"The More Things Change" Avengers, Clint & Natasha, M&F, Colds

[SleepingPhlox]

So you know what it's like when you're waiting for a bus and then three show up at once?  That's what I'm like starting fics.  I don't write for months and then BAM!

So this is for a trade with @AnonyMouse  but please don't feel that I'm trying to create pressure for you by posting already, I just got so excited to write this when I thought of the idea, and I had to start typing it out.  This is just the intro anyway and there's no sneezing yet!  And everyone may look at the format of this and go "Well isn't that just pretentious!"  The sneezefic proper will show up very soon, I just wanted to have the introduction separate. 

Also I am taking approximately all the liberties with how they met.  It's only partly addressed in the MCU so I'm filling in some gaps with canon from elsewhere and most gaps with imagination and artistic license.  I hope that doesn't kill it for anyone!!!

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"The More Things Change"

An Avengers (Clint & Natasha) Fic By SleepingPhlox

 

Part 1-Introduction

Her hair had been longer then.  There were many other differences between then and now, but that was the one that struck him.  It seemed the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.  Missions, locations, who they worked for...those might change with the times.  And her hair was also always eternally changing, yet always red, which matched her perfectly, since she often seemed to be the living embodiment of fire.  Yet underneath the red hair the beauty of her face seemed unchanging over the years.  Nor did the siren-like pull she exerted over him.  Though, when Clint himself looked in the mirror he could swear that each new mission added the faintest of lines somewhere around his eyes, the cumulative effect of time and stress all too visible.

She always swore he was imagining it, that he looked no different to her than the day they had met.

***

Natasha Romanoff would not have been his first choice of someone to be partnered up with, back when they first met.  He especially would not have wanted to be stuck in this listening post, disguised as a hunting cabin, here in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of winter.  Not that he would usually turn down an offer to spend time with a beautiful woman but he found himself...intimidated by her would be the closest word.   The feeling was very much not mutual.  She had looked at him with a sideways sneer before coldly uttering a "So he shoots arrows.  I am sure that will be very useful" that she didn't even feel was worth addressing directly to him.  Things hadn't really improved from that frosty reception.  She had not seemed to decide that he had proven himself, and quite frankly, he didn't give a flying crap what she thought.   So she was beautiful and awesome at everything.  So what?  What goddamned right did it give her to be so snooty?  

 

Still, they had not spent this long together so far in their tenuous partnership and he was pretty sure he would not be leaving this cabin alive.

 

She swung her head from side to side as they entered the room, sending her long, sleek crimson ponytail flicking along behind her.

 

"I will take that side as a living space.  You will take that side.  We will set up our equipment there.  We need firewood.  That will be your job.  Unless you know how to set up delicate scanning equipment?  I didn't think so."

 

He muttered something about her being a bitch, but had the good sense to wait until he was safely out of earshot to do so.

 

***

 

Natasha's green eyes lit up as they walked through the door into the room that had lain virtually untouched since they had last been there.  Auburn curls bounced brightly as she stepped with a youthful lightness into the dusty cabin.

 

"I remember the last time we were here!" she exclaimed fondly.  "Look...there's the mug you never cleaned...oh wow, the ashes are still in the fireplace!"

 

"Only you would get nostalgic over something like this," Clint teased, shaking his head.  "Oh, and that reminds me.  It's your turn to get the firewood this time.  I still haven't forgiven you for what happened the last time!"

 

She gasped and folded her arms, shifting her weight to one leg so that her perfectly curved hip stuck out prominently, shaking her curls petulantly and turning her head to give him a wounded look over her shoulder.

 

"Nope.  Nuh-uh, Romanoff.  You of all people are not going to get special treatment for pulling the 'but I'm a girl' card."

 

She dropped her arms and shrugged nonchalantly.  "Oh well, it was worth a try."

 

"And furthermore," Clint continued with an air of authority.  "This time around I get to decide who sleeps on what side of the room.  So there."

 

Natasha bit her lip in a futile attempt to suppress the amused smirk spreading over her face.  She turned to him, hands on hips, cocking her head to the side, raising a challenging eyebrow fixing her eyes on him and locking gazes so that he could watch every single moment of her knowing victory. 

 

"Oh really...so...separate beds for a change?  Well, I guess if that's what you really want..?"

 

Clint let out a dismayed "Damn it!", the telltale call of a man who had just been bested at his own game, earning a hearty laugh from Natasha, her face-framing curls bouncing as she threw her head back and gave in to mirth.

 

***

 

Clint Barton had never seen this much snow in his life, and he had seen snow.  Some of the banks he had to trudge through to get to the small sheltered woodpile at the side of the cabin came up over his knees.  And more of it was still falling.  Though, that wasn't strictly true.  "Falling" would imply flakes drifting lazily from the sky, perhaps sticking to his eyelashes or hair ever so gently as they were intercepted on their languid journey.  These snow...flakes?  Could they even be called flakes?  They were more like tiny ice missiles.  Whatever they were, they whipped around him with a ferocity he could scarcely believe, stinging any exposed skin.  He had to squint to have any chance of seeing through the storm and the cold air caused his nose to run, and he used the back of his glove to wipe it away before it had a chance to do something gross like freeze to his face, or something.

 

The wood was stacked tightly, all the way to the top, wedged against the aluminum roof of the shelter, and he stood eyeing it for a moment, trying to determine the best way to begin freeing the quartered log pieces from their resting place.  All the while the cold air was burning deep into his lungs with every inhale, coming out in huge puffs of white vapour when he exhaled.  And his nose, god damn his nose.  Cold air made it run and, it would seem, the colder the air, the runnier it got.  Fun.

 

Planting a foot against the base of the pile, he tugged on a log near the top, one that had enough space around it that he could get a decent grip on it.  Once, twice, three times his fingers slipped, but the fourth time he managed to get a grip and with some solid effort tugging, pulled it free.  Unfortunately it caused a chain reaction and several other logs tumbled out with it, some of them striking him before he had a chance to stumble out of the way.  Hitting the side of the shed, he felt something cut into his skin through the layers of clothes, carving it's way down the length of his arm. He was only now discovering that the aluminum side of the shed was damaged, a large torn edge twisting outward, displaying it's jagged shark-like metal teeth. Breaking his skin wasn't the only legacy it left behind, as the tell tale feeling of a draft signalled to him that his sleeve had been torn and any hope he had of staying warm was left behind as he was just left with a gaping hole that let all the icy winter air in.  Great.

