After Shawarma.. [Clint]

[natasha romanoff]

So they had come back to Stark's tower after going for Shawarma at Tony's request. The food had been welcoming, even though Natasha had no idea what it was she had actually eaten. She was just grateful for the proper food she had finally had after the last few days. She was exhausted, filthy and just wanted to collapse into bed.

Tony had given everyone their own floor on the tower, although he had insisted that the two assassins 'bunk together'. Natasha had given him her infamous death glare at his assumption about them, not letting on that it was true in any way. Her and Clint had something special, something only they knew about. They would take care of each other on so many levels, better than anyone else could. So she had walked with Clint to what was now their door, leaning heavily on him as her body finally gave up its charade of being okay. She hurt in so many places it was unreal, and after she had gotten her ankle trapped on the helicarrier and then proceeded to put stress on it the last couple of days, it was ready to give up. She was visibly limping and biting her lip to avoid hissing from the pain. Natasha hadn't told anyone about the injury and she had avoided the SHIELD medics who had patched the other Avengers up before their return to the tower. She didn't trust them. After everything she had gone through at the Red Room, doctors she didn't know were off limits.

When they made it inside the bedroom, the Black Widow had disappeared and in her place stood an actual human being. One who had feelings and emotions, despite how she tried to disguise them. As soon as Clint had clicked the door shut and flicked the lock, she had grabbed hold of him tightly and refused to let go, burying her face into his chest. It was all she could do to hold her tears back. Widow or no Widow, Natasha didn't cry. Her tears were a rare sight, something only Clint had previously ever seen. She could feel the wall she had up beginning to crumble though, and after one tiny drop of liquid had escaped her blue-grey eyes, the rest came falling like a river, soaking his purple and black vest. It had been a tough few days, even for her.

"ебать (fuck)." She cursed against his chest, her swear muffled as she tilted her head up to peek up at his face. Something inside her needed to make sure he was still there, and needed to make sure that his eyes weren't that glowing blue they had been while under Loki's spell.

[clint barton]

The past few days had taken a lot out of Clint, both mentally and physically, but while he was practically ready to just slump down and crawl to the room Tony had given them, he managed to show little sign of weariness as Natasha leaned on him for support. They had both been through the ringer, but unlike everyone else on the team besides Tony, they were only human. Their cuts and breaks needed attention, and even then they wouldn’t heal as quickly or cleanly as their teammates’.

Letting Natasha enter the room before him, Clint hesitated a moment before following her. He was of two minds at the moment and was having a hard time settling. Part of him wanted to be alone, and he resented Tony for not giving him that option. He wanted time to himself to wallow and think and drink himself into oblivion. He felt violated and unhinged, and even though he was back to his right mind, he felt as if it hadn’t been put back together correctly, like there was a piece missing or they were just all ill fitting. But there was something darker in this that he wasn’t ready to face, a darkness in him that had been brought to light. He couldn’t explain it, he couldn’t talk about it, he didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t even want to think about it.

There was another part of him, though, that needed an anchor right now, some human contact to remind him that this was real, that he was back, that life would go on. Even at the shawarma joint he had put his foot on Natasha’s chair just to touch her, just to assure himself she was okay. That was the part that held her tightly when she suddenly threw herself in his arms; that was the part that rested his chin on her hair and closed his eyes and let himself feel her tears instead of numbing himself against them.

When her tears slowed and she looked up at him he met her eyes only reluctantly. He wasn’t ready for this, not yet. He had to keep moving, keep busy; he wasn’t ready to break. “Think Stark stocked this place with any first aid supplies?” Clint asked, hating how his voice cracked, how weak and tired he sounded.

[natasha romanoff]

She was still worried about him. Ever since Coulson had told her that he had been compromised, she had been worried. Being forced to fight him in a situation that wasn't sparring was something she had hated more than anything. When they sparred it was humorous, they had fun. But their fight on the bridge... Clint had been ready to kill her. Something he had refused to do all those years ago when they had met. He could have done it too, but she had always been slightly better at hand-to-hand combat. Only slightly, but it had been enough to bash his head and knock Loki out of it.

Natasha noticed how out of it he sounded, but then again all of them had been that way. He had more of a reason to be weary though, after being put through what Loki had done to him. Natasha pulled back from his arms, instantly missing the comfort she had felt in them, before glancing around.

"Let me see..."

The facade was back up, as much of it as she could gather, just about blocking any of the emotion she had just shown from her face. Now her primary concern was sorting her partner out. She moved into the ensuite bathroom, searching the cabinets and drawers in the units until she found what she was looking for. She returned with a large green box, set it on the queen sized bed that sat in the middle of the room (while remembering to shoot Tony for again assuming things, despite the fact he was right) and opened it. Turning back to Clint, she motioned to his shirt.

"Get it off, Barton."

