FIC: Night and Day (for rollingplains) - PG-13
Title: Night and Day
(jewel thief/noir AU)
Author: workerbee73 and bob5fic
(Organizers' Note: This was an emergency pinch hit, and we okayed co-authoring so everything could get done on time. :) )
A Gift For: rollingplains
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/Clint Barton
Summary/Prompt Used: Take one infamous jewel thief, one jaded bounty hunter, add a side of banter, a complicated past and a generous helping of UST and what do you get? According to Phil Coulson, the world’s biggest headache.
Warnings: Canon levels of violence, mild language, non-explicit sexual references, vague references to past abuse.
Author's Notes: This fic was written to fill the prompts of "anything UST + finally get together." Which made me think of banter. Which made me think of classic films. Which made me think of screwball comedies and noir. Which led to this. Title comes from the song, "Night and Day," lyrics and music by Cole Porter.
Banner by daxcat79
Natasha made her way into the gardens undetected. Her dress was low cut and designed to distract, but she could melt into the scenery when she wanted. Slipping her dagger out of its sheath, she sliced off most of the skirt and kicked off her shoes, scaling the side of the house in seconds; there was no moon tonight.
She felt her way around the master bedroom until the hollow in the wall revealed itself, a hidden safe behind a hidden panel. Quick and nimble fingers began their work; it took less than two minutes.
It opened with a click and that’s when she felt it-a shift in the air. She didn’t turn around.
“You're late,” she said.
“And you're reckless.”
His voice was just as she remembered it-lazy and dangerous; a rumble of thunder on a hot summer night. Three years gone by and still she could hear him; in the space of a heartbeat, in the dark of her dreams.
“I've been reckless seven times in a row. What's a girl gotta do to get your attention?”
“Oh, I dunno,” he said. “Stick around for breakfast?”
She didn’t miss the bitterness. “Still nursing old wounds?”
“More like a recurring illness.”
She turned around. “I need a favor.”
“Here it comes.” His face was cast in shadow; she could barely make him out.
“It really does pain me to ask you this-”
“-not as much as it pains me to turn you down.”
“Don't you at least want to hear my offer?”
“I think we do best with minimal conversation.”
“I left him,” she said. “For good this time. I walked away, Clint. And I need your help.”
There followed only silence.
***
There was a souvenir on his desk; a snow dome with the words in Hungarian, Welcome to Budapest. He let the artificial flakes drift amongst the murky liquid. What have you gotten yourself into now, Red? Why should I believe you this time?
There was no honesty between them. There was nothing between them at all. Just a lot of empty words that cut sharper than knives and penetrated deeper than bullets. I might be the one with perfect aim but you know how to hit your mark.
He pushed the unopened mail to one side and poured himself a glass of the brown stuff. There was money to be made. There were stolen goods to be recouped. You got yourself one hell of a shopping list. She was like a magpie; a jackdaw. You like things bright and shiny, expensive and decidedly not yours. Why do you pester me when I am none of these? I name my migraines after you. You’re a medical condition now.
The bourbon burned a warm trail down the back of his throat into the pit of his stomach. This is where you sit. It curled around her. A professional nuisance. An amateur human.
You do a good impression of one. I like the performance you put in but you’re incapable of change.
She wouldn’t have left him unless she could no longer get what she wanted, unless she felt threatened. I don’t like to deal with you when you’re backed into a corner. I got scratched too many times before. I know how sharp your teeth are.
He picked up the snow dome and studied the flakes. You got a wicked sense of humor, Red, but your timing always leaves something to be desired.
The door swung open. “You used to have better coffee.”
“I used to have someone who could actually make coffee.”
Phil Coulson stepped into the office. “Where’d she go anyway? Maureen, Loreen-”
“Darlene,” Clint said. “Des Moines. That was over a year ago.”
“And you still haven’t hired someone?”
“That would take money.”
Phil took a seat opposite him, tossing a copy of that day’s paper onto his desk. “Market’s been up lately.”
Clint read the headline. The Black Widow Strikes Again.
“Seven times in six weeks,” Phil said. “She’s been busy.”
He tossed the paper back, scratching tiredly at the side of his face. “Does this visit have a point or do you just enjoy my company?”
“The people I work for are nervous. They don’t like writing checks. They’d much prefer to have those jewels returned.”
“And you think I can help?”
“I know you can. Don’t tell me she hasn’t said hello.”
They held each other’s gaze. Clint had a damn good poker face, but then so did Phil.
“Think about it,” Phil said. “Your usual fee plus ten percent. And that’s not all. You bring her in and we’ll pay ten times that much. The reward would set you for years.”
“So now you’re hunting people?”
“My employers are tired of her interference. Our profit margins do a lot better when she’s out of the picture. And a man with your … skill set is just the right person for the job.”
He took a last swig of coffee and a long glance around the room. “You’re a smart guy, Barton. Now’s not the time to play dumb.”
His footsteps echoed down the hall. Clint waited until he saw him exit the building and disappear into the crowded street below before taking out the envelope tucked in his pocket. Inside were two pieces of paper, one of them a handwritten note:
In case you change your mind.
You owe me, Red. You got one hell of a debt to repay.
***
He stopped at the entrance to the box.
She was alone, the light low but enough to catch the pale expanse of skin that constituted her exposed back. From his vantage point, it appeared as if she wasn’t wearing anything. Her hair was pinned up and she was seemingly naked but for a familiar diamond necklace. She wasn’t lying, even if she had told him a mere fraction of the truth.
“Do you plan on staring all night?” she said.
“What for? I’ve already seen everything.”
He came to stand behind her.
She looked up at him, beautiful and alluring, like the world’s deadliest snake. “See something you like?” Her smile was a red lipstick warning.
He stretched one hand over her throat, fingers testing the softness of her skin.
“Something I want,” he said. His other hand reached behind and unclasped the necklace. It slipped down towards her chest, where he caught it in his palm. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
He could feel her pulse race beneath the pad of his thumb. Are you scared or turned on, Red? Why am I here?
He pocketed the jewels and took his seat next to her. The lights dimmed to black and the orchestra started. She reached for her binoculars just to have something to do. Those hands need to be kept occupied, he thought, preferably in a set of cuffs with no key.
“You hate the opera,” she said. All statement and no question. You think you have me figured out? I’m simpler than you could conceive.
The rich pay for the privilege of lamenting the world in a language they don’t understand. Clint knew music and he knew all about pain. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. Right now its name was tuxedo.
“You live to punish me, Red.”
“It’s been three years.”
“That must have been hard on you.”
He felt her hand along his thigh. “For both of us,” she said.
He snatched her hand away, her wrist crushed in his grip. “I’ve gone soft,” he said.