 

He tossed that piece of wood aside, watching in utter dismay, giving a long exasperated groan as he watched it sank down at least two feet into a snow bank.  Okay, he was going to have to do this the long way.  He picked up that piece of wood and brought it to the small sheltered porch area near the front door.  Then repeated the process again.  And again, and again, and again, one by one until he had brought twenty five log pieces to the door.   It had taken a long time, especially with wading through the thick snow slowed him down considerably, but hopefully this would be enough wood so that he would not have to come back out here again, especially after dark.  It wasn't that he was scared of wolves and bears but...okay, he was very scared of wolves and bears, which was actually a very reasonable thing to be scared of, if he did say so himself!

 

***

"Okay, well, never let it be said that I don't carry an equal share of the work," Natasha said, a hint of playfulness in her words, folding her arms and cocking her head to the side.  It was a gesture he had come to know as quintessentially Natasha, and it could mean anything from her being amused or her issuing a challenge.  "I'll go get the wood this time.  And since you don't have to worry your pretty little head about the heavy lifting, why don't you be a doll and give this place a quick clean.  I don't think either of us wants to be around this dust for too long."

 

She smiled sweetly, a little too sweetly to be entirely genuine, and turned around, heading for the door.

 

"Um..." Clint ventured.  "Aren't you forgetting something?  Gloves?  Hat?  A thicker coat?"

 

"Sweetie, I'm Russian.  I'm built for much colder than this.  I think I'll survive.  It's cute that you worry though," she teased.

 

And really, it was nothing.  Clint had made such a big deal about the terrible ordeal he had to go through to get the firewood the last time they were here that she was expecting much worse.  Snowflakes fell gently around her face as she walked over to inspect the woodpile, soft little flecks of white clinging tenderly and playfully to her eyelashes and hair, standing out against the fiery red.  Using one hand to grab the wood laying loose at the top of the pile, she stacked logs into her other arm until it was five blocks high, then casually carried them to the porch.  A couple more trips like this and she would be finished.  Nowhere near as long as Clint had taken and boy was she going to tease him for having been such a big baby before!  She idly sniffed and wiped at her nose with the back of her bare hand as a grin spread over her face at the thought of the mocking he was going to get over this!

 

To Be Continued

 

 

[Anonymouse]

OHHHHHH SHIT IT'S HAPPENING!!!

I'm at work but will read and comment later!

[Anonymouse]

Gaaahhh so many great things already. It's all described so wonderfully, from the characters' interactions to the settings.

I love how Clint felt a bit intimidated by her at first. <3

Quote

Still, they had not spent this long together so far in their tenuous partnership and he was pretty sure he would not be leaving this cabin alive.

Dang girl, taking charge! I love how Natasha just matter-of-factly starts issuing rules and commands when they arrive at the cabin the first time around. And the obvious difference in the status of their relationship the second time they come.

I thiiiiiink I may have an idea of where this is going and I'm so excited to see how it unfolds! Thanks again for agreeing to this!

[SleepingPhlox]

@AnonyMouse  Thank you!  I'm pretty sure you do know how this is going (more or less...there may be a secret end credits scene...this is a Marvel fic after all ) I'm not sure I do subtle in my sneezefics.    I am having sooooo much fun writing this.  I never thought I'd have so much fun writing Clint but he is proving to be very enjoyable!

And now the sneezefic proper begins.  I can never tell if the segments I post are too short (or I feel like I'm trying to get more visibility and comments by contantly bumping up fics with short segments but there's always a point where it feels like a natural end to a segment and this one had a very clear one-of-those-points)

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Part 2-Discovery and Diagnosis

Clint stood, panting against the freezing air, despite the fact that every breath seared his lungs like...like...it was like brain freeze in his chest.  That was really the only way to describe it.  One arm up against the door, he panted and sniffled-he couldn’t wait until he got inside and warmed up so that unwelcome bodily reaction would stop-and wondered if he’d ever get the strength back in his arms.  His whole being-really-good-at-shooting-things shtick relied pretty heavily on those.

“Right,” he breathed to himself, slapping his thigh with his free hand, forgetting for a moment that it was the one that happened to be connected to his injured arm.  “That’s the hard part done.  We just need to get these from here, into there.  Piece of cake.  Come on Barton, you got this.”

He finished his pep talk to himself with a long, drawn out sniff.  If he had to go in there and admit “cold air makes me sniffly”, well that would just give her one more thing to ride his ass about, and he really didn’t need that.  The pep talk hadn’t exactly done its job, but he wasn’t about to stand out here in this goddawful snow any longer than he needed to, so back to work it was.   He turned the knob and held the door open with his foot as he grabbed a log in each hand, backing into the room and letting the door click shut behind him as he carried the logs across the entire length of the cabin and let them clatter unceremoniously to the floor in front of the hearth.  Super.  He only needed to do that twelve more times.  

While she sat there fiddling with a radio that somehow managed to look as if it were built before radios were even invented.  She didn’t even look up or acknowledge his efforts the next few times he opened the door and crossed the room, not even when he let the logs fall extra loudly to see if it would elicit a reaction.

The next time he entered the room, though she didn’t bother looking up, she said, very matter-of-factly “You might save yourself some time if you leave the door open.”

“I didn’t want to let all the cold air in,” Clint said, between wheezes and pants, then reflexively sniffled despite himself.  “You know, for your benefit.  I was trying to be considerate.”

“Sweetie,” she said, turning around slightly in her chair.  God, how was it possible that one single word could be dripping with gallons of condescension?  “I’m Russian.  I’m built for much colder than this...what the-...what are you doing?”

Clint had had enough.  He let the logs drop right in the middle of the floor and opened his arms wide, gesturing dramatically, no longer caring what she thought or might do.  “I’m bringing the logs in,” he retorted hotly, all of the pent up frustration and exhaustion coming out in one indignant outburst.  “Although I guess I’m doing that wrong somehow too.”

She did not answer, and as she got up from her chair, eyebrows furrowed in consternation he decided that he still did care what she might do after all.  Oh, he cared what she might do.  He cared a lot!  She did not look him in the face as she approached him, her eyes fixated on his injured arm, which she immediately grabbed when she reached him.  Clint held his breath, not sure what he was expecting.  She turned his arm over gently in her hands, using the tips of her fingers to ever so gingerly peel back the torn edges of the clothes and inspect the site of the wound underneath.  Yes, he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting but he was pretty sure it wasn’t that.

“When did this happen?” she asked, actually managing to sound concerned, actually managing to show some softness in her eyes.  It caught him off guard, and he swallowed.

“Oh, just out there in the shed.  It’s no big deal.”

She shook her head, causing her ponytail to dance behind her.  The splash of bright red was the most colourful thing inside this place, and it was suddenly mesmerising.

