My Weakness

Early April, 2014

Natasha walked into the shooting range, hearing the familiar woosh-thud. He was there, as he usually was when he was home and had free time. She crossed her arms and leaned back against the wall, watching him. She loved to watch him shoot, she could watch him at work for hours. Good Lord. He is so perfect. His legs spread the perfect width, his stance perfect. Every line of his body was graceful but firm, and exactly where it needed to be to make the perfect shot. His fingers wrapped tightly around the bow, arm extended in front (his arms, God his arms are so sexy), his fingers pulling the string back to his mouth, his lips pursed slightly in concentration and the tiniest hint of a cocky little smile of satisfaction, his eyes the sky blue they always were when he had the quiver on. He was never more serene than when he had his bow in his hand, shooting. She thought he was the sexiest thing she had ever seen when he was in his element like this.

She still couldn't believe that he was hers. After all this time, she still had to shake herself sometimes when she woke up next to him. Occasionally, she would roll over in the morning and watch him sleep for just a moment, his face crushed into the pillow and his hair sticking up in all directions (not artfully like he usually did it), thinking about the history she’d made with this man - the new history she had. How different her life would have been if he hadn’t rescued her by abducting her. How miserable she would be if she hadn’t been compromised. Natasha Romanov just didn't get that lucky...but she had.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, breaking her from her reverie without looking her way. The fact that he could see things without looking at them never ceased to amaze her. The targets popped up everywhere, fast, bobbing and weaving this way and that, but he didn't miss a single one. They all dropped with an arrow dead center of the bullseye. She watched him, giving him his secret smile even if he couldn't see it. Knowing him, though, he probably could.

"Didn't I tell you I'd kick your ass if you ever called me that in public again?"

Clint said, "stop simulation," and turned to walk towards her, a mischievous smile on his face. She took a few steps his way, still smiling the Clint-only smile, and when they met he grabbed her around the waist by one arm, pulled her flush against him and kissed her thoroughly before grinning wickedly.

"Is that a promise, sweetheart?"

"Asshole."

"You love me."

"Damned right. But you're still an asshole."

He laughed and bent down for a quick, chaste kiss before releasing her to go gather his things. "Hey, there's a new Chinese restaurant downtown. It’s supposed to be really nice. Would you want to go tonight?"

"I can't. That's what I came here to tell you; I'm on my way to pick up Cap, we've got to do an extraction. I'm going to be out for a couple of days."

Clint zipped his bag with a bit more force than necessary and walked back over to her. "Why Rogers?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why would Fury send you on a mission with Rogers? Why not me?"

"I don't know. Different skill set? You know as well as I do Fury has his own reasons for things."

Clint's brows were knitting, and his body language was getting aggressive. Natasha circled her arms around his waist. "Clint, really. Come on. You can trust me."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

"Clint..."

"What? You know as well as I do he has a thing for you."

"He doesn't."

"I've seen him look at you, Nat. He wants you."

"I'm telling you, he doesn't." She released his waist and stepped back. Natasha was getting pissed, and Clint was reading the warning signs. He didn't much care. "I've spent a lot of time in my life around men who wanted to fuck me. Trust me, Cap doesn't."

"I'm a man. I know that look. He wants to fuck you."

"I'm a woman, and I don't want to fuck him. So that's the end of the discussion. With you or him. I decide who I sleep with, and it's not Steve Rogers."

"Fine. I'm headed to Idaho for a surveillance in the morning, so I won't be around." He slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to leave. "Be careful."

"Clint, wait. Wait, dammit!"

He turned around. "What."

"Maybe you don't remember what happened the last time we parted on bad terms, but I do. Don't leave it like this. Please."

He searched her face for a while, his blue eyes stormy. Then he sighed, cupped her face and kissed her softly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close.

"I love you, Clint Barton."

"I love you, too. Take care of yourself."

"I always do."

"Nat?"

"Yeah?"

"I'll kill him if he puts his hands on you. He needs to find his own woman and leave mine the fuck alone."