“You sure about that?”
There were footsteps outside and the murmur of voices followed by the distinctive click of a safety being released. He stood up and dragged her into the shadows.
“Care to explain the chaperone?”
“You’re it,” she said, hands clutching at his shirt.
He watched as she leaned forward, mouth parting and eyes half closed. You don’t telegraph a kiss unless you’re counting on an audience. Right on cue, the curtain drew back and two armed men appeared.
“I’m not that kind of girl,” he said, the heat of her breath palpable against his lips. He pulled her to the side and took out the first man he saw, Natasha making quick work of the second.
Clint peered into the corridor and saw several more approaching.
“Friends of yours?”
“Ivan’s,” she said.
I’m just the poor schmo.
He grabbed her by the wrist again and headed for the nearest exit, leading her up the stairwell behind him until they reached the opera house roof. He forced her to the edge as she peered at the dark stretch of river below.
“What are you doing?”
He scooped her up into his arms. “Time to sink or swim, princess,” he said and dropped her over the side.
He followed straight after. He could feel more than see her splashing beside him. Voices could be heard coming from above then the sound of gunshots. He reached for her arm and pulled her under, shielding her body with his own as the bullets pierced the water.
She tugged free, latching onto his wrist and guiding him deeper. They swam for several moments then resurfaced further upstream, gasping for breath but under the cover of a bridge.
***
“Here.”
He dumped a plate of food in front of her. The smell of cooking permeated the walls of the small apartment from the Chinese takeout downstairs. This was one of many supposed safe houses he had spread across the city. She looked down at the food disdainfully.
“Mr. Chiang’s finest dumplings and chicken chow mein,” he said, sitting next to her. She felt the sofa strain and squeak with the sudden movement. “Don’t worry.” He picked up his own plate and began eating with splintered chopsticks. “I haven’t laced it with anything.”
They’d barely exchanged two words since nearly drowning in the river-moving silently through deserted streets until they were sure they’d lost their tail-but he wasn’t exactly hard to read. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself, glancing at her dress where it hung over a nearby chair. It was ruined. She chewed on her bottom lip as she continued to shiver.
“Let me guess.” He wouldn’t even look at her. “The hypothermia’s the only thing keeping you here.”
“No,” she said, voice unsteady. “That’s not it.”
“So spill.”
She remained silent. He let his plate clatter violently against the table, head snapping to the side as his eyes bored into hers.
“That wasn’t a request.” She couldn’t stop shaking. “Don’t try and pull the wounded puppy routine; it’s unbecoming. Puppies deserve more dignity than that.” She wanted to respond but the words wouldn’t come out. He remained unmoved. “I didn’t think you were capable of feeling the cold.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” she managed finally. He didn’t understand; he never had. It made her crazier than anything else on earth.
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said. His smile was cruel.
“I am cold.”
“I know.”
“Clint...”
“No more bullshit, Natasha.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.
She looked away. “I made a mess of things,” she said. It was hard to admit the truth when she felt so exposed.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Ivan... he doesn’t give things up easily.” He never had. “So I stole something. It was the only way I could get free.”
“That’s a moving story; truly, Red. Tales of self inflicted misery really tug on the old heartstrings.”
“He’ll kill me,” she said. You know this. Why won’t you believe me? You don’t know how much I need your help.
“So what is this? A suicide pact?”
“I thought you might...”
“What? After how we left things the last time?”
“I was trying to protect you!”
“Protect me?” He laughed, the sound cutting like broken glass against her skin. “The only person you know how to protect is yourself.”
The apartment felt claustrophobic; the bed in the corner loomed before her like a mockery. She watched as he got up and walked to the other side of the room.
“I had my reasons,” she said.
“You always do.” He was staring out the window, the lights from the street casting dangerous shadows across his face. “And now I have mine. I won’t give you the chance to screw me over again.”
She drew up her legs and curled herself into the corner of the couch. Two tigers stuck in the same cage. You have no idea, she thought. You never did.
You’re the only thing I ever wanted that I couldn’t have.
***
Three years earlier
She pulled into the motel parking lot. It was the last stop for the next two hundred miles and an hour’s drive outside the city limits. A flashing neon VACANCY sign swung loosely in the wind. Only one room was occupied, a light visible through bent slatted blinds. Natasha exited the car and headed for the door.
She knocked and the door opened; she walked past him without looking up. He closed and bolted it behind her. Soon her body was pressed up against it.
He sighed against her mouth as her hands found his hair. She had forgotten this taste, this sensation of want; of being wanted without possession, of being consumed but in a different way.
“Natasha.”
She held fast.
“Tash...”
Don’t speak, she thought. Please don’t speak.
She clung to him with all her strength, mouth moving and moaning desperately against his. Clint. He swallowed his name.
He pulled her flush against him; they made quick work of his shirt and then hers. They had never been exposed to the other like this and for a moment all they could do was stare. You’re perfect, she thought, hands reaching for him greedily, his head bending down as lips laid claim to her breasts. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her off the floor.
“You sure?” he said. He looked almost scared.
“Yes.” She kissed him again.
Transported to the bed, the world faded into a haze of color and sound, touch and taste. His mouth brought her to the edge and then sent her spiraling-flying, falling, completely free.
She stroked his face as they lay together afterward. Only you, she thought. Only you.
He rolled over until he was propped up on one elbow, his free hand tangling in her hair. He kissed her lips and cheeks and the tip of her nose.
“Tasha,” he said. His face grew serious. “Come with me.”
“I can't.”
“I've set up everything. You don’t have to worry. We can start over. You'll be safe.”
“Not from him.”
“Yes, you will. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He closed his eyes then opened them again. “I love you.”
“I-”
“Tasha, please.”
His kiss stole her breath and robbed her blind.
“Yes,” she said as he moved over her and inside of her. “Yes,” she cried out, again and again.
It was only later that her lie was revealed. Only in the dark; in the heat of a summer’s night, as he lay in a dreamless sleep and she quietly dressed and gathered her things. It could never be. There was no escape. There was no changing who she was.
She couldn’t bear to kiss him goodbye, couldn’t bring herself to leave a note. A coward to the end.
She pulled the door shut behind her. She didn’t look back.
***
“Ask me,” she said.
They’d both been silent for some time. He turned from the window.
“Ask me why I need your help.”
She looked so young and beautiful still, hair wet and skin pale, eyes bright and defiant. You know how to play the game, don’t you, Red? All in and nothing to lose. Let’s see your hand. I hope you’re not bluffing.
“I’ll tell you everything. Just ask me, please.”
“Why now?” he said.
