Natasha. Her name sounds odd and foreign on his lips. Though not quite as odd 'Tasha' or 'Nat' did. It's something that she'll get used to, she's certain, but right now it makes the space between her shoulder blades crawl with discomfort. She can't remember giving him her name and him using it sends up warning flags and alarm bells that it's hard to ignore, even though she knows that she must've sometime between now and the last time she remembers meeting him.
Captain America conjures up images of old propaganda footage, a black and white film flickering on the screen of the training room and her handler's voice droning on about some kind of supersoldiers. But, that doesn't make sense, and then her attention narrows down to the flicker of silver as Hawkeye pulls out his dogtags,
Natasha takes the offered dogtags with ill-concealed eagerness, her fingers brushing his and sending a jolt of something through her. Instead of going straight for the ring, she takes her time to look over the dogtags first, running her thumb across the embossed letters. Barton, Clint. With a slowness that makes every inch of her body scream in impatience, she turns to the ring and runs her thumb along the metal, warmed by his skin. She has spent so many sleepless nights turning the two rings she wears over in her hands and puzzling over their meaning that she knows instantly that this one is the mate to hers. But still, she examines it in minute detail, like she can find a flaw with it to prove that it's all a lie.
His voice makes her heart stutter and ache in her chest -- a solid sort of pain settling around it like a steel band -- and when it breaks on a word, her eyes snap up to him, giving him a long and searching look. This is how he knew that her memory's been lost. Because they are so much more to each other now than they ever were ten years ago. There's something in his eyes that leaves her cold, even as it sends a slow sort of warmth spiralling up along her spine.
"I can imagine," she says softly, ducking her head once more. She tugs the chain and makes the rings spill forth so that she can compare his to hers. They're a perfect match. Her throat goes dry and too tight, making each breath ache in her chest.
The rings are exactly the kind of rings she'd wish for herself if she ever even entertained the thought of getting married.
She's never seen herself as the marrying kind, but a lot can happen in ten years. Maybe the Red Room sent her to seduce Hawkeye to get an inside line on SHIELD, and maybe they got engaged and married, and then the Red Room fell and she... stayed. Or maybe it was never a lie or a mission and just... her. Because if there is one man she can ever picture herself marrying, it's Hawkeye. Somehow.
Everything about the rings make sense. Right down to the materials and color. They're spies; she and Hawkeye. They wouldn't inscribe their rings or wear them on their fingers for fear of surveillance or the risk of a tan-line ruining a mission or a cover. If she got married, this is exactly how she'd wear her rings, in a chain around her throat and closest to her heart.
"They're beautiful," she says without thinking. She swallows tightly, as if she can swallow back the words and she tucks her rings away decisively before handing his back. Meeting his eyes is difficult and it takes real effort to not let her gaze skitter away. "So. You and me, huh?" And there's none of the doubt that should be in her voice. Of all the things that he's told her, this is the first thing she trusts implicitly, even though she really, really shouldn't.
He watches her as she looks at the rings and tries not to get lost in the memory of how she looked when she saw them for the first time. How she protested when he tried to make her look when he first got back from the jewelry store, already annoyed that there was a possibility they were going to miss their flight and expecting that he’d picked out the first two fake gold bands he found and a fake diamond engagement ring and that that simple process had taken him five hours.
At the time he couldn’t even justify why he’d spent so long picking them out. Mostly because it was Nat, and he wasn’t going to start their first undercover mission after Loki with something fake wrapped around his finger. Wasn’t going to start repairing their friendship with something cheap and tacky and not at all them, but now? Now he was glad he did, because they’d come to mean a hell of a lot more than just the things worn for a cover-
But watching her watch them, and he can almost imagine that they’re back in the helicarrier, and he’s making her take the time, and she’s looking up at him with that look on her face and he’s having to take a breath because well, he was slipping a fucking wedding band on her finger like it meant something. But, he’s not, and they’re not, and she’s still back where she was ten years ago, and he’s got to bring her back. Somehow. He has to.
“Glad your taste didn’t change that much,” he says in reply to her first comment, the one she looks like she wants to take back, because he can’t help but try and make her smile, try to lighten this situation a little because he feels a little like he’s drowning and can’t quite get a foothold and he doesn’t, exactly, want to see where that path leads.
“And, ah, yeah. Us.” How does he describe ten years of being half of a whole to someone who doesn’t remember that they were the opposite side? “Friends for longer than either of us expected, and, ah, recently, more” He takes his ring back, rubs a thumb over it gently and then slips it back over his neck, tucking it away under his uniform and trying not to let out the soft sigh of relief as it settles back against his skin.
A brief, pale smile flashes across Natasha's features at his comment about her taste, and her fingers play absently over the thin chain where it rests against her collarbone. It's the engagement ring she can't get over. The one with the black diamond. Which she knows is real, because she took the rings to a jeweler to have it valued, to see if maybe she was carrying the rings to sell in case of an emergency, but even though she didn't have a dime to her name at that point, she hadn't sold them. Because the engagement ring is perfect for her. Because they seemed too important to lose.
