Avengers (2012): "Heavy in Your Arms (3/15)" (Clint/Natasha)
Title: Heavy in Your Arms (3/15)
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
Spoilers: None
Type: WIP
Word Count: 2,512
Summary: He knew what kind of resources SHIELD would come at them with, and he had no idea how they were going to survive it.
Author's Notes: See Chapter 1 for more notes.
All the thanks to workerbee73's wonderful enablement and beta skills, and also to everyone who threw music suggestions my way.
Too many thanks to count to everyone who left such awesome comments! You're all amazing!
Previous Chapter
INTERLUDE: Bleed Out
Coulson wanted to pace as he waited outside Fury's office, but he hadn't gotten his reputation for calm and control by giving into such impulses.
He knew what he was walking into. The rest of SHIELD might buy that he'd been overcome by the tear gas or that they'd been too far away, but Fury knew better. The Director was well aware of what he was capable of in a combat situation and wouldn't doubt that Coulson had let them get away.
So it really came down to whether or not he could convince Fury that he had a good reason to let them live.
"My office. Now." In a voice that brooked no argument, Fury summoned him inside.
When the door closed, Coulson looked evenly at the man sitting behind the desk, fingers steepled and a single critical eye turned in his direction.
"You want to explain what happened in that hallway, Agent?"
Coulson kept his breathing even. "Agent Barton used an arrow armed with tear gas to distract and temporarily immobilize our security team and managed to escape our detention facility with the asset code named "Black Widow" sir."
"There's a few things wrong with that statement, Agent Coulson. Do you honestly expect me to believe he just got the drop on you? And I'd hardly call her an asset."
"Sir. Agent Barton's actions, while understandable after the fact, were unanticipated at the time. And the operative in captivity had come in voluntarily. I believe she was prepared to give us information and possibly to request to defect to our side."
"And what exactly gave you that impression? I've replayed the tapes, Coulson. She never said word one about any intel or defection."
"She didn't shoot Barton, sir. When they were on the roof in Brussels, she had ample opportunity to take him out and run. She did neither, and in fact allowed him to cuff her and bring her in. Those are hardly the actions of a hostile force."
Fury's face tightened. "So you expect me to believe that just because she might have some kind of bond with Barton, she would be willing to go against the organization that's been training and probably brain-washing her for god knows how many years? And we were just supposed to go along with that? Meanwhile, Barton's been compromised."
"I believe if they'd been allowed to complete the bond, they would have both chosen to stay with SHIELD, yes."
"You've got nothing, Agent, except some questionable behaviour of your own. Don't think I don't know what you do when you're on leave, Coulson. I haven't had her relocated because you've done a good job keeping it under control. But if I even think that your personal feelings are getting in the way of you doing your job, I will have her hidden so deep not even you will be able to find her. Don't think I won't. Soul mates are liabilities agents can't afford."
Coulson's hand tightened into a fist, but he knew better than to react in any other way.
"Do you understand me, Agent? Find Barton and Romanov and get rid of the problem."
"Yes, sir."
*****
It was dark and warm in the crawl space. Only the memory of how cold the water had been and the sound of boots on metal kept her from pulling away from him and taking her chances outside.
She was accustomed to how bodies fit together, in bed, out of bed, in dark corners or on brightly lit ballroom floors. She knew how to give the impression of arousal, how to change her breathing ever so slightly, how to use other physical activities or make up to look flushed and bright eyed. She knew how to hold her head and lower her eyelids to mask the lack of dilation in her pupils, and how to use the rush of adrenaline an op provided to increase her pulse and heartbeat.
She even knew how to enjoy sex on a purely physical level. Her body could respond to the appropriate physical stimuli just fine.
But this was different.
She wasn't sure she remembered the last time she'd been attracted to someone on her own rather than as part of an act she was embracing. Through her blurred adolescent memories she could guess there had been such instances as her hormones had changed and her training had accelerated, but there was very little of that time she could see clearly. They'd made sure of that. By the time her memories solidified, it was all routine and rote practice.
Natasha knew in the back of her mind that this still wasn't a truthful response. Metaphysics she hadn't counted on being real were making her into their puppet just as surely as the Red Room always had. It didn't change the fact that she was fighting against her instincts, all of which were screaming at her to turn over in his arms and touch him. To kiss him, and let the flood of energy pull them under until they drowned.
Only the knowledge that he seemed to be fighting it just as much as she was kept her stiffly on her side and facing away. There was no question he was aroused too, but his arms stayed around her, and his hands hadn't strayed from safe areas even once. She knew her proximity was having an effect, but he'd lain just as still as she had.
