The New York Assignment

Sixteen

Natasha didn't look frightened, or even like she cared much. In fact, she looked rather bored. The arrow tip cut into the skin of her neck, drawing blood. She didn't cry out, or even wince. She was perfectly calm, and Clint knew her well enough to know that she could easily kill Trick Shot any number of ways from that position.

It didn't stop him from being worried about her, though.

"Let her go," he said calmly. "Take me."

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't using this opportunity to get back in Natasha's good graces.

"Little late for that, Barton, don't you think?" Chisolm dug the blade father into her flesh.

Clint swallowed hard. "Buck, you don't need her! Kill me instead!"

Natasha didn't look remotely impressed. Blood trickled down her neck, stopping where the fabric of her suit began.

Clint wondered why everyone else was standing there watching. Why didn't someone-

A clear shot rang out. The arrow slipped from Trick Shot's hand. Blood poured from his mouth. Natasha shoved him away, and he collapsed onto the stone floor. A hole in the back of his head showed an obvious kill shot.

Clint looked at the body, then for the shooter. Steve lowered his hand, still holding the pistol. Natasha turned to Steve and gave him the ghost of a smile.

Natasha wiped the trail of blood with the back of her hand. She turned to Clint. He was staring down at the body of the man who'd made him what he was. His expression was unreadable, but Natasha would know the haunted look in his eyes anywhere. He was angry and hurt.

Blood pooled around the body. A smirk was permanently etched on the pale face. Dark eyes were glazed over, the sickening light put out.

"Remember, Clint, if you want anything out of this world, you've got to take it." Clint could remember those words even now. The words that had followed him his whole life, driving him. He remembered that archery lesson like it was yesterday. And there was his old teacher, his mentor, friend, and enemy... dead.

A hot wave of anger washed over him. He looked up and fixed Captain Rogers with a dangerous glare. "I had him," he snarled.

"Clint-" Phil started.

"No, Coulson! Trick Shot was mine to kill! And speaking of mine, KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY GIRL!"

The words echoed through the marble chamber and carried over the mall. Steve, who had hoped the rescue would go much smoother, didn't say a word for a long time. Natasha stared at Clint, her mouth consciously closed to keep in all the things she wanted to say.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Agent Barton," Steve finally replied.

"You're sorry!? After what you just-"

"Barton," Phil interrupted sharply. "He was helping Natasha."

Clint knew it was the truth. He knew he was being unreasonable. He took a shaky breath, and tore his eyes away from the Captain. "Of course. You're right, sir," he said. "Steve, I'm... I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."
Steve nodded slowly. "Don't worry about it. It's no problem."

Edith walked over to her son and pulled him into a quick hug. "Let's get you back."

"Please," Tony said. Clint looked at him and saw that he was out of the Iron Man suit. It lay on its back, an arrow sticking out from the chest piece.

The flight was a short one. Natasha flew, and Phil kept Clint busy with a detailed debrief and medical attention. Despite the knowledge that he should let her be, Clint couldn't stop himself from stealing glances at Natasha.

Once back at the Helicarrier, Clint was rushed to the Infirmary. After several tests and stitches, he was told that an overnight stay was all that was needed.

Several hours after most of the medical staff had left and the ward was closed off, Natasha walked in. She looked tired, and Clint knew that Fury had been yelling at her. Neither spoke for a few awkward minutes.

"Natasha," Clint finally said, "I am...so sorry." He'd never meant an apology more in his life.

She sighed. "Are the voices gone?"

Her question caught him completely off guard. "What voices?"

"Loki's."

He thought, and realized for the first time that that torturous, mocking voice hadn't spoken a word in a few days. It had had plenty of things to torment Clint with, but it seemed to be dead. He wasn't sure what to feel about that.

"Yes. It's gone."

She nodded. After another moment of silence, she came closer and said, "Clint, there's something I need to-"

"Look, I'm sorry," Clint interrupted. He couldn't stand it any longer, and whether she listened or not, she could at least hear. "I am so sorry. I... I love you. You're beautiful and strong and smart and so much more than I could ever deserve, and I let you down. I ruined the one good thing in my life: my relationship with you. I was selfish and stupid and I will never, ever, let you down again. As long as I live, Natasha, I will fight for you. I will love you and stick by you for better or worse, because I can't live without-"

"I'm leaving." Her words were rushed, and at first Clint thought that he'd misheard her.

"What?"

"I'm leaving. Leaving SHIELD, leaving New York. I'm going solo. I don't know how long. I'll be on call if Fury needs me, but I'll be working alone apart from that."

Clint felt like the planet had dropped from beneath him. She couldn't just leave. He had to make her stay. He had to convince her to stay. All of his pleas and arguments and promises died on his lips. The only one to make it out was a simple one, a question. "Why?"

Her answer cut him in two. "Because I can't stay here. There's nothing here for me."

As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn't. Clint was wounded, broken by her words. But it made no difference to what she had to do. Even if she wanted to stay, she couldn't. As punishment for lying to him and protecting a fugitive, Fury had ordered her to do this. Indefinitely. But she couldn't tell Clint that. He'd never let her go, much less work for SHIELD, if he knew this was Fury's order.

"Tasha..." The word broke her, but it didn't show. Clint had no argument that could make her stay. Instead, he swallowed hard to keep his voice from trembling, and said, "If that's really what you want... I won't stand in your way."

When she didn't respond, Clint stood and closed the space between them. She didn't back away. He brushed a strand of hair from her face and rested his hand on her cheek. She slowly looked up at him, with those grey eyes that were sure to be his undoing. And they told him everything he needed to know. She didn't want to go. It was killing her, too. It was enough to send a small spark of hope cutting through his fears and embedding in the darkest depths of Clint's heart.

After a small hesitation, he leaned down and kissed her. It was different than all the past ones. It meant goodbye. It was passionate, but tender and sweet. Neither wanted to be the first to pull away. Finally, after too short a time, he broke the kiss. His arms were wrapped around her waist, and he looked deep into her eyes.

"I love you, Natalia," he whispered.

"I love you, too," she whispered back. She pulled out of his arms and turned to leave. She couldn't stand saying goodbye, and the kiss was just that: a goodbye.

She was relieved when she only heard a forced lighthearted "See ya around, Agent Romanoff." It sounded like she was coming back the next day, where they'd meet in the training room. She was grateful for that.

Clint watched her give him her saddest of smiles, and walk out the door. He swallowed hard, and listened until the sound of her footsteps died away.