She was back to being Agent Romanoff right now. Once she had patched him up and helped him out, then she would let herself be Natasha again. Once the vest was on the floor, she was presented with his bare chest - a sight she had seen a lot before and would never complain about seeing. He was covered in bruises and cuts that made her grimace, especially a nasty looking burn on his side, possibly from one of the Chitauri's sceptres. She couldn't stop the wince from falling from her lips.

Silently, she began cleaning him up. Alternating her stance, shifting her weight from leg to leg to avoid putting too much weight on my ankle (which she refused to admit was killing her right now), Natasha cleaned his cuts and bandaged him up. She wasn't a doctor of any sorts, but she was trained in first aid and had enough experience of her own. It didn't take her long to get him sorted out and when she had, she dropped the bloody antiseptic wipes in the trash and let herself fall back down onto the bed with a sigh. She was wiped out in every way possible.

[clint barton]

Just like that she shut down again, and Clint almost regretted not giving her longer to breathe before forcing her back to business. Even with tear tracks still glistening on her cheeks she went to work and found what they needed while he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

He did what he was told, stripping off the soiled vest and dropping it to the floor. He had a lot of nicks and cuts from the glass window he had crashed through, his back badly bruised from the same incident as well as the battle with the Chitauri. He would never give up his bow and quiver, but constantly getting dropped on the damn thing was hell on his back. He hadn’t even noticed the burn.

Natasha worked efficiently, and allowed his eyes to stray to her face a few times but mostly he avoided it, not wanting to meet her eyes. He studied how she moved, noting how she favoured one leg over the other and made a mental note to check it out more thoroughly. When she collapsed beside him he wanted to let her rest, but he wasn’t the only one who had been through the ringer. Untying his boots he kicked them both off before finally turning to her again.

“Your turn,” Clint stated, reaching over to unfasten her belt.

[natasha romanoff]

She was still as he unfastened her belt, pulling the black and red buckle until it slid out from around her waist. She heaved herself up into a sitting position after he had pulled the belt off, reaching up to unzip her suit. It was then that she regretted having a one piece. It was a bitch to get off, especially when she didn't want to move. Natasha began with taking off her stun-bracelets, dropping them down onto the bedside table, along with her gloves. Slowly she slid her arms out of the black material, revealing her creamy white skin and the bra she wore underneath. Once she had pulled it down to her waist, Natasha groaned and flopped back down to lay on top of the sheets.

She didn't stay down for long though, reluctantly pulling her body back up to unfasten the holsters around her thighs. She dropped her guns to the floor, not even batting an eyelid at the bang they made. Then she reached down to unstrap her boots, pulling one off easily before biting her lip and hesitating at the other. Tugging it off, Natasha couldn't suppress the groan that left her. She drew blood on her lip as she pulled the leg of her suit over her foot, finally out of the filthy uniform and just sat on the bed in her black lace underwear. Her injuries were similar to Clint's, nothing major. Her ankle was swollen and was in the stage of going from purple to black though.

For a third time she let herself drop back down to the bed. She didn't get back up this time though, she just laid still with her legs hanging over the mattress, bent at the knees.

"I didn't know it was that bad. It didn't hurt too bad earlier, so I figured it wasn't important."

She had been trained in the Red Room to push through pain, to get the mission done no matter what. It was a part of that training that SHIELD hadn't been able to shake.

[clint barton]

Clint both loved and hated Natasha’s suit. Nobody could deny that she looked damn sexy in it, how it hugged her every curve and left very little to the imagination, not that he needed his imagination. He also hated it, though, because of how hard it was to get off. He knew from experience how hard it was to peel off her body, especially in haste when the adrenaline was still pumping and the need for release overwhelming. It was always worse, though, when she was injured and all he wanted was to get at her injury and fix her. Tonight wasn’t so bad, she’d definitely had worse, but with everything else on top of it it was enough to be frustrating.

Having already ditched his bow and quiver, Clint worked at removing his glove and arm guards while he let Natasha take care of herself. He could have offered help but it would have gone one of two ways: either she would have accepted it or she would have snapped at him and insisted on doing it herself. He was not in the mood to handle the latter tonight so he didn’t make the offer, just in case.

Taking the first aid kit and setting it on the floor, he knelt at her feet, gently taking the badly swollen and bruised ankle in his hand. “When did this happen?” he asked, frowning. He hadn’t even noticed during the battle, but then he hadn’t had much opportunity to pay attention to her with all the flying aliens out for their blood.

[natasha romanoff]

She saw his eyes wander over her body as she stripped her suit off. His gaze brought a smirk to her lips, she loved how she had him wrapped around her little finger when it came to their attraction for each other. Then again, he could make her react in just the same way. Just looking at his bare, muscular chest could send her into a quivering mess in seconds if the situation was right. If it was in the midst of battle though and she had to patch him up quickly or something then she could control herself... just.