“You sit there,” she said.  It still had a hint of an order, but nowhere near as unbearably bossy as what she had barked at him earlier.  “I’ll get a fire started so it will be warm enough for you to take your shirt off without freezing to death.  I don’t want to deal with your icy corpse and I really don’t want to have to explain why I’ve lost yet another partner.  It’s so much paperwork.”  Then, possibly in response to his suddenly alarmed expression she added.  “That was a joke.  I was joking.”  She allowed her mouth to twist into the faintest of mischevous grins.  “There’s not really that much paperwork.  Anyway.  Once we’ve done that, I’ll get the first aid kit and get that cleaned up.”

“I’m fine, you really don’t have to-” his breath caught suddenly and he brought two cupped hands up to his face.  “HIIHHP-tchhu...”

Natasha cocked her head at the odd noise.  It started out loud, almost shouted, and he was clearly straining against letting it out, then it trailed off into a barely whispered little breeze of an exhale.  

He had more where those came from.  “HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...huhpTCHHEHH!”  As always, he finished his fit with one that simply refused to follow the trend and insisted on marching to its own beat.

He lowered his hands sheepishly from his face, rubbing his nose quickly with an index finger.

***

“Hi Honey, I’m home,” Natasha sang as she nimbly pushed the door open with her foot, stepping around it as it began to close as she sashayed past, carrying four logs in her arms.  “I hope you made my dinner just the way I like it while I was out at work.”

Clint looked up over his shoulder from where he knelt sweeping the old ashes of a long-forgotten fire out of the fireplace, and grinned playfully.

“Yes, dear, and I’ve got a batch of freshly baked cookies cooling in the kitchen and your slippers and newspaper waiting by your favourite easy chair.”

“Good job, Babydoll,” she chirped, patting his head after she unloaded the logs into a pile next to the hearth.  “I’ll slip a little extra into your allowance this week so you can buy yourself something pretty.”  She turned and bounced lightly back to the door to continue her task.  Clint smiled and shook his head.  Only she could manage to find fun and mirth in the most tedious of assignments in the middle of nowhere in the worst place on earth.  Then he sighed, returning to his own work, sweeping up more ashes and pouring them into a cardboard box he’d found.  Every bit of conventional fire safety wisdom would probably say that was a bad idea, but any embers from this fire had long since gone out and he was pretty sure they were in the clear.

When he heard the door open again, and he couldn’t stop himself from turning around just a bit so he could get a glimpse of her just for a moment - as if he hadn’t looked at her several times during the journey up here and generally every chance he could get - he couldn’t help but note that the embers from another fire that had been lit around the same time were still burning white-hot.

Natasha had a way of turning the men around her, and some women, into hopelessly enthralled victims of her beauty and manner.  It was a skill she had learned and perfected, though her shapely physique, full lips and expressive green eyes didn’t exactly hurt her efforts.  She could turn it on and off like a switch, and though she had seduced many targets during her career as possibly the world’s greatest honey trap, very few could claim the achievement of having left any sort of impression on her.

But that was far from her only talent.  There was her knowledge of pretty much everything - he could swear she kept surprising him with new reserves of information on a daily basis.  And her strength, both physical and mental.  He marvelled at her ability right now to do something that had damn near killed him when he had to do it, with a lightness and ease as if she were simply at play.  There was no red face, breathlessness, struggling or wheezing for her.  And despite her clothing, which was nothing more than just a perfunctory nod to the icy weather outside, she did not shiver as he did when he was wearing four layers.  And yet, somehow, this was just the barest of hints as to what her inner reserves of strength could do.  He knew her, seen what she could withstand, things that would break him in a heartbeat.  And he knew that to know Natasha, to really and truly know her, was to feel a profound respect on a level he had never felt for any other human being.

And she was better at doing pretty much everything better than him.  She was better at bringing the firewood in.  But he had made a damn clean fireplace, and that was something to be proud of.  He stood up, dusting his soot covered hands over his jeans, stepping back to admire his handiwork.  

Clint Barton:  master of archery and cleaning fireplaces.   And damn proud of it.

“I’m done here,” he called over his shoulder as he heard the door open again.  “Do you need a hand?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, unloading the latest armful of wood.  “That’s the last of it.”

“Wh-...bu...wh-...how?” Clint sputtered in disbelief.  “That barely took any time at all!”

“Exactly,” Natasha said, tilting her head to the side and flashing him a wide teeth-baring grin, putting her hands on his shoulders and looking directly into his eyes.  “And you know what? I think I’ve actually come to understand you on a much deeper level while doing this.  And I’ve come to see that deep down, you are...” She paused for dramatic effect.  “...a...Great.  Big.  Crybaby.  Seriously, Clint!  I did that in less than half the time, there was no...”

She pulled away and turned her head to the side, curling a finger delicately under her nose.

“Hihh...k’tcchhh...k’tccchhh!...excuse me.  Did you have to kick up so much soot when you were cleaning?”

“Hey!  No.  No!” Clint retorted, pointing a firm finger in her direction.  “Clint Barton: Master Of Archery And Cleaning Fireplaces and I will not let you take that away from me!”

“...E-...Excuse me?” she said, looking about as confused as if she'd walked in on him trying to teach a seal how to use the internet.

“Yeah, uh...maybe lets kinda forget that one...”

“Oh, no.  No way.  I definitely want to...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh-k’tchhh!”

Looking around the room in consternation for something to blame, she rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.

***

When Natasha finished lighting the fire, she returned to Clint who was sitting on one of the beds looking rather sorry for himself, noting that the colour in his face had not returned to normal and his cheeks were flushed nearly just as pink as they had been when he came in from the cold.  That in itself was not entirely abnormal.  The room, by most people’s standards, was still very cold, and it would be some time before the heat from the fire began to really take hold.  But he had found himself one of the warm blankets to wrap himself in, and he was still wearing four layers on top and three layers on the bottom, yet his teeth were chattering and his nose was running and...

“You sneezed seven times while I was building the fire,” she informed him.

“You counted?"

“Consciously counted?  No.  Noticed?  Yes.  I tend to notice everything about my surroundings whether I want to or not, since I can’t really turn it off.  It’s how I’ve managed to stay alive so long.  But it can get annoying, especially when you’re in a small cabin with someone who won’t stop sniffling.”  He looked up at her and there was a hint of a smirk on her face.  She was...teasing him?  She folded her arms and fixed him with a stern glare.  “You’re still wearing the clothes you had on outside, aren’t you?  Including the ones that are, oh, I don’t know, wet from the snow?  What are you thinking?  Here, bring that blanket over to the fire and we’ll do this there.  I’m going to need your arm bare and you need to get out of any clothes that might possibly be wet before you go and develop hypothermia or something.”

“Nononono...*sniff*...it’s too cold to take any clothes off yet.”

“It will be worse leaving them on if they’re wet.  Trust me on this one.”