"I think it's probably safe to stick our heads out and take a look around," he murmured against her ear and she couldn't suppress a shiver that stole through her body. His grip on her waist tightened in response and she felt as much as heard him suck in a sharp breath as she moved against him.
Eyes closed, she counted down from ten before moving again, this time putting several inches of space between them. The loss of contact was like someone had dumped cold water on her face.
If getting the boxes into place had been awkward and time consuming, getting back out was more so. It took almost twenty minutes of shifting and bit-back curses before they were close enough that she could push open the hatch and pull herself up onto the floor. The fresh air was a blessing - all that they'd had below had been choked with dust and the smell of the sea.
It was a brief respite, Natasha thought, but it didn't stop the burning underneath her skin.
*****
Clint waited below a little longer than was strictly necessary - ostensibly it was to give her enough room to climb out, but it was as much about waiting until he had his reaction to her under control. Not that she could have missed how hard he'd been while he was pressed up against her, but there hadn't been anything else he could've done given the circumstances.
It was her scent that had undone him. He'd buried his face in her hair to muffle any sounds his breathing might make, and she'd mostly smelled like the ocean and the dusty blankets they were surrounded by, but there'd been an undertone of something else he couldn't get enough of. If she'd caught on to what he was doing, she hadn't said anything about it.
Natasha was waiting at the table in the galley when he finally extricated himself.
"We should probably try to swim to shore before daylight."
Her voice was calm and even and he envied her her apparent composure.
"You're probably right. We'll still need to be on the look out for SHIELD's search teams."
"How tenacious are they apt to be?"
The look he gave her was incredulous. "Pretty damn tenacious. You're kind of on their top ten list right now. God only knows where I fall at this point." He knew what kind of resources SHIELD would come at them with, and he had no idea how they were going to survive it.
*****
When they finally pulled themselves out of the water, another mile down the coast and well away from any remaining SHIELD recon units, it was pouring down rain. By the time they reached the nearby city the fact that they were soaked to the skin didn't seem that out of place or unreasonable. It certainly wouldn't lead someone to think they'd been in the ocean just an hour or so before.
Natasha palmed the wallet of a business man they'd passed coming out of the red light district, and after taking the cash inside she'd discarded the rest. It wasn't much, but would buy them some food and something hot to drink while they took a few minutes to regroup and formulate a plan.
The waitress didn't even give them a sidelong glance for dripping on her floor. It was well after two in the morning and they only got the most cursory attention. It suited them both just fine.
"We need to find a place to stay. SHIELD won't spend their resources focusing on the water and the beach for long."
"I don't suppose there's any chance they'll just give us up for dead?"
"Not likely - I don't think Fury is going to underestimate you. Or me, for that matter. Coulson won't either, but he'd be more likely to look the other way."
"Is he... a friend of yours?" she finally asked, with an odd note in her voice that made him think it was a foreign idea to her.
"I thought so. Hell, I guess he still is. He probably could've shot us both even with the tear gas. But I don't know anymore. He told me to kill you, he handed me the damn bow. I'm still pissed you made me leave it behind in the water, you know."
Natasha looked at him evenly with the best poker face he'd ever seen. "They're more likely to decide we died in the water if your weapon is found. I assume based on your behavior and reaction it's important to you."
"Something like that." He grimaced down at his coffee cup. "So, we still need a place to stay. And we don't have any resources to speak of, at least not that I have access to."
"I have access to mine."
"You mean the Red Room? What makes you think they're gonna react any better to this news than my people did?"
She took a breath, considered it. "They would not be pleased."
"Didn't think so."
"However," she continued, "I do have access to resources of my own."
******
The first of those resources turned out to be picking yet another pocket, this time of a business woman who was too preoccupied with her phone. Natasha was pleased to find enough money inside to get them a change of clothes and train tickets.
She opted for a pair of jeans, sturdy boots, and a nondescript tee shirt and sweater, which put together made her look like any other young woman who might be backpacking across the continent. He chose similar attire, with a gray tee shirt and hooded sweatshirt since they couldn't afford a real coat. She tucked her hair up in under a dark blue scarf and tied it in a knot at the back of her head, and he adopted a plain black ball cap without a logo.
When they reached the station she bought three different sets of tickets, two in her new clothes and another while wearing his sweatshirt and with her hair uncovered in case SHIELD was able to access the surveillance photos. She didn't tell him which tickets she intended to use until they were on the platform about to board the train.
