Grave Flowers, 1/2. Clint/Natasha and Loki/Natasha.
Title: Grave Flowers
(Sequel to In A Dead Land)
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Loki/Natasha, Clint/Natasha
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spoilers/Warnings: Follows the Marvel movieverse, so it mentions events from Avengers and IM3. For the avengerkink meme prompt in round 5: Clint and Natasha have an untraditional relationship. Neither of them will ever admit to being in love, but there's no denying that they make each other feel safe. Their time together exists in stolen moments of honesty between missions. It's not necessarily exciting, but it's always what they need.
Note: This directly follows the first story, so you will need to read that one first. I didn't think I'd be writing this one at first, but when phoenixrising06 asked if I was going to write a sequel, the first scene kind of sprang into my head fully formed.
Summary: Following orders, Natasha made Loki emotionally dependent on her. She was precious to Loki, and Clint was precious to her. It became an elaborate web of emotional ties, and she's right in the center of it all.
"So is he coming with you?"
Natasha looked over at Tony Stark, who had his back to her as he contemplated the virtual screens in front of him. Reconstruction of the newly christened Avengers Tower was continuing apace. She supposed that having his back to her meant he trusted her; he'd once commented that she must know at least twenty different ways to kill him barehanded, and she had never actually denied the comment. It was an exercise she did sometimes, to make sure her mind stayed sharp and alert.
Her current count was actually at twenty-two, depending on the location they were in.
"It helps if you actually clarify who you're talking about," Natasha replied dryly, folding her arms over her chest. Her red hair had grown out a little, and it was pulled back into a ponytail today. She was in casual wear, denim jeans and jacket over a plain T shirt emblazoned with the face of some random 80's cartoon character that Clint had insisted was absolutely adorable. She took his word for it, not knowing what a Popple was.
Tony flicked through another two screens, pulling up the schematic for the Black Widow floor. It was closer to the top of the tower, right below Clint's floor and just above Steve's. She appreciated the thoughtfulness of that location, and could see ample gym space on her floor as well as a pistol range. On the floor above, Clint had an archery range. The only way to tell the difference was the amount of baffling and insulation her range had, in order to catch the bullets and keep the lead contamination to a minimum. He would practice pistols and assault rifles on her floor, then.
Hair standing on end thanks to the grease he had accidentally worked into it, Tony didn't bother turning around, just as he hadn't when she first walked into his workshop. As Natasha watched in fascination, he ran his hands through his hair again. It was a move someone would make if frustrated, but he appeared to be fairly serene. He was the type of man that seemed to thrive with a little chaos in his life, if only because it gave him something to build.
"You know, the douchebag lying Asgardian godling that SHIELD thinks they can keep under lock and key. Because we saw how well that worked on the Helicarrier, right?" he said, enlarging the schematic on her floor. "Funny how they think they can keep him under wraps."
"Hacking their feed again?" she asked, no inflection to her tone. She should have expected that. Paranoia was part and parcel of Tony Stark's makeup, though she had to concede that it helped him get results.
"I didn't have to do anything special." Now he turned and she could see the quirk of his lips. "Their tech is still based off of Hammer's work, and Hammer's a talentless hack that couldn't code his way out of a paper bag."
Natasha shrugged, not disagreeing with the assessment; she had hacked her way into their systems many times, and the algorhythms hadn't changed appreciably between her attacks. "And?" she prompted.
"You're essentially Loki's handler."
"And?" she repeated when Tony didn't continue.
She was better at silence than he was. Tony simply didn't have the patience for those kinds of games, though he had learned some after New York. Panic attacks did that to a man, as did nearly losing both his and Pepper's lives.
"All right. So the big funky glass cage didn't hold him. Putting some kind of metal gag over his mouth didn't keep him away," Tony said, turning around fully to face Natasha. "Kinky, and I wouldn't put it past a man with one eye, you know. But he's back, and he's been back for a while now. They think they have him under lock and key. No messy waves from Loki as far as I can tell, but that doesn't mean I trust him."
"You shouldn't," Natasha agreed.
"So. I guess my question is this: Does his new jail cell get transferred here when you move in? Or does he stay over at SHIELD headquarters in midtown?"
It hadn't been discussed at her last meeting with Fury. She had been expecting to get a dressing down for allowing Loki out of his cell to visit Clint in Medical, or for someone to realize that the surveillance footage was off. Neither happened. Fury merely apologized in an oblique manner, stating that he wouldn't doubt her assessment of the Ten Rings the next time she voiced an opinion. Nine agents died in that op, and Clint was nearly number ten. It was only Loki's healing spells that had managed to bring him back fully to health. Medical staff knew they could save his life, but that didn't mean he would have been functional as a field agent again. If Clint couldn't shoot a bow or pistol, it would have shattered him, and Natasha could not allow that.
Never mind that she would have completely shattered as well.
"You're assuming I'm staying here."
"The digs are cushier than SHIELD options, and I can tell you that the security is better."
"JARVIS, of course."
"The very same," came the AI's voice overhead. "There are redundancies in power supplies and in surveillance and monitoring for all of Mr. Stark's locations and suits, to ensure the safety of all personnel involved. You can be assured, Ms. Romanoff, you will be safe should you choose to reside here."
Very formal speech patterns, in keeping with the relatively cultured tones that Tony had selected for the AI. She wondered if he had deliberately gone for the British butler sound or wanted a replacement father figure.
All right, that was low, even for her. Natasha pushed the thought away as uncharitable, because Tony was trying to be generous here. He was making an overture of friendship the only way he knew how, and she knew that about him. Family was important, and the people he adopted as his would always be important to him, no matter what they did.
"Loki is still an unknown entity," Natasha said slowly.
"That's not what SHIELD thinks."
Natasha nodded. "I'm telling you, he's an unknown entity."
Tony sucked in a breath, understanding what she wasn't saying. "All right. Threat assessment time. Is he going to be giving all of us a mind whammy if he stays here? SHIELD thinks they have him under wraps, but I'm sure he's still capable of something. I can put in three foot thick cement block walls somewhere, preferably a basement, and put in piping so I can flood the damn thing at a moment's notice. That'll take care of a threat and make sure it stays down."
If there was one thing life had taught Tony, it was how to be vicious.
"I doubt that will be necessary," Natasha replied evenly. "He has... attachments."
"Attachments," Tony repeated dubiously. "Like, hoses and belt buckles and action figure paraphernalia? Because, you know those horn things on that helmet? Smacks of someone needing to compensate for something."
"Emotional attachments," Natasha clarified, dodging the innuendo just as she used to do when she was Natalie Rushman. It really was the only way to deal with Tony sometimes. Dodge or deflect, keep pushing until you got the job done that needed doing.
"Well, it sure as hell isn't Thor," Tony said, now crossing his own arms over his chest. It seemed odd that there was no reactor there any longer. He would still need one to power his suits, but it had always seemed a part of Tony. If he didn't have the arc reactor and his suits, he was still the genius billionaire inventor that tended to piss off the press with his snark and volatile moods. Somehow, Natasha felt that the reactor had humbled him. He knew his mortality. He was reminded of the horrors of the world in a very personal way. Perhaps his panic attacks and nightmares served that same purpose now.
Everyone had their demons. It was all in how they handled them.
"No, it isn't," Natasha said in low tones. "This doesn't leave this room. It doesn't get repeated, it doesn't get joked about. This isn't something that JARVIS saves to use as blackmail material later."
Tony's lips quirked like he was about to make some kind of sarcastic quip. Perhaps the intense look on her face stopped him. Perhaps he had actually matured in the months since New York. Natasha could never really tell with him. "All right. I promise. JARVIS?"
"Duly noted, sir. Additional encryption codes will be in place, Ms. Romanoff."
