Chapter 6
Fury didn’t cancel the mission. Fury took Clint’s memo, took Raines off duty and Natasha didn’t even want to know how much trouble he was in after learning the circumstances of him being captured, and they remained on for infiltration and assassination in three days time. She went back to studying the rooms. Everyone went back to their jobs. The only thing that was different was that she and Clint could, somehow, talk to each other, quietly and with civility, and sticking to safe topics. But it was a noticeable difference. She told herself it wasn’t anything, that it meant nothing, he was just under pressure from Coulson and the team not to let his hatred for her overwhelm their mission. Clint hated fucking up a mission. Raines screwing up probably sat poorly in Clint and he probably felt responsible.
She was only guessing because she didn’t know him these days. Sometimes she caught him staring at her, curiously and openly, like he didn’t care whether she saw him. Still, he always looked away before she did. And once or twice when she was at the gym, sparring and practicing with her throwing knives, she saw him pass through and watch her for a few minutes. She was embarrassed to admit it made her fight better, throw a little more accurately. She missed the competition of him as her partner. She wanted him back. In more ways than one, but Natasha Romanov didn’t admit that. Not to him, not to anyone, not even Coulson.
They practiced in a mockup of the compound. Originally, they thought they could practice jumping but she couldn’t risk it. The three jumps in rapid succession had exhausted her. She had fallen asleep after sending Clint a second text message, and woken up to a silent phone. The disappointment sat heavy in her chest, weighing her down a little more as the hours ticked by over the three days prior to the mission.
The night before the second half of their mission began, she sat in the office, going over the floorplan again, until she could recite the dimension of any room and its configuration when she flipped over the flash cards.
“You should get rest,” he said quietly behind her. She knew he was there just before he spoke, but his voice threw her off. It was gentle. The way he used to tell her to get some rest back in the day.
She shrugged. “I won’t sleep. Might as well be useful.”
“You used to sleep well before missions,” he said, walking across the room to sit on a desk next to her. His legs dangled and he kicked them a bit, looking tired, carefree, and gentle. The person she used to know and love. She looked away from him.
“Yes,” she said in the awkward silence. What else could she say? He didn’t ask what changed. He knew what changed.
“Why did you hide it, all those years?”
She startled, looking up at him. He studied her curiously. She narrowed her eyes right back at him. “Why are you asking now? Shouldn’t you have asked this a year ago?”
“Probably would have saved us a lot of heartbreak, wouldn’t it,” he replied.
Natasha blinked. “What does that mean?”
“Why’d you hide it?”
“I was afraid,” she said quietly, “that I’d be trapped, or used, the way the Red Room did.”
He nodded slowly. “It was your escape plan.”
She shrugged. “Yes.”
“I was afraid too.” The softness in his voice made her close her eyes and unwillingly think about his touch. “Fear is a mind killer.”
She smiled, still with her eyes closed. “Dune still your favorite book?”
“Only book worth reading,” he replied. Then she heard him slide off the desk. “Get some rest, Tasha.”
“I will.”
He closed the door behind him. She exhaled as slowly as she could to regain control of her heart and mind, picked up her flashcards, and went back to studying.
The next morning, they assembled in an empty training room. Natasha was in charge for this point. She had them circle up, holding hands, and then she inserted herself between Amy and Clint. It was shameless, seeking comfort from someone who didn’t want to give it, but his face remained calm and unreadable. His hand, large, firm and dry. His bow slung on his back. Natasha looked around the circle.
“I’m jumping us as we discussed onto the roof of the compound. I’m then jumping Harry to the second floor for Martin and Juliette and Amy to the secondary compound for demolition. I’ll jump Juliette and Amy back to the roof. That’s our rendezvous point. We’ll wait there for Barton, Harry, and Taylor to return for the final jump. We should be there no more than an hour.”
“Let’s do it,” said Clint next to her. Coulson gave her the thumbs up over the circle’s head. Natasha closed her eyes and felt the pull of the circle on her center. She focused on the roof, and made the jump.
She opened her eyes as Clint’s hand gripped her tightly. They landed safely. She pulled them into a crouch on the roof, squinting in the bright light. The middle of the roof on a mountain jungle military complex was incredibly bright. From their notes, there were two guards who walked the perimeter of the roof every fifteen minutes. That didn’t give them a lot of time. Harry was doubled over, retching. She slipped over to him.
“Ready?” she asked.