When she felt his hands gently touch her swollen limb, Natasha bit her lip to hide the hiss that wanted to escape at the twinges she felt rushing up her leg from the slight touch. She let his hands expertly sort it out while she rummaged for a bottle of painkillers in the first aid kit.

"When the helicarrier blew up, I fell down a shaft with Bruce. My ankle got stuck under a steel beam that had fallen too. He hulked out so I had to yank my leg out before he got to me. Then running from him, using it to kick the crap out of you and being on it the last day or so probably wasn't the best thing to do for it. It was numb up until we got here though, so I could deal. You know this is nothing for me."

She shrugged, as though it didn't matter. Her hand found a bottle and after a quick check of the label, she tipped two pills out into her palm and dry swallowed them before handing him the bottle to do the same.

[clint barton]

Clint’s entire body stiffened at her words. When the helicarrier blew up... when he had blown up the helicarrier, that was when this happened. It was because of him that she had been hurt, and because of him that she had further aggravated it; he had unleashed the Hulk, and she had fought so hard against her partner just trying to get him back, trying to save him from Loki’s hold.

“I’ll clean up your cuts first, then get some ice for the ankle,” he replied after a moment, setting aside the bottle of painkillers she handed him without taking any for himself. Every fresh cut on that beautiful body that he loved so much, all the pain she was currently him, it was all his fault. Monsters and magic and nothing they were ever trained for, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. “You’re gonna have to sit up a minute.”

At least the suit should have protected her somewhat, but there were a few minor abrasions on her face that needed tending to. At least the ankle appeared to be the worst of it.

[natasha romanoff]

Natasha could read Clint better than anyone. She knew when he was guilt tripping himself and this was a major one. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, stopping his movements for a moment.

"Stop. I know what you're doing. Don't blame yourself, it wasn't because of you. It was all Loki."

She let go of his wrist and laid there, looking up at him, her eyes heavy from exhaustion and a little bit from the painkillers she had just swallowed, feeling them begin to kick in. They were numbing everything and it felt nice. When Clint told her that she had to sit up, Natasha groaned at him with a pout, whining like a child.

"But Clint...I don't want to..."

She knew the sooner she let him take care of her, the sooner they would be tucked up in bed together helping each other deal with everything. She pulled herself back up reluctantly, sitting still for him to sort her out. She only had a few minor cuts and scrapes, nothing requiring stitches luckily, and bruises marred her smooth pale skin. The worst bruising was down her side from where the Hulk had flung her across the room and into a metal storage unit. But even then, her suit had absorbed most of the impact and the bruise was no where near as bad as it could have been. It would be gone in a couple of weeks.

[clint barton]

He didn’t jerk his hand away from her grasp, just sat there unmoving until she let him go. Clint didn’t want to hear her excuses, didn’t want to hear her make excuses for him. He didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to talk at all; all he wanted to do was make sure she was fixed up and then try to sleep.

Ignoring her whining he just waited until she did what he asked then set about cleaning her cuts and checking for anything more serious, which he luckily didn’t find. Packing up the kit when he was done, he got back to his feet.

“Lay down and elevate your foot,” he instructed, pulling the sheets back as much as he could without moving her. Grabbing an extra pillow for under her foot, he stood back and waited for her to situate herself, not wanting to get too close, not now, not tonight. “I’m gonna go find some ice. You just relax, okay?”

[natasha romanoff]

Natasha lowered herself back down to the bed, being anything but graceful about it. She watched him pull the sheets back and crawled underneath them, already feeling the warmth pull her towards sleep. She gave him a tired smile, her foot propped up on a pillow, and she watched through heavy eyelids as he went to find ice. She let herself drift off.

She was standing in front of the prison. He turned around slowly, before charging at the glass that separated them. He was screaming in the prison, but Romanoff heard him much louder. There were speakers routed throughout the room.

"There's not many people who can sneak up on me."

The malice in his voice and the pure fury on his face sent fear and anger straight through her already tense body. She was trying not to shake, not to give him the satisfaction of seeing the way he managed to get under her skin, although her horrified expression that she was unable to hide gave her away. The last person who had been able to do that to her was the doctor from the Red Room.

"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakov's daughter, Sao Paolo, the hospital fire? Yes, Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything? This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer... pathetic! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers. You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away! No, I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you! Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear! And when he wakes, he'll have just enough time to see the work he's done, and when he screams, I'll break his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!"

Just as her vision of Loki ran at the glass with his fist, the door to the bedroom opened. Natasha flew out of her sleep, bolting up in the bed and grabbing the gun she always stashed under the pillow. She pointed it directly at the door, trying to keep her hands steady, though her body shook no matter what she did. Her eyes glistened with tears she refused to shed as she stared Clint down, not looking away from his eyes to make sure there was no more blue in there.