“I made a deal. Fury’s people are going to take out Ivan if I can give them what they want. And I already have it. I just need you to...” She closed her eyes. “I can’t do this on my own.”
Playing one crime syndicate off against another. It was a gutsy move. He was almost impressed.
“So why me?” Why must you do this to me?
He watched the internal struggle play out across her face, her eyes reopening as she forced her gaze to meet his.
“You’re the only one I trust,” she said. “You can have the rest of the jewels I stole; you can have whatever you want. I just need your help.”
He moved to the bed and picked up the top blanket then came to stand in front of her. She was insubstantial; he thought she might disintegrate in his hands. He couldn’t touch her. There was no way of knowing what his reaction would be. I could break you in two, he thought.
I might never let you go.
He guided her to lie back on the sofa, tucking the blanket around her. “You’ll be safe here,” he said. “At least for tonight. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“And in the morning?” she said.
He took a step back, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Just get some sleep, Red.”
***
Clint waited in the shadows, hidden high above in the scaffolding of the big top. He shouldn't be here. A wise man would have run a long time ago.
He never claimed to be smart.
She appeared to him like an apparition, hair vivid like a bleeding sun, with eyes made of green glass. Her face was a portrait in black and white; a broken pierrot shedding a single tear. She looked like a doll, dressed in a lace corset and pale leotard. Ivory skin and dancer’s shoes. She belonged to a different world.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she said.
It sounded like an existential question.
He nodded from behind his mask, clad head to toe in black. She had hidden the goods in a circus. Always a flair for the dramatic. You like to put on a show, Red. You always did.
She reached for his hand. “Clint?”
He couldn’t speak. He didn’t move.
“I need to tell you something. Just in case...”
“What are you talking about?” His voice didn’t sound like his own.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “For everything.” She pulled back his mask and held his face between her hands. “I never wanted to let you go.”
She kissed him with black cupid’s bow lips as the world flooded with light. He was lost and blind. Music was playing. Was this a dream?
“Natasha-”
She smiled, moving to the edge of the scaffolding. “Wish me luck.”
Break a leg.
She picked up the bar of the trapeze and jumped down.
He watched her fall, watched her swing through the air, every eye in the crowd fixed on her. The perfect decoy; the perfect cover.
They know I'm coming, she had told him. That's why I need you.
He kept to the shadows and circled to the other side of the tent before climbing back down. Weaving his way through the backstage, he came to an ornate gilded cage. It was just as she had described it; home to a lioness. There really was no end to her love of metaphor.
Clint knelt down and felt along the corner. Luckily for him, its occupant was busy at work. There was a knot in the wood; he pushed and felt a catch release, then a panel opened up. Inside was a velvet bag and a small black box. Six stolen necklaces and an unnamed device that he would rather be left in the dark on. He pocketed both and made his way toward the exit. They’d agreed on a meeting point outside.
Something caught his attention. The tent was full of motion and humming with energy but this was different. This pulled against the current, ominous and predatory. He stopped. A pattern began to emerge. There were four men, no five, making their way through the stands and down to the ground. He traced their steps until he saw what they were following. Or rather, who.
Shit.
A flash of red and white passed through the exit; they were close behind. He took off running, sprinting out of the tent just in time to see Natasha put up one helluva fight. She was injected with something, dropping like a rag doll as they loaded her into the back of a waiting van. Tires screeched; he was too late.
She was gone. Again.
***
The light was too bright, the room too cold. Natasha blinked awake. Whatever she’d been given was still lingering in her system, leaving her sluggish and dizzy. She fought to concentrate.
Metal walls, fluorescent lights, echoes in the distance. A warehouse.
Ropes around her hands and feet.
“It’s been a long time, Natashenka.”
She knew that voice, had known it since she was sixteen years old, a penniless orphan with no hope and no future. It was a voice she desperately wanted to forget.
I’ll give you a better life, he had promised. I’ll teach you how to survive.
In exchange for what?
Everything.
Her eyes focused on the man standing over her. Dark haired and dark eyed, a handsome face with an ugly smile. The devil himself.
“Not long enough,” she said.
“I was so sad to find you gone in Capri. So sad. Burned down the hotel in my grief.”
“So I heard.”
“You didn’t really think you could leave, did you?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Ivan shook his head and made a disappointed sound. “And now you’ve gone and dragged Barton into this; I thought I’d taught you better. You were smart enough to walk away before. It was the only thing that kept him alive.” He caught her look of surprise. “What-you think I didn’t know?”
She kept her face impassive. “Is there a point to this?”
“You have something I want,” he said. “Tell me where it is, and I might let him live.”
At last, she smiled. “It’s gone and he’s gone and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. You lose, Ivan.”
The force of the blow snapped her head sideways. It was going to be a long night.
***
Clint entered the club.
This was Fury’s territory, an independent nation within a city, with rules of its own (smoking ban not included). He inhaled the thick streams of tobacco, felt the heat of too many bodies and the stench of too many drinks coat his skin; the blues was dirty here. A lone guitarist played with blood dripping from his fingers. It was the soul of the man, even if it bore no relation to his infamous reputation.
He weaved his way through tables and patrons, pushing waitresses aside as they offered to show him a good time. No distractions. He only had one date in mind.
The back corner was kept separate by a large velvet rope and a wall of hired muscle. Weapons were not concealed. There was no reason to be shy.
Clint stepped up to the thickest and most well armed of the bunch. “I need to speak with your boss.”
The man surveyed him with a sneer. “You got an appointment?”
Clint took him down with a well placed elbow to the throat and a boot to the side of his knee. There was enough of a break in security for him to catch a glimpse of Fury’s table. Clint only had one shot. He pulled the object from his pocket and sent it hurtling overhead. People dove for cover as someone yelled grenade! It landed right beside Fury’s glass. His good eye didn’t blink.
Clint was pushed to the floor and kicked in the ribs, his arms and legs restrained by at least half a dozen men. He felt the familiar pressure of a gun barrel to the back of his head, certain that he knew the caliber. He was wondering how neat the entrance wound would be when just as suddenly he was released.
He was dragged to his feet and pushed through the crowd, Fury’s table already vacated, except for the man himself. He was looking down at the image on Clint’s cellphone.
“I believe you wanted to speak with me.” He kicked out a chair, tossing the phone back to Clint. “Well, speak.”
Clint caught the phone with one hand. He didn’t sit down. “If you want what I've got then you help me take Petrovitch down tonight. Otherwise, enjoy the picture.”
This time he made sure that the phone landed in his drink.
***
She awoke with a start; it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. Was it hours or days? It was dark outside, and dark inside too-the power had gone out. She heard a noise in the distance, then again. Gunfire. It sounded from all directions; the building was under attack.