He looked up, looking motion sick but stubborn. He nodded. She took his hand, closed her eyes, and thought of an empty storage room on the second floor. She jumped him quickly down there, and returned to the roof. Juliette and Amy barely recovered from the first jump before Natasha crouched next to them. “You got this,” she told them. They took her hands and she jumped them a half mile to the east, to a second compound where most of the weapons and students were trained. They went under a bridge and along the outside of a building, laying down liquid explosives. They were nearly done when they took heavy fire, having been spotted. Natasha didn’t have a weapon on her but she used Juliette’s to return fire while the two women finished their goal. Amy lit them up and Natasha grabbed their hands, making the jump just as the place exploded beneath their feet.
They landed hard, gasping for air. Natasha sank to the ground, feeling strangely woozy. The heat, she thought to herself. She felt a hand grab her shoulder. “Fuck,” swore Clint. “Natasha, where they’d hit you?”
“I didn’t get hit,” she said to him crossly then tried to sit up. The world pitched wildly. She focused on his gray eyes. “Oh. Where?”
He slung his bow over his shoulder and crouched by her, his hands gently feeling her sides. His fingers, familiar, comforting, hers. They were hers. His hands were hers, she owned them. They crossed too much of her body not to belong to her.
Clint’s eyes narrowed at her. “Twice. Right through your ribs. You have an exit wound. And another’s in your hip. No exit. Natasha, we gotta get you out of here. Jump out. We’ll ex fil another way.”
“No,” she snapped furiously, and took a painful shuddering breath. There was the pain. It took a long time to show up. Her adrenaline must be high but she barely registered that thought. She grabbed his hand. “I can do this.”
He nodded, slowly, and took his hands off her sides. She looked at her blood covering him. She shook her head. “I hate surgery.”
“You have about thirty minutes before you’ll be prepped,” he said, almost cheerfully. “Don’t you dare fuck up on me now.”
“I don’t do it on purpose,” she said, propping herself up against a wall as he retreated to cover Harry with his bow. She closed her eyes. “Good thing that I only have one more jump left.”
Clint snorted. “I hate being reliant on this.”
“Me too,” she admitted sleepily.
“Amy, Juliette, keep her awake,” snapped Clint. “Don’t let her fall asleep. Put pressure on her wounds.”
“I can do it,” Natasha swatted at them.
“You can’t,” said Amy tiredly. She had an injured shoulder and a burn on her face but she pressed Natasha’s bloody tshirt against her ribs. Natasha winced. Amy said, “You may not like jumping, but it is easier.”
“You think that,” said Clint, “and then you remember if she dies, we’re shit out of luck.”
“She won’t die,” Amy said.
“Yes,” said Juliette angrily, “That’s the only bad side effect of her dying. Try to give a shit and act like you have a heart, Barton.”
“Right now is a bad time to get into this but rest assured I’d be plenty fucked up if she died. So try not to let her,” he growled. Natasha vaguely heard the sound of an arrow loosing.
She muttered, “Who are you shooting? ROE, Clint.”
“Fuck your rules of engagement,” he replied. There was a pause, and then he said, “I’m following them. People shooting at me first. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”
“Not wearing them,” murmured Natasha.
“Yeah, don’t tell me that. I’m trying to focus,” Clint told her.
Natasha wished she could have seen Amy and Juliette’s faces. She focused on breathing in and out. Pain was a fickle friend of hers. Her vision changed as she breathed. Inhaled, and red splashed across, like spilled drops of ink on the inside of her eyelids. She exhaled, and everything softened in a white so bright it hummed beneath her skin. She curled her fingers around the hem of her shirt. Twice, she felt Clint come back, crouch next to her, and speak quietly to Amy and Juliette. His rough, archery-calloused hands brushed her cheeks. She reached for him, closed her hand around his wrist and the watch she gave him a few years ago for his birthday. He extracted himself after a few heartbeats, let her hand fall to her lap, and disappeared again. She felt the coldness in the air when he left.
Then, finally, he came back and slipped a hand under the back of her neck. “Natasha. Ready?”
She opened her eyes, summoning every bit of energy she had left her body. She met his eyes ferociously and gripped his hand. “Yes. Everyone’s here?”
“We’re all here,” said Henry. He leaned forward and put a hand on Natasha’s shoulder. Everyone reached for her, holding her down and lifting her up with their touch. “Let’s do this.”
Natasha did not close her eyes. She never let her eyes leave Clint’s and she pulled them through on the last jump.