STRIKE Team Delta: 26 missions

Natalia was sat hunched over, her arms wrapped around her knees, perched up in one of Clint’s hiding spots on the roof. It was early - too early for many people to be awake - which was how she liked it.

She had been with Clint and Phil for years. They were her family. She was closer to the people at SHIELD than she had ever been with Madame B or any of the recruits in the Red Room - she had let Maria in, had let Clint and Phil help her - they were her family, in everything but blood. Natalia had never experienced loss. She had struggled all her life - lived in misery, killed people, grieved for girls she grew up with but never got to know - but she had never felt the agony of having someone ripped away from her. Never experienced the raw pain of her family being taken while she could do nothing.

Clint, Maria and Phil were her family, and had been by her side when she was learning to be a SHIELD agent, through the debacle at Helsinki, every step of the way through her recovery after Odessa. And she had been with them too - for Clint in Iowa and Quito, for Maria in Kabul and Madripoor, and for Phil in Portland with Audrey.

Audrey. God, what would they tell her?

Clint had been possessed by a god, been made to fight Natalia, and while they were forced to fight each other, he had killed Phil. Stabbed him through the heart.

He had done the same to Natalia.

Strike Team Delta was headed by Phil. It was a second chance for Clint and for Natalia, an opportunity for them to do good in the world, and Phil had believed in them, had helped them make their way in SHIELD - hell, he had even helped them to become “Earth’s mightiest heroes.”

What had she said to him? “I’ve got red in my ledger. I’d like to wipe it out.” How naive of her, to think she could ever be more than a Russian assassin - without Phil, how was she supposed to live? He had been a father to her, to Clint, to Maria - he had made her a hero. He had made her coffee and delivered sandwiches to them and pulled them out of countless sticky spots. Clint would run himself into the ground without Phil, Maria would shut down, shut everyone out, and Natalia? How could she go on? Who would keep her from just straightening up - stepping out - there was no one. She could fling herself off, and then she’d be with him - she’d be leaving Maria and Clint, but who were they without Phil? Without any one of those three Natalia would be dead in a ditch - in Abidjan, or Budapest, or Cairo - who was she without Phil? Natalia Alianovna Romanova was dead without him, so how could Natasha Romanoff keep on breathing now?

She got to her feet, unsteady, and moved to stand on the edge, rising to a demi-pointe. The Red Room had trained her as a ballerina and a gymnast, and she could keep her balance, but she barely wanted to. A noise came from behind her and she lost her footing, but a hand caught her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her back onto the roof.

Natalia turned around, eyes wide, to see the fuming face of the Deputy Director of SHIELD.

“What were you thinking?!”

It wasn’t anger laced into her words - well, there was anger, but it was more fear, which unsettled Natalia more than anything.

“You are not the only one who is grieving, Nat! You’re not the only one in pain!”

“Don’t try and tell me you know how it feels!” The words were ripped from Natalia’s throat, and it felt painful to do - normally anger burnt hot and fierce inside her, but there was something dark, something coldly vile that she found herself swallowed up by. There was no satisfaction in spitting words at Maria, no crafty smile or smug smirk. “Don’t tell me you know what it’s like! He was a father to me!”

“And he was a brother to me!” Maria was roaring, but tears tracked down her cheeks, doing little to dim the explosive energy she was radiating. “Don’t act like you’re the only one who’s suffered!”

Natalia couldn’t help the writhing, angry mess inside her from controlling her, from fuelling her pain and inciting her words. She scoffed at her girlfriend, paying no heed to the consequences of her words, needing to make someone else hurt the way she did.

“What have you suffered, Maria? At least you’ve had someone to love you - at least you’ve had somewhere to go! When things got bad for you, you ran away to join the army! You ran! I was handcuffed to my bed at night! I couldn’t run - I had no escape, no cowardly way out! I built my life here from the ground up and it’s worth nothing without him!”

“I’m a coward? I wasn’t the one trying to throw herself off a roof rather than face it when life got too hard!”

“At least Coulson wanted me and Clint! What were you, huh? Fury’s little pet, his little lapdog - not Coulson’s agent, not on his team!”

“And where was his team to help him? You were too busy having a catfight with Barton to protect anyone on the Helicarrier!”