[clint barton]

Once she was settled in with her foot up Clint made his way slowly through the silent building. Tony had told them where the common floor was where the kitchen could be found, and the archer headed straight for it once in the lift.

It was tempting to just leave, to just walk away and go off the map for a few weeks. He could do it, he’d done it before for a few days, what was a few more? But where would he go this time? He knew he was already looking at a series of tests and appointments to assess his mental stability, to determine the after effects of what had happened, and if he just ran off it would only be worse when he finally returned. It was easy to say that he just wouldn’t return, but he knew that wasn’t even an option.

Finding the kitchen, he didn’t bother with the lights, just rooted through the various cupboards in the dark until he found some plastic bags. Taking one, he loaded it with ice and sealed it carefully before heading back to the elevator. Maybe he could just sleep it off, and when he woke up in the morning it would be like it was all a dream. It wasn’t him doing those things, it had just been a dream.

If only that were true.

The memories were fuzzy, he couldn’t quite catch the details and he was torn between wanting to know everything and being grateful to not remember it all. He was just torn in so many ways about everything.

Stepping off the lift again, he quietly opened the door to the room he was sharing with Natasha and received a greeting he certainly didn’t expect. He had seen that look before, knew it had been another nightmare, and this certainly wasn’t the first time he’d had a gun pointed at his head.

He could have dropped to the floor and rolled, but this was Natasha; she was just as quick as him, and he didn’t need to defend himself against her... or at least he hoped he didn’t.

“Hey, it’s me,” Clint said softly, holding his hands up, the bag of ice still clutched in his right.

[natasha romanoff]

She didn't break her gaze, staring at him, burning the image of his eyes into her mind. The last time she had done it, his eyes were a glazed over blue and she could still remember that. Now though, they weren't that shocking blue. Her gun wavered in her hands as she found herself shaking. It dropped to the bed and Natasha dropped herself down beside it, face buried in the pillows. She couldn't believe she had just pulled a gun on Clint. In all the years they had known each other, the Russian assassin had only pulled a gun on him once: the day he had been sent to kill her. And in her defence, he had been standing there with a razor sharp arrow aimed at her chest.

She didn't move from where she was laid, just staying face down on the bed with the gun beside her, untouched now. Her head was buried in her arms, Natasha unable to see anything but the comforting darkness that now surrounded her. She didn't want to hurt Clint. She already had done, physically, with their fight on the helicarrier. She didn't want to blow his brains out too.

"I'm sorry." Her words were muffled from the pillow underneath her face. "I saw it again... you under his spell."

She rolled over onto her side to look at him, but kept her eyes slightly to the left of him, not meeting his eyes again.

"I've been compromised, Clint."

[clint barton]

Clint didn’t move, didn’t say another word, he just held Natasha’s gaze and let her decide for herself if he was a threat or not. He knew she would shake off the remnants of the nightmare and come back to him eventually, and if she didn’t... well, he was just too tired to fight anymore tonight.

Slowly lowering his hands when she finally dropped the gun, he felt a swell of anger at her words; anger at her, at Loki, at himself. Was this how it was going to be from now on? Everyone eying him warily like he might snap at any moment? Wondering how much damage was done, how permanent, and just what it would take for him to lose control again? He couldn’t guarantee that Loki’s control over him was completely gone, that he couldn’t be taken over again at any moment. How could he expect anyone else to trust him when he didn’t even trust himself right now?

Crossing the room, Clint sat on the edge of the bed beside Natasha and gently pushed her over to lay on her back again. Adjusting the pillow under her foot, he applied the ice.

“We both have,” he admitted. “It’ll just take time.” He wasn’t sure he believed that himself, but the words sounded reassuring and he just needed to hear him, even if they were in his own voice.

[natasha romanoff]

Natasha wasn't scared of him. She could never be scared of Clint, he had gotten her through so much. Now that Coulson was dead, he was all she had. She let him roll her over onto her back, hissing slightly as the cold ice came into contact with her skin. It was something she should have been used to by now, the amount of times she had to use it to stop various injuries from getting worse, but the extreme temperature change still threw her off a bit each time.

She shook her head and reached out, taking his hand, the one that was nearest to her. She slipped her fingers in between his, her eyes watching the movements hers made as she squeezed his hand.

"I went and spoke to Loki. He said some things that really... got to me. It made me realise that no matter what I say or do, we're more than partners, Clint. We have been for a long time now."

She couldn't say what they were but she knew what she meant. She hoped he did too, she didn't know how else to say it. She had never loved anyone before. Love was for children, it didn't exist in the real world. She had been with many men before, married even. None of them had been love. But Clint made this unfamiliar feeling bubble up inside of her. Every time she saw him or heard his voice she would get this warm excitement inside her stomach and her heart would skip. She wouldn't admit it though, not yet.