Avengers (2012): "Heavy in Your Arms (6/15)" (Clint/Natasha)
Title: Heavy in Your Arms (6/15)
Author/Artist: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there'd already be a Black Widow/Hawkeye movie.
Pairing: Clint/Natasha, Coulson/The Cellist
Rating: Adult 17+
Warnings: language, violence, eventually sexual content, dub-con if you feel that mystical/destiny sorts of compulsions qualify as dubious consent (Natasha might agree with you)
Spoilers: None
Type: WIP
Word Count: 2,877
Summary: All damn day, she'd kept him at arm's length without any contact between them and he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.
Author's Notes: See Chapter 1 for more notes.
Thanks to sweetwatersong, anuna_81, kadollan, and SidheRa for the beta-ing. :D
Previous Chapter
Interlude 2: Dutiful Daughter
Phil tweaked the latest report from his team in Paris, added a paragraph implying someone had seen a woman matching Romanov's description on the eastern side of the city, and then flagged it directly to Fury's desktop. It would give him at least an extra half a day.
He'd watched the train station tapes so many times he could see the movement and faded colors when he closed his eyes, and he was fairly sure he'd identified two other purchases that might've been the enemy agent. There was still no sign of Barton, but they had to be together. One set had been cross-checked and showed passage to Brussels, the other to Amsterdam. They'd go local for now, he suspected. She could probably get him over the border without paperwork, but she didn't seem the type that liked leaving something up to so many variables. They could blend into the capital for awhile, get some resources lined up, and then try to get out of the country.
But he was leaving all that out of his reports. For now.
Once he'd gotten past the initial chill of fear at Fury's threat, he'd gone into the mode he knew best, analyzing the situation, looking at the facts, and he'd come to some equally chilling conclusions.
Fact: Barton seemed to have a bond with the Russian agent and assassin, code-named "Black Widow"
Fact: She'd come in willingly, without attempting to evade any kind of capture or escape.
Fact: Despite no immediate threat to SHIELD, or any directly insubordinate behavior on Barton's part, Fury had ordered the termination of a potentially valuable asset before any kind of intel could be gathered, thus leading Barton to break from SHIELD, take the prisoner, and run.
It was irrational.
It wasn't in anyone's best interests to play the cards that way - least of all SHIELD's. If Barton's loyalty had been in question, there were much less severe ways that could've been dealt with, both short term and long term.
Conclusion: For some reason, Fury was making irrational decisions, which put his ability to function as Director of SHIELD very seriously into question.
But if he tried to do anything about it, Fury would follow through with his threat, of that Phil had no doubt. What he needed was some kind of leverage, something he could push back with.
For the first time in his life, Phil Coulson was contemplating what amounted to treason. It sat like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach, holding him down, making it difficult for him to act. He needed information first, then he could better determine a plan of action... and at the same time he needed to continue to stall and keep the rest of SHIELD off of Barton and Romanov's tail.
*****
All day.
All damn day, she'd kept him at arm's length without any contact between them and he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Or something.
It had been a day of doing remarkably little other than waiting around for the forger to finish his work. The pick-up had been at an open-air market full of people just getting off work and doing a little shopping before heading home. It had been easy to blend in with them, and even easier to slip one envelope under a basket of apples and pick up another from beneath a display of bread. He'd spent the whole day with his attention split between an awareness of her and her subtle but unmistakable signs of avoidance, and keeping an eye on their surroundings to gauge potential threats.
Then she'd all but begged him to go back upstairs to the apartment while she stayed at the cafe downstairs. The unsettled look was back in her eyes, tearing at him because he had no idea how to make it go away. What could he do, but agree? So he'd gone to the apartment alone and tried (failed) to read.
Finally, the door closed behind her as she returned. Silence stretched out between them and his head was pounding from the last three hours of separation. Without even so much as a "hello", he reached out and grabbed her wrist, then pulled her in close so that her head fit against his shoulder. Her hands came up against his arms but she didn't try to push him away. "Barton, what-"
"Just a minute. God, I need this, for just a minute," he managed. He felt hyper-aware of her. As soon as his bare hand had touched her skin he'd felt the tension start to loosen. His other hand was tangled in her hair and he buried his face against it so that he could breathe her in.