Slowly and very hesitantly, he shuffled around so that his feet swung over the edge of the bed and met the floor.  He had managed to take off his boots, which were waterproof, so his socks were mercifully the one article of clothing that were dry, but the floor felt unmercifully frigid through the thick thermal sock fabric.  How could a place be so cold?

She had already placed a simple wooden chair near the fire.  It was similar, he noted, to the one she had been sitting in when she was working on the radio.  And then he noticed that there was no chair currently at the desk near the radio.  Huh.

“You sit there and start getting undressed.  I’ll go get the first aid kit ready.”
Clint plopped himself into the chair and immediately cupped his hands over his mouth and nose.

“Hihhh...hihhh...HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahhggkhSSSSHH!”

***

Natasha sniffled delicately, rubbing her nose with her finger, causing it to turn the faintest shade of pink, though it would be nearly indiscernable to the naked eye.

Now that Clint really looked at her face, her eyes looked more tired than usual and he did see the pinkish tinge to her nose.  He had studied her face often enough to be able to tell these things.  And perhaps her cheeks as well, though that could have just been her wearing rouge.  Not many women would bother putting on makeup for a few days’ in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, but then again, Natasha was not like most women.

“Why don’t you sit down and take a breather and I’ll build the fire,” he suggested, patting the wooden chair that still stood faithfully in place.  He expected some sort of argument from her, but she wordlessly complied, sliding into the cold hard seat.  Well, that was easier than he’d anticipated.  As he knelt down and began arranging logs and sticks over a hefty chunk of firelighters, he could not help but notice that she kept sniffing.  It was quiet, and she was clearly trying to hide it, but it was there.

“Maybe you’re not as immune to the cold air as you’d like to think,” he teased over his shoulder.  “Hey, you know what?  Wouldn’t it be so ironic if this time around you were the one who-”

“Stop that thought right there.  First of all, put that thought away.  The dust got to me for a second, okay?  Second of all, so many people have explained to you the proper use of the word ‘ironic’.  How do you not get it?  How...hehh...hihhhhh...ihhh...k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh!”

***

At least the stubborn man had heeded her advice and stripped down to the driest layers of clothing which appeared to be...his boxers?  He had swaddled himself very firmly in the blanket but from the hint of his ankles peeking out of the bottom that would appear to be the case.  He had pulled the chair as close to the hearth as it would go, leaning forward to try and get the most benefit from the warmth of the still fledgling blaze.

“Lets see your arm,” she said.  “This is definitely going to sting, so I don’t want to hear any whining from you.”  

She took his arm when he thrust it sulkily from underneath the confines of the blanket.  It was actually possible to tell he was pouting from his general demeanour.  She was about to say something teasing, but the feeling of his skin when she touched his arm made her pause for a moment.  Despite the fact that he was still shivering uncontrollably, his skin was warm to the touch.  It hadn’t been long enough since his injury for infection to set in so...

She reached up to touch a hand to his forehead.  Yes, warm.  Definitely very warm.  The feeling was even more pronounced than in his arm.  She wanted to scold him for obviously having hid this on the journey up there because there was no way a fever that high came on that suddenly.  But she was too busy being concerned about him to speak at first.  Clint said nothing, he could say nothing, he was already gearing up for another sneezing fit, eyes squeezed tightly, upper lip curled up, nostrils twitching...

He buried his head in cupped hands again.

““Hihhh...hihhh...hihhh...HIHHHptchh!...HIIHHHptchh!...hihhhhhhh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...haRRRRRSHHHahhh!”

Natasha tsk’d as she shook her head.

“That sure seems like a cold to me.”

***

“Come on,” Clint said.  “Stop being stubborn, I’ll get you a blanket.  You’re obviously-”

“I’m obviously fine,” Natasha argued, though he noted that she did not specifically refuse the blanket so he retrieved it from where it had been left and draped it around her shoulders.  Her pride would not allow her to stoop to a “thank you” but she did gather the edges and pull them around herself tightly which was practically an admission of feeling chilly, and therefore, by extension, everything else.

“I hope the kettle still works, because I am going to make you a cup of tea, and you are going to sit there and not argue.”

She set her jaw and looked sulkily ahead at the fireplace.  Oh, she could argue.  She could argue all she wanted.  Just...not right now.  Her nose had started to feel steadily stuffier and she was certain that if she opened her mouth her voice would come out all stupid sounding and make her sound all stuffed up and weird and he would just have more ammunition to torment her with.

She raised a curled hand to her face...

“hihhh...ehhh...k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh!”

Clint shook his head and pressed his hand to her forehead.  She had obviously hidden this and hidden it well because there was no way a fever that warm came on that suddenly.  He wondered at which point she had been starting to hide it?  She had been her usual self all along so it was hard to tell.

“Natasha...” he sighed.  “I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, I really do, but I think you’ve got a cold...”

To Be Continued

[Leafeon78]

This is very cute must say enjoyed reading this.

[Kenzarty]

This was really cute. I love the way they are acting as mirrors of each other. 

On 7/22/2017 at 9:48 AM, SleepingPhlox said:

To Be Continued

I am patiently waiting.

[AngelEyes]

This is fantastic! I love it! It makes me happy! I love your writing style. It's very fluid and I love the back and forth time lines!

[SleepingPhlox]

Huge major GIANT apologies for the delay in posting this...I was supposed to have this up like a week ago.  Actually this should be fully posted by now.  Life happened but anyway, I've gotten back on track now.  Also I hope Clint isn't wildly OOC for you.  He's not too terribly developed by the MCU so I've borrowed from the comics a little bit to fill in his character.  I hope that's okay!

@AngelEyes, @Kenzarty, @Leafeon78 thank you SO much for the kind words and I hope you continue to enjoy it! 

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Part 2 - Concern and Caution

The fire crackled and spat, dancing around the logs until it had grown to a respectable size, filling the modest sized cabin not only with warmth, but also a comforting orange glow.  Clint noticed neither.  He could swear that the room had steadily grown colder as time went on and as his teeth chattered and his body shook with uncontrollable chills, he swore that he would never experience comfort again.

“Hihhh...hihhh...HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahrrrrrrrrSSSSHH!”...he finished the fit with a small groan of displeasure and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand, for lack of a better option.  Neither of them had brought any tissues.  They had toilet paper, a limited supply which he did not want to waste and save it for its intended function, which was a pretty important function.  They had clean clothes, and he could use a shirt or two as a makeshift handkerchief, except it would leave him doomed to wear old smelly clothes with nothing to change into.  Asking her to donate an item of her own clothes to the cause would likely result in...well, his untimely demise, most likely.   He could use dirty clothes and then it wouldn't matter if he soiled them, but eew.  Like he wanted to rub his own sweat all over his face.  Eew.