Natasha nodded gratefully. "Loki's attached to me. The choice was deliberately made, and I carried out my orders."
If the sudden stillness and eye blinks were anything to go by, Natasha would guess that she had just shocked the hell out of Tony Stark.
"How did you do that?"
"You didn't see the data streams you hacked out of SHIELD databases?"
"I keep things, okay? Like a magpie," Tony replied defensively, uncrossing his arms. "You never know when you might need something. But no, I don't actually look at everything I take from them. I don't have that much time in the day, and I do actually do other things."
Natasha looked over at the Iron Man prototypes behind him. She had seen the destruction of his Malibu home on news feeds. These were indeed new models, and one looked more suited for Pepper than for Tony, but she kept her mouth shut. "Yes."
"So? How did you do it? Did you promise him anything? Send him flowers? Say something in godlike terms to make him fall in love with you?" Tony snarked.
"No," she said simply, arms still crossed over her chest. She felt small and awful suddenly, remembering the look on Loki's face when he was positioned above her. In a weak moment she had come to him, knowing he would understand what desperation and pain would feel like, the cloying moment when death seemed to be all she was capable of. He had understood it completely, as she thought he would, and he had all but bared his soul to her in that moment. "I manipulated him into it."
Tony looked at her with a measure of doubt. "I know you're good, but…"
"I isolated him and made it clear that I was in control of his captivity." And I fucked him when he needed it and I fucked him when I needed it, she thought, feeling wrung out and hollow. But Tony didn't need to know that part.
"You outwitted the trickster?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of," Tony echoed, looking at her in interest. Would he go back over the files now? Would he look at the video and see just how she manipulated him? She had fed him touch and companionship in measured doses, withdrew whatever other comforts and care when he pushed too far. Natasha had made him reliant on her whims, and somehow her own emotions had genuinely become tangled up with his.
Natasha was precious to Loki, and Clint was precious to Natasha. She wasn't sure how she felt about Loki, but she didn't want him destroying himself on her account. It wasn't precisely the same way he felt about her.
"You're not going to explain that, are you?"
"Absolutely not."
Tony nodded, expecting that. "How does Robin Hood feel about it?"
She didn't even visibly react to the name. "We deal with things as we must."
He looked at her then, really looked, but there was nothing for him to grasp hold of, no tic to let him guess what she was feeling. "But how does he feel about it?" Tony pressed after a moment. "The bastard was in his mind. He took him apart and made him a windup toy to do whatever it was that he wanted. He killed Coulson."
Natasha knew that it took a lot for Tony to even acknowledge Coulson by name rather than some kind of nickname, to own up to the hurt and pain he had felt by Loki's actions. He was staying in New York out of perversion and the need to show others he wasn't affected by the Battle of New York, even if he clearly was still dealing with the fallout. She had seen the footage from the helicarrier and then Battle repeatedly before she had taken on Loki.
"He remembers everything," Natasha said shortly. She remembered the ashen gray cast his skin had taken on around the burns after he returned from Mongolia. Silvadene had been spread over the burns, then Loki had taken on more and spread it in the shape of the limrunar repeatedly. Clint might have felt a burning flash, but it might have just blended in with the other burning pain he already felt. After the initial healing, Loki had returned to add more silvadene limrunar to his body, and a hugrunar to Clint's forehead to be sure he remained as clever as he had been before.
Clint had stared at Loki, not saying a word the entire time. Loki kept his head bent, strokes of silvadene sure and lips straight. There had been no commentary about Natasha or her emotional state, no quip about how Clint had once been bound to his service. He was bound to SHIELD now, tied to Natasha emotionally. There was some kind of unsteady alliance between the three of them, something fragile and impossible to describe with words.
"Steve thinks someone needs to keep SHIELD in line," Tony told her. Natasha didn't startle at the declaration; he had never approved her methods and wasn't pleased with Fury for giving her the assignment in the first place.
"He's honorable," Natasha murmured. She liked Steve, she really did. She didn't need him trying to be overprotective, but she understood his impulse for what it was. He saw her as a friend and comrade, and he would never ask a friend to do something underhanded. It wasn't his way, even if it was hers.
"I suppose," Tony said, a little uncertainty in his tone. "Is it going to be a problem? Is Loki coming here with you?"
She thought of Loki kneeling before her, head bowed, hair curling softly around his pale face. He only looked subservient, and she knew his mind would whir with thousands of possibilities. He didn't like being trapped within his geas, didn't want to be limited as much as he was. There was no way to undo it, no way around it, and now he was bound tightly to Natasha with emotional ties as well.
He belonged to her, even if she didn't know how to feel about that.
"I'll talk to Fury about it and find out," Natasha promised, no inflection in her tone. Tony wasn't satisfied, but it would have to do.
She would also have to talk to Clint.
***
Clint sat in the Infirmary, mind whirring and unable to stop. Natasha's fingers had been entwined with Loki's when he came to, and Steve had stood in the room watching over everyone as if he could keep the world from crashing down around them. Clint liked Steve, and they had bonded over baseball and carnival rides, having skills that were considered anachronistic in this day and age but came in handy far too often. "We can't help but be the kind of men we are," Steve had said with that aw, shucks smile that had the paparazzi swooning every time he was out in public. "This day and age needs a few more old fashioned kind of fellas, don't you think?"
Would an old fashioned kind of fella allow Natasha to fuck Loki for the sake of a mission? Would he simply step aside when he saw her getting just as tangled?
Of course, this was Natasha. There was no allowing her to do anything. She simply did what she thought was necessary, damn the consequences. That made her ruthlessly effective, and she was willing to do just about anything to get the job done. She guarded her memories and her emotions fiercely, but she was still oriented to the mission as the primary objective.
Except where he was concerned, he noticed. This was twice within six months that she had come to rescue him when SHIELD would have left him hung out to dry.
Natasha or Steve had watched over Loki's repeated sessions in the Infirmary. That had made Clint feel more comfortable with the idea, even as his skin crawled under Loki's touch. He hadn't ever touched anyone directly before, from what Clint could recall, but there was the haze of the Tesseract and the magic staff over his memories from that time. He hadn't been possessed, not the way the ghost movies always had it, but he hadn't been the one fully in control of his own actions. It hadn't been him, and that was one thing he had always been able to pride himself on before.
Loki came in, head bent and lips pressed shut, faded scars on his lips. He had known what Asgardian magicians had done to Loki, of course, and Natasha had told him about the scars and what they looked like when he had activated the geas. Clint had wanted to be gleeful at the thought of Loki writhing in pain or seizing, but the thought had made him sick instead. A part of him knew how low Loki would feel in response to that, the helpless rage he could never truly act on. Clint was sickened and jealous of the entire enterprise, especially how Natasha had bedded him repeatedly to ensure his cooperation.
He didn't have the relationship with her that junior agents gossiped about. It wasn't love, not how they talked about it. His world didn't revolve around hers and she didn't think he hung the moon and stars or whatever other bullshit they said to make it sound romantic. He needed her and felt safe around her. She opened up around him. They trusted each other with their lives and thoughts and fears, even if it wasn't always spoken of out loud, and that was far more important than some paltry emotion that could never really be captured right in words.
Clint remained silent as Loki used the same silvadene paste to paint the sigils on his chest, arms, legs and back. His skin was healed, but Loki insisted on continuing the spells to ensure that the new growth beneath the surface would not become charred. "Transference," he had said shortly to the nurse that asked about it. "I work sympathetic magic here."
"Even the dermis must be healed by now," Clint said finally, looking at Loki's bowed head as he painted a sigil on each temple.
"Perhaps," Loki replied, not meeting his eyes. The scars remained faded around his lips, and there was no sign that anything pained him. Not a lie or evasion, then.