~*~

When the Avengers realized that Nick Fury was keeping a tremendous amount of information from them, they met and decided upon a plan of action in case they should ever have to hide anything from S.H.I.E.L.D. or anyone else. Part of this plan was a code. The code language itself was simple and would be easily broken by any code breaker, but was only meant to be a stumbling block to buy some time, not a wall. Thus far it had never been tested for either purpose. They didn't really trust Fury, but they hadn't really had any issues with him since Coulson rose from the dead and they'd decided on the code and various other measures. So far, they'd just practiced with it over dinners, during movies, and whenever they were together - just in case the time came and it was needed.

Tony Stark was in his workshop at Avengers Tower tinkering on an idea he knew was doomed to fail. He didn't typically surrender to failure, but he'd come at this one from every angle he could think of and he was all but certain it was a no-go. He'd given it over to Banner to work with, and Bruce had come up with the same conclusion. The idea was spectacular, but there wasn't a way to make it work just yet. Tony's best course of action right now would be to put it down, ignore it for a while and wait for the answer to come to him out of the blue, but he fucking hated to do that. Until that moment of inspiration and solution, he felt like a failure, and Tony Stark didn't handle failure well.

Jarvis interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, you have a call."

"I'm busy, Jarvis."

"Sir, this call came in to line 27."

Tony went very still. Only six people had that number, all superheroes, all connected to this one line, and it was only to be used in the event of serious emergency. That line ringing was bad news.

"Who?"

"Ms. Romanov."

"Put her through."

The phone rang once, not even completing the ring before Tony snatched it up.

"Yeah."

"Tony?"

"Yeah."

"Grandma went into town and the books need to go back to the library. Have you got change for the peddler and driver?"
Fury is dead. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised. Bruce, Thor and Clint with you?

"I've given the driver some change but haven't seen the peddler."
Bruce and Thor are here, Clint is not.

"It would be great if the peddler could visit Babel before September."
Get Hawkeye back to Stark Tower immediately, this is an emergency.

"I'll call around and see if I can't get him on a train."
I'll handle it personally.

"Thank you."

"Do Sirius and Fred need to be fed or taken for a walk?"
Are you and Steve safe? Do you need us?

"No. Just keep them in the house and feed them some salmon. They've got toys."
No. Stay where you are, it's not safe. We have a friend here.

"I don't know that I agree with that. Most cats-"

"Not these cats. Just trust me on this one, okay, Tony?"

"Ok."

"Please just check on those tickets. Right now."

"I'm on it."

"Thank you. Gotta go."

"Natasha?"

The line was dead.

~*~

It wasn't something he could say very often, but he loved assignments like this. He was lying on a hilltop in Idaho, concealed, watching a NeoNazi compound below. It was isolated, quiet. Decades of work as a sniper had trained him to be silent and observe, which he did. It was worlds away from the constant din, whirling colors and sensory overload of his childhood and youth. Still, he was grateful for that noise and confusion - it trained him to focus on making the shot no matter his surroundings. When you could hit bullseye after bullseye without fail with people whooping and hollering, with clowns flipping all over the place and trapeze artists flying over your head, you'd mastered your external surroundings. No, the problem he had now was the raging argument inside his head.

Goddamn, that woman had destroyed him. As far as anyone who didn't know him well knew, he was as badass as he'd ever been; and Clint Barton had been the Baddest of the Fucking Badasses. But from the moment nine years ago that that woman in the white dress crossed her legs, tossed her hair, smirked and said, "thanks for dinner" to a man who was about to kill her, he'd been fucked six ways from Sunday. With those three little gestures and three little words, she'd started burrowing into his mind and heart until she consumed him. He could be his old self as long as she wasn't around, but as soon as she was involved in any way, Clint Barton: Badass Archer, Assassin and Spy turned into Clint Barton: Lovesick Teenager. And you know, that would have made sense for the time when he was pining for her and thought he'd never have her. Or the first year or so they were together. But they'd been a couple for four and a half years, for God's sake. Shouldn't that have dimmed a little by now? Because it hadn't. It had actually gotten more intense; he was more silly over her now than before. He tried hard to keep it hidden from colleagues and everyone but their absolute closest friends...but it was hard to hide. He had a chink in his armor you could drive a truck through. She was his weakness. He was a man in love. She made him crazy.

He was also a jealous man, which surprised him about himself. This thing with Cap - cognitively he knew he didn't have to worry at all. But the insecurity because Natasha was so beautiful, so young, so perfect...it was too much sometimes. And when someone like Steve, America's stud-muffin, made eyes at her, well, he went and did something stupid. Like threaten the life of a goddamn superhero.