Head throbbing, body bruised and bleeding, she rolled onto the floor, struggling against the ropes that still bound her hands and feet. It was no use. Was this it, then? Was this the end? She couldn’t run from her sins forever. It was only a matter of time before they caught up.
There were shouts now, more gunfire. She crouched down into a corner.
I’m so sorry, Clint. I wish things were different. At least you’re safe now, away from all of this. It was her only comfort.
There were footsteps on the stairs. She dragged herself into the space behind the door, pressing herself to the wall as it slammed open next to her. She took her chance in the pause that followed, landing a two-footed kick into the wood and forcing it back against whoever was trying to get in. An arm whipped out and blocked the door before it could do any damage. Natasha grabbed the nearest object-a steel rod-and prepared to defend herself. Then she caught sight of the intruder.
The metal clamored to the floor.
***
What have they done to you, Red? What has he done to you?
Clint lowered his weapon.
I’m late; I’m sorry. I should have never let them take you. I didn’t kill enough of them. Let me go back. I’ll kill them all.
Stop looking at me like that and tell me you’re okay.
“Clint?”
He tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, kneeling by her side and gathering her to him. She was still in her harlequin get up, makeup smudged and corset torn, legs bare and dirty. He touched her face, that single black tear. Don’t cry, Natasha. Don’t be sad anymore.
"You came back for me."
Her voice was disbelieving. He let his thumb trace her mouth, let himself kiss her lips and taste her blood and feel her breath on his face. He pulled a knife from its sheath and made short work of the ropes that held her.
You broke my heart, Red, but you kept it anyway. What choice did I have? What did you do with the pieces? Were the edges all jagged and sharp?
“Can you walk?” He picked her up; it was a rhetorical question. “We don't have much time.”
He carried her down the stairwell, her arms held fast about his neck, the sounds of Fury’s men laying waste to the place still audible. Down and through another corridor, the gunfire faded. Nearly there, he thought. There was an emergency exit up ahead.
He reached the doorway and heard the slide of a hammer, the click of a safety, his arms tensing more tightly around her.
Time had run out.
***
Ivan’s voice reached her ears like an echo from the past. “I think you have something that belongs to me.”
You don’t cry out in pain. Why is that?
I don’t know how.
My brave Natashenka.
She had never felt brave.
Clint’s arms were like iron bars as he held her, her fingers digging into the solid flesh of his shoulders. “She was never yours,” he said.
I don’t belong to anyone.
“I’m not talking about the girl.”
Clint didn’t turn around, setting her down on her feet and keeping her between his body and the door.
“Let her go,” Clint said, “and I’ll give you what you want.”
Natasha looked at him in horror. “What are you doing?” she whispered. I’m not worth all of this. She pleaded with her eyes; his mind was set in stone.
“You’d do that for her?” There was mocking in Ivan’s tone. “If I’d have known, I would have killed you both a lot sooner.”
Her hands slipped beneath his jacket. His body was so warm. I’m not giving this up. I’m not letting you do this.
Clint reached behind her, his hand gripping the door handle. There was nothing to say. Every word was in his gaze.
No.
She felt the outline of his gun at the small of his back.
I’m not leaving you here.
“You’re free to go, Natashenka.”
“Don’t call me that!”
The door opened behind her with a rush of cool air. One gunshot. Then another.
She looked over Clint’s shoulder as Ivan crumpled to the ground.
Natasha heard a cry; it was her own, yet there was no pain. Clint’s gun was heavy in her fingers, slipping from her grip and clattering to the floor. She felt Clint’s weight press against her; there was blood on his shoulder.
"Oh god." What have I done?
“I'm okay,” he said. “Is he dead?”
She had never killed before.
“Tasha?”
“Yes,” she said.
He lifted a hand to the side of her face. “Good.” He was smiling. “Thank you.”
She hugged him close and he winced in pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
His good arm around her, she led him outside, squinting against the early morning light.
They didn’t look back.
***
Six weeks later
“You’re a hard man to find.”
Clint continued to take in the main sail, ignoring the ache in his arm as he wrapped the length of rope around it. The afternoon had turned cloudy; it looked like rain. He could feel the change in humidity against his skin, shirt forgotten and bandage sticky as he worked to loosen his shoulder.
“You’re lucky I wanted to be found,” he said.
Phil looked like the consummate island tourist, complete with a pair of Bermuda shorts and his perennial aviator sunglasses. “Never took you for a sailor,” he said, lowering them just enough to survey the weathered hull.
“Beats four walls and a desk.”
“It’s a miracle you made it into harbor.”
The look Clint gave him was anything but amused. “You need something?” he said, climbing down from the deck.
Coulson pushed his glasses back up his nose. “My people have no complaints. I’m just curious is all.”
“Careful, Phil.”
“The Black Widow’s still at large and the money’s still on the table. Bring her in and you could buy yourself a real boat.”
“It’s a generous offer.” He folded his arms. “But she isn’t going to be a problem anymore.”
“You sure about that?”
They studied each other carefully.
“When has my word not been good?” Clint said.
Phil gave the barest hint of a smile and glanced at the boat. “I hope she holds true.”
“Goodbye, Phil.”
Phil gave a mock salute. “Bon voyage, Barton.”
Clint watched as he walked back down the dock.
“I thought he’d never leave.”
He turned to see Natasha emerge from below deck, complete with a huge straw hat and a tiny red bikini.
“He’s just covering his bases.”
He climbed back aboard to join her, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Did you promise them I’d be good?” she said.
“Well, princess, that’d be lying.” His arms about her waist, he toyed with the ties at the back of her bikini. “And I could never lie to Phil.”
She was laughing but he saw the hesitant look in her eyes, hair windswept and skin salted dry from the sea. This was far from the life that either of them had been used to.
“You could change your mind, you know,” she said. One hand reached up to stroke his stubbled jaw. “I’d understand.”
He caught her fingers in his weathered palm, kissing them slowly then kissing her. “It’s not going to change,” he said, her body pressed against the length of his. “Not for me.”
“Not for me either.”
He grinned, kissing her again. “Looks like we’re in total agreement. Things could get uninteresting.”
The boat rocked and the heavens opened but they were anchored to each other and that was enough to hold them steady.
Natasha reached behind her and pulled loose the straps of her top, letting the fabric slip down between them.
“You sure about that?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
Her legs hitched about his waist, Clint took her back below deck. There was a storm coming and there always would be. It was the woman he held in his arms, smiling as he laid her down beneath him, the bandage on his shoulder, the unknown future they had fought for that was theirs and theirs alone.
When had things ever been uninteresting?
“With you, Red? Never.”