Natasha stood by the desk where recording equipment sat, leaning with her hip casually resting up against the edge as she waited for a small portable kettle to come to the boil.  She seemed to be deep in thought, her face a picture of contemplation as she watched the coils of steam rising from the spout, curling and writhing in the air before disappearing.  Clint knew it was futile to try and guess what was on her mind.  Her mind was a closely guarded labyrinthine maze of secrets upon secrets and he knew so little about her, knew little of her past and next to nothing about what made her tick.

What he did know was that sometimes, when she thought nobody was looking, she allowed whatever it was she thought about cause the faintest look of sadness to cross her face.  It was an unnerving sadness, an expression he'd never seen on any other person before or since.  It was a cold. blank sadness, a haunted resignation that left his spine feeling like ice any time he saw it.

Not that he ever looked at her for that long, or cared.  Because he hated her and hated working with her and had already put in a request to be transferred to a new partner so he wouldn't even need to think about her for that much longer.

“Hihhh...hihhh...HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahhggkhSSSSHH!”...guh..."  He sighed again and looked up in time to see her offering him a mug of tea.  He accepted it gratefully with both hands, wrapping his fingers around the vessel to soak up the warmth that seeped through the ceramic sides.

"That should help your shivering," she said.  "Warm on the outside, warm on the inside.  We'll get you thawed out in no time."

"Oh...uh...thanks," he said.  What else could he possibly say?

_________________________________

Natasha glared at the fire, giving it such a look of accusatory anger it was almost as if she blamed it for her current situation.  Yet, mixed in with the fury was an odd sense of pain in her eyes, tinged with sadness and fear, and she was clearly trying her best to mask it but it was unmistakable.  The fire, a completely innocent party in all of this, was instead doing it's best to warm the room and give it a comforting orange glow.  Clint may have gone slightly overboard with the logs, and while at the beginning it looked as if the tiny flickering flame would struggle to consume the fuel it had been given, now it roared with such a ferocity, rising so high that the worry of setting the chimney on fire had crossed both their minds.

And she sat, huddled into the blanket, wrapped tightly around her hands, which she periodically raised to dry her nose on the warm, absorbent fabric.  And if Clint dared to point out that it was gross, she would kill him.  When she could manage to move, that is.

“Hehh...ihhptchhhu!...hehhptchhiii!”  She sniffled and raised her blanket-cocooned hands to wipe her nose again.  The sneezing was becoming more and more frequent, and was annoying, but it was nothing compared to the body-wracking, teeth-chattering chills she was experiencing.  She never shivered.  Not even in below zero temperatures.  As she was so fond of pointing out, she was Russian, but her lineage had less to do with it than her training.  She had learned to shoot a sniper rifle with a perfectly steady hand while out in the snow for hours in nothing more than a tank top and light trousers.  She did not shiver.  She did not suffer from the cold.  Nothing about her surrounding should have the ability to affect her physically.  She was the best of the program.  She had always been the best.  Self denial.  Self denial for the greater good.  That is what they taught her and she had learned the lesson perfectly.  There was no Natasha.  There was never any Natasha.  There was only a tool that served to accomplish the tasks it had been set by its superiors.  And her body shaking so violently that she couldn't control it was becoming a source of frustration.  She repeated in her head like a mantra that she did not matter, her body and it's needs did not matter, her discomfort did not matter - which always worked so well for her before, but it was having trouble breaking through into her hazy mind right now.  Had she become so undisciplined, so weak?  Had she completely lost all that had made her useful and worthy of existing in this world?

You do not matter.  Your needs do not matter.  Your discomfort does not matter.  You do not matter.  Your needs do not matter.  Your discomfort does not matter.

Clint watched her from behind as he waited for the small portable kettle to boil.  She was obviously unhappy and he knew better than to say anything and just make her mood worse, but he was still damn well going to keep an eye on her.  Yeah, so he was a bit worried about her.  He'd never seen her like this.  He'd seen her endure a broken bone with more stoicism than this.

You do not matter.  Your needs do not matter.  Your discomfort does not matter.  You do not matter.  Your needs do not matter.  Your discomfort does not matter.

“hehh...ihhh-k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh!”...she scrubbed at her nose with the blanket again and looked up as he approached her with a freshly made hot cup of tea.

"Do tha'gs," she scowled.

"Come on.  It will help you warm up."

"I do'd deed to warb up.  I'b dot...hehh...hihhhhh...ihhh...k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh...cold..."  A liquid sniffle punctuated her statement.

Clint stood, patiently continuing to offer the mug until she rolled her eyes and reached out to accept it, drawing it into the blanket with her.

"There now, was that really so difficult?" he teased gently.

"Shud up," was her grumbled reply.

________________________________________

With every laboured breath that escaped his lips, Clint watched the air in front of his face, expecting to see the warm breath creating little puffs in the what was no doubt freezing air before him.  He was continually surprised when this didn’t happen.  It was obviously freezing in here, despite the roaring fire.  It was a cabin, probably built in the olden times.  It was bound to have drafts or something.

The fact that Natasha had stripped down to a black tank top and kept muttering about how she could not understand how he was still wrapped in a blanket in this heat...well, she was obviously doing that to mess with his head.

A huge set of worn and grimy headphones, the ugliest shade of olive green that they had ever set eyes on, covered her ears as she bent over the listening post with the fingernail of her index finger thoughtfully in her mouth and her right hand hastily scribbling on a piece of paper.  The fact that she was able to do that for so long without breaking her concentration or even having to shift her weight was impressive enough.

Her attention being occupied here also meant that Clint was free to sneeze and cough and sniffle and snort and...yes, even moan a little bit, to his heart’s content.  Because, damn.  Okay, admittedly he’d been kinda sneezy and groggy a couple of days ago and he hadn’t bothered mentioning it because he didn’t want to get any crap from her (although in retrospect it would have been a great way to get out of this mission), but he didn’t really think it was going to get any worse.  Until yesterday when it had gotten worse, and his throat was sore and he was tired and his head hurt, but he was certain, after that, that it couldn’t get any worse.  Until they were on the flight out to this forsaken hellhole and his joints hurt and he was the kind of cold that couldn’t be warmed up and he realised that whatever this bug was, it still had plenty more in store for him.  Of course, then it was too late to do anything about it.

“HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...huhpTCHHEHH”...he sighed and huddled himself into the blanket a little more.  He was so absorbed in tuning into the minutiae of his own misery, that he didn’t notice Natasha slide the headphones off her head and put them silently on to the desk.  He didn’t notice her walking across the small room, silently like a cat.  He didn’t notice anything until she put her hand gently on his shoulder.  

