The Los Angeles Operation

Fifteen

Natasha watched the screen fixatedly. The crowd was pouring through the doors, but not fast enough. Where were Clint and Morse?

Half the crowd was out the front door, and still no explosion. She held her breath. Every second seemed like an hour. She didn’t know when the building would come down around them, but they didn’t have long. 

She caught a glimpse of Clint, almost at the door. Morse was right behind him. They were being swept down the current of moving people. They were lost to her view again. 

Suddenly there was a blinding light and all of the cameras went dark. 

Natasha drew a deep, shaking breath. Had they gotten out? Were they okay? She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to calm the bubbling pit of horror inside of her. 

Horrible images flashed in her mind; Clint lying in a pool of blood, his body covered in third degree burns. Clint’s right arm being blown off. A shard of something severing Clint’s neck. 

She covered her eyes. No, Clint was fine. He was fine. Nothing bad had happened. She shouldn’t even be worried. 

Why hadn’t he recognized her? What on Earth had happened to him? There was something very wrong going on. 

Natasha stood up and began pacing the room. Horrible thoughts filled her mind like acid. Her heart must have been beating a thousand times per minute. Should she call Coulson? No, she decided against it. 

The anxiety was so bad that she felt nauseous. Natasha sat down on the foot of Clint’s bed, placing her head in her hands. 

“Everything is okay. Everything is okay,” she repeated over and over to herself in a whisper. 

She didn’t understand the sickness that consumed her. She would never understand worry. 

*     *     *     *     *

Finally Clint and Barbara arrived at the hotel. They rode the elevator, their burned clothes and skin causing quite a few people to stare. It took longer than they had thought to get back to the hotel. 

They arrived at their floor and walked to Clint’s door. Clint knocked four times. They waited a minute or two, but no answer. Clint knocked again. 

Without warning, the door was jerked open and a fist slammed into Clint’s jaw. He staggered back, startled. 

Then he was being hugged tightly. His burned skin stung under the pressure. 

“You idiot,” the woman hugging him whispered. 

It was like the glass separating him from his memories had been shattered. At last, everything made sense. He hugged Natasha back. 

“You okay?” he asked, knowing that explosion must have scared her to death. 

She pushed away from him. “I’m fine. What about you?” 

He nodded. “A little burnt, but good.” 

“Come on, we can talk inside.” 

Natasha walked back into the hotel room. Clint followed closely behind her. He shut the door and walked over to her. He knew it would hurt horribly, but he didn’t care. He pulled Natasha into a hug again. 

She hugged back. “What happened?” she asked. “Are you okay?” 

Clint didn’t answer. How could he have forgotten her? What could make him forget Natasha? And everything else that had gone down that evening, like Morse kissing him… Even if it had been just a peck on the cheek, he shouldn’t have let her.