(jewel thief/noir AU)
Author: workerbee73 and bob5fic
(Organizers' Note: This was an emergency pinch hit, and we okayed co-authoring so everything could get done on time. :) )
A Gift For: rollingplains
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/Clint Barton
Summary/Prompt Used: Take one infamous jewel thief, one jaded bounty hunter, add a side of banter, a complicated past and a generous helping of UST and what do you get? According to Phil Coulson, the world’s biggest headache.
Warnings: Canon levels of violence, mild language, non-explicit sexual references, vague references to past abuse.
Author's Notes: This fic was written to fill the prompts of "anything UST + finally get together." Which made me think of banter. Which made me think of classic films. Which made me think of screwball comedies and noir. Which led to this. Title comes from the song, "Night and Day," lyrics and music by Cole Porter.
Banner by daxcat79
Natasha made her way into the gardens undetected. Her dress was low cut and designed to distract, but she could melt into the scenery when she wanted. Slipping her dagger out of its sheath, she sliced off most of the skirt and kicked off her shoes, scaling the side of the house in seconds; there was no moon tonight.
She felt her way around the master bedroom until the hollow in the wall revealed itself, a hidden safe behind a hidden panel. Quick and nimble fingers began their work; it took less than two minutes.
It opened with a click and that’s when she felt it-a shift in the air. She didn’t turn around.
“You're late,” she said.
“And you're reckless.”
His voice was just as she remembered it-lazy and dangerous; a rumble of thunder on a hot summer night. Three years gone by and still she could hear him; in the space of a heartbeat, in the dark of her dreams.
“I've been reckless seven times in a row. What's a girl gotta do to get your attention?”
“Oh, I dunno,” he said. “Stick around for breakfast?”
She didn’t miss the bitterness. “Still nursing old wounds?”
“More like a recurring illness.”
She turned around. “I need a favor.”
“Here it comes.” His face was cast in shadow; she could barely make him out.
“It really does pain me to ask you this-”
“-not as much as it pains me to turn you down.”
“Don't you at least want to hear my offer?”
“I think we do best with minimal conversation.”
“I left him,” she said. “For good this time. I walked away, Clint. And I need your help.”
There followed only silence.
***
There was a souvenir on his desk; a snow dome with the words in Hungarian, Welcome to Budapest. He let the artificial flakes drift amongst the murky liquid. What have you gotten yourself into now, Red? Why should I believe you this time?
There was no honesty between them. There was nothing between them at all. Just a lot of empty words that cut sharper than knives and penetrated deeper than bullets. I might be the one with perfect aim but you know how to hit your mark.
He pushed the unopened mail to one side and poured himself a glass of the brown stuff. There was money to be made. There were stolen goods to be recouped. You got yourself one hell of a shopping list. She was like a magpie; a jackdaw. You like things bright and shiny, expensive and decidedly not yours. Why do you pester me when I am none of these? I name my migraines after you. You’re a medical condition now.
The bourbon burned a warm trail down the back of his throat into the pit of his stomach. This is where you sit. It curled around her. A professional nuisance. An amateur human.
You do a good impression of one. I like the performance you put in but you’re incapable of change.
She wouldn’t have left him unless she could no longer get what she wanted, unless she felt threatened. I don’t like to deal with you when you’re backed into a corner. I got scratched too many times before. I know how sharp your teeth are.
He picked up the snow dome and studied the flakes. You got a wicked sense of humor, Red, but your timing always leaves something to be desired.
The door swung open. “You used to have better coffee.”
“I used to have someone who could actually make coffee.”
Phil Coulson stepped into the office. “Where’d she go anyway? Maureen, Loreen-”
“Darlene,” Clint said. “Des Moines. That was over a year ago.”
“And you still haven’t hired someone?”
“That would take money.”
Phil took a seat opposite him, tossing a copy of that day’s paper onto his desk. “Market’s been up lately.”
Clint read the headline. The Black Widow Strikes Again.
“Seven times in six weeks,” Phil said. “She’s been busy.”
He tossed the paper back, scratching tiredly at the side of his face. “Does this visit have a point or do you just enjoy my company?”
“The people I work for are nervous. They don’t like writing checks. They’d much prefer to have those jewels returned.”
“And you think I can help?”
“I know you can. Don’t tell me she hasn’t said hello.”
They held each other’s gaze. Clint had a damn good poker face, but then so did Phil.
“Think about it,” Phil said. “Your usual fee plus ten percent. And that’s not all. You bring her in and we’ll pay ten times that much. The reward would set you for years.”
“So now you’re hunting people?”
“My employers are tired of her interference. Our profit margins do a lot better when she’s out of the picture. And a man with your … skill set is just the right person for the job.”
He took a last swig of coffee and a long glance around the room. “You’re a smart guy, Barton. Now’s not the time to play dumb.”
His footsteps echoed down the hall. Clint waited until he saw him exit the building and disappear into the crowded street below before taking out the envelope tucked in his pocket. Inside were two pieces of paper, one of them a handwritten note:
In case you change your mind.
You owe me, Red. You got one hell of a debt to repay.
***
He stopped at the entrance to the box.
She was alone, the light low but enough to catch the pale expanse of skin that constituted her exposed back. From his vantage point, it appeared as if she wasn’t wearing anything. Her hair was pinned up and she was seemingly naked but for a familiar diamond necklace. She wasn’t lying, even if she had told him a mere fraction of the truth.
“Do you plan on staring all night?” she said.
“What for? I’ve already seen everything.”
He came to stand behind her.
She looked up at him, beautiful and alluring, like the world’s deadliest snake. “See something you like?” Her smile was a red lipstick warning.
He stretched one hand over her throat, fingers testing the softness of her skin.
“Something I want,” he said. His other hand reached behind and unclasped the necklace. It slipped down towards her chest, where he caught it in his palm. “Doesn’t mean I like it.”
He could feel her pulse race beneath the pad of his thumb. Are you scared or turned on, Red? Why am I here?
He pocketed the jewels and took his seat next to her. The lights dimmed to black and the orchestra started. She reached for her binoculars just to have something to do. Those hands need to be kept occupied, he thought, preferably in a set of cuffs with no key.
“You hate the opera,” she said. All statement and no question. You think you have me figured out? I’m simpler than you could conceive.
The rich pay for the privilege of lamenting the world in a language they don’t understand. Clint knew music and he knew all about pain. He tugged at the collar of his shirt. Right now its name was tuxedo.
“You live to punish me, Red.”
“It’s been three years.”
“That must have been hard on you.”
He felt her hand along his thigh. “For both of us,” she said.
He snatched her hand away, her wrist crushed in his grip. “I’ve gone soft,” he said.
“You sure about that?”