“I WAS PROTECTING THEM! You think any agent there stood a chance against Barton? He was possessed! I was keeping him from doing something he would regret! Where were you? YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!”

Maria reeled back, and Natalia knew she’d said something she’d regret later - but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“If you hate me so much, just leave! Just go! I was trying to save you, but you’re a lost cause! Take Barton and leave, and don’t come back!”

There were tears on Maria’s face, Natalia realised belatedly, but before she could open her mouth and make it worse, Maria turned her back and stormed off.

Sinking to her knees, Natalia withdrew her cell from her pocket and texted Clint, her own eyes hot with tears.

tash: get us a mission, i don’t care what you have to do, we’re getting out of here.

Barely a minute later, she got a reply.

clint: done.

She packed in a rush, stuffing tac gear and weapons into a bag. She reached for the Beretta almost unconsciously, but hesitated, and withdrew her hand. Slinging the strap around her shoulder, she raced down the halls of the Triskelion, ignoring the faces of the agents, peering around corners. The Battle of New York had added a whole new dimension to her intimidation factor with the juniors, but the agents she’d known for years were only a little scared of her - and they would probably ask why the Black Widow was crying and tearing through the Triskelion without the Deputy Director, her handler or her partner.

She couldn’t handle that. She’d lost her handler, and now she’d lost Maria too.

Natalia made a quick stop into the armoury to pick up a Kalashnikov with a grim look on her face, ignoring the agent behind the sign-out sheet. He knew who she was.

Clint was well acquainted with the need to distract himself from something with a mission, and his eyes sported bags as dark as Natalia’s. He hadn’t let him eat, had worked him as hard as he could, but Clint had only eaten hospital food and Tony’s shawarma since - not even a sandwich, not even a cup of coffee.

He was waiting for Natalia at the airstrip, and she tumbled into his arms, pressing her face into his shoulder. They didn’t need to speak - Natalia could concede that Clint was still in recovery, was grieving for the agents he had killed, and she could even confess to herself that he had more of a claim to Coulson than she did.

Clint wouldn’t touch his bow, so he had brought his sniper rifle - and a Kalashnikov of his own - which intimidated the junior into signing over a quin, and they boarded together.

Natalia ceded the pilot’s seat to Clint without any fuss, but curled up in the copilot’s chair, staring blankly out of the window.

It was hours before they touched down in Sicily, and they stumbled out into the bright sunlight, Natalia squinting angrily, Clint shielding his eyes with his hand.

They weren’t exactly inconspicuous, but Natalia couldn’t bring herself to care, and Clint seemed to feel as miserable as she did.

Clint led her to a warehouse, and they paused outside the door. He cocked his gun, and cracked his neck and a grim smile.

“Go in blasting. We’re to take the branch down.”

Something in Natalia was darkly pleased that she didn’t have to hold back.

Clint kicked the door down, and they ran in, opening fire. There were a couple dozen men, and they returned fire - which made Natalia feel less bad about taking all of them down.

When she was younger, she had been raised to enjoy killing - and after the first wave, she dropped her gun to take them out personally, the way she’d been taught.

A few men got a few lucky shots, but they were mostly easy prey, and the last man standing slipped on the blood of his comrades, falling to the floor and leaving himself glaringly vulnerable. Natalia reached for a pistol to end him quickly, but found herself clutching at empty air as she realised she had left the Beretta back at base.

Clint was on the other side of the warehouse, and in the time it took Natalia to reach the hostile, he had shot her. She snapped his neck, but she felt no pleasure in it. She barely felt the bullet wound.

Natalia wiped her forehead, somewhat aware she was smearing blood on it, and joined up with Clint. The warehouse was riddled with bullet holes, as were both of them, but it was only a few grazes, no lodged bullets or even a through-and-through. There was something in Natalia that was disappointed.

Clint sighed when he saw her lift her shirt, and smacked her hand away.

“That last guy just nicked your side. You’re lucky he didn’t shoot a couple centimetres to the right, then he’d have shot right through your scar.”

His hearing aids had been knocked out in the fight, so Natalia just signed ‘lucky’ before turning away, and heading out of the back door, towards the sea. Clint jogged to catch up, grabbing her by the shoulder and falling into step beside her.

They had each brought their tac bags with them, and when they reached the beach, Clint left Natalia to run and grab them from the jet.