Once aboard, she sat in the seat beside him, very aware of his hand on the armrest - loose, open, and within easy reach but she couldn't accept the offer. It was a struggle not to wrap her arms around herself and draw her knees up - she had the urge to make herself as small as possible and shift as far away from him as she could.
She wanted to touch him, too damn much. It felt like she was between two unyielding forces, both of which were trying to pull her apart. There was a feeling deep in her chest that being curled up in his arms might just be the safest place in the world, and she didn't know what to do with that.
It was a lie, of course. The only place she'd ever felt anything approaching "safe" was when she was completely, blissfully alone. The small, rare moments when she wasn't being observed or ordered or directed by someone: she cherished those.
Her house in Bern was the culmination of those little slices of herself. No one else - not the Red Room, not SHIELD, no one knew about it. She'd spent years putting accounts and identities in place to bury her trail before she'd even started looking for a location. She'd bought the house just two years ago and had visited only twice, when she'd been given deep cover assignments that necessitated a hands off approach from the Red Room's command.
It was the only place she could think to take him where they might be safe but she had no illusions that SHIELD wouldn't find them eventually. It was, at best, a short-term option.
Natasha glanced at his hand again. It was still there, available but not insistent. She looked at the lines, the bones and joints and the play of muscles as he shifted slightly in his seat.
She raised her head and realized he was watching her just as intently, almost like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out.
"What's your name?" she found herself asking and was slightly surprised she'd spoken aloud. "Your full name, I mean - or is it just 'Barton'? I heard someone call you that."
His eyes widened and she might've described the look on his face as mild horror. It made her smile, just a little bit.
"I... we never... well damn. Clint Barton. Sorry. God, this is so messed up." His hands moved as he reached up to run his fingers through his hair roughly.
"Clint," she said softly and watched as he smiled. "I assume my name and information was all in your files on me?"
"Natalia Alianova Romanov," he recited. She liked the way it sounded coming from him, except-
"Natasha. Not Natalia, that's not the name I use."
"Natasha, then. Nice to meet you," he added, and held out his hand.
She took it out of reflex, meaning to shake, but their skin met and their eyes locked and she felt like she was in free fall all over again.
The jolt of the train pulling into the next station and the booming voice over the loudspeaker announcing their arrival in Amsterdam broke the spell. She jerked her hand away and stood quickly, then carefully avoided any other contact as she followed him out of the car.
Chapter 4
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
Spoilers: None
Type: WIP
Word Count: 2,512
Summary: He knew what kind of resources SHIELD would come at them with, and he had no idea how they were going to survive it.
Author's Notes: See Chapter 1 for more notes.
All the thanks to workerbee73's wonderful enablement and beta skills, and also to everyone who threw music suggestions my way.
Too many thanks to count to everyone who left such awesome comments! You're all amazing!
Previous Chapter
INTERLUDE: Bleed Out
Coulson wanted to pace as he waited outside Fury's office, but he hadn't gotten his reputation for calm and control by giving into such impulses.
He knew what he was walking into. The rest of SHIELD might buy that he'd been overcome by the tear gas or that they'd been too far away, but Fury knew better. The Director was well aware of what he was capable of in a combat situation and wouldn't doubt that Coulson had let them get away.
So it really came down to whether or not he could convince Fury that he had a good reason to let them live.
"My office. Now." In a voice that brooked no argument, Fury summoned him inside.
When the door closed, Coulson looked evenly at the man sitting behind the desk, fingers steepled and a single critical eye turned in his direction.
"You want to explain what happened in that hallway, Agent?"
Coulson kept his breathing even. "Agent Barton used an arrow armed with tear gas to distract and temporarily immobilize our security team and managed to escape our detention facility with the asset code named "Black Widow" sir."
"There's a few things wrong with that statement, Agent Coulson. Do you honestly expect me to believe he just got the drop on you? And I'd hardly call her an asset."
"Sir. Agent Barton's actions, while understandable after the fact, were unanticipated at the time. And the operative in captivity had come in voluntarily. I believe she was prepared to give us information and possibly to request to defect to our side."
"And what exactly gave you that impression? I've replayed the tapes, Coulson. She never said word one about any intel or defection."
"She didn't shoot Barton, sir. When they were on the roof in Brussels, she had ample opportunity to take him out and run. She did neither, and in fact allowed him to cuff her and bring her in. Those are hardly the actions of a hostile force."
Fury's face tightened. "So you expect me to believe that just because she might have some kind of bond with Barton, she would be willing to go against the organization that's been training and probably brain-washing her for god knows how many years? And we were just supposed to go along with that? Meanwhile, Barton's been compromised."