"Why do you do this?" he asked sharply. Twice a day rituals for nearly two weeks now. Loki must have felt drained and exhausted, yet he still arrived on time and grabbed a new jar of silvadene to complete the process again.
Now Loki met his eyes. To Clint's surprise, there was no malice there, no regret. He was tired and empty, waiting to belong somewhere; he recognized that same expression from his own glances in the mirror.
"You are precious to her," he said quietly. "I would heal your wings so she could see you fly."
Clint thought about Natasha's own admission before he had left for Mongolia. You matter to me above all else. I'll walk away if you ask me to. There had been an earnest determination about her, the need to make him realize she was telling him the truth. He had needed that before leaving, and she had always tried to give him what he needed.
"And what do you feel?" Clint asked, the edge of a rasp to his voice now.
Loki had been an indifferent master, his ire only raised whenever he behaved oddly. In retrospect, that had to be messages from the Chitauri or his own illness, given how pale and sickly Loki had appeared then. Clint recalled the vague sense of wrongness around Loki then, the feeling that he had to be protected from himself as well as the rest of the world. There had been a righteousness in him when he heard Loki's plans, when he tried to help further them and give more details. That had been the Tesseract's control, but the caring had been pulled out of the depths of his own soul.
He had always rooted for the underdog, always tried to bring out the best in others.
Loki searched Clint's expression, perhaps trying to see if he was mocking him. There was nothing there but open curiosity that Clint didn't bother to hide, and Loki seemed to visibly relax. "She is as precious to me as she is to you," Loki admitted quietly.
That startled Clint a little, not expecting that. Of course, it had been Natasha's aim the entire time, but to realize it worked as well as she intended was still a shock. "She is," he said numbly, more for the sake of saying something than meaning to acknowledge it.
"Would you kill me?" Loki asked in that same quiet tone. Clint had always associated it with funerals and gravesites for some reason. This conversation wasn't dissuading him from that association at all. "I was sure that you would rend the flesh from my bones if she would let you, or let loose an arrow into my heart."
"I don't have a bow," Clint replied without thinking.
Loki paused, the corner of his lip twitching slightly. Clint wasn't sure if it was an attempt to smile or if he was truly afraid for his life. "And if you did?"
Clint licked his lips, watching Loki's long fingers paint another sigil across the healed skin of his arm. He wasn't angry, he realized suddenly. He had been so furious he nearly choked with it at first, and jealous that he would lose his place with Natasha if Loki crowded into her. But she was the same as she ever was, and their relationship hadn't changed at all. It burned that he was no more than a tool Loki saw fit to use, that he had harmed so many people he had cared about when he wasn't in control of himself. That would always pain him, but he wasn't entirely angry with Loki anymore. He was just as broken as Clint was, and Clint had never been able to destroy broken things.
"I don't think I would use it now," he said, a gentle note in his voice.
Some tension seemed to leach out of Loki's bent stance. "I appreciate that."
"You harm her, and I will."
Loki nodded. "If I do, I will let you."
Clint gave him a sharp nod of understanding, and let him work in silence. The sting of the healing spell didn't seem to burn any longer.
***
Natasha stood in the doorway to Clint's room in the Infirmary, watching him sleep. He was calmly breathing, and he was safe. He was safe. There might have been a nightmare the night before about him returning to her from Mongolia as nothing more than a burnt husk. Just standing there, her breathing fell into sync with his. Without really meaning to, she walked into the room and sat at the edge of his bed, still watching him sleep. No one was on duty outside, and someone had to keep watch, just in case.
For some reason, that made her think of Loki. There are creatures in the dark, he had told her, shadows made flesh, horrid nightmares waiting to devour you whole.
He had been talking about the various denizens of different realms that he had angered, monsters and aliens of all walks that he now hid from. It was a sentiment that she could identify with, however. Humans naturally were afraid of the dark, of the unknown, of the creeping things they couldn't defend against. Natasha would never leave Clint undefended if she could help it.
She had told him that grounding himself would keep him whole. She knew from experience that it was the only way to keep herself Natasha, rather than splintering into a different personality she had once been programmed to be. Fragments remained at times, memories of what the Red Room had done and forced her to be. Those lost lives still remained with her, pieces scattered across her past that would never be reclaimed or made whole. They weren't real, and half the time she wasn't sure if she was, either.
No, that wasn't entirely accurate. Natasha knew who she was, who she had to be and what needed to get done. She also knew there were only those rare souls that she could trust implicitly, that handful of people that she felt safe around.
Clint stirred when she laced her fingers through his. It was such a soppy move on her part, but she couldn't help it. Fury was authorizing their move into Avengers Tower at Tony's insistence, and was willing to authorize Loki's move as well.
"You told him you're his handler, and you're definitely doing more than Sitwell is on this one," he had told her flatly. "If you need more constant supervision, you'll have it. You've gotten results with him, and I'm willing to bet he won't make a move if you don't let him."
"That's what you wanted, sir," Natasha had told him evenly. As much as she enjoyed the obvious trust Fury had in her, a smaller and distant part of her hated how much she had needed that. He looked on her as something of a protégé, perhaps, though Hill was his heir apparent to run SHIELD when he saw fit to retire. He was likely grooming her to become an agent like Coulson, capable of handling just about anyone and anything. A part of her looked forward to that, craving the identity and stability. Another part wanted to disappear and never look back; that would sever any ties she had built, and it would be one less weakness that could be used against her.
But she hadn't acted on that hidden part of herself, merely nodded and murmured something noncommittal about it falling into place to benefit SHIELD. Fury didn't think anything was amiss, and closed the meeting by saying he would talk to Tony Stark.
She could imagine Loki twined about her body in a soft bed, his fingers lightly stroking her skin to reassure himself that she hadn't disappeared. She could imagine Clint in that same bed, hands tucked behind his head and a sloppy grin on his face as they recounted one adventure after another. Either scenario felt comfortable, but hands down she knew which one she could rely on to feel whole.
Clint stirred, eyes fluttering open slightly. "Tasha," he said, voice thick with sleep.
"I'm here."
His lips curled into that sweet smile no one else ever saw. "Knew you'd be here. You always got my back."
"Someone has to keep your fool head on your shoulders."
He laughed at her dry tone, pulling her down a little. Natasha shifted to lie down beside him on the hospital bed, careful not to tug on the lines and leads meant to make sure his heart beat remained steady and his oxygenation levels remained optimal. Loki may have promised he would heal Clint, but no one in the Infirmary trusted him. As much as it rankled a little, that was as it should be.
"You were right about Mongolia, you know," Clint murmured, winding his fingers through some loose tendrils of her hair. "Never thought I'd hear Fury say it."
"He was here, then?"
"Nearly apologized," Clint replied with a nod.
Natasha snorted, able to imagine that. Clint cracked a smile, letting his fingers drop to her cheek. "I had to come back. I promised you."
She let her hand fall to his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat as well as the rough plastic of the monitor leads. "You did."
He ignored the voice thick with emotion, choosing instead to pull her down for a kiss. "I actually feel fine. No one trusts it."
"They wouldn't," Natasha agreed quietly.
"I don't think he'll hurt me. You mean too much to him," Clint told her seriously.
Natasha closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his. "Yes."
"You didn't mean for that to happen, not like that," he guessed.
"No," she admitted with a sigh.
Clint wound his fingers through her hair, holding her as close as he dared. She wanted to push him away, to leave the room and deny they were even having this conversation, but that would be too much of a coward. He deserved better than that.
"He means something to you now, too," Clint continued.
"Something," Natasha hedged.
He sighed and shifted so that he could press his lips to her forehead. "Tash."
"Stark wants us all to move into Avengers Tower," she said, not wanting to hear whatever he was about to say. She didn't want to talk about Loki. She didn't want to analyze her feelings, try to put a name to what he was or what he could be, what it would mean to her relationship with Clint. She needed Clint like she needed to breathe, Loki like she needed to lie. One was essential, one was sometimes a necessary evil.