"It took us that long?" Edging the rooftop is a low sort of barrier to keep people falling off, and she leans against it, not quite outside of his reach, the wind wiping at the few strands that have escaped her French twist. She braces her hands against the cold metal edge of the mostly brick barrier, her back against the party in the building on the other side of the street.
"The last time I remember seeing you," she begins haltingly, "we were in Hong Kong for New Year's and I was really hoping to kiss you on the stroke of midnight." It hadn't quite worked out that way, of course. But, to think that it took them ten years to get from that to married is... Odd. Of course, she probably dug in her heels on the marriage thing. She can't imagine that she didn't.
If she had been there, when Clint was agonizing over which one to pick out, she might have laughed at him. The Nat he gave the ring to definitely would have. That ring, the engagement one, was what took him five hours, because he had been staring down at a sea of gaudy gold and platinum and diamonds and rubies and nothing at all seemed to fit her. And he'd even settled, because he knew he was running late and was going to be killed, on this little white gold number with a ruby in it, until the clerk had looked at him, asked him about Nat and when he'd said, far more honestly than he meant: 'she's as dangerous as she is deadly and gorgeous beyond belief. And the only person you'd trust to have your back in any situation that might come up', the man had smiled, somehow knowingly, and pulled that one from the back.
He hadn't even had to think.
So--he is rather glad she didn't sell it,because he's not entirely sure how he would have dealt with that. He wouldn't have held her responsible, of course, because selling it would probably be the smart thing to do if you were loose in the wind and had nothing to tie you to anyone and no money but a two thousand dollar ring on your finger.
"We--" he shrugs a little, and leans against his bow. He wants to sit next to her, but he's not entirely certain she won't either push him off or start running again, "We had a partnership that was more important than anything else--we weren't sure we could risk it. It took a Norse God getting in my head and fucking me up for me to crack enough to admit how I felt. Hell, might have taken that for me to realize it fully myself."
Hong Kong though--god, he remembers Hong Kong. He would have taken that kiss too, then, and maybe their lives would have gone a completely different direction. "The whole building collapsed out from under us in Hong Kong. A minute before the stroke of midnight. I was lucky enough to have my bow, and a grappling hook arrow. Got us both out of there--but then we were being swarmed by agents from another group--God, I can't even remember which group now, it's been that long. I think it might have been MI6."
"A Norse God? Damn, my life has changed," Natasha jokes weakly. Her forced laughter catches in her throat though. Because it's not a very funny joke. It's ten years of her life gone, and apparently sometime during those ten years, she had dealings with a mythological figure and that's just a little bit hard to swallow. She ducks her head and looks down at the scuffed toes of her high heels, fingers twisting in the delicate material of her dress. It's all just too much. At least Hong Kong is a welcome distraction. The fact that he remembers it too -- that she has a real connection to someone in this world again -- is comforting beyond words.
"You're remembering things wrong," she scowls, though the severity is counteracted by the grin on her face. It may've been a long time ago for him, but for her it seems like it was only a couple of months back. She still remembers the look on his face when he saw her in her evening gown, and the way her stomach had knotted up with anticipation as the clock inched towards midnight.
"First of all, I was doing fine on my own when you grabbed me. Nearly knocked me out. And they weren't MI5, they were KGB, posing as Brits." Though she never told him that, did she? They'd been good, the agents. She wouldn't've caught it herself if she hadn't recognized one of them. "Once we got out of there--" And working together with him against a common foe had been surprisingly nice, "it was already a quarter past. Moment was sort of gone after all that."
Natasha looks over at Clint and her mocking grin fades. Hong Kong is in the distant past, and there are more pressing things here and now. "There are so many blanks I need you to fill for me." Her words are soft and achingly honest. "But this isn't the place and--" she glances over her shoulder at the lit windows of the embassy, "I still have a job to finish."
Captain America conjures up images of old propaganda footage, a black and white film flickering on the screen of the training room and her handler's voice droning on about some kind of supersoldiers. But, that doesn't make sense, and then her attention narrows down to the flicker of silver as Hawkeye pulls out his dogtags,
Natasha takes the offered dogtags with ill-concealed eagerness, her fingers brushing his and sending a jolt of something through her. Instead of going straight for the ring, she takes her time to look over the dogtags first, running her thumb across the embossed letters. Barton, Clint. With a slowness that makes every inch of her body scream in impatience, she turns to the ring and runs her thumb along the metal, warmed by his skin. She has spent so many sleepless nights turning the two rings she wears over in her hands and puzzling over their meaning that she knows instantly that this one is the mate to hers. But still, she examines it in minute detail, like she can find a flaw with it to prove that it's all a lie.
His voice makes her heart stutter and ache in her chest -- a solid sort of pain settling around it like a steel band -- and when it breaks on a word, her eyes snap up to him, giving him a long and searching look. This is how he knew that her memory's been lost. Because they are so much more to each other now than they ever were ten years ago. There's something in his eyes that leaves her cold, even as it sends a slow sort of warmth spiralling up along her spine.
"I can imagine," she says softly, ducking her head once more. She tugs the chain and makes the rings spill forth so that she can compare his to hers. They're a perfect match. Her throat goes dry and too tight, making each breath ache in her chest.