Natalia lay down on the sand, and felt something poking into her side. She sat up and reached into her pocket, to find a carved wooden hawk and a bracelet with a silver arrow hanging from it.

Clint had bought her a necklace with a silver arrow the first birthday she had spent with him and Phil, and she had refused to take it off for a month. She had bought the bracelet for him the day after her birthday, refusing to be in his debt, but had decided against giving it to him.

The hawk had been Phil. When they were in Iowa, Clint had been severely rattled by seeing his brother. Phil had come to pick them up, but Natalia had convinced him to stay another day with them. They had had a great time, and one of the things Phil had bought when they went shopping was the carved wooden hawk, out of sight of Clint. He had told Natalia not to mention it, that he just liked keeping a reminder of each of them with him. She had asked him what he kept for her, but he had just winked and grinned.

It had been in Phil’s jacket with his vintage cards, and Natalia had asked for it. It was a physical reminder of what she’d lost, that she wasn’t good enough, that she couldn’t save him.

Clint padded over and dumped the tac bags next to her. He had a fresh pair of ears in, and offered Natalia a weak smile.

“I packed booze.” She didn’t say a word, but reached for the vodka she knew he had brought, and took a deep swig.

“Happy birthday, Barton. You’ve lived for twenty eight years, and you’re not dead yet.”

They both winced.

“Not in particularly good taste. Sorry, Clint. I-” she swallowed her words. “I need you. I don’t want to be that girl again, I need to keep going, but I don’t know how to - how to live without him.”

“We’re all going to miss him, Natty,” he reminded her gently. “I need you too. And- I think we probably shouldn’t push it, shouldn’t go out on mission for a bit.” He caught a glimpse of the items in her hands, and cocked his head. “What’s that?”

She unfurled her hand, and showed him the bird and the bracelet.

“I bought that one for you ages ago,” she spoke, pointing at the bracelet. “It matches my necklace. The other one was-” she swallowed, “it was Phil’s. He said he kept something to remind him of both of us, but I never knew what he kept for me. I thought you might like them.” She pressed them into Clint’s hand and turned her head, muttering “happy birthday” under her breath.

The sun had set, and vibrant colours painted the sky. Natasha was almost peaceful, until a shriek sounded from the warehouse.

They ran up the beach to see who it was, only to come face-to-face with Sharon’s wide-eyed stare.

“Natasha?” And then- “Clint?!”

Maria pushed past Sharon, only to stop and blink at Natasha, hurt flashing in her eyes.

“Nat, I thought I-”

“Masha.” Nat bit her lip, her eyes filling with tears. “I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I-” She was cut off by someone else joining the party.

“Ex-cuse me?” Nat recognised the voice as Bobbi’s, and snorted. “Maria requested an op and Fury sent her, me, and Shar. Why are the wonder twins here?”

“I’m as confused as you, Bee,” Clint piped up, then snickered. “Bee. Heh.”

“Clint- Clint stole a jet, and I stole a Kalashnikov.” Nat spotted the wrinkle of confusion on Sharon’s brow and sighed dramatically. “An A-K-for-ty-sev-en, for you Americans.” Maria poked Nat in the shoulder, and looked bewildered at the snort that elicited.

“Are you two… drunk?”

“And I’m tactfully ignoring the bloodbath, Tash.” Nat turned her attention to Bobbi to shake her head, eyes wide.

“We’re very drunk, Masha, and Bobbi! Yes! That was us, but we were feeling sad, so that’s alright, right? C’mon, sestra, that’s alright, right?”

“I am very worried!” Maria’s voice was high and climbing higher, and Nat’s eyes widened impossibly further. “Because that is not alright! You- you yelled at me, and then I told you to leave - and you are a traumatised, young, dangerous woman, who’s just lost a father figure, and this is not alright! You’re upset and you cope with it by slaughtering people and then getting drunk! I-” she sniffed back tears, “I was worried about you. And this? I don’t know how to help with this.” Once Maria had finished speaking, Nat reached out, her bottom lip quivering, and brushed a tear from her face.

“I’m sorry! I was really mean! Masha, Masha, forgive me?”

Maria chuckled wetly, running a hand through her hair.

“Sure, honey. I forgive you. But please - come home? We can work this out together. No more roofs, no more blood, just you and me.”

“I’d like that.”