“Maybe you should get into the bed,” she suggested.  “I’ve got everything under control over there and I think the rest would be better for you than forcing yourself to do...whatever it is you’re doing.”

Clint shook his head.  “Nah, I’m good.”  Wow, did he really sound like that?  He hadn’t used his voice in a couple hours and apparently it had deteriorated rapidly.  He barely sounded like himself to himself.  He could only imagine what it sounded like to her.

“Hmm, 'good’ isn’t the first word that would come to mind.  But okay.  I know a thing or two about being stubborn so I won’t bust your balls about it.  In the mood for helping me crack some code?”
Was he that out of it or was she actually being nice to him?

_______________________

All of her concentration was going into trying to keep her breaths even and measured.  He could tell.  But each breath was laboured with a hint of a quiver caused by her shivering, despite the effort that went into keeping some semblance of normality.

You do not matter.  Your needs do not matter.  Your discomfort does not matter.  You do not matter.  Your needs do not matter.  Your discomfort does not matter.

And though Clint had sat at the listening post for...what, probably two hours?  He’d forgotten to look at the clock when he started.  The length of time that had passed did not matter.  He’d barely gotten anything done, and anything he had taken down was probably woefully inaccurate, because he couldn’t keep himself from continually glancing over to her.  Other than moving her arms to wipe her nose or to cover a sneeze or cough, she had barely moved from the position.  Sighing, Clint took off the worn and battered olive green headphones and made his way over to her.

She looked almost in pain, her green eyes staring not quite at the fire, but through it.  Despite her constant shivering, her face and hair had become dewy with sweat.  He had seen her with a glowy sheen to her face before, after a particularly taxing sparring session (not that many sparring partners could keep up with her) or in the heat of battle.  Breaking a sweat through exertion always made her look more alive, and a damn sight more sexy to boot.  But this...

Her skin had paled, save for a blotchy red splash across her cheeks and nose.  Her eyes looked sunken somehow, with dark circles underneath, her gaze swimming with exhaustion...and the pain that had struck him when he first saw her.  The sweat lent her skin a sickly waxiness, and caused her hair to fall limp with none of the usual bounce.

But her senses were still with her, at least somewhat, because the moment she heard the telltale intake of breath that let her know that he was about to open his big mouth, she muttered:

“Save your breath.  I don’t want to hear it.”  Her normally husky voice had been brought even lower by a sore throat, just barely recognisable as her own.  “I...hihhh...ehhh...k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh!”...ugh...”

“Oh, Nat...” He shook his head.  “Come on, you don’t have to do this.  Hey, we both know you always carry the missions, isn’t it about time I pulled my weight while you get a bit of shut eye?”  He smiled and gave a small laugh to let her know this was a joke and an attempt to lighten the mood, but stopped himself short of nudging her with his elbow.  Even with how close they were, he knew better than to push his luck doing that.  “You’re worrying me, ‘Tasha.  You look...well I can’t tell if you’re in physical pain or you’ve got something on my mind.”

She snuffled into the blanket and continued to stare off into the distance.

“I’ve always got something on my mind,” she mumbled, so quietly it was as if she did not intend for him to hear it.

____________________________________

“Is the tea good?” Natasha asked, in far too perky of a voice for Clint’s misery to be able to deal with.  It was something by way of making conversation after Clint had stared blankly at her notebook for several minutes and had offered nothing in the way of help.  She did not even wait for an answer before adding.  “Next time don’t try to be a hero and just say you’re sick and you want to stay back.  It’s no big.  You’re not going to get a bad grade on your mission report card or anything.”

“Oh, yeah...” He paused for a long sniff.  Still with nothing to wipe his nose with, the situation was becoming slightly precarious.  “Sorry for exposing you to germs and whatever.  I was already feeling pretty crap on the flight here so...yeah, sorry.”  Another sniff.

“Yeah, I don’t really get sick, so don’t worry about that.”

She left his side for a moment, and he turned his head slightly to try and follow her path, very curious about why she left - though he assumed she had become bored with him and gone to continue her work - but not really with enough energy to do much more but let his head flop languidly to the side to watch her.

So he was very surprised when she reappeared a moment later and...was she?...yes, she was definitely pressing toilet paper to his nose.  Definitely wiping his nose.  Way too weird...but he didn’t have the energy to struggle.

“There, now, use this from now on.  Better than your hand, yes?”

“I...uh...I guess I didn’t want to waste it.  Limited resource, you know?”

“It’s fine.  Dry it out there by the fire and we can use it again.”  She noted his slightly horrified expression and added.  “That was also a joke.  We really need to teach you how to understand humour.  Clint raised an eyebrow at this, and used the paper he’d been handed to blow his nose.  Which, somehow made him feel even more saturated with congestion than he had before he’d done that.

“I thi’g-” he said, sniffing thickly.  “Thad this represeds lo’gitude, we just deed to fi’d whad dubbers each correspo’ds to.”

“Sweetie, I speak eleven languages and that didn’t sound like words in any of them.”

_____________________________

Clint sighed again as he watched her repeatedly sniffling, raising the blanket to wipe her nose, but otherwise making no effort to deal with the situation.  It felt like watching, watching and sighing, was all he could do.  He felt so damn helpless. Throwing his arms into the air, he left her side.  She made no effort to follow him with her eyes, assuming that he had grown tired of trying to help someone who couldn’t be helped, had given up on her like he should have a long time ago.

You do not matter.  Come on, Natasha, get a grip.  You can do better than this.  You do not matter.  Get it into your head.  Your needs do not matter.  Remember your training!  Your discomfort does not matter!  You are nothing!  The mission is everything.  Remember!

So she was surprised when he reappeared with a small amount of toilet paper that he dared to touch her nose with.  Dared!  Her eyes widened, but she made no move or struggle.

“I know, I know,” Clint said.  “You’re gonna break my fingers.  Can you wait until after the mission?  Kinda need them right now.  There...isn’t that so much better.  The poor blanket can only take so much.  Now, I’m going to put this over here by the fire so it will be nice and dry the next time you need it.  Right?  Remember that?”

Nothing.  Whatever it was she was staring at in the flames was far more important than him right now.   And...it was only a small thing.  Nearly imperceptible.  Anyone else would have missed it.  But there were tears in her eyes.  The tiniest crack in her impenetrable facade.  Her ability to conceal her emotions flawlessly had the faintest beginning of a tear in the fabric.

“Oh, Natasha...” he began, but she cut him off with a “Don’t.” that wasn’t as much stern or cutting as it was a plea.

 

To be continued...

 

[The Kneezle]

This is so good I love it! The mirror imagery, Natasha's inner thoughts being explored, and of course the sneezing  Excellent job! 