There were footsteps outside and the murmur of voices followed by the distinctive click of a safety being released. He stood up and dragged her into the shadows.
“Care to explain the chaperone?”
“You’re it,” she said, hands clutching at his shirt.
He watched as she leaned forward, mouth parting and eyes half closed. You don’t telegraph a kiss unless you’re counting on an audience. Right on cue, the curtain drew back and two armed men appeared.
“I’m not that kind of girl,” he said, the heat of her breath palpable against his lips. He pulled her to the side and took out the first man he saw, Natasha making quick work of the second.
Clint peered into the corridor and saw several more approaching.
“Friends of yours?”
“Ivan’s,” she said.
I’m just the poor schmo.
He grabbed her by the wrist again and headed for the nearest exit, leading her up the stairwell behind him until they reached the opera house roof. He forced her to the edge as she peered at the dark stretch of river below.
“What are you doing?”
He scooped her up into his arms. “Time to sink or swim, princess,” he said and dropped her over the side.
He followed straight after. He could feel more than see her splashing beside him. Voices could be heard coming from above then the sound of gunshots. He reached for her arm and pulled her under, shielding her body with his own as the bullets pierced the water.
She tugged free, latching onto his wrist and guiding him deeper. They swam for several moments then resurfaced further upstream, gasping for breath but under the cover of a bridge.
***
“Here.”
He dumped a plate of food in front of her. The smell of cooking permeated the walls of the small apartment from the Chinese takeout downstairs. This was one of many supposed safe houses he had spread across the city. She looked down at the food disdainfully.
“Mr. Chiang’s finest dumplings and chicken chow mein,” he said, sitting next to her. She felt the sofa strain and squeak with the sudden movement. “Don’t worry.” He picked up his own plate and began eating with splintered chopsticks. “I haven’t laced it with anything.”
They’d barely exchanged two words since nearly drowning in the river-moving silently through deserted streets until they were sure they’d lost their tail-but he wasn’t exactly hard to read. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself, glancing at her dress where it hung over a nearby chair. It was ruined. She chewed on her bottom lip as she continued to shiver.
“Let me guess.” He wouldn’t even look at her. “The hypothermia’s the only thing keeping you here.”
“No,” she said, voice unsteady. “That’s not it.”
“So spill.”
She remained silent. He let his plate clatter violently against the table, head snapping to the side as his eyes bored into hers.
“That wasn’t a request.” She couldn’t stop shaking. “Don’t try and pull the wounded puppy routine; it’s unbecoming. Puppies deserve more dignity than that.” She wanted to respond but the words wouldn’t come out. He remained unmoved. “I didn’t think you were capable of feeling the cold.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” she managed finally. He didn’t understand; he never had. It made her crazier than anything else on earth.
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he said. His smile was cruel.
“I am cold.”
“I know.”
“Clint...”
“No more bullshit, Natasha.” He wasn’t smiling anymore.
She looked away. “I made a mess of things,” she said. It was hard to admit the truth when she felt so exposed.
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Ivan... he doesn’t give things up easily.” He never had. “So I stole something. It was the only way I could get free.”
“That’s a moving story; truly, Red. Tales of self inflicted misery really tug on the old heartstrings.”
“He’ll kill me,” she said. You know this. Why won’t you believe me? You don’t know how much I need your help.
“So what is this? A suicide pact?”
“I thought you might...”
“What? After how we left things the last time?”
“I was trying to protect you!”
“Protect me?” He laughed, the sound cutting like broken glass against her skin. “The only person you know how to protect is yourself.”
The apartment felt claustrophobic; the bed in the corner loomed before her like a mockery. She watched as he got up and walked to the other side of the room.
“I had my reasons,” she said.
“You always do.” He was staring out the window, the lights from the street casting dangerous shadows across his face. “And now I have mine. I won’t give you the chance to screw me over again.”
She drew up her legs and curled herself into the corner of the couch. Two tigers stuck in the same cage. You have no idea, she thought. You never did.
You’re the only thing I ever wanted that I couldn’t have.
***
Three years earlier
She pulled into the motel parking lot. It was the last stop for the next two hundred miles and an hour’s drive outside the city limits. A flashing neon VACANCY sign swung loosely in the wind. Only one room was occupied, a light visible through bent slatted blinds. Natasha exited the car and headed for the door.
She knocked and the door opened; she walked past him without looking up. He closed and bolted it behind her. Soon her body was pressed up against it.
He sighed against her mouth as her hands found his hair. She had forgotten this taste, this sensation of want; of being wanted without possession, of being consumed but in a different way.
“Natasha.”
She held fast.
“Tash...”
Don’t speak, she thought. Please don’t speak.
She clung to him with all her strength, mouth moving and moaning desperately against his. Clint. He swallowed his name.
He pulled her flush against him; they made quick work of his shirt and then hers. They had never been exposed to the other like this and for a moment all they could do was stare. You’re perfect, she thought, hands reaching for him greedily, his head bending down as lips laid claim to her breasts. She wrapped her arms around his neck as he lifted her off the floor.
“You sure?” he said. He looked almost scared.
“Yes.” She kissed him again.
Transported to the bed, the world faded into a haze of color and sound, touch and taste. His mouth brought her to the edge and then sent her spiraling-flying, falling, completely free.
She stroked his face as they lay together afterward. Only you, she thought. Only you.
He rolled over until he was propped up on one elbow, his free hand tangling in her hair. He kissed her lips and cheeks and the tip of her nose.
“Tasha,” he said. His face grew serious. “Come with me.”
“I can't.”
“I've set up everything. You don’t have to worry. We can start over. You'll be safe.”
“Not from him.”
“Yes, you will. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He closed his eyes then opened them again. “I love you.”
“I-”
“Tasha, please.”
His kiss stole her breath and robbed her blind.
“Yes,” she said as he moved over her and inside of her. “Yes,” she cried out, again and again.
It was only later that her lie was revealed. Only in the dark; in the heat of a summer’s night, as he lay in a dreamless sleep and she quietly dressed and gathered her things. It could never be. There was no escape. There was no changing who she was.
She couldn’t bear to kiss him goodbye, couldn’t bring herself to leave a note. A coward to the end.
She pulled the door shut behind her. She didn’t look back.
***
“Ask me,” she said.
They’d both been silent for some time. He turned from the window.
“Ask me why I need your help.”
She looked so young and beautiful still, hair wet and skin pale, eyes bright and defiant. You know how to play the game, don’t you, Red? All in and nothing to lose. Let’s see your hand. I hope you’re not bluffing.
“I’ll tell you everything. Just ask me, please.”
“Why now?” he said.
“I made a deal. Fury’s people are going to take out Ivan if I can give them what they want. And I already have it. I just need you to...” She closed her eyes. “I can’t do this on my own.”
