lake of shadows

07- i forgot that you existed

He stood at the door frame, overlooking her limp body lying on the bed. He anxiously tugged at his now longer hair. He took the hair tie he'd stolen from her things and looped it back into a small bun. Ever since he'd come out of his hulkish form, his body had been changing rapidly. His beard, eyebrows, leg hair, all of it had grown an unacceptable amount very quickly. It had also grayed more than he remembered it. He could only guess his human form was making up for the lost time. It'd taken him hours to tame everything back, but Loki coaxed him into keeping his mane long.

Her face was pale and her eyes looked swollen when they were closed. Every breath was shaky. Just as his head began drifting to worse assumptions, a gentle hand grazed his shoulder. He looked down to see Ally's brown-hazel eyes looking up to him.

"She's going to be fine, Dr. Banner. You came to the right place." Her voice was husky.

He nodded with a pained smile.

She made her way past him to lay a hand on her head. A soft smile appeared on the girl's face as she observed Natasha's cheeks flush. She ran her sparkling purple and yellow power over her body to check for any discrepancies.

Still nothing. Her wounds had healed nicely, but she still hadn't come to. It had been a week since the car sent an SOS message to Shield and Clint had come out of retirement. He'd been the first person Fury called, knowing he would get there fastest. When he arrived at the scene, Natasha's bloody body had been strewn on the grass. The owner of the other car was nowhere to be found. When they'd gotten a medical jet to her, there had been too much blood loss. She barely had a pulse. Until Bruce heard of the accident. Fury had called to tell him she'd died. But he'd immediately thought of the young girl with the angular face and familiar presence. The jet had never flown faster.

The minute Ally left the room, he sat on the cushy bay window and wondered what the heck he was doing.

***

The next morning, Clint stirred awake on Ally's couch, very comfortable if he had to say so. Ally had insisted he take her bed, but he refused. He eyed the empty couch next to him and wandered down the hall. He quietly turned the doorknob to see Bruce asleep on the windowsill. He chuckled at the doctor's long hair and contemplated ending him for leaving her like that. But instead, he went to the kitchen for coffee.

No, the vodka he spied in her cabinet last night.

"A little early for that?"

He jumped at the voice and turned to see Ally standing in the kitchen. He asked himself how he'd not heard her enter, but settled on blaming his hearing aid.

"Under different circumstances, yes," he grumbled as he turned to face her.

"Only one glass," she questioned as she made her way over to the cabinet to get another. The two went to sit at the kitchen table, under the dim light.

"Why do you care," Clint asked pointedly as he sipped.

She hesitated.

"Well, when someone brings a dying person to my doorstep, I'm not going to turn them away."

"But she's not just someone to you? Is she? "

Ally's face turned to something grave. Something far too old shone in her eyes. 

Her tone deepened as she leaned forward on the table. "Agent Barton. Hawkeye." She strung out the word Hawkeye in an almost musical tone. "What are you implying?" Her masked accent was faltering. Slightly.

He read her tone and rested his head on his wrists. "Cut the bull."

She challenged his stare with a sweet smile. "Whatever do you mean?" Something flashed in her eyes that he couldn't quite pin.

He saw her young face tense, wondering if she noticed he was doing the same.

"I know, Alina."

Gotcha.

She opened her mouth to answer him, but no words came out. She tried again. Still nothing.

"She talked about you all the time," Clint continued, leaning back to pick at his short nails. "And from what she told me, you're dead. So who are you?"

He felt his cheeks flush with anger as he forced his eyes to meet hers.

"How did you know," was all she managed to get out.

"I didn't." She buried her face in her hands, long dark hair spilling over her shoulders. "Until you came in a minute ago. It all clicked. You look... No."

He paused their voices swelling in his head. His throat lightly bobbed.

"You sound just like her. But that doesn't answer my question." He leaned back in his chair. "Who are you?"

***

Bruce hadn't known he was that tired until he woke up to his neck cramping, his book strewn across his chest. Apparently sleeping on a bay window is not nearly as comfortable as they make it seem on TV. He sat up and gazed out of the window, watching as the light blue waves turned white as they crashed and rolled over the sand. It was so hypnotizing he almost didn't hear a soft--

"Bruce?" Her voice was hoarse, direct. A command more than a question.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Natasha," he said as he stood.

"Where am I?" Slight panic filled her unyielding feminine face.

Right to business then. "Navala, Fiji."

It raised more questions than it answered, he knew.

"Okay," she said, pushing herself onto her elbows. He rushed closer to rest a delicate hand on her back to help her sit up.

He stepped back at the odd tension. It was a good minute before either of them said anything as she scanned the room.

"Do you want to explain anything else?" Her voice was edgy, not even caring to look at him.

"Oh, oh right," he stammered as he raised a hand to the back of his neck. "You were in a bad wreck. You almost... Uh..." He paused to gather his words. And shove the tears back down. "You lost too much blood. This was our only bet."

"Right." She took in an uneven breath. "What was our only bet?"

"It's best if you just have her explain." Her head snapped to face him. "I'll go get her. I mean... if you want." His stomach churned at her eye contact, and not in a pleasant way. "I'm glad you're okay," he said with deep sincerity.

"Who?"

He drew in a breath to answer when the door flung open to reveal Clint.

"Good morning Natasha," he chirped out of breath. He quickly assessed her from the doorframe, watching as confusion and question filled her eyes. "Bruce, can I talk to you?" He smiled through the words with a terrible attempt to hide his worry in front of the spy.

"Umm, yeah. Sure." Clint grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

"What the heck man," Bruce said as Clint continued to drag him into the living room.

"We have to get out of here," Clint whispered. "Alina -- Ally is not who you think she is."

He felt panic start to pool in his chest. He had heard that name before. But hadn't she --

"I'll explain later," as if he could hear his mental question. "But do not. Let me say this again, DO NOT tell Natasha that it is her. Oh gosh," he raised a hand to cover his face. "You didn't?"

He shook his head.

"Good, good, ok. We have to get out of here before they meet."

Bruce was about to ask where she had gone when there was a scream from the back room.