She looks up at him, wide-eyed, terrified. Clint's finger relaxes on the trigger. The crosshairs move off her head, the safety is flipped on. He breathes. She runs.
Clint catches his breath, snowy air chafing the back of his throat. A scalding hot tear slips from his eye as he folds the stock of his rifle and sobs. She was gone.
Not quite...he catches a glimpse of her pushing through a group of train passengers headed for the main exit. He wipes his cheek, clamps the case closed. Quickly, Quickly. Don't let her slip through his fingers.
Clint breaks into a sprint, plowing through civilians and security. He has to reach her.
-
He pins her against a wall, leaning down to her face. "Please," out of breath. "please, you can't leave me."
Natasha is silent. Then a little louder. "You left me for dead." He knows, he knows. "I can't take you back and forgive everything."
"I tried to protect you." Clint caresses the scar on her collarbone. "I realize I couldn't."
She looks sad, and takes the side of his face into her hand. "I'm not safe with you."
His anger ignites, pulsing through his ears, sweat rolling down his forehead. He digs his fingers into her shoulders. "There are people are trying to kill you! You're safer with me. Let me protect you!"
Looking up at him, he thinks she'll agree–but it's always too late because blood sprays across his face and she slumps against him chest, just like he wanted her to.
Natasha lies next to him, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up," she whispers. "wake up."
Clint is burning, even though his sweat crystallizes on his skin. "You were dead."
She writhes. "It was your fault! You killed me!" Natasha breathes. "You didn't mean it. You're a good man." Clint sits up and draws the covers away. In the bathroom, he scrapes a razor against his mouth until his lips start to bleed. His teeth are red and he spits blood down the drain. Ears ringing, he vomits into the toilet until the water turns cloudy. He washes it all off in the shower, and Natasha stares in.
"The assassin, the killer, reduced to this. Don't you feel pathetic?"
"No." Of course he did. "Don't you feel lonely?"
"I've got you, haven't I?" she says sarcastically, taking a long draw from the e-cig in her hand. She's terribly horrified of human interaction, and Clint was the only one that she could make a connection with. He supposed that he felt the same. And so, they were perfect for each other.
Clint gets out of the shower, drying off with the wet towel on the bathroom floor. He picks an outfit from the drawer where ten identical shirts and ten identical pants lay in three identical lines. His companion switches one cotton dress out for another. They link hands and leave the motel.
Instead of being good little escapees and moving to some secluded town in deep Russia, Natasha had gone more for the 'city life' in the ever-surveiled urban Japan. Japanese had not been on the KGB's list of 'required languages' but plenty of the locals spoke decent English so they weren't reduced to charades.
Natasha blends in well with dramatic makeup and choppy hair. It wasn't so with him.
"You look like you don't belong here." She squeezes his hand.
"You're right."
She rolls her eyes. "No need to act like it."
He hunches lower, changes his gait to look overdramatic, American. "Better?"
"You look like a slob."
He trips, she laughs.
They walk downtown, where the television screens are perched on skyscapers. He wanted to leave. They were out in the open, waiting for any sniper who happened to be nearby spray their brains out onto the concrete. He hoped they got her first.
"I'm glad we're together." He smiles. She was still alive. How annoying.
They stand beside each other, watching the sky. It was night, but it was Japan. He can't see anything past the cityline. Light pollution casts a muddy orange-yellow color on the clouds, reminiscent of his vomit swirling down the toilet.
Clint looks down at Natasha, thinking maybe she isn't so bad, maybe he'll fall in love with her after all.