"And what did you want?"
"I'm sure Fury wants us to watch over him and the Avengers Initiative. Moving in would satisfy that requirement." Natasha kept her voice serious but fairly bland. "He's authorizing Loki's transfer if I want it."
Clint went still beneath her. "Wait. Loki?"
Natasha nodded, confirming he hadn't misheard her. "Stark would put him on my floor."
"Jesus, fuck. Just because I don't hate him or want to kill him doesn't mean I want to see him every damn day."
She remained quiet in response, simply tilting her head so that she could drag her lips across his cheekbone. Clint sighed a little, tightening his hands in her hair. "I can't forget. I can't forgive. I'm not angry, not really. I won't kill the lying, manipulative bastard, but I can't forget either."
"I would never ask you to."
"Then what are you asking me to do?"
"Tell me what you want."
I'll walk away if you ask me to. I'll let it all go, I won't stop you. The words hung between them, no need to repeat them.
"I want you," Clint rasped after a moment, one hand tight on the back of her neck as if he could pull her inside of his body to keep her safe. "I don't want to share you. I don't want to second guess what's happening between us. I want us the way we always are, nothing but truth between us." His grip tightened, and she would have bruises in the morning. "Past that, it won't matter."
"It will," she disagreed. She knew him by now, the nooks and crannies of his soul that he didn't want to recognize. "It matters that you can't forgive."
"Would you want me to?" Clint asked.
"I don't forgive the Red Room," she answered, obliquely answering his question.
"But you live with it."
"Some call it a gift that they gave me, these skill sets."
"Some would call it monstrous."
"I follow the rules when they suit me," Natasha murmured, feeling uncomfortable. It was that gaping, empty maw inside her chest opening wide again, threatening to devour her whole.
Clint seemed to sense her discomfort, shifting his touch to her shoulders, drawing her flat against him. She wouldn't dream of fucking him in the Infirmary, as much as she needed it to feel grounded, but the Avengers Tower would be a completely new place and JARVIS would keep her secrets if she asked him to.
"We'll make them suit you, Tash. We'll figure something out."
"Fury will send him over."
"We'll figure something out," Clint repeated stubbornly.
And really, there was no other option. They each needed the other to feel whole.
***
Natasha was empty and hollow, a lithe body moving almost of its own volition. She wore nothing but a clip in her hair, and she crossed the room to slither across Clint's sprawled body on the bed. It was massive, the only piece of furniture in the room, done up in eight hundred thread count sheets that were the same shade of purple of his Hawkeye costume. That was possibly Tony Stark's way of cracking another joke at his expense, but the rest of the room was cream colored walls and teak flooring, crown molding and easy access to the ductwork in case he had need to leave suddenly. For now he was simply in gray sweat suit bottoms, arms and limbs flung in every which way.
He watched her closely, but Natasha was used to that questioning gaze. He clearly wanted to ask her if she was all right, but he wouldn't. Not now, not when her approach looked smooth and steady, not when every motion spoke of confidence and cunning. He couldn't see the doubt lurking beneath her breastbone, a coiled thing ready to unfurl if she let it loose. He followed her command to get rid of the plain sweat suit bottoms, a cheeky grin on his face, and Natasha pushed aside any lingering doubts she had about what they had between them. It wasn't changed at all. Her fears were for nothing.
Clint touched her reverently as she climbed onto the bed, her skin dragging along his. She needed his touch, needed to know he was all right, her nightmares of ashes and the walking dead were not true. His hands on her skin and his cock between her legs and his tongue inside her mouth were truth. This was real, this was real, this was real.
"Natasha," he breathed against the swell of her breasts, the rough calluses of his fingers rubbing against the curve of her spine. "Natasha."
Prayer, benediction, grace. They gave each other all these things. It was so much more than love, that paltry, limited term. It couldn't apply properly to what they had.
She refused to think of Loki, of the way his hands spread her wide or the way his tongue curled into her. It was different from Clint's touch, raw and needy and desperate due to the skin hunger Loki still had at times. She refused to compare them, label her feelings or categorize them neatly. It wouldn't be fair to any of them.
Natasha rode Clint hard and fast, his fingers digging into her hips and urging her on. He was buried to the hilt inside her, obscene squelching noises the only counterpoint to their ragged breaths. She was ready to let go, to dissolve into him, to pour herself into his embrace and forget about the complex, tangled web she had woven around them. Throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes shut, she lost herself in the sensation until she flew apart.
He cradled her afterward, and she allowed it this time. "Hey. I missed this," he commented, his arms resting gently on her shoulders.
"Yeah, me too." Her voice was soft, lips quirking up into an unguarded smile. "You know it must be bad if I miss you hogging the covers."
"I do not!" he protested, laughing hard enough to shake her on his chest.
It felt good to laugh with him again, to be silly and not have to guard herself so tightly against possible threat. "Stark has good taste," she murmured, running her fingers over the fabric they were lying on. She then ran her fingers along his muscled arm. "Say whatever you like about his personality, but he knows quality."
"He invited us here, didn't he?" Clint snarked.
Natasha laughed a little, nodding. She shifted so that she could fit her chin to the curve of his shoulder, the better to breathe in the scent of him. She was surrounded by the essence of Clint, and it helped her to feel a little more real. She wasn't a fragmentary woman with piecemeal memories and clockwork emotions. For this little space of time, they could be honest and rely on each other to remain so.
"He's the kind that thinks he has to buy his friends."
"He probably used to," Clint guessed. "All that money won't buy humility, and there's always been someone after his money or his company, after all."
Snuggling closer into Clint's embrace, Natasha nodded against his shoulder. She liked the feel of his hands across her skin, feeling her, not whoever she needed to be for a job. It was nice, something she used to be wary of when she first escaped the Red Room.
Though thinking of the Red Room now made her think of Loki.
Perhaps we're all caught in this web you spun, little spider, Loki had said. There were more consequences than we ever thought possible.
She was usually good at seeing the consequences, of planning too many steps ahead. She had known that he would become reliant on her, that he would grow emotionally attached to her. That had been the point, after all. She hadn't expected to feel comfortable around him, to care anything for him. There was no way to ask now, but Natasha was sure her former handlers at the Red Room had never cared about her wellbeing, never thought of her as anything more than a programmable tool. Perhaps that was why she sometimes thought of herself as soulless. Clint was one of the few who believed otherwise, and she needed that reminder from him more than she would ever want to admit.
"Do you think it would be awkward?" Clint asked her, fingers trailing down her spine. "Living together with them, reporting back to SHIELD, Loki hanging around..."
"Probably," Natasha answered with a sigh. "They mean well, at least. They aren't looking to categorize everything we say, try to make something out of nothing. I think Tony genuinely cares about the lot of us."
"Would Loki find a way to destroy them?"
Natasha shut her eyes, feeling a weariness creep into her. So much for the sense of release and peace she had just gotten. "Finding a way and using it are two different things. If he finds one, I don't think he'll use it."
"Because he cares for you."
"Yes." She ran her fingers down his chest, tracking the smooth skin. "He needs this to work. He can't stand the isolation, either. They tried to break him on Asgard, and on some level, they might have succeeded."
"On some level?"
"He's damaged. Not completely crazy, but damaged and trying to put himself back together again. That's why he's fixated on me."
Clint's free hand was otherwise occupied stroking her back. "You don't like that, now that you see what it looks like," he guessed.
"How am I any different from what you took me away from?"
"You're asking that question, Tash. That makes you very different."
Natasha breathed out, feeling her tension bleed from her bones. "I won't be them, Clint."
"And I'll be here to remind you of that whenever you need it."