It was insane, a lone, logical part of his brain reminded him. It was crazy to need her so badly after such a short time. That part of his mind was watching with dismay that edged into horror at what was happening and had a keen awareness of how this might all play out. There wasn't a good solution here, he knew that.
But for just a minute, holding her close, he felt like as long as he had this, had her it would all be okay.
"This can't fix anything," she muttered and he realized he must've said part of what he'd been thinking out loud. Reluctantly he dropped his hands, gave her room to step away from him and she did.
"It's just going to make things more difficult," she continued as she crossed the room and busied herself at the small sink, filling a glass with water and drinking it down.
"They're already pretty difficult. And being joined at the hip isn't really helping matters."
She shot him a dark look over her shoulder. "We could take care of that part of the problem, at least."
He'd been reaching for his book but froze at her words. "Excuse me?"
"This pull. This liability," she gestured between the two of them, "it's only temporary."
Understanding dawned on his face as what she was suggesting began to sink in. "It's a mechanism to pull us together. To make us want to seal the bond through sex."
"And once the bond is set, these side effects go away. No more draw, no more distraction."
"They say you don't ever want to be with anyone else, afterward."
Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't want to be with anyone in the first place, so that's hardly a loss for me."
He was surprised. "No one? Seriously?"
"Not really, no. Dating and commitment don't really come up in my line of work. Would it bother you?"
He bit back his reply - his instinct was to shout at her, yes of course it would bother him. Of course he hadn't deliberately contemplated spending his life alone. On the other hand, he knew good and well he hadn't contemplated spending his life with anyone, either.
"It wouldn't be that much of a change, I guess." It was the best answer he could manage for her, but his gut twisted at the idea of doing anything for convenience's sake.
"Then why don't we get it over with?"
"Have sex? Just like that?"
"Yes. We release the tension that's been building up, dissipate the effects of the bonding process, and then we can go our separate ways."
"You know I can't go back to SHIELD, right? And when they find me, they're liable to execute me? You'll still die if and when I die, babe - whether or not we're in the same area code."
"It's a risk we'll have to both take. I can teach you how to stay hidden." She took a few very deliberate steps toward him and he could feel the pull, her gravity drawing him in, urging him to move closer.
"And what if we do this," he was close enough now, and his fingers reached out and traced over her cheek before slipping around to the back of her head, "and I decide I can't let you go?"
His mouth hovered over hers. "It's a two-way street, Natasha," his voice was low as he looked into her eyes. "This isn't just about you. It's about both of us. That's the point. What if I'm not prepared to just let you walk out of my life once it's done?"
What if I'm not prepared to let you walk out of my life, now? was on his lips, sat uneasily in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't dare say it out loud.
Her eyes were wide, but it was her only visible reaction. His free hand went to the small of her back to bring their bodies together and he made sure she could feel his hardness pressing against her. He watched, pleased when he saw her eyes dilate to match his own. He knew all kinds of statistics about how adrenaline and shared experience heightened emotions and made you feel things - but that wasn't it, or not all of it. She'd impressed the hell out of him, over and over again, even in the short time they'd been together. She was brilliant, strong, capable, and deadly. She was proving herself to be all the things he hadn't even realized he'd been looking for in a partner.
"I have to go back. You can't follow me, they'll kill you, too. Whether or not you want to let me go? It's irrelevant. There's no way to end this like a fairy tale and you know that. If you don't, learn it. Quickly." Despite the desire in her eyes and the way she kept stealing glances at his mouth, her tone was coldly practical. "But if I go back before we resolve this thing between us, they'll kill us anyway. I can't do my job with you tagging along like a lovesick child, or curled up on my knees because we're too far apart."
Time spun out between them, as they each waited for the other to make the next move. Her patience seemed to break first, and in a rush of movement she closed the gap between them and pressed her lips against his.
The shock of it went straight down his spine and he nudged, felt her open her mouth under his so he could slip in and take what he wanted. He didn't realize he'd backed her across the room until he felt her hips hit the counter and he easily boosted her up onto the edge and she wrapped her legs around his waist. It brought them even closer together and he could feel her hot against him and her fingers digging into his arms.