"I believe if they'd been allowed to complete the bond, they would have both chosen to stay with SHIELD, yes."
"You've got nothing, Agent, except some questionable behaviour of your own. Don't think I don't know what you do when you're on leave, Coulson. I haven't had her relocated because you've done a good job keeping it under control. But if I even think that your personal feelings are getting in the way of you doing your job, I will have her hidden so deep not even you will be able to find her. Don't think I won't. Soul mates are liabilities agents can't afford."
Coulson's hand tightened into a fist, but he knew better than to react in any other way.
"Do you understand me, Agent? Find Barton and Romanov and get rid of the problem."
"Yes, sir."
*****
It was dark and warm in the crawl space. Only the memory of how cold the water had been and the sound of boots on metal kept her from pulling away from him and taking her chances outside.
She was accustomed to how bodies fit together, in bed, out of bed, in dark corners or on brightly lit ballroom floors. She knew how to give the impression of arousal, how to change her breathing ever so slightly, how to use other physical activities or make up to look flushed and bright eyed. She knew how to hold her head and lower her eyelids to mask the lack of dilation in her pupils, and how to use the rush of adrenaline an op provided to increase her pulse and heartbeat.
She even knew how to enjoy sex on a purely physical level. Her body could respond to the appropriate physical stimuli just fine.
But this was different.
She wasn't sure she remembered the last time she'd been attracted to someone on her own rather than as part of an act she was embracing. Through her blurred adolescent memories she could guess there had been such instances as her hormones had changed and her training had accelerated, but there was very little of that time she could see clearly. They'd made sure of that. By the time her memories solidified, it was all routine and rote practice.
Natasha knew in the back of her mind that this still wasn't a truthful response. Metaphysics she hadn't counted on being real were making her into their puppet just as surely as the Red Room always had. It didn't change the fact that she was fighting against her instincts, all of which were screaming at her to turn over in his arms and touch him. To kiss him, and let the flood of energy pull them under until they drowned.
Only the knowledge that he seemed to be fighting it just as much as she was kept her stiffly on her side and facing away. There was no question he was aroused too, but his arms stayed around her, and his hands hadn't strayed from safe areas even once. She knew her proximity was having an effect, but he'd lain just as still as she had.
"I think it's probably safe to stick our heads out and take a look around," he murmured against her ear and she couldn't suppress a shiver that stole through her body. His grip on her waist tightened in response and she felt as much as heard him suck in a sharp breath as she moved against him.
Eyes closed, she counted down from ten before moving again, this time putting several inches of space between them. The loss of contact was like someone had dumped cold water on her face.
If getting the boxes into place had been awkward and time consuming, getting back out was more so. It took almost twenty minutes of shifting and bit-back curses before they were close enough that she could push open the hatch and pull herself up onto the floor. The fresh air was a blessing - all that they'd had below had been choked with dust and the smell of the sea.
It was a brief respite, Natasha thought, but it didn't stop the burning underneath her skin.
*****
Clint waited below a little longer than was strictly necessary - ostensibly it was to give her enough room to climb out, but it was as much about waiting until he had his reaction to her under control. Not that she could have missed how hard he'd been while he was pressed up against her, but there hadn't been anything else he could've done given the circumstances.
It was her scent that had undone him. He'd buried his face in her hair to muffle any sounds his breathing might make, and she'd mostly smelled like the ocean and the dusty blankets they were surrounded by, but there'd been an undertone of something else he couldn't get enough of. If she'd caught on to what he was doing, she hadn't said anything about it.
Natasha was waiting at the table in the galley when he finally extricated himself.
"We should probably try to swim to shore before daylight."
Her voice was calm and even and he envied her her apparent composure.
"You're probably right. We'll still need to be on the look out for SHIELD's search teams."
"How tenacious are they apt to be?"
The look he gave her was incredulous. "Pretty damn tenacious. You're kind of on their top ten list right now. God only knows where I fall at this point." He knew what kind of resources SHIELD would come at them with, and he had no idea how they were going to survive it.
*****
When they finally pulled themselves out of the water, another mile down the coast and well away from any remaining SHIELD recon units, it was pouring down rain. By the time they reached the nearby city the fact that they were soaked to the skin didn't seem that out of place or unreasonable. It certainly wouldn't lead someone to think they'd been in the ocean just an hour or so before.
Natasha palmed the wallet of a business man they'd passed coming out of the red light district, and after taking the cash inside she'd discarded the rest. It wasn't much, but would buy them some food and something hot to drink while they took a few minutes to regroup and formulate a plan.
