings, trying to convince herself that she wasn't his wife...
She was apparently silent too long, because he spoke again. "Tasha?"
"Yeah?"
"If I could figure out a way, would you consider marrying me again?"
The tears started, and she couldn't hold them back this time. She didn't say anything, then he heard her sniffing and his shirt getting wet.
"Oh, sweetheart, don't cry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."
"No, it's not that. It's just...it's relief. I was so afraid. When you left you said you didn't know how you felt, I didn't know what you meant. I thought maybe you were feeling like the whole thing had been a mistake. But when you’re asking me to do it all over…now I know what you meant. Or at least what you didn't mean." She felt him relax and sat up to look at him with red-rimmed eyes. "I'll marry you again, but you have to ask me again, somewhere other than in bed."
He smiled at her. "Fair enough."
She kissed him and snuggled gently back into his arms.
~*~
Clint had been at home for a week and was still moving slowly, but getting around with less and less help. He wanted Natasha as close as possible all the time; he told her he had four months and being a dick to make up for. She said that being a dick was completely forgiven, but she did want that time they lost that they could have been holding, touching, kissing each other back - at least a little.
The guys all stopped in regularly, shooting the breeze or watching baseball with Clint for a while - keeping him occupied so he didn't lose his mind from being confined to the apartment. Bruce was the most frequent guest and while Clint really liked him, he recognized that the real bond there was between Bruce and Nat. He was glad for it, Natasha seemed relaxed and comfortable talking to Bruce.
Steve came down to visit rather often, and on his very first visit, apologized profusely for the dance lesson incident. Clint assured Cap that he held no ill will, they shook on it, and watched a game. But Clint, the Hawkeye, didn't miss the way Steve's eyes sometimes followed Natasha out of the room, or how he looked her up and down occasionally, or how when he thought no one was looking, he looked at her with something like...hunger? longing? Clint didn't know exactly, but he knew he wasn't comfortable with it. Natasha seemed oblivious. Part of him wanted so badly to say something to her about it, but he wouldn't. The way they had parted in December and the misery of four months was too fresh and raw for both of them. To point out Steve's looking at her and his insecurities about it would be risking an argument that could damage their relationship, and he refused to do that. Not after what they had just gone through... so he swallowed it, ignored it, pretended it wasn't there. He told himself that he had no reason to worry about Natasha. She had married him once and wanted to do it again. Even after he walked out on her the way he did, having said the things he did, she wore his mark and kept true to him all the time he was gone. She was confused when he was surprised by that, which was a testament to her faithfulness to him.
No, he didn't need to worry about his Nat. But he was going to keep an eye on the Cap.
~*~
Clint had been home three weeks and was much better. Natasha was relieved, she had worried endlessly over him. She knew how serious his injury had been and regretted busting him out of the hospital almost immediately after she did it, but she had done her best to take care of him. The medical staff had checked in on him a couple of times a day and given her instructions, and he seemed to have done okay. He certainly wasn't ready to get back to training like he normally did, but he had improved a huge deal. He was motivated - he hated being stationary.
But a shot to the gut like that...Clint shouldn't have survived and only quick, correct action had saved him. Natasha had pondered before while watching Clint sleep; were she ever confronted with the woman Clint slept with that rushed him to the ER, would she grab her and hug her, crying out her thanks? Or cleanly snap her neck? It was honestly a tossup. But no matter what, she was so, so grateful to have her Clint back. It had been almost a month, but she didn't think it would ever be long enough to erase the memory of those four months.
Clint was in the den, watching a baseball game with Bruce and Steve. Steve never seemed to really get over just how different baseball was now as opposed to when he went under. Tony and Pepper were in Malibu at their home there, so the four of them were the only ones left. She was curled in the recliner, half watching and half dozing, when Jarvis spoke up. "Ms. Romanov, Mr. Barton, Director Fury and Maria Hill are requesting entry. They have a guest with them they want to bring as well."
Clint muted the TV. "Who is the guest?"
"I do not know, sir, I am unable to tell."
"Scan them for weapons."
"Director Fury and Ms. Hill are both armed. The guest is not."
Clint looked at Natasha. She nodded, and he said "send them up." Natasha fetched a couple of guns, checking the usual weapons already in strategic locations.
Jarvis: "Ma'am, sir, they are at the door."