***
***
To chapter Two - Up In Flames
(Sequel to In A Dead Land)
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Loki/Natasha, Clint/Natasha
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Spoilers/Warnings: Follows the Marvel movieverse, so it mentions events from Avengers and IM3. For the avengerkink meme prompt in round 5: Clint and Natasha have an untraditional relationship. Neither of them will ever admit to being in love, but there's no denying that they make each other feel safe. Their time together exists in stolen moments of honesty between missions. It's not necessarily exciting, but it's always what they need.
Note: This directly follows the first story, so you will need to read that one first. I didn't think I'd be writing this one at first, but when phoenixrising06 asked if I was going to write a sequel, the first scene kind of sprang into my head fully formed.
Summary: Following orders, Natasha made Loki emotionally dependent on her. She was precious to Loki, and Clint was precious to her. It became an elaborate web of emotional ties, and she's right in the center of it all.
"So is he coming with you?"
Natasha looked over at Tony Stark, who had his back to her as he contemplated the virtual screens in front of him. Reconstruction of the newly christened Avengers Tower was continuing apace. She supposed that having his back to her meant he trusted her; he'd once commented that she must know at least twenty different ways to kill him barehanded, and she had never actually denied the comment. It was an exercise she did sometimes, to make sure her mind stayed sharp and alert.
Her current count was actually at twenty-two, depending on the location they were in.
"It helps if you actually clarify who you're talking about," Natasha replied dryly, folding her arms over her chest. Her red hair had grown out a little, and it was pulled back into a ponytail today. She was in casual wear, denim jeans and jacket over a plain T shirt emblazoned with the face of some random 80's cartoon character that Clint had insisted was absolutely adorable. She took his word for it, not knowing what a Popple was.
Tony flicked through another two screens, pulling up the schematic for the Black Widow floor. It was closer to the top of the tower, right below Clint's floor and just above Steve's. She appreciated the thoughtfulness of that location, and could see ample gym space on her floor as well as a pistol range. On the floor above, Clint had an archery range. The only way to tell the difference was the amount of baffling and insulation her range had, in order to catch the bullets and keep the lead contamination to a minimum. He would practice pistols and assault rifles on her floor, then.
Hair standing on end thanks to the grease he had accidentally worked into it, Tony didn't bother turning around, just as he hadn't when she first walked into his workshop. As Natasha watched in fascination, he ran his hands through his hair again. It was a move someone would make if frustrated, but he appeared to be fairly serene. He was the type of man that seemed to thrive with a little chaos in his life, if only because it gave him something to build.
"You know, the douchebag lying Asgardian godling that SHIELD thinks they can keep under lock and key. Because we saw how well that worked on the Helicarrier, right?" he said, enlarging the schematic on her floor. "Funny how they think they can keep him under wraps."
"Hacking their feed again?" she asked, no inflection to her tone. She should have expected that. Paranoia was part and parcel of Tony Stark's makeup, though she had to concede that it helped him get results.
"I didn't have to do anything special." Now he turned and she could see the quirk of his lips. "Their tech is still based off of Hammer's work, and Hammer's a talentless hack that couldn't code his way out of a paper bag."
Natasha shrugged, not disagreeing with the assessment; she had hacked her way into their systems many times, and the algorhythms hadn't changed appreciably between her attacks. "And?" she prompted.
"You're essentially Loki's handler."
"And?" she repeated when Tony didn't continue.
She was better at silence than he was. Tony simply didn't have the patience for those kinds of games, though he had learned some after New York. Panic attacks did that to a man, as did nearly losing both his and Pepper's lives.
"All right. So the big funky glass cage didn't hold him. Putting some kind of metal gag over his mouth didn't keep him away," Tony said, turning around fully to face Natasha. "Kinky, and I wouldn't put it past a man with one eye, you know. But he's back, and he's been back for a while now. They think they have him under lock and key. No messy waves from Loki as far as I can tell, but that doesn't mean I trust him."
"You shouldn't," Natasha agreed.
"So. I guess my question is this: Does his new jail cell get transferred here when you move in? Or does he stay over at SHIELD headquarters in midtown?"
It hadn't been discussed at her last meeting with Fury. She had been expecting to get a dressing down for allowing Loki out of his cell to visit Clint in Medical, or for someone to realize that the surveillance footage was off. Neither happened. Fury merely apologized in an oblique manner, stating that he wouldn't doubt her assessment of the Ten Rings the next time she voiced an opinion. Nine agents died in that op, and Clint was nearly number ten. It was only Loki's healing spells that had managed to bring him back fully to health. Medical staff knew they could save his life, but that didn't mean he would have been functional as a field agent again. If Clint couldn't shoot a bow or pistol, it would have shattered him, and Natasha could not allow that.
Never mind that she would have completely shattered as well.
"You're assuming I'm staying here."
"The digs are cushier than SHIELD options, and I can tell you that the security is better."
"JARVIS, of course."
"The very same," came the AI's voice overhead. "There are redundancies in power supplies and in surveillance and monitoring for all of Mr. Stark's locations and suits, to ensure the safety of all personnel involved. You can be assured, Ms. Romanoff, you will be safe should you choose to reside here."
Very formal speech patterns, in keeping with the relatively cultured tones that Tony had selected for the AI. She wondered if he had deliberately gone for the British butler sound or wanted a replacement father figure.
All right, that was low, even for her. Natasha pushed the thought away as uncharitable, because Tony was trying to be generous here. He was making an overture of friendship the only way he knew how, and she knew that about him. Family was important, and the people he adopted as his would always be important to him, no matter what they did.
"Loki is still an unknown entity," Natasha said slowly.
"That's not what SHIELD thinks."
Natasha nodded. "I'm telling you, he's an unknown entity."
Tony sucked in a breath, understanding what she wasn't saying. "All right. Threat assessment time. Is he going to be giving all of us a mind whammy if he stays here? SHIELD thinks they have him under wraps, but I'm sure he's still capable of something. I can put in three foot thick cement block walls somewhere, preferably a basement, and put in piping so I can flood the damn thing at a moment's notice. That'll take care of a threat and make sure it stays down."
If there was one thing life had taught Tony, it was how to be vicious.
"I doubt that will be necessary," Natasha replied evenly. "He has... attachments."
"Attachments," Tony repeated dubiously. "Like, hoses and belt buckles and action figure paraphernalia? Because, you know those horn things on that helmet? Smacks of someone needing to compensate for something."
"Emotional attachments," Natasha clarified, dodging the innuendo just as she used to do when she was Natalie Rushman. It really was the only way to deal with Tony sometimes. Dodge or deflect, keep pushing until you got the job done that needed doing.
"Well, it sure as hell isn't Thor," Tony said, now crossing his own arms over his chest. It seemed odd that there was no reactor there any longer. He would still need one to power his suits, but it had always seemed a part of Tony. If he didn't have the arc reactor and his suits, he was still the genius billionaire inventor that tended to piss off the press with his snark and volatile moods. Somehow, Natasha felt that the reactor had humbled him. He knew his mortality. He was reminded of the horrors of the world in a very personal way. Perhaps his panic attacks and nightmares served that same purpose now.
Everyone had their demons. It was all in how they handled them.
"No, it isn't," Natasha said in low tones. "This doesn't leave this room. It doesn't get repeated, it doesn't get joked about. This isn't something that JARVIS saves to use as blackmail material later."
Tony's lips quirked like he was about to make some kind of sarcastic quip. Perhaps the intense look on her face stopped him. Perhaps he had actually matured in the months since New York. Natasha could never really tell with him. "All right. I promise. JARVIS?"
"Duly noted, sir. Additional encryption codes will be in place, Ms. Romanoff."
Natasha nodded gratefully. "Loki's attached to me. The choice was deliberately made, and I carried out my orders."