It was fever and fire running through his blood stream. He could drown here, in this sensation, in her, and god, he wanted to. He could feel the shift of her muscles beneath his hands, hear the small, urgent sounds she was making, taste hints of chocolate and tea as he explored her mouth. The last kiss had caught him off guard and he'd been too overwhelmed, still riding too much of an adrenaline high from the chase to properly appreciate it. Now he took his time, let himself enjoy it, let go just a little bit.
The need for air caused him to break the kiss and rest his forehead against hers while his hands still moved along her thighs and hips, up her back and then down again. Raising his head, he took a moment to take her in, then met her eyes.
She looked... resigned. Distant. Maybe even a little calculating, and it was like she'd slipped on some kind of mask. Behind it, he could see how much effort she was putting into trying to remain in control of herself and what was going on. He'd seen that look on her face before, through a scope when he'd watched her work, and with a sinking feeling he realized two things.
First, she was right. This would have to happen, sooner rather than later, if they were going to survive. It was too strong, and too distracting, it turned them into each other's greatest liability, one they could not afford. He'd been gone just a minute before, so caught up in her that someone could've come into the room, come right up behind him and he wouldn't have noticed them until it was too late.
But second, and more importantly, while he might be able to accept that it had to happen, it wasn't going to happen tonight.
He untangled himself from her arms and legs and stepped backwards. "I'm not doing this. Not like this, not tonight. Maybe you're right, and it's inevitable and maybe it would be better to just rip off the bandage and get it over with, but right now, I can't."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a look. Angry, exhausted, and still feeling raw from the day, he stormed across the room, jerked open the bedroom door and went inside, making sure to lock it behind him. If nothing else, he decided, he'd at least get some damn sleep.
*****
He'd locked her out, and Natasha supposed she deserved that, particularly since she'd done the same thing to him the night before. She thought seriously about going for a walk, but the idea of going through another few hours like she'd spent at the cafe seemed beyond her.
She'd thought maybe... she had training. She knew how to endure any number of things, had been taught to withstand multiple forms of torture, general pain and fatigue, had even been able to successfully put several severely broken ribs and internal injuries out of her mind while in the middle of a crucial stage of a mission. She didn't fear pain, was entirely used to it, but this? This wasn't just pain. The pain itself wasn't even that severe.
It was the wanting that was tearing her up inside. She had no idea how to handle wanting something so much, and wondered if this was akin to how addicts felt about their drugs? If anyone in the Red Room had seen her performance these last few days she'd already have a bullet in her skull (at best), or be reprogrammed (at worst). It was absolutely unacceptable to have this level of distraction. So she'd told herself that she could build up the strength, the resistance to do this, to fight it and she'd insisted on remaining in the cafe alone and had withstood it as long as she could. Only three hours, then she'd run back upstairs and straight into his arms because that made the unbearable tension go away.
She didn't want to live like this. Couldn't live like this, and it was within their power to stop it. It didn't matter to her if she was never interested in anyone else, she wasn't allowed to be in the first place. She could (and did) do her job without interest all the time and the Red Room certainly didn't allow for a personal life. Her daydreams of someday running away were entirely based on the idea of being alone so she wasn't losing anything by bonding with him. Assuming he would be willing to let her go. If not, she could probably run from him, hide. She was confident she could hide from the Red Room and without SHIELD he didn't have anything like their resources. Or... she could take him with her, for awhile. Hide him someplace for a few years so he would be safe while she finished extracting herself. She could still go back to the Red Room, claim that SHIELD had tried to capture her and she'd escaped. If he could provide her with information, she could even present that to her superiors and gain herself some room to maneuverer while she finished planning her end game.
First though, she'd need to convince him to go through with it. They'd been so close, then he'd turned and she still wasn't entirely sure what she'd done wrong. He'd seen something on her face that he hadn't liked, she knew that much.
Gingerly, quietly, she went over to the door and tried the knob, even though she knew it was locked, then rested her head against the smooth wood. They would head east in the morning and leave Amsterdam behind. She was glad to be going and to put more distance between them and SHIELD. Her rendezvous point with her handler should've been in Kiev, but she could arrange for an alternate site once she had Clint hidden. Maybe by then she could figure out a way to overcome his resistance to the idea of finishing things. A small voice in the back of her mind asked her why she didn't just take her chances and kill him now, before things became irrevocable, but it sounded too much like her trainers and she ruthlessly shoved it down.