Natasha turned to the men. "Stay here. I'm the fastest. You guys saw where I hid the weapons, but they're a last resort, I don't think there's danger here. Bruce, no matter what happens, stay calm. If you lose it, you could hurt us. Okay?”
Bruce nodded. They all sat, tense and waiting.
Natasha went to the door with a glock in her waistband, ready to fire in a moment. "Director? Maria?"
Fury didn't mince words. "Who's here?"
"Why? Who did you bring?"
"Who is here, Romanov?"
"Me, Barton, Rogers and Banner."
"Good. Take me to them. I have a surprise. Come on."
She directed them towards the den, careful not to give them her back. Once there, the trio of Fury, Hill and the stranger stood in the center of the room, in front of the fireplace. The stranger was wearing a hooded jacket, with the hood pulled low.
Clint asked, "Director? Who have you brought into my home, and why?"
Fury held up a hand. "First, I want to say this - I know this is going to be a huge shock. Please try not to overreact." He looked at Bruce, who looked edgy.
Steve was looking aggressive. "Spit it out, Director. What's going on?"
Fury raised his hand to the stranger and said, "Phil?"
Clint made a sound between a cry and a groan.
The stranger reached up and pulled back his hood.
Natasha felt behind her for the arm of the chair, needing to sit.
Phil Coulson was standing in her living room.
~*~
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!“
"Barton, I can explain..."
Clint was on his feet, bellowing. Phil was standing his ground, but with his hands raised in a 'surrender' pose. Natasha's head was reeling, but her immediate concern was Clint hurting himself.
"Clint, baby, please..."
"NO! I THOUGHT I HAD KILLED YOU!“
"Loki killed me..."
"Clint, you're going to hurt yourself...please baby..."
"He haunted my DREAMS with you! He called me a fucking murderer! I did time in my own goddamn mind for a crime I didn't fucking commit! I tortured MYSELF! GODDAMN!“
Clint swept all of the food, drinks, chips and magazines off of the coffee table and stormed off, clutching his abdomen as they flew and crashed to the ground.
"Agent Barton-"
"No. You leave him be." Natasha was on her feet now, taking an aggressive stance. "Fury, you knew Clint was hurt, and you knew Loki tortured him about Coulson. Did you really think walking him in here wasn't going to reopen a wound - literally and figuratively? Jesus, do you just like fucking with us? You wreck our happiness over an alias, now this?”
She turned on her heel and ran to check on Clint. Coulson looked at Fury and said "What's this about an alias?"
Fury dismissed him. "Tell you later."
Bruce spoke up. "Okay, fellas. Now that you've thoroughly offended our hosts, would you like to explain what's going on here? Or did you just potentially injure my buddy and make my dear friend cry for kicks?"
Fury looked at them. "We may need the Avengers."
Steve had gone from looking aggressive to dangerous. "For what?"
"At ease, soldier."
"Don't patronize me. And as of right this moment, you only have two Avengers, and this one isn't all that inclined to help you. I'm sick of the lies, Fury. Tell the truth. Why is he alive?"
"Loki did stab and kill me," Coulson said. "But S.H.I.E.L.D. has this new serum they had been working on, a Lazarus serum. Fury ordered it used on me. It worked."
"Why did you take so long to come forward, at least to Barton, when you knew he was having such terrible guilt?"
"I had to stay undercover."
"Why are you here now?" Natasha was back, and angry.
"How is Hawkeye?"
"Don't worry about him, I'm taking care of him. Why are you here?"
"We may need the Avengers. Tony Stark has caught the attention of..."
"Yes, we saw the crazy terrorist. But Tony was explicit when he said to stay here unless he ordered us to leave."
Maria Hill spoke up, "We're here to tell you to leave."
"You can fuck off."
Steve let out a gasp - “Natasha!" - but she was beyond caring.
"You brought a dead man in our home, jeopardizing my...man's health, and tell us to get out? This after what you did to us over my name? No, you can just go to hell!"
"Natasha, we have reason to believe that the terrorist Mandarin is targeting Stark and bent on destroying everything he owns. You have to leave."
She scowled, but not before fear crossed her features.
Steve asked, "Where are you taking us?"
"Back to S.H.I.E.L.D. You'll be safe there."