Playing one crime syndicate off against another. It was a gutsy move. He was almost impressed.
“So why me?” Why must you do this to me?
He watched the internal struggle play out across her face, her eyes reopening as she forced her gaze to meet his.
“You’re the only one I trust,” she said. “You can have the rest of the jewels I stole; you can have whatever you want. I just need your help.”
He moved to the bed and picked up the top blanket then came to stand in front of her. She was insubstantial; he thought she might disintegrate in his hands. He couldn’t touch her. There was no way of knowing what his reaction would be. I could break you in two, he thought.
I might never let you go.
He guided her to lie back on the sofa, tucking the blanket around her. “You’ll be safe here,” he said. “At least for tonight. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“And in the morning?” she said.
He took a step back, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Just get some sleep, Red.”
***
Clint waited in the shadows, hidden high above in the scaffolding of the big top. He shouldn't be here. A wise man would have run a long time ago.
He never claimed to be smart.
She appeared to him like an apparition, hair vivid like a bleeding sun, with eyes made of green glass. Her face was a portrait in black and white; a broken pierrot shedding a single tear. She looked like a doll, dressed in a lace corset and pale leotard. Ivory skin and dancer’s shoes. She belonged to a different world.
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” she said.
It sounded like an existential question.
He nodded from behind his mask, clad head to toe in black. She had hidden the goods in a circus. Always a flair for the dramatic. You like to put on a show, Red. You always did.
She reached for his hand. “Clint?”
He couldn’t speak. He didn’t move.
“I need to tell you something. Just in case...”
“What are you talking about?” His voice didn’t sound like his own.
“I'm sorry,” she said. “For everything.” She pulled back his mask and held his face between her hands. “I never wanted to let you go.”
She kissed him with black cupid’s bow lips as the world flooded with light. He was lost and blind. Music was playing. Was this a dream?
“Natasha-”
She smiled, moving to the edge of the scaffolding. “Wish me luck.”
Break a leg.
She picked up the bar of the trapeze and jumped down.
He watched her fall, watched her swing through the air, every eye in the crowd fixed on her. The perfect decoy; the perfect cover.
They know I'm coming, she had told him. That's why I need you.
He kept to the shadows and circled to the other side of the tent before climbing back down. Weaving his way through the backstage, he came to an ornate gilded cage. It was just as she had described it; home to a lioness. There really was no end to her love of metaphor.
Clint knelt down and felt along the corner. Luckily for him, its occupant was busy at work. There was a knot in the wood; he pushed and felt a catch release, then a panel opened up. Inside was a velvet bag and a small black box. Six stolen necklaces and an unnamed device that he would rather be left in the dark on. He pocketed both and made his way toward the exit. They’d agreed on a meeting point outside.
Something caught his attention. The tent was full of motion and humming with energy but this was different. This pulled against the current, ominous and predatory. He stopped. A pattern began to emerge. There were four men, no five, making their way through the stands and down to the ground. He traced their steps until he saw what they were following. Or rather, who.
Shit.
A flash of red and white passed through the exit; they were close behind. He took off running, sprinting out of the tent just in time to see Natasha put up one helluva fight. She was injected with something, dropping like a rag doll as they loaded her into the back of a waiting van. Tires screeched; he was too late.
She was gone. Again.
***
The light was too bright, the room too cold. Natasha blinked awake. Whatever she’d been given was still lingering in her system, leaving her sluggish and dizzy. She fought to concentrate.
Metal walls, fluorescent lights, echoes in the distance. A warehouse.
Ropes around her hands and feet.
“It’s been a long time, Natashenka.”
She knew that voice, had known it since she was sixteen years old, a penniless orphan with no hope and no future. It was a voice she desperately wanted to forget.
I’ll give you a better life, he had promised. I’ll teach you how to survive.
In exchange for what?
Everything.
Her eyes focused on the man standing over her. Dark haired and dark eyed, a handsome face with an ugly smile. The devil himself.
“Not long enough,” she said.
“I was so sad to find you gone in Capri. So sad. Burned down the hotel in my grief.”
“So I heard.”
“You didn’t really think you could leave, did you?”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying.”
Ivan shook his head and made a disappointed sound. “And now you’ve gone and dragged Barton into this; I thought I’d taught you better. You were smart enough to walk away before. It was the only thing that kept him alive.” He caught her look of surprise. “What-you think I didn’t know?”
She kept her face impassive. “Is there a point to this?”
“You have something I want,” he said. “Tell me where it is, and I might let him live.”
At last, she smiled. “It’s gone and he’s gone and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. You lose, Ivan.”
The force of the blow snapped her head sideways. It was going to be a long night.
***
Clint entered the club.
This was Fury’s territory, an independent nation within a city, with rules of its own (smoking ban not included). He inhaled the thick streams of tobacco, felt the heat of too many bodies and the stench of too many drinks coat his skin; the blues was dirty here. A lone guitarist played with blood dripping from his fingers. It was the soul of the man, even if it bore no relation to his infamous reputation.
He weaved his way through tables and patrons, pushing waitresses aside as they offered to show him a good time. No distractions. He only had one date in mind.
The back corner was kept separate by a large velvet rope and a wall of hired muscle. Weapons were not concealed. There was no reason to be shy.
Clint stepped up to the thickest and most well armed of the bunch. “I need to speak with your boss.”
The man surveyed him with a sneer. “You got an appointment?”
Clint took him down with a well placed elbow to the throat and a boot to the side of his knee. There was enough of a break in security for him to catch a glimpse of Fury’s table. Clint only had one shot. He pulled the object from his pocket and sent it hurtling overhead. People dove for cover as someone yelled grenade! It landed right beside Fury’s glass. His good eye didn’t blink.
Clint was pushed to the floor and kicked in the ribs, his arms and legs restrained by at least half a dozen men. He felt the familiar pressure of a gun barrel to the back of his head, certain that he knew the caliber. He was wondering how neat the entrance wound would be when just as suddenly he was released.
He was dragged to his feet and pushed through the crowd, Fury’s table already vacated, except for the man himself. He was looking down at the image on Clint’s cellphone.
“I believe you wanted to speak with me.” He kicked out a chair, tossing the phone back to Clint. “Well, speak.”
Clint caught the phone with one hand. He didn’t sit down. “If you want what I've got then you help me take Petrovitch down tonight. Otherwise, enjoy the picture.”
This time he made sure that the phone landed in his drink.
***
She awoke with a start; it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. Was it hours or days? It was dark outside, and dark inside too-the power had gone out. She heard a noise in the distance, then again. Gunfire. It sounded from all directions; the building was under attack.