[SleepingPhlox]

@The Kneezle Thank you so very much.  I really appreciate it!

 

_____________________________________

Part 3-Truth and Trust

“Well damn it all,” Natasha mused to herself.  “It is latitude and longitude.”

She shot a look over to the pathetic figure still huddled in a blanket by the fire.  How was it possible that she - someone with “master code-breaker” on her impressive list of skills - had missed that and Clint had picked up on it right away.  Not only that, but spaced-out-with-a-cold Clint, half-asleep Clint, dozy-with-a-rather-alarming-fever Clint.  He had seen immediately what she had not, that each number and full stop was represented by a word.  And when she had grabbed the notebook from his feverish hands and demanded to know how he had figured it out he’d simply shrugged and said “Nobody says ‘salvage’ that much”, pointing to the word they had discovered represented the full stop, as if that explained absolutely everything.  As if the people responsible for creating the code hadn’t gone through a lot of trouble to not choose random words but choose words that almost sounded like a set of instructions when placed in that precise order, words that would send lesser spies on a wild goose chase trying to intercept people following those false instructions.

Maybe she had underestimated him.

Plus he was pretty cute, too.

She shook her head and nearly raised her hand to slap herself.  What was she thinking?  She must be coming down with a fever as well.  She damn well knew better than to ever get attached, to anyone, at any time, for any reason.  Part of it was never really knowing who she could trust, though she had a hunch that if she could trust anyone, it would be him.  And her hunches were never wrong.  No, she had made that mistake and become close to people before.  People she came to rely on and care for...well, they tended to get their heads blown off.  It wasn’t worth it.  She would keep her distance.  For his sake.

In speaking of for his sake, with a dash of for fuck’s sake, the fact that it was 2 am and he was not only still awake but still sitting in that damned chair, having refused all efforts to get him to crawl into a bed.  She had been alternately trying threats and kindness, good cop and bad cop all rolled into one, figuring one or the other would break him down eventually.

“Hey, you,” she said quietly, putting her hand on his shoulder.  “Thanks to you we know exactly where they’re targetting so we can finish this mission in record time.   We can get out of here tomorrow morning and get this info to the guys at the top.  Well done, and you can get to bed and catch some shut eye until the sun comes back up.”

He shook his head and looked up at her, weary and exhausted eyes set in a pale and sweaty face.  He looked like hell and it took all of her willpower not to tell him so.

“No thanks,” he said in his raspy, congested shadow of his former voice.  “You’ve been doing all the work so far, I think you should take a rest and I’ll keep an eye out in case anything happehhhhh...“Hihhh...hihhh...HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahrrrrrrrrSSSSHH!...happens.”

“Stop being ridiculous and stupid!  What use do you actually think you’re going to be?  You can barely move,or exist for two minutes without sneezing your head off.  Just stop being stubborn and get into that damned bed or I will pick you up and carry you there.”

He languidly turned his head to look at her.  Yeah, she was unbelievably strong, but come on.  He had a good few inches of height on her and a lot of his body was prime muscle real estate.  Okay, some of it was lots and lots of doughnuts, but still.  There was no way she was going to make good on that threat.  In fact...

“There is no way you are going to make good on that threat,” he muttered.

So she did.
______________________________________________

After his pleas to the effect of “Don’t what, Natasha?  Be nice to you?  Care about you?  What am I actually doing wrong here?” were met by a fiery intense fury the likes of which he had not had directed toward him before, he had given up on her and gone back to the desk to continue the surveillance.  Or, ostenstibly he had given up on her, he wanted to make a point but he couldn’t bring himself to truly abandon her, and he couldn’t stop himself from constantly looking over to her to make sure she was okay.

The two of them, for their own reasons, had trust issues.  Over time, they had grown to learn to trust each other somewhat, but they each kept their own walls for their own reasons.  But all things considered, he had opened up more than she had, and he found that frustrating at times.  “I can’t tell you things about me that I don’t even know myself,” she had said once, and he was sure that was the cop-out to beat all cop-outs.

He slid the headphones from his head and rested them on his neck.  There had been no communication in quite some time and the static was getting annoying.    After a moment or two of this blissful silence, he could swear he could hear an eerie, ghostly voice, whispering in the night.  Or, it was Natasha.  Still staring off into the distance, now whispering quietly to herself.  He got up off his chair, trying - and failing - to be as quiet and catlike as the superspy herself.  And despite his lack of silent grace, she did not seem to notice his movement at all.

As he approached closer, he began to make out the words she was saying to herself.

“Your pain does not matter.  You do not matter.  There is only the mission.  Your pain does not matter.  You do not matter.  There is only the mission.”   Over.  And over.  And over.  God, what must be happening in that mind of hers?

“Okay, ‘Tasha.  You’re saying that out loud and...well, you’re scaring me.  Whatever it is you’re sick with, it’s obviously really bad.  Look what it’s doing to you.”

She turned her pale and sweaty face toward him and attempted to give him a glare of reproach.  She was so exhausted even the small muscles of her face refused to comply with her wishes.

“Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?” she rasped.  “Just go away.”

“Yeah, that’s not really an option anymore.  If you had an annoying little case of the sniffles, I might leave you to stew in your own misery, but this is obviously much more serious.  I care about you too much not to at least try to help.”

“No...” she moaned.  “No, don’t say things like that.  Not unless you want to die.”

“Yes, yes, you can kill me all you like when you’re feeling better.  Now, up!”

“No...” her voice cracked.  “You will die.  Just from being around me, being in my life...it will happen...it always happens.  Everyone I care about...”  She trailed off and stared back off into space again, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

“Come on, Nat, you’re not thinking straight.  We’re getting you into bed.”  He bent down, positioning himself under her arm with the intention of lifting her out of the chair and using his shoulders to support her so he could bring her to the bed.

He wasn’t expecting it to be as easy as it was.  He didn’t expect her to feel so light.

_________________________________________

“You’re not going to tell anyone about this?” Clint joked feebly as she set him down upon the bed and set about rearranging the blanket so that it was now upon him rather than haphazardly cocooning him.

“Oh, I’m going to tell everyone,” she teased back, with a wink.   “And I’m sure you will earn a suitably embarassing nickname.”

He smiled, and opened his mouth to offer a retort of his own, but all that came out was a series of throat tearing, chest squeezing coughs, followed by a self pitying groan.

“Come on,” she tutted.  “We can bond over humour or whatever it is that’s happening here when you’re feeling better but I think you need to save your strength and get some sleep so you’re somewhat recovered for the flight out of here.  I don’t think I fancy flying with you in this condition.  I don’t do very well when people get airsick around me...I kind of have the tendency to punch them in the face for it.”