Bruce snorted. "Ah, yes. Somewhere I can be contained easily."
"No, Dr. Banner, somewhere you can be protected."
"You still haven't told me why you brought Agent Coulson into my home." Natasha had her arms crossed and was staring at Fury with hatred. "You have no idea how Loki has tormented him at night."
"Agent Romanov, which ghost are you angry about here? Phil? Or a girl from Russia? Because I suspect despite your anger at his presentation, you're very relieved to see Agent Coulson."
She stood, arms crossed, eyes watery, standing off against Fury. Seconds ticked by, a full minute. Natasha broke. She walked over to Phil Coulson and hugged him. "I cried for you."
He hugged her briefly and stepped back. "I know, I'm deeply touched. I'm sorry I hurt you. And Barton."
"Give him a bit of time. He's shocked, but he'll be relieved soon."
"I'm still fucking pissed as hell, though."
Clint walked slowly over to Phil and shook his hand. "I'm so sorry..."
"It wasn't your fault, Barton. It never was."
Fury interrupted. "We have to go. That's why we're here: Coulson has the intel, he can debrief you. Pack essentials, we leave for HQ in twenty minutes."
"We're going to need medical on hand."
"No we're not."
"Shut up, Clint."
"You can have whatever you need."
Bruce and Steve stood up to go. "Well, I suppose we'll be back in fifteen."
~*~
May, 2013
Steve was headed to the sparring gym at S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. It was late, he knew nobody would be there, but he didn't sleep much anyway and wanted to work out a little on the heavy bag. There weren't many things that hadn't changed since he'd gone under, but hitting a punching bag was one.
There was loud music coming from the gym. He hadn't expected anyone to be there and he didn't want to interrupt, but this wasn't typical workout music - or at least, what he was told was typical music people worked out to. It was melodic, but very angry. His curiosity was piqued, and he went for a better look.
Why this lonely, why this lonely, why this lonely love?
Steve started to hear the sounds of impact, and a female grunting with exertion.
Tell me, are you satisfied with fucking?
Don't walk away, don't walk away, don't walk away I'm talking to you
Steve got to the gym and paused in the door. It was Natasha, and she was sparring with a dummy, but unlike any sparring he had ever seen with a dummy. She was hand springing and spinning her legs to wrap her legs around the dummy's head, then spinning herself off and landing lightly on her feet. She was jumping up, kicking the dummy in the chest with both feet, landing on her back on the ground, then jumping to her feet in attack position. And she was doing all of it in time with the music. He was entranced, watching her.
The song ended and she spoke up. "Having fun, Cap?" She turned and wiped her face, across he brows and under her eyes. He noted her cheeks were wet and wondered if she had been crying.
"I've just never seen anyone fight and dance at the same time."
"Fighting is quite a bit like dance. It's why I'm a trained ballerina."
"That didn't sound like any ballet music I've ever heard."
She snorted. "No, they're not exactly using Dave Matthews Band in a lot of pointe classes. But I've found that different types of music with different rhythms have come in handy when I'm training - and fighting. It's not all hard rock, hip hop or classical.”
"You listen to music when you're fighting?"
"No, of course not. But sometimes a song pops in my head and the training I've done to that song takes over. It's not choreographed or anything, but something will trip that memory and," she shrugged, "suddenly, there's a song to fight to in my head. Different assailants move at different paces and with different rhythms. It’s nice to be able to match those rhythms and paces to a song in my head and, well, dance, I suppose.”
"Are they all angry? The songs in your head?”
"No, no, not all of them. But it helps. It gets me motivated. The words to the song don't matter much, although I like them. The important part is the melody, rhythm and tone.”
"Would you like to spar?" Steve blurted it out before he thought and had no idea why he asked such a thing. It was ludicrous; there were very few people in the world who could beat him in hand-to-hand combat, but the Black Widow was almost certainly one of them. She looked hesitant, and reached up to finger her necklace. He doubted she even realized she was doing it. "It's okay if you don't. I just know it's been a long time since you worked out. A month and a half or so since Hawkeye came home, right?"
“It has been. But I don’t think -”
Steve took a tiny step forward and interrupted. "You know, I heard what that song was about. If you're having problems, any kind of problems, you can come to me."
"I'm not-"
"There you are! I wondered where you had got off to when I woke up."