Head throbbing, body bruised and bleeding, she rolled onto the floor, struggling against the ropes that still bound her hands and feet. It was no use. Was this it, then? Was this the end? She couldn’t run from her sins forever. It was only a matter of time before they caught up.
There were shouts now, more gunfire. She crouched down into a corner.
I’m so sorry, Clint. I wish things were different. At least you’re safe now, away from all of this. It was her only comfort.
There were footsteps on the stairs. She dragged herself into the space behind the door, pressing herself to the wall as it slammed open next to her. She took her chance in the pause that followed, landing a two-footed kick into the wood and forcing it back against whoever was trying to get in. An arm whipped out and blocked the door before it could do any damage. Natasha grabbed the nearest object-a steel rod-and prepared to defend herself. Then she caught sight of the intruder.
The metal clamored to the floor.
***
What have they done to you, Red? What has he done to you?
Clint lowered his weapon.
I’m late; I’m sorry. I should have never let them take you. I didn’t kill enough of them. Let me go back. I’ll kill them all.
Stop looking at me like that and tell me you’re okay.
“Clint?”
He tucked his gun into the back of his waistband, kneeling by her side and gathering her to him. She was still in her harlequin get up, makeup smudged and corset torn, legs bare and dirty. He touched her face, that single black tear. Don’t cry, Natasha. Don’t be sad anymore.
"You came back for me."
Her voice was disbelieving. He let his thumb trace her mouth, let himself kiss her lips and taste her blood and feel her breath on his face. He pulled a knife from its sheath and made short work of the ropes that held her.
You broke my heart, Red, but you kept it anyway. What choice did I have? What did you do with the pieces? Were the edges all jagged and sharp?
“Can you walk?” He picked her up; it was a rhetorical question. “We don't have much time.”
He carried her down the stairwell, her arms held fast about his neck, the sounds of Fury’s men laying waste to the place still audible. Down and through another corridor, the gunfire faded. Nearly there, he thought. There was an emergency exit up ahead.
He reached the doorway and heard the slide of a hammer, the click of a safety, his arms tensing more tightly around her.
Time had run out.
***
Ivan’s voice reached her ears like an echo from the past. “I think you have something that belongs to me.”
You don’t cry out in pain. Why is that?
I don’t know how.
My brave Natashenka.
She had never felt brave.
Clint’s arms were like iron bars as he held her, her fingers digging into the solid flesh of his shoulders. “She was never yours,” he said.
I don’t belong to anyone.
“I’m not talking about the girl.”
Clint didn’t turn around, setting her down on her feet and keeping her between his body and the door.
“Let her go,” Clint said, “and I’ll give you what you want.”
Natasha looked at him in horror. “What are you doing?” she whispered. I’m not worth all of this. She pleaded with her eyes; his mind was set in stone.
“You’d do that for her?” There was mocking in Ivan’s tone. “If I’d have known, I would have killed you both a lot sooner.”
Her hands slipped beneath his jacket. His body was so warm. I’m not giving this up. I’m not letting you do this.
Clint reached behind her, his hand gripping the door handle. There was nothing to say. Every word was in his gaze.
No.
She felt the outline of his gun at the small of his back.
I’m not leaving you here.
“You’re free to go, Natashenka.”
“Don’t call me that!”
The door opened behind her with a rush of cool air. One gunshot. Then another.
She looked over Clint’s shoulder as Ivan crumpled to the ground.
Natasha heard a cry; it was her own, yet there was no pain. Clint’s gun was heavy in her fingers, slipping from her grip and clattering to the floor. She felt Clint’s weight press against her; there was blood on his shoulder.
"Oh god." What have I done?
“I'm okay,” he said. “Is he dead?”
She had never killed before.
“Tasha?”
“Yes,” she said.
He lifted a hand to the side of her face. “Good.” He was smiling. “Thank you.”
She hugged him close and he winced in pain. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
His good arm around her, she led him outside, squinting against the early morning light.
They didn’t look back.
***
Six weeks later
“You’re a hard man to find.”
Clint continued to take in the main sail, ignoring the ache in his arm as he wrapped the length of rope around it. The afternoon had turned cloudy; it looked like rain. He could feel the change in humidity against his skin, shirt forgotten and bandage sticky as he worked to loosen his shoulder.
“You’re lucky I wanted to be found,” he said.
Phil looked like the consummate island tourist, complete with a pair of Bermuda shorts and his perennial aviator sunglasses. “Never took you for a sailor,” he said, lowering them just enough to survey the weathered hull.
“Beats four walls and a desk.”
“It’s a miracle you made it into harbor.”
The look Clint gave him was anything but amused. “You need something?” he said, climbing down from the deck.
Coulson pushed his glasses back up his nose. “My people have no complaints. I’m just curious is all.”
“Careful, Phil.”
“The Black Widow’s still at large and the money’s still on the table. Bring her in and you could buy yourself a real boat.”
“It’s a generous offer.” He folded his arms. “But she isn’t going to be a problem anymore.”
“You sure about that?”
They studied each other carefully.
“When has my word not been good?” Clint said.
Phil gave the barest hint of a smile and glanced at the boat. “I hope she holds true.”
“Goodbye, Phil.”
Phil gave a mock salute. “Bon voyage, Barton.”
Clint watched as he walked back down the dock.
“I thought he’d never leave.”
He turned to see Natasha emerge from below deck, complete with a huge straw hat and a tiny red bikini.
“He’s just covering his bases.”
He climbed back aboard to join her, her arms wrapping around his neck. “Did you promise them I’d be good?” she said.
“Well, princess, that’d be lying.” His arms about her waist, he toyed with the ties at the back of her bikini. “And I could never lie to Phil.”
She was laughing but he saw the hesitant look in her eyes, hair windswept and skin salted dry from the sea. This was far from the life that either of them had been used to.
“You could change your mind, you know,” she said. One hand reached up to stroke his stubbled jaw. “I’d understand.”
He caught her fingers in his weathered palm, kissing them slowly then kissing her. “It’s not going to change,” he said, her body pressed against the length of his. “Not for me.”
“Not for me either.”
He grinned, kissing her again. “Looks like we’re in total agreement. Things could get uninteresting.”
The boat rocked and the heavens opened but they were anchored to each other and that was enough to hold them steady.
Natasha reached behind her and pulled loose the straps of her top, letting the fabric slip down between them.
“You sure about that?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
Her legs hitched about his waist, Clint took her back below deck. There was a storm coming and there always would be. It was the woman he held in his arms, smiling as he laid her down beneath him, the bandage on his shoulder, the unknown future they had fought for that was theirs and theirs alone.
When had things ever been uninteresting?
“With you, Red? Never.”