She wouldn't kill him. She couldn't kill him, anymore than he could've killed her.
Chapter 7
Author/Artist: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there'd already be a Black Widow/Hawkeye movie.
Pairing: Clint/Natasha, Coulson/The Cellist
Rating: Adult 17+
Warnings: language, violence, eventually sexual content, dub-con if you feel that mystical/destiny sorts of compulsions qualify as dubious consent (Natasha might agree with you)
Spoilers: None
Type: WIP
Word Count: 2,877
Summary: All damn day, she'd kept him at arm's length without any contact between them and he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin.
Author's Notes: See Chapter 1 for more notes.
Thanks to sweetwatersong, anuna_81, kadollan, and SidheRa for the beta-ing. :D
Previous Chapter
Interlude 2: Dutiful Daughter
Phil tweaked the latest report from his team in Paris, added a paragraph implying someone had seen a woman matching Romanov's description on the eastern side of the city, and then flagged it directly to Fury's desktop. It would give him at least an extra half a day.
He'd watched the train station tapes so many times he could see the movement and faded colors when he closed his eyes, and he was fairly sure he'd identified two other purchases that might've been the enemy agent. There was still no sign of Barton, but they had to be together. One set had been cross-checked and showed passage to Brussels, the other to Amsterdam. They'd go local for now, he suspected. She could probably get him over the border without paperwork, but she didn't seem the type that liked leaving something up to so many variables. They could blend into the capital for awhile, get some resources lined up, and then try to get out of the country.
But he was leaving all that out of his reports. For now.
Once he'd gotten past the initial chill of fear at Fury's threat, he'd gone into the mode he knew best, analyzing the situation, looking at the facts, and he'd come to some equally chilling conclusions.
Fact: Barton seemed to have a bond with the Russian agent and assassin, code-named "Black Widow"
Fact: She'd come in willingly, without attempting to evade any kind of capture or escape.
Fact: Despite no immediate threat to SHIELD, or any directly insubordinate behavior on Barton's part, Fury had ordered the termination of a potentially valuable asset before any kind of intel could be gathered, thus leading Barton to break from SHIELD, take the prisoner, and run.
It was irrational.
It wasn't in anyone's best interests to play the cards that way - least of all SHIELD's. If Barton's loyalty had been in question, there were much less severe ways that could've been dealt with, both short term and long term.
Conclusion: For some reason, Fury was making irrational decisions, which put his ability to function as Director of SHIELD very seriously into question.
But if he tried to do anything about it, Fury would follow through with his threat, of that Phil had no doubt. What he needed was some kind of leverage, something he could push back with.
For the first time in his life, Phil Coulson was contemplating what amounted to treason. It sat like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach, holding him down, making it difficult for him to act. He needed information first, then he could better determine a plan of action... and at the same time he needed to continue to stall and keep the rest of SHIELD off of Barton and Romanov's tail.
*****
All day.
All damn day, she'd kept him at arm's length without any contact between them and he felt like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. Or something.
It had been a day of doing remarkably little other than waiting around for the forger to finish his work. The pick-up had been at an open-air market full of people just getting off work and doing a little shopping before heading home. It had been easy to blend in with them, and even easier to slip one envelope under a basket of apples and pick up another from beneath a display of bread. He'd spent the whole day with his attention split between an awareness of her and her subtle but unmistakable signs of avoidance, and keeping an eye on their surroundings to gauge potential threats.
Then she'd all but begged him to go back upstairs to the apartment while she stayed at the cafe downstairs. The unsettled look was back in her eyes, tearing at him because he had no idea how to make it go away. What could he do, but agree? So he'd gone to the apartment alone and tried (failed) to read.
Finally, the door closed behind her as she returned. Silence stretched out between them and his head was pounding from the last three hours of separation. Without even so much as a "hello", he reached out and grabbed her wrist, then pulled her in close so that her head fit against his shoulder. Her hands came up against his arms but she didn't try to push him away. "Barton, what-"
"Just a minute. God, I need this, for just a minute," he managed. He felt hyper-aware of her. As soon as his bare hand had touched her skin he'd felt the tension start to loosen. His other hand was tangled in her hair and he buried his face against it so that he could breathe her in.