The waitress didn't even give them a sidelong glance for dripping on her floor. It was well after two in the morning and they only got the most cursory attention. It suited them both just fine.
"We need to find a place to stay. SHIELD won't spend their resources focusing on the water and the beach for long."
"I don't suppose there's any chance they'll just give us up for dead?"
"Not likely - I don't think Fury is going to underestimate you. Or me, for that matter. Coulson won't either, but he'd be more likely to look the other way."
"Is he... a friend of yours?" she finally asked, with an odd note in her voice that made him think it was a foreign idea to her.
"I thought so. Hell, I guess he still is. He probably could've shot us both even with the tear gas. But I don't know anymore. He told me to kill you, he handed me the damn bow. I'm still pissed you made me leave it behind in the water, you know."
Natasha looked at him evenly with the best poker face he'd ever seen. "They're more likely to decide we died in the water if your weapon is found. I assume based on your behavior and reaction it's important to you."
"Something like that." He grimaced down at his coffee cup. "So, we still need a place to stay. And we don't have any resources to speak of, at least not that I have access to."
"I have access to mine."
"You mean the Red Room? What makes you think they're gonna react any better to this news than my people did?"
She took a breath, considered it. "They would not be pleased."
"Didn't think so."
"However," she continued, "I do have access to resources of my own."
******
The first of those resources turned out to be picking yet another pocket, this time of a business woman who was too preoccupied with her phone. Natasha was pleased to find enough money inside to get them a change of clothes and train tickets.
She opted for a pair of jeans, sturdy boots, and a nondescript tee shirt and sweater, which put together made her look like any other young woman who might be backpacking across the continent. He chose similar attire, with a gray tee shirt and hooded sweatshirt since they couldn't afford a real coat. She tucked her hair up in under a dark blue scarf and tied it in a knot at the back of her head, and he adopted a plain black ball cap without a logo.
When they reached the station she bought three different sets of tickets, two in her new clothes and another while wearing his sweatshirt and with her hair uncovered in case SHIELD was able to access the surveillance photos. She didn't tell him which tickets she intended to use until they were on the platform about to board the train.
Once aboard, she sat in the seat beside him, very aware of his hand on the armrest - loose, open, and within easy reach but she couldn't accept the offer. It was a struggle not to wrap her arms around herself and draw her knees up - she had the urge to make herself as small as possible and shift as far away from him as she could.
She wanted to touch him, too damn much. It felt like she was between two unyielding forces, both of which were trying to pull her apart. There was a feeling deep in her chest that being curled up in his arms might just be the safest place in the world, and she didn't know what to do with that.
It was a lie, of course. The only place she'd ever felt anything approaching "safe" was when she was completely, blissfully alone. The small, rare moments when she wasn't being observed or ordered or directed by someone: she cherished those.
Her house in Bern was the culmination of those little slices of herself. No one else - not the Red Room, not SHIELD, no one knew about it. She'd spent years putting accounts and identities in place to bury her trail before she'd even started looking for a location. She'd bought the house just two years ago and had visited only twice, when she'd been given deep cover assignments that necessitated a hands off approach from the Red Room's command.
It was the only place she could think to take him where they might be safe but she had no illusions that SHIELD wouldn't find them eventually. It was, at best, a short-term option.
Natasha glanced at his hand again. It was still there, available but not insistent. She looked at the lines, the bones and joints and the play of muscles as he shifted slightly in his seat.
She raised her head and realized he was watching her just as intently, almost like she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out.
"What's your name?" she found herself asking and was slightly surprised she'd spoken aloud. "Your full name, I mean - or is it just 'Barton'? I heard someone call you that."
His eyes widened and she might've described the look on his face as mild horror. It made her smile, just a little bit.
"I... we never... well damn. Clint Barton. Sorry. God, this is so messed up." His hands moved as he reached up to run his fingers through his hair roughly.
"Clint," she said softly and watched as he smiled. "I assume my name and information was all in your files on me?"
"Natalia Alianova Romanov," he recited. She liked the way it sounded coming from him, except-
"Natasha. Not Natalia, that's not the name I use."
"Natasha, then. Nice to meet you," he added, and held out his hand.
She took it out of reflex, meaning to shake, but their skin met and their eyes locked and she felt like she was in free fall all over again.
The jolt of the train pulling into the next station and the booming voice over the loudspeaker announcing their arrival in Amsterdam broke the spell. She jerked her hand away and stood quickly, then carefully avoided any other contact as she followed him out of the car.
Chapter 4