The New York Assignment

Three

Clint made his way across the catwalk. He had only one thing on his mind: spring Loki out. He'd kill whatever guard SHIELD had, and get his boss out of the cell designed for the monster.

Another pair of feet on the metal caught his attention. In one fluid movement he reached back and pulled an arrow from his quiver, notched it, and turned. A fiery redhead grabbed the bow with both hands. She twisted it. He turned and hit her sharply with his elbow.

He didn't have time for this! Loki's voice shouted inside his head, "Kill her, Barton! Kill her!"

He caught a glimpse of her silvery eyes as he swung his bow to knock her down. Something sparked inside him. He knew this woman, as if from another life. One that was far away, and didn't matter now.

She tore the bow from his hands. He pulled a knife from his belt. "Kill her. Kill her!" He sliced for her neck. She dodged.

Something raged inside of him. An internal battle as fierce as the external one. Flashes, memories, came seeping into his mind, distracting him. Her red hair. Her tingling touch. Her soft lips against his. She was so important to him.

"She's the enemy. She hates you, Barton. You once thought she loved you, but she never could. She deserves to die."

New images took over his mind. Death. Blood. Broken, bleeding bodies. And all of them were her victims. There were men, women, and children, all of them dead because of her. Then he saw her holding a gun to his chest, her voice silky sweet, telling him how much she enjoyed playing him like a puppet. How easy it was to make him think she could love him. And how she was going to kill him.

Warm liquid washed over his hands. Clint blinked. He couldn't remember anything. The last thing he could recollect was his wrist twisted and cold, green eyes, filled with malace. And a golden stick with a sharp, curved point, a glowing, blue stone inside of it. Then, darkness.

His hands felt sticky and wet. He turned his eyes downward.

Natasha lay beneath him, his knife embedded in her chest.

____________________

"Barton!" a sharp voice snapped him from his nightmare.

Clint sat up. He was drenched in cold sweat. Warm light bathed the room, but all he could see was her body.

A blow struck jaw, throwing him back into reality. He felt the bruise and turned sharply. "The hell was that for!?" he snapped.

"You were screaming!" Natasha's eyes were narrowed in concentration, but lined with concern.

Clint massaged his jaw and swallowed. The remnants of the horror stayed, fresh in his mind. He shut his eyes tight and shook his head vigorously.

Natasha sat next to him. She didn't touch him again for several minutes. Her quick-thinking mind had been thrown into overdrive. Had he been having nightmares every night since being possessed? They hadn't seemed this bad before she'd left on her last mission.

He hated this. He really, ready hated this. He was so used to being the strong one, to being the one Natasha went to when she was broken beyond repair. And he'd push his problems aside for her, because that's what a hero does. And Loki had taken his soul and stripped him bare. He didn't know how to fix himself. Try as he might, he couldn't just walk away from being literally possessed.

And then, there was the horrible guilt. All of the people who'd died; they were on him. Their blood was on his hands. And if Natasha hadn't overpowered him... her blood would be on him, too.

Another sharp slap hit his cheek. "Barton! Snap out of it!"

Clint shook his head. "Sorry."

Natasha was staring at him, but he wouldn't look at her. "Clint, look at me," she said. He didn't. "Look at me!"

Clint obeyed slowly. He watched her eyes search his for several seconds. Finally, she sighed. "You've got to let this go."

"Tasha, I-"

"No, no more excuses! Let it go, Clint! Before it destroys you."

Clint looked at her, his beautiful Natasha. He gazed at her grey eyes, so full of concern for him. Her red hair reflected what little light there was. Her tight tank top and yoga pants hugged her curves. She looked, as always, heavenly. And here she was, this beautiful, no-nonsense assassin who had become his.

"Nat... I almost killed you." She opened her mouth to reprimand him, but he stopped her. "No, let me say this." He looked her in the eyes and took a deep breath. "My biggest fear, Natasha, is losing you. I don't care what anyone takes from me. My home, my job, my life... none of that means anything next to you." Clint placed his hand on her cheek and slid his thumb back and forth across her skin. "And I almost killed you. I can't... I can't stand it. Knowing how close I was to... to shooting you, stabbing you, snapping your neck... it's agonizing. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I had..." His voice broke, and he closed his eyes and let his hand fall from her face.

"But you didn't," Natasha said softly. She turned his face back so he was looking at her. "Clint, you didn't hurt me, okay? I'm fine. None of what happened was your fault, do you understand me?"

"But, Tasha, I could have stopped him. I him dead to rights, and I let him screw me over."

"You didn't know what was gonna happen. You did your best. You protected Fury-"

"Before I shot him in the chest."

Natasha sighed deeply. "Barton..." She stopped. Nothing she said was going to help him. But maybe she could still be there for him. She looked at him. "You're exhausted. You haven't been sleeping. So lie down."

Clint sighed, and obeyed. Natasha turned the light off, and surprised him by sliding in next to him. She took his hand in hers, in the space between them.

"Go to sleep," she ordered.

Clint wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. He held her against his chest, listening to her breathe. Her other hand rubbed slow circles in his back, gently lulling him back to sleep.

*     *     *     *     *

Clint woke late the next morning. He groaned softly and rolled onto his back. Rubbing his eyes, he greeted the new day with another groan. He sat up and looked around. Natasha was no where to be seen.

Sighing in mild annoyance, Clint got up and walked out of the bedroom. He heard her light-hearted laughter coming from the living room. His brow furrowed in confusion. She rarely laughed, so what was so funny? He crept closer to the living room.

"-would be good to see you," Natasha said. He could hear the smile in her voice.

"Yeah. 7:00 is great.... Okay.... No, nothing's wrong..... No, Clint's fine. I just think it would be good to see you on different terms.... It's not a mission; it's dinner.... Yeah, 7:00.... Okay.... Great. I'll see you then.... Bye."

Natasha hung up. She smiled to herself. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, she said, "Good morning, Clint."

Clint sighed and walked out into the open. "I didn't make a sound! How did you know I was back there?"

Natasha shrugged. "Spider sense." She closed her phone set it on the coffee table.

"Who were you talking to?"

Natasha looked up at him with those stunning grey eyes. He noticed that she was wearing a sports shirt and running pants and her running shoes. "Steve." She smiled. "He's coming over for dinner. I thought it might be good for you to see the team."