If the sudden stillness and eye blinks were anything to go by, Natasha would guess that she had just shocked the hell out of Tony Stark.
"How did you do that?"
"You didn't see the data streams you hacked out of SHIELD databases?"
"I keep things, okay? Like a magpie," Tony replied defensively, uncrossing his arms. "You never know when you might need something. But no, I don't actually look at everything I take from them. I don't have that much time in the day, and I do actually do other things."
Natasha looked over at the Iron Man prototypes behind him. She had seen the destruction of his Malibu home on news feeds. These were indeed new models, and one looked more suited for Pepper than for Tony, but she kept her mouth shut. "Yes."
"So? How did you do it? Did you promise him anything? Send him flowers? Say something in godlike terms to make him fall in love with you?" Tony snarked.
"No," she said simply, arms still crossed over her chest. She felt small and awful suddenly, remembering the look on Loki's face when he was positioned above her. In a weak moment she had come to him, knowing he would understand what desperation and pain would feel like, the cloying moment when death seemed to be all she was capable of. He had understood it completely, as she thought he would, and he had all but bared his soul to her in that moment. "I manipulated him into it."
Tony looked at her with a measure of doubt. "I know you're good, but…"
"I isolated him and made it clear that I was in control of his captivity." And I fucked him when he needed it and I fucked him when I needed it, she thought, feeling wrung out and hollow. But Tony didn't need to know that part.
"You outwitted the trickster?"
"Sort of."
"Sort of," Tony echoed, looking at her in interest. Would he go back over the files now? Would he look at the video and see just how she manipulated him? She had fed him touch and companionship in measured doses, withdrew whatever other comforts and care when he pushed too far. Natasha had made him reliant on her whims, and somehow her own emotions had genuinely become tangled up with his.
Natasha was precious to Loki, and Clint was precious to Natasha. She wasn't sure how she felt about Loki, but she didn't want him destroying himself on her account. It wasn't precisely the same way he felt about her.
"You're not going to explain that, are you?"
"Absolutely not."
Tony nodded, expecting that. "How does Robin Hood feel about it?"
She didn't even visibly react to the name. "We deal with things as we must."
He looked at her then, really looked, but there was nothing for him to grasp hold of, no tic to let him guess what she was feeling. "But how does he feel about it?" Tony pressed after a moment. "The bastard was in his mind. He took him apart and made him a windup toy to do whatever it was that he wanted. He killed Coulson."
Natasha knew that it took a lot for Tony to even acknowledge Coulson by name rather than some kind of nickname, to own up to the hurt and pain he had felt by Loki's actions. He was staying in New York out of perversion and the need to show others he wasn't affected by the Battle of New York, even if he clearly was still dealing with the fallout. She had seen the footage from the helicarrier and then Battle repeatedly before she had taken on Loki.
"He remembers everything," Natasha said shortly. She remembered the ashen gray cast his skin had taken on around the burns after he returned from Mongolia. Silvadene had been spread over the burns, then Loki had taken on more and spread it in the shape of the limrunar repeatedly. Clint might have felt a burning flash, but it might have just blended in with the other burning pain he already felt. After the initial healing, Loki had returned to add more silvadene limrunar to his body, and a hugrunar to Clint's forehead to be sure he remained as clever as he had been before.
Clint had stared at Loki, not saying a word the entire time. Loki kept his head bent, strokes of silvadene sure and lips straight. There had been no commentary about Natasha or her emotional state, no quip about how Clint had once been bound to his service. He was bound to SHIELD now, tied to Natasha emotionally. There was some kind of unsteady alliance between the three of them, something fragile and impossible to describe with words.
"Steve thinks someone needs to keep SHIELD in line," Tony told her. Natasha didn't startle at the declaration; he had never approved her methods and wasn't pleased with Fury for giving her the assignment in the first place.
"He's honorable," Natasha murmured. She liked Steve, she really did. She didn't need him trying to be overprotective, but she understood his impulse for what it was. He saw her as a friend and comrade, and he would never ask a friend to do something underhanded. It wasn't his way, even if it was hers.
"I suppose," Tony said, a little uncertainty in his tone. "Is it going to be a problem? Is Loki coming here with you?"
She thought of Loki kneeling before her, head bowed, hair curling softly around his pale face. He only looked subservient, and she knew his mind would whir with thousands of possibilities. He didn't like being trapped within his geas, didn't want to be limited as much as he was. There was no way to undo it, no way around it, and now he was bound tightly to Natasha with emotional ties as well.
He belonged to her, even if she didn't know how to feel about that.
"I'll talk to Fury about it and find out," Natasha promised, no inflection in her tone. Tony wasn't satisfied, but it would have to do.
She would also have to talk to Clint.
***
Clint sat in the Infirmary, mind whirring and unable to stop. Natasha's fingers had been entwined with Loki's when he came to, and Steve had stood in the room watching over everyone as if he could keep the world from crashing down around them. Clint liked Steve, and they had bonded over baseball and carnival rides, having skills that were considered anachronistic in this day and age but came in handy far too often. "We can't help but be the kind of men we are," Steve had said with that aw, shucks smile that had the paparazzi swooning every time he was out in public. "This day and age needs a few more old fashioned kind of fellas, don't you think?"
Would an old fashioned kind of fella allow Natasha to fuck Loki for the sake of a mission? Would he simply step aside when he saw her getting just as tangled?
Of course, this was Natasha. There was no allowing her to do anything. She simply did what she thought was necessary, damn the consequences. That made her ruthlessly effective, and she was willing to do just about anything to get the job done. She guarded her memories and her emotions fiercely, but she was still oriented to the mission as the primary objective.
Except where he was concerned, he noticed. This was twice within six months that she had come to rescue him when SHIELD would have left him hung out to dry.
Natasha or Steve had watched over Loki's repeated sessions in the Infirmary. That had made Clint feel more comfortable with the idea, even as his skin crawled under Loki's touch. He hadn't ever touched anyone directly before, from what Clint could recall, but there was the haze of the Tesseract and the magic staff over his memories from that time. He hadn't been possessed, not the way the ghost movies always had it, but he hadn't been the one fully in control of his own actions. It hadn't been him, and that was one thing he had always been able to pride himself on before.
Loki came in, head bent and lips pressed shut, faded scars on his lips. He had known what Asgardian magicians had done to Loki, of course, and Natasha had told him about the scars and what they looked like when he had activated the geas. Clint had wanted to be gleeful at the thought of Loki writhing in pain or seizing, but the thought had made him sick instead. A part of him knew how low Loki would feel in response to that, the helpless rage he could never truly act on. Clint was sickened and jealous of the entire enterprise, especially how Natasha had bedded him repeatedly to ensure his cooperation.
He didn't have the relationship with her that junior agents gossiped about. It wasn't love, not how they talked about it. His world didn't revolve around hers and she didn't think he hung the moon and stars or whatever other bullshit they said to make it sound romantic. He needed her and felt safe around her. She opened up around him. They trusted each other with their lives and thoughts and fears, even if it wasn't always spoken of out loud, and that was far more important than some paltry emotion that could never really be captured right in words.
Clint remained silent as Loki used the same silvadene paste to paint the sigils on his chest, arms, legs and back. His skin was healed, but Loki insisted on continuing the spells to ensure that the new growth beneath the surface would not become charred. "Transference," he had said shortly to the nurse that asked about it. "I work sympathetic magic here."
"Even the dermis must be healed by now," Clint said finally, looking at Loki's bowed head as he painted a sigil on each temple.
"Perhaps," Loki replied, not meeting his eyes. The scars remained faded around his lips, and there was no sign that anything pained him. Not a lie or evasion, then.
"Why do you do this?" he asked sharply. Twice a day rituals for nearly two weeks now. Loki must have felt drained and exhausted, yet he still arrived on time and grabbed a new jar of silvadene to complete the process again.