Clint came across the gym smiling, and Steve took a step backwards. Natasha looked back and forth between the two, waiting. When nothing happened: "I couldn't sleep, I was too tense after…everything that’s happened, and moving back here, and worrying about Tony...I wanted to work off some stress and maybe get sleepy."
Clint put his arm around her waist and kissed her temple. "Come on back to bed, sweetheart. I'll rub your back until you relax." Clint looked at Steve, communicating clearly. Back off.
Steve looked back at him steadily, face smooth and unafraid.
Natasha smiled at Clint, "That sounds good."
She smiled at Steve. "Goodnight, Steve." She started out of the gym.
"'Night, Nat. Remember, you can call on me if you need to." Natasha nodded without looking back. Clint glanced over his shoulder, then put his arm around Natasha's waist. Steve sighed, wondering how how badly he had just screwed up.
Natasha waited until they got back to their tiny apartment before she turned to him. "Clint -"
"Nat, I'm not upset with you. I saw what happened, and I'm not upset. Okay? I know you're on the up-and-up." He kissed her. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her in, close to him, kissing her deeply. "It occurs to me that I owe you a backrub."
~*~
November, 2013
Natasha had just gotten back home to the Tower from a three-week mission and slept for twenty four hours. When she finally crawled out of bed, Clint had made a terrific breakfast, along with her favorite dark-roast coffee. They ate, chatting about the mission, gossip from around the tower and other small talk.
"You know, the holidays are coming."
She smiled, a small, slightly sad smile. "I know."
"I asked for the week of Thanksgiving and the week of Christmas off, for both of us."
She looked up. "No shit?"
"No shit. We're going to be together this year for the holidays if it kills us."
She jumped up and ran around the table to sit in his lap. "Thank you so much. I just can't tell you...I don't know how to thank you."
He kissed her. "Want to go back to bed for a bit? I’d be grateful as hell for that.”
She grinned. "Absolutely."
He scooped her up and started towards the bedroom.
Jarvis: "Mr. Barton, Ms. Romanov? You have a guest."
"We're busy, Jarvis."
"Sir, I think you'll want to see this guest.”
“Probably not.”
"Who is it?”, asked Natasha.
"The body and chemical signature are the same as the unnamed guest you had in April, sir."
They looked at each other for a minute, then Clint set Natasha on her feet. ”Send him up."
Natasha kissed Clint quickly, he held her close for a moment. "Later?"
She smiled. "I'll beat you if you back out."
He grinned, kissed her again, leaving her rumpled. Jarvis announced the visitor at the door.
"Hold that thought."
Clint ran to the door and opened it, letting the hooded man in and closing the door behind him. "Coulson?" The man dropped his hood.
"Yes, it's me. Have you two got a minute?"
"Yeah, sure. Come on in and sit down."
He led Coulson into the living room. Natasha walked in at the same time from the kitchen, carrying a drink. "Hi, Sir, what's going on? Would you like something to drink?”
“No thank you. And I’m here because I have good news for you, but I need to be brief. Director Fury told me about your marriage, and the problem you ran into with your name."
Natasha froze. Clint looked at her quickly then back to Coulson. "What kind of good news do you have?"
"I can erase Natalia Alianovna Romanova. I can make it so she never existed on paper, and all that's left is Natasha Romanov."
Natasha sat down hard on the couch. Clint down beside her and took her hand. "How?"
"I have a friend in the Russian government who owes me several large favors. Very large favors. I feel as if I should make up to you not letting you know I was alive for a year, and I was hoping this may help to make amends in some small way."
Natasha buried her face in her hands. This would be so much more than being able to marry Clint. This would be erasing what she used to be, cutting off the last tie to her first life, the miserable existence she knew before he saved her. This would be the end of the Mother Country's hold on her, symbolically. She wouldn't be Russian anymore. At all. Freedom from her past, from the KGB, forever. Natalia would, at long last, be dead.
She looked up at Coulson. "You would do that for me?"
He smiled at her. "I've already made the necessary calls. He told me that it would take a little while to be complete because he has to be covert and thorough, but he thinks he can have it done within six months." Natasha put her head back down in her hands. Clint put his arm around her and Coulson smiled again. "Agents, you will most likely be able to have a summer wedding. I'd start planning. And I expect an invitation.”