It was insane, a lone, logical part of his brain reminded him. It was crazy to need her so badly after such a short time. That part of his mind was watching with dismay that edged into horror at what was happening and had a keen awareness of how this might all play out. There wasn't a good solution here, he knew that.
But for just a minute, holding her close, he felt like as long as he had this, had her it would all be okay.
"This can't fix anything," she muttered and he realized he must've said part of what he'd been thinking out loud. Reluctantly he dropped his hands, gave her room to step away from him and she did.
"It's just going to make things more difficult," she continued as she crossed the room and busied herself at the small sink, filling a glass with water and drinking it down.
"They're already pretty difficult. And being joined at the hip isn't really helping matters."
She shot him a dark look over her shoulder. "We could take care of that part of the problem, at least."
He'd been reaching for his book but froze at her words. "Excuse me?"
"This pull. This liability," she gestured between the two of them, "it's only temporary."
Understanding dawned on his face as what she was suggesting began to sink in. "It's a mechanism to pull us together. To make us want to seal the bond through sex."
"And once the bond is set, these side effects go away. No more draw, no more distraction."
"They say you don't ever want to be with anyone else, afterward."
Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't want to be with anyone in the first place, so that's hardly a loss for me."
He was surprised. "No one? Seriously?"
"Not really, no. Dating and commitment don't really come up in my line of work. Would it bother you?"
He bit back his reply - his instinct was to shout at her, yes of course it would bother him. Of course he hadn't deliberately contemplated spending his life alone. On the other hand, he knew good and well he hadn't contemplated spending his life with anyone, either.
"It wouldn't be that much of a change, I guess." It was the best answer he could manage for her, but his gut twisted at the idea of doing anything for convenience's sake.
"Then why don't we get it over with?"
"Have sex? Just like that?"
"Yes. We release the tension that's been building up, dissipate the effects of the bonding process, and then we can go our separate ways."
"You know I can't go back to SHIELD, right? And when they find me, they're liable to execute me? You'll still die if and when I die, babe - whether or not we're in the same area code."
"It's a risk we'll have to both take. I can teach you how to stay hidden." She took a few very deliberate steps toward him and he could feel the pull, her gravity drawing him in, urging him to move closer.
"And what if we do this," he was close enough now, and his fingers reached out and traced over her cheek before slipping around to the back of her head, "and I decide I can't let you go?"
His mouth hovered over hers. "It's a two-way street, Natasha," his voice was low as he looked into her eyes. "This isn't just about you. It's about both of us. That's the point. What if I'm not prepared to just let you walk out of my life once it's done?"
What if I'm not prepared to let you walk out of my life, now? was on his lips, sat uneasily in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't dare say it out loud.
Her eyes were wide, but it was her only visible reaction. His free hand went to the small of her back to bring their bodies together and he made sure she could feel his hardness pressing against her. He watched, pleased when he saw her eyes dilate to match his own. He knew all kinds of statistics about how adrenaline and shared experience heightened emotions and made you feel things - but that wasn't it, or not all of it. She'd impressed the hell out of him, over and over again, even in the short time they'd been together. She was brilliant, strong, capable, and deadly. She was proving herself to be all the things he hadn't even realized he'd been looking for in a partner.
"I have to go back. You can't follow me, they'll kill you, too. Whether or not you want to let me go? It's irrelevant. There's no way to end this like a fairy tale and you know that. If you don't, learn it. Quickly." Despite the desire in her eyes and the way she kept stealing glances at his mouth, her tone was coldly practical. "But if I go back before we resolve this thing between us, they'll kill us anyway. I can't do my job with you tagging along like a lovesick child, or curled up on my knees because we're too far apart."
Time spun out between them, as they each waited for the other to make the next move. Her patience seemed to break first, and in a rush of movement she closed the gap between them and pressed her lips against his.
The shock of it went straight down his spine and he nudged, felt her open her mouth under his so he could slip in and take what he wanted. He didn't realize he'd backed her across the room until he felt her hips hit the counter and he easily boosted her up onto the edge and she wrapped her legs around his waist. It brought them even closer together and he could feel her hot against him and her fingers digging into his arms.
It was fever and fire running through his blood stream. He could drown here, in this sensation, in her, and god, he wanted to. He could feel the shift of her muscles beneath his hands, hear the small, urgent sounds she was making, taste hints of chocolate and tea as he explored her mouth. The last kiss had caught him off guard and he'd been too overwhelmed, still riding too much of an adrenaline high from the chase to properly appreciate it. Now he took his time, let himself enjoy it, let go just a little bit.