Now Loki met his eyes. To Clint's surprise, there was no malice there, no regret. He was tired and empty, waiting to belong somewhere; he recognized that same expression from his own glances in the mirror.
"You are precious to her," he said quietly. "I would heal your wings so she could see you fly."
Clint thought about Natasha's own admission before he had left for Mongolia. You matter to me above all else. I'll walk away if you ask me to. There had been an earnest determination about her, the need to make him realize she was telling him the truth. He had needed that before leaving, and she had always tried to give him what he needed.
"And what do you feel?" Clint asked, the edge of a rasp to his voice now.
Loki had been an indifferent master, his ire only raised whenever he behaved oddly. In retrospect, that had to be messages from the Chitauri or his own illness, given how pale and sickly Loki had appeared then. Clint recalled the vague sense of wrongness around Loki then, the feeling that he had to be protected from himself as well as the rest of the world. There had been a righteousness in him when he heard Loki's plans, when he tried to help further them and give more details. That had been the Tesseract's control, but the caring had been pulled out of the depths of his own soul.
He had always rooted for the underdog, always tried to bring out the best in others.
Loki searched Clint's expression, perhaps trying to see if he was mocking him. There was nothing there but open curiosity that Clint didn't bother to hide, and Loki seemed to visibly relax. "She is as precious to me as she is to you," Loki admitted quietly.
That startled Clint a little, not expecting that. Of course, it had been Natasha's aim the entire time, but to realize it worked as well as she intended was still a shock. "She is," he said numbly, more for the sake of saying something than meaning to acknowledge it.
"Would you kill me?" Loki asked in that same quiet tone. Clint had always associated it with funerals and gravesites for some reason. This conversation wasn't dissuading him from that association at all. "I was sure that you would rend the flesh from my bones if she would let you, or let loose an arrow into my heart."
"I don't have a bow," Clint replied without thinking.
Loki paused, the corner of his lip twitching slightly. Clint wasn't sure if it was an attempt to smile or if he was truly afraid for his life. "And if you did?"
Clint licked his lips, watching Loki's long fingers paint another sigil across the healed skin of his arm. He wasn't angry, he realized suddenly. He had been so furious he nearly choked with it at first, and jealous that he would lose his place with Natasha if Loki crowded into her. But she was the same as she ever was, and their relationship hadn't changed at all. It burned that he was no more than a tool Loki saw fit to use, that he had harmed so many people he had cared about when he wasn't in control of himself. That would always pain him, but he wasn't entirely angry with Loki anymore. He was just as broken as Clint was, and Clint had never been able to destroy broken things.
"I don't think I would use it now," he said, a gentle note in his voice.
Some tension seemed to leach out of Loki's bent stance. "I appreciate that."
"You harm her, and I will."
Loki nodded. "If I do, I will let you."
Clint gave him a sharp nod of understanding, and let him work in silence. The sting of the healing spell didn't seem to burn any longer.
***
Natasha stood in the doorway to Clint's room in the Infirmary, watching him sleep. He was calmly breathing, and he was safe. He was safe. There might have been a nightmare the night before about him returning to her from Mongolia as nothing more than a burnt husk. Just standing there, her breathing fell into sync with his. Without really meaning to, she walked into the room and sat at the edge of his bed, still watching him sleep. No one was on duty outside, and someone had to keep watch, just in case.
For some reason, that made her think of Loki. There are creatures in the dark, he had told her, shadows made flesh, horrid nightmares waiting to devour you whole.
He had been talking about the various denizens of different realms that he had angered, monsters and aliens of all walks that he now hid from. It was a sentiment that she could identify with, however. Humans naturally were afraid of the dark, of the unknown, of the creeping things they couldn't defend against. Natasha would never leave Clint undefended if she could help it.
She had told him that grounding himself would keep him whole. She knew from experience that it was the only way to keep herself Natasha, rather than splintering into a different personality she had once been programmed to be. Fragments remained at times, memories of what the Red Room had done and forced her to be. Those lost lives still remained with her, pieces scattered across her past that would never be reclaimed or made whole. They weren't real, and half the time she wasn't sure if she was, either.
No, that wasn't entirely accurate. Natasha knew who she was, who she had to be and what needed to get done. She also knew there were only those rare souls that she could trust implicitly, that handful of people that she felt safe around.
Clint stirred when she laced her fingers through his. It was such a soppy move on her part, but she couldn't help it. Fury was authorizing their move into Avengers Tower at Tony's insistence, and was willing to authorize Loki's move as well.
"You told him you're his handler, and you're definitely doing more than Sitwell is on this one," he had told her flatly. "If you need more constant supervision, you'll have it. You've gotten results with him, and I'm willing to bet he won't make a move if you don't let him."
"That's what you wanted, sir," Natasha had told him evenly. As much as she enjoyed the obvious trust Fury had in her, a smaller and distant part of her hated how much she had needed that. He looked on her as something of a protégé, perhaps, though Hill was his heir apparent to run SHIELD when he saw fit to retire. He was likely grooming her to become an agent like Coulson, capable of handling just about anyone and anything. A part of her looked forward to that, craving the identity and stability. Another part wanted to disappear and never look back; that would sever any ties she had built, and it would be one less weakness that could be used against her.
But she hadn't acted on that hidden part of herself, merely nodded and murmured something noncommittal about it falling into place to benefit SHIELD. Fury didn't think anything was amiss, and closed the meeting by saying he would talk to Tony Stark.
She could imagine Loki twined about her body in a soft bed, his fingers lightly stroking her skin to reassure himself that she hadn't disappeared. She could imagine Clint in that same bed, hands tucked behind his head and a sloppy grin on his face as they recounted one adventure after another. Either scenario felt comfortable, but hands down she knew which one she could rely on to feel whole.
Clint stirred, eyes fluttering open slightly. "Tasha," he said, voice thick with sleep.
"I'm here."
His lips curled into that sweet smile no one else ever saw. "Knew you'd be here. You always got my back."
"Someone has to keep your fool head on your shoulders."
He laughed at her dry tone, pulling her down a little. Natasha shifted to lie down beside him on the hospital bed, careful not to tug on the lines and leads meant to make sure his heart beat remained steady and his oxygenation levels remained optimal. Loki may have promised he would heal Clint, but no one in the Infirmary trusted him. As much as it rankled a little, that was as it should be.
"You were right about Mongolia, you know," Clint murmured, winding his fingers through some loose tendrils of her hair. "Never thought I'd hear Fury say it."
"He was here, then?"
"Nearly apologized," Clint replied with a nod.
Natasha snorted, able to imagine that. Clint cracked a smile, letting his fingers drop to her cheek. "I had to come back. I promised you."
She let her hand fall to his chest, feeling the steady heartbeat as well as the rough plastic of the monitor leads. "You did."
He ignored the voice thick with emotion, choosing instead to pull her down for a kiss. "I actually feel fine. No one trusts it."
"They wouldn't," Natasha agreed quietly.
"I don't think he'll hurt me. You mean too much to him," Clint told her seriously.
Natasha closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against his. "Yes."
"You didn't mean for that to happen, not like that," he guessed.
"No," she admitted with a sigh.
Clint wound his fingers through her hair, holding her as close as he dared. She wanted to push him away, to leave the room and deny they were even having this conversation, but that would be too much of a coward. He deserved better than that.
"He means something to you now, too," Clint continued.
"Something," Natasha hedged.
He sighed and shifted so that he could press his lips to her forehead. "Tash."
"Stark wants us all to move into Avengers Tower," she said, not wanting to hear whatever he was about to say. She didn't want to talk about Loki. She didn't want to analyze her feelings, try to put a name to what he was or what he could be, what it would mean to her relationship with Clint. She needed Clint like she needed to breathe, Loki like she needed to lie. One was essential, one was sometimes a necessary evil.