Clint sighed. This is why he had avoided love, sticking to fucking for fun...until Natasha. But he was way, way past that now. He'd had a ring in his pocket when they'd argued, since Coulson had called him two days before saying Natalia Romanova was dead. Stupid Captain America.

Still, though, when he could shut down the bullshit in his head, he appreciated the hell out of the quiet and assignments like this. He gathered information, always poised to strike. But no threats seemed imminent, save one snake he'd had to shoo away. If these guys were planning anything, they weren't doing it overtly. No weapons were being stockpiled that he could see.

On the third day of his stakeout, he heard a noise in the distance that sounded like a helicopter landing. He tensed immediately, still low but poised to fight if need be. He listened, but heard nothing over the thumping of the rotors in the distance until he heard a familiar hiss-whoosh. What the fuck? Branches crackled around him and above him, then Iron Man landed five feet to his right.

"Hawkeye. We gotta go."

Tony being serious was a terrifying thing. "What's wrong?"

"Grab your shit, Clint. Now."

Clint's heart seized up. "Is it Nat? Is she okay?"

Yelling from the NeoNazis, pointing in their direction. Clint barely registered it, Tony spared them a glance.

"We gotta go. Now. I'll explain in the chopper."

Clint snatched his bag and secured it around his wrist. Tony grabbed him, saying, "Hang on, we'll be at the helicopter in a minute. I'll dodge the trees," then flew off, just as the gunshots started from the compound.

~*~

She walked out of senate chambers into a crush of media she hadn't been expecting, and cursed herself for being so naive. She had no weapons on her - she wasn't allowed them in such a situation now that S.H.I.E.L.D. was defunct - and her instinct was to start thrashing. Before she could move, though, three of Tony's best bodyguards were surrounding her, holding back the media and making a way for her. The one she knew as James grabbed her elbow and she fought the urge to snatch it away, reminding herself that this man was safe, Tony would never send someone to hurt her.

"Mr. Stark says just keep your head down and get back to the tower. Don't do anything fancy."

She nodded and he guided her through the crowd, cameras flashing in her face, blinding her, pushing her fight or flight instinct to the absolute limit. They got her out of the building where the crowd thinned, to the street where the reporters were almost non-existent.

"We're to take you to your car. It's reinforced, right? S.H.I.E.L.D. equipped it?"

"Yes."

"Good."

They walked her to her Corvette and waited until she got in and locked her doors. She rolled down her window. "Thanks, boys. I was about to make a scene, and that would have been bad."

"That's what Mr. Stark was afraid of."

~*~

She waited until she was on the interstate to call him, but she had to hear his voice. Natasha needed to feel him on the line, she missed him and needed his comfort after the stress she’d just been through. She wasn't angry anymore and she suspected he had been too worried to be angry, but you never knew with Clint. Hawkeye was a mysterious force sometimes.

"Hello?"

"It's me."

"Jesus, Nat, are you ok?"

"I'm fine. It's been a helluva few days, though. Are you okay? At the Tower?"

"I'm fine. Why the hell are you worried about me? Fuck, Natasha, you have missiles shooting at your head and you're - "

"Are you still pissed?"

Silence.

"Clint?"

"I can't believe you would ask me that, Tasha."

"I mean, I just spent the last few days with - shit. I'm getting pulled over. I'll call you back. I love you."

She hung up before he could answer, and Clint cursed the phone loudly.

~*~

Natasha sat in her seat with the window down, pissed, wondering how the hell she was going to get out of this. Her government connections weren't going to help, she wasn't connected with the government anymore. Maybe the cop was a fan of superheroes and would let her go based on her being an Avenger. Or maybe he liked boobs and was one of those cops who would enjoy the view and let her slide. She would normally be pissed if a cop did that, but today she was exhausted and anxious enough to get home that she didn't even care. Have a look at the girls, officer, just let me get home to my man and my bed. I won’t break your neck today.

He approached the window with his pen in one hand, pad in the other. Well, fuck. Looks like he's serious.

"Ma'am? Do you know how fast you were going?"

"No officer, I don't, I wasn't really paying -"

A sharp pain in her neck, the world went black and her head hit the steering wheel.