The rings are exactly the kind of rings she'd wish for herself if she ever even entertained the thought of getting married.
She's never seen herself as the marrying kind, but a lot can happen in ten years. Maybe the Red Room sent her to seduce Hawkeye to get an inside line on SHIELD, and maybe they got engaged and married, and then the Red Room fell and she... stayed. Or maybe it was never a lie or a mission and just... her. Because if there is one man she can ever picture herself marrying, it's Hawkeye. Somehow.
Everything about the rings make sense. Right down to the materials and color. They're spies; she and Hawkeye. They wouldn't inscribe their rings or wear them on their fingers for fear of surveillance or the risk of a tan-line ruining a mission or a cover. If she got married, this is exactly how she'd wear her rings, in a chain around her throat and closest to her heart.
"They're beautiful," she says without thinking. She swallows tightly, as if she can swallow back the words and she tucks her rings away decisively before handing his back. Meeting his eyes is difficult and it takes real effort to not let her gaze skitter away. "So. You and me, huh?" And there's none of the doubt that should be in her voice. Of all the things that he's told her, this is the first thing she trusts implicitly, even though she really, really shouldn't.
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At the time he couldn’t even justify why he’d spent so long picking them out. Mostly because it was Nat, and he wasn’t going to start their first undercover mission after Loki with something fake wrapped around his finger. Wasn’t going to start repairing their friendship with something cheap and tacky and not at all them, but now? Now he was glad he did, because they’d come to mean a hell of a lot more than just the things worn for a cover-
But watching her watch them, and he can almost imagine that they’re back in the helicarrier, and he’s making her take the time, and she’s looking up at him with that look on her face and he’s having to take a breath because well, he was slipping a fucking wedding band on her finger like it meant something. But, he’s not, and they’re not, and she’s still back where she was ten years ago, and he’s got to bring her back. Somehow. He has to.
“Glad your taste didn’t change that much,” he says in reply to her first comment, the one she looks like she wants to take back, because he can’t help but try and make her smile, try to lighten this situation a little because he feels a little like he’s drowning and can’t quite get a foothold and he doesn’t, exactly, want to see where that path leads.
“And, ah, yeah. Us.” How does he describe ten years of being half of a whole to someone who doesn’t remember that they were the opposite side? “Friends for longer than either of us expected, and, ah, recently, more” He takes his ring back, rubs a thumb over it gently and then slips it back over his neck, tucking it away under his uniform and trying not to let out the soft sigh of relief as it settles back against his skin.
"A few weeks after that video you watched."
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"It took us that long?" Edging the rooftop is a low sort of barrier to keep people falling off, and she leans against it, not quite outside of his reach, the wind wiping at the few strands that have escaped her French twist. She braces her hands against the cold metal edge of the mostly brick barrier, her back against the party in the building on the other side of the street.
"The last time I remember seeing you," she begins haltingly, "we were in Hong Kong for New Year's and I was really hoping to kiss you on the stroke of midnight." It hadn't quite worked out that way, of course. But, to think that it took them ten years to get from that to married is... Odd. Of course, she probably dug in her heels on the marriage thing. She can't imagine that she didn't.
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He hadn't even had to think.
So--he is rather glad she didn't sell it,because he's not entirely sure how he would have dealt with that. He wouldn't have held her responsible, of course, because selling it would probably be the smart thing to do if you were loose in the wind and had nothing to tie you to anyone and no money but a two thousand dollar ring on your finger.
"We--" he shrugs a little, and leans against his bow. He wants to sit next to her, but he's not entirely certain she won't either push him off or start running again, "We had a partnership that was more important than anything else--we weren't sure we could risk it. It took a Norse God getting in my head and fucking me up for me to crack enough to admit how I felt. Hell, might have taken that for me to realize it fully myself."
Hong Kong though--god, he remembers Hong Kong. He would have taken that kiss too, then, and maybe their lives would have gone a completely different direction. "The whole building collapsed out from under us in Hong Kong. A minute before the stroke of midnight. I was lucky enough to have my bow, and a grappling hook arrow. Got us both out of there--but then we were being swarmed by agents from another group--God, I can't even remember which group now, it's been that long. I think it might have been MI6."
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"You're remembering things wrong," she scowls, though the severity is counteracted by the grin on her face. It may've been a long time ago for him, but for her it seems like it was only a couple of months back. She still remembers the look on his face when he saw her in her evening gown, and the way her stomach had knotted up with anticipation as the clock inched towards midnight.
"First of all, I was doing fine on my own when you grabbed me. Nearly knocked me out. And they weren't MI5, they were KGB, posing as Brits." Though she never told him that, did she? They'd been good, the agents. She wouldn't've caught it herself if she hadn't recognized one of them. "Once we got out of there--" And working together with him against a common foe had been surprisingly nice, "it was already a quarter past. Moment was sort of gone after all that."
Natasha looks over at Clint and her mocking grin fades. Hong Kong is in the distant past, and there are more pressing things here and now. "There are so many blanks I need you to fill for me." Her words are soft and achingly honest. "But this isn't the place and--" she glances over her shoulder at the lit windows of the embassy, "I still have a job to finish."
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