"And what did you want?"
"I'm sure Fury wants us to watch over him and the Avengers Initiative. Moving in would satisfy that requirement." Natasha kept her voice serious but fairly bland. "He's authorizing Loki's transfer if I want it."
Clint went still beneath her. "Wait. Loki?"
Natasha nodded, confirming he hadn't misheard her. "Stark would put him on my floor."
"Jesus, fuck. Just because I don't hate him or want to kill him doesn't mean I want to see him every damn day."
She remained quiet in response, simply tilting her head so that she could drag her lips across his cheekbone. Clint sighed a little, tightening his hands in her hair. "I can't forget. I can't forgive. I'm not angry, not really. I won't kill the lying, manipulative bastard, but I can't forget either."
"I would never ask you to."
"Then what are you asking me to do?"
"Tell me what you want."
I'll walk away if you ask me to. I'll let it all go, I won't stop you. The words hung between them, no need to repeat them.
"I want you," Clint rasped after a moment, one hand tight on the back of her neck as if he could pull her inside of his body to keep her safe. "I don't want to share you. I don't want to second guess what's happening between us. I want us the way we always are, nothing but truth between us." His grip tightened, and she would have bruises in the morning. "Past that, it won't matter."
"It will," she disagreed. She knew him by now, the nooks and crannies of his soul that he didn't want to recognize. "It matters that you can't forgive."
"Would you want me to?" Clint asked.
"I don't forgive the Red Room," she answered, obliquely answering his question.
"But you live with it."
"Some call it a gift that they gave me, these skill sets."
"Some would call it monstrous."
"I follow the rules when they suit me," Natasha murmured, feeling uncomfortable. It was that gaping, empty maw inside her chest opening wide again, threatening to devour her whole.
Clint seemed to sense her discomfort, shifting his touch to her shoulders, drawing her flat against him. She wouldn't dream of fucking him in the Infirmary, as much as she needed it to feel grounded, but the Avengers Tower would be a completely new place and JARVIS would keep her secrets if she asked him to.
"We'll make them suit you, Tash. We'll figure something out."
"Fury will send him over."
"We'll figure something out," Clint repeated stubbornly.
And really, there was no other option. They each needed the other to feel whole.
***
Natasha was empty and hollow, a lithe body moving almost of its own volition. She wore nothing but a clip in her hair, and she crossed the room to slither across Clint's sprawled body on the bed. It was massive, the only piece of furniture in the room, done up in eight hundred thread count sheets that were the same shade of purple of his Hawkeye costume. That was possibly Tony Stark's way of cracking another joke at his expense, but the rest of the room was cream colored walls and teak flooring, crown molding and easy access to the ductwork in case he had need to leave suddenly. For now he was simply in gray sweat suit bottoms, arms and limbs flung in every which way.
He watched her closely, but Natasha was used to that questioning gaze. He clearly wanted to ask her if she was all right, but he wouldn't. Not now, not when her approach looked smooth and steady, not when every motion spoke of confidence and cunning. He couldn't see the doubt lurking beneath her breastbone, a coiled thing ready to unfurl if she let it loose. He followed her command to get rid of the plain sweat suit bottoms, a cheeky grin on his face, and Natasha pushed aside any lingering doubts she had about what they had between them. It wasn't changed at all. Her fears were for nothing.
Clint touched her reverently as she climbed onto the bed, her skin dragging along his. She needed his touch, needed to know he was all right, her nightmares of ashes and the walking dead were not true. His hands on her skin and his cock between her legs and his tongue inside her mouth were truth. This was real, this was real, this was real.
"Natasha," he breathed against the swell of her breasts, the rough calluses of his fingers rubbing against the curve of her spine. "Natasha."
Prayer, benediction, grace. They gave each other all these things. It was so much more than love, that paltry, limited term. It couldn't apply properly to what they had.
She refused to think of Loki, of the way his hands spread her wide or the way his tongue curled into her. It was different from Clint's touch, raw and needy and desperate due to the skin hunger Loki still had at times. She refused to compare them, label her feelings or categorize them neatly. It wouldn't be fair to any of them.
Natasha rode Clint hard and fast, his fingers digging into her hips and urging her on. He was buried to the hilt inside her, obscene squelching noises the only counterpoint to their ragged breaths. She was ready to let go, to dissolve into him, to pour herself into his embrace and forget about the complex, tangled web she had woven around them. Throwing her head back and squeezing her eyes shut, she lost herself in the sensation until she flew apart.
He cradled her afterward, and she allowed it this time. "Hey. I missed this," he commented, his arms resting gently on her shoulders.
"Yeah, me too." Her voice was soft, lips quirking up into an unguarded smile. "You know it must be bad if I miss you hogging the covers."
"I do not!" he protested, laughing hard enough to shake her on his chest.
It felt good to laugh with him again, to be silly and not have to guard herself so tightly against possible threat. "Stark has good taste," she murmured, running her fingers over the fabric they were lying on. She then ran her fingers along his muscled arm. "Say whatever you like about his personality, but he knows quality."
"He invited us here, didn't he?" Clint snarked.
Natasha laughed a little, nodding. She shifted so that she could fit her chin to the curve of his shoulder, the better to breathe in the scent of him. She was surrounded by the essence of Clint, and it helped her to feel a little more real. She wasn't a fragmentary woman with piecemeal memories and clockwork emotions. For this little space of time, they could be honest and rely on each other to remain so.
"He's the kind that thinks he has to buy his friends."
"He probably used to," Clint guessed. "All that money won't buy humility, and there's always been someone after his money or his company, after all."
Snuggling closer into Clint's embrace, Natasha nodded against his shoulder. She liked the feel of his hands across her skin, feeling her, not whoever she needed to be for a job. It was nice, something she used to be wary of when she first escaped the Red Room.
Though thinking of the Red Room now made her think of Loki.
Perhaps we're all caught in this web you spun, little spider, Loki had said. There were more consequences than we ever thought possible.
She was usually good at seeing the consequences, of planning too many steps ahead. She had known that he would become reliant on her, that he would grow emotionally attached to her. That had been the point, after all. She hadn't expected to feel comfortable around him, to care anything for him. There was no way to ask now, but Natasha was sure her former handlers at the Red Room had never cared about her wellbeing, never thought of her as anything more than a programmable tool. Perhaps that was why she sometimes thought of herself as soulless. Clint was one of the few who believed otherwise, and she needed that reminder from him more than she would ever want to admit.
"Do you think it would be awkward?" Clint asked her, fingers trailing down her spine. "Living together with them, reporting back to SHIELD, Loki hanging around..."
"Probably," Natasha answered with a sigh. "They mean well, at least. They aren't looking to categorize everything we say, try to make something out of nothing. I think Tony genuinely cares about the lot of us."
"Would Loki find a way to destroy them?"
Natasha shut her eyes, feeling a weariness creep into her. So much for the sense of release and peace she had just gotten. "Finding a way and using it are two different things. If he finds one, I don't think he'll use it."
"Because he cares for you."
"Yes." She ran her fingers down his chest, tracking the smooth skin. "He needs this to work. He can't stand the isolation, either. They tried to break him on Asgard, and on some level, they might have succeeded."
"On some level?"
"He's damaged. Not completely crazy, but damaged and trying to put himself back together again. That's why he's fixated on me."
Clint's free hand was otherwise occupied stroking her back. "You don't like that, now that you see what it looks like," he guessed.
"How am I any different from what you took me away from?"
"You're asking that question, Tash. That makes you very different."
Natasha breathed out, feeling her tension bleed from her bones. "I won't be them, Clint."
"And I'll be here to remind you of that whenever you need it."
***
***
To chapter Two - Up In Flames