The need for air caused him to break the kiss and rest his forehead against hers while his hands still moved along her thighs and hips, up her back and then down again. Raising his head, he took a moment to take her in, then met her eyes.
She looked... resigned. Distant. Maybe even a little calculating, and it was like she'd slipped on some kind of mask. Behind it, he could see how much effort she was putting into trying to remain in control of herself and what was going on. He'd seen that look on her face before, through a scope when he'd watched her work, and with a sinking feeling he realized two things.
First, she was right. This would have to happen, sooner rather than later, if they were going to survive. It was too strong, and too distracting, it turned them into each other's greatest liability, one they could not afford. He'd been gone just a minute before, so caught up in her that someone could've come into the room, come right up behind him and he wouldn't have noticed them until it was too late.
But second, and more importantly, while he might be able to accept that it had to happen, it wasn't going to happen tonight.
He untangled himself from her arms and legs and stepped backwards. "I'm not doing this. Not like this, not tonight. Maybe you're right, and it's inevitable and maybe it would be better to just rip off the bandage and get it over with, but right now, I can't."
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off with a look. Angry, exhausted, and still feeling raw from the day, he stormed across the room, jerked open the bedroom door and went inside, making sure to lock it behind him. If nothing else, he decided, he'd at least get some damn sleep.
*****
He'd locked her out, and Natasha supposed she deserved that, particularly since she'd done the same thing to him the night before. She thought seriously about going for a walk, but the idea of going through another few hours like she'd spent at the cafe seemed beyond her.
She'd thought maybe... she had training. She knew how to endure any number of things, had been taught to withstand multiple forms of torture, general pain and fatigue, had even been able to successfully put several severely broken ribs and internal injuries out of her mind while in the middle of a crucial stage of a mission. She didn't fear pain, was entirely used to it, but this? This wasn't just pain. The pain itself wasn't even that severe.
It was the wanting that was tearing her up inside. She had no idea how to handle wanting something so much, and wondered if this was akin to how addicts felt about their drugs? If anyone in the Red Room had seen her performance these last few days she'd already have a bullet in her skull (at best), or be reprogrammed (at worst). It was absolutely unacceptable to have this level of distraction. So she'd told herself that she could build up the strength, the resistance to do this, to fight it and she'd insisted on remaining in the cafe alone and had withstood it as long as she could. Only three hours, then she'd run back upstairs and straight into his arms because that made the unbearable tension go away.
She didn't want to live like this. Couldn't live like this, and it was within their power to stop it. It didn't matter to her if she was never interested in anyone else, she wasn't allowed to be in the first place. She could (and did) do her job without interest all the time and the Red Room certainly didn't allow for a personal life. Her daydreams of someday running away were entirely based on the idea of being alone so she wasn't losing anything by bonding with him. Assuming he would be willing to let her go. If not, she could probably run from him, hide. She was confident she could hide from the Red Room and without SHIELD he didn't have anything like their resources. Or... she could take him with her, for awhile. Hide him someplace for a few years so he would be safe while she finished extracting herself. She could still go back to the Red Room, claim that SHIELD had tried to capture her and she'd escaped. If he could provide her with information, she could even present that to her superiors and gain herself some room to maneuverer while she finished planning her end game.
First though, she'd need to convince him to go through with it. They'd been so close, then he'd turned and she still wasn't entirely sure what she'd done wrong. He'd seen something on her face that he hadn't liked, she knew that much.
Gingerly, quietly, she went over to the door and tried the knob, even though she knew it was locked, then rested her head against the smooth wood. They would head east in the morning and leave Amsterdam behind. She was glad to be going and to put more distance between them and SHIELD. Her rendezvous point with her handler should've been in Kiev, but she could arrange for an alternate site once she had Clint hidden. Maybe by then she could figure out a way to overcome his resistance to the idea of finishing things. A small voice in the back of her mind asked her why she didn't just take her chances and kill him now, before things became irrevocable, but it sounded too much like her trainers and she ruthlessly shoved it down.
She wouldn't kill him. She couldn't kill him, anymore than he could've killed her.
Chapter 7