Clint raised an eyebrow.  “Another joke?”
She folded her arms and cocked her head at him.  “Well I certainly wouldn’t advise testing me to find out.”  Her voice was stern but there was a slight smile playing at her full sensuous lips when she said it.  God, how had he never noticed how beautiful she was before?  He knew she was attractive, but he’d never realised how utterly magnetic she was.  Or maybe that was the fever talking.  That was entirely possible.

As if on cue, she reached a hand over and put it over his forehead.  The coolness of her skin felt soothing against his fiery brow.

“This isn’t good,” she said.  “You’re burning up.  It’s at least a hundred and two if it’s anything.  Possibly more.”

“There’s no way you can t-”  Another fit of coughing interrupted his sentence.  “Tell that.”

“Of course I can,” she replied, as if he were a fool for even entertaining the thought that it were impossible.  “Now enough playing around, you sleep now.  I’ll keep the fire going and make sure everything is ready for tomorrow.  Don’t open your mouth, Barton.  I can see you thinking about it.  I’ve stayed awake for far longer than this.  I’ll survive.”

He, wisely, shut his mouth and decided not to question this.  He couldn’t even if he wanted to, his eyes were growing heavy and his body was succumbing to the sleep he badly needed.  But as she turned to go, his hand shot out from under the blanket and grasped hers.  She turned around in astonishment and partly because her how-dare-you-touch-me reaction was a reflex at this stage.  But when she looked at his eyes, she couldn’t quite bring herself to admonish him.

“Natasha...I...thank you, but...why are you being so nice to me?”
_______________

Clint gently lowered Natasha into the bed and, as she seemed unmotivated to and rendered near catatonic by whatever was on her mind, rearranged the blanket so that it was covering her properly.  And then he couldn’t quite stop himself from brushing her limp red curls out of her face so they wouldn’t stick to her damp forehead.  Damn, he didn’t have a thermometer with him or anything...he had no idea how high this blasted fever was, or if it was high enough to be seriously dangerous.  Based on her reaction he was certain it must be but...he’d never seen her sick.  Maybe she was just one of those people that couldn’t handle a little cold.

She turned her head and pulled the blanket up over her mouth and nose.

“hehh...ihhh-k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh!”

He put his hand over her forehead.  No, that was definitely high.  Way, way too high.  He was going to need to get her to drink water or something.

“Now,” he said, in as much of a soothing voice as he could muster.  Playing the caring nurse wasn’t really his thing.  “You want to tell me why you were saying those things to yourself over there?”

“No.”

“‘Tasha please just trust me.”

“No.”

He sighed, yet again, and somehow knew it wouldn’t be the last time either.  “Okay, fine, have it your way,” he said, resigned.  “Get to sleep, we’re getting out of here in the morning and you’re getting to a doctor.  And don’t try to say no, I could see you thinking about it. You’re not really in any shape to argue and I am very, very worried about you.  Just go to sleep.  I’ll keep the fire going and get everything ready to leave in the morning.  Yeah, I’m beat, but I’ll take a nap during the flight.”

She couldn’t really argue, she didn’t have the energy to and she was fighting off the profound urge to sleep.  But as he turned to go her hand shot out from under the blanket and grasped his.  He turned around to see a deep, pleading sadness in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“Why?  Why are you always so nice to me?”

_____________________________________
She looked startled as she stammered for an answer, as if the accusation of being nice was so unfamiliar she had no way to respond to it.

“I...uh...well, you seemed to need it, and...I don’t know, okay?  You’re my partner and I guess that means we’re supposed to look out for each other and keep each other alive and relatively in one piece, I guess.”

“Well I...Hihhh...hihhh...HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahhggkhSSSSHH!...*sniff*...ugh, God...I mean you’ve never really had much time for me.  I know you don’t like me very much.  I know you think I’m useless.  But you’ve never asked for a transfer or a new partner or...I dunno, we keep putting ourselves through the hell of teaming up over and over again and I have no idea why.  I mean, the guys at the top would bend over backwards to make sure you have exactly what you want.  You’re the best they got.  So why haven’t you dumped me like a hot sh-...er...potato?”

She paused for a moment, tilting her chin defiantly as she turned her eyes ceilingward.  With her arms folded and her hips tilted petulantly, she looked as if she were formulating the perfect retort, the perfect way of letting him know just how much of a nothing he was to her.  Then she opened her mouth and spoke:

“I...that’s a thing I do...I don’t like people getting too close to me.  It makes the job easier.  I’ve seen strong men reduced to shells because they made a best buddy on the team and their good old best buddy went and got himself shot in the heart.  So I don’t do that.  I don’t make friends.  I don’t even make small talk.  If you want to survive in this world, you should do the same thing.  But...for what it’s worth, you’re an adequate partner.  You’re...good at what you do and good at things I didn’t realise you could do.  Okay?  Happy now?”

And he was.  His mind at ease, he finally allowed himself to go to sleep.
_____________________________

“What the hell are you talking about ‘Tasha?  Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?  We’re partners.  Friends.  Maybe a little more than that depending on how much of the you-know-what meant anything to you.  I just don’t understand where this is coming from.”

"I don't deserve this..."

"Really 'Tasha, you're not thinking straight.  Of course you deserve to rest and be looked after if you're not feeling well."

“That,” she moaned.  “All of that.  We can’t...I can’t...this never should have happened.  You and I never should have happened.  You mean too much to me.  It’s just asking for-”

“Hey.  Hey.  Ssh.”  He reached down to stroke her forehead.  “Enough of that, okay?”

“I’ve compromised the mission,” she snarled like a wounded beast.  “By rights I should be put down.  But instead I keep getting chance after chance, indulging my weakness.  It’s disgusting!”

“What weakness?   What chances?  You’ve never needed any chances.  You’re the best there is, you’ve never...”

She interrupted him with an animalistic howl that chilled him to his marrow.   “Stop!” she pleaded.  “Stop doing this!  I don’t deserve this!  I don’t deserve any of this!”

“Natasha, please.  Please talk to me.  Talk to me about whatever it is that’s in your mind that’s causing this.  Please.  I am begging you like I have never begged before.  I want to help you.”

“How?  How can I talk about anything that’s in my mind.  I don’t know what is real.  The fake memories they gave me of my childhood...I don’t even know where they stop.  How can I know if anything I remember is real?  I wish it were all fake, that I didn’t have all this blood on my hands...how can I even know if this moment right now is real?”

He had no response for that.  He wasn’t sure a response existed for that.  He knew, on a very basic level, that there must be so much pain hiding behind her stoic eyes, or her forced smiles.  He knew it, but he never had to confront it head on.  She had demons living in her the likes of which no person should ever have to deal with.  And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.  There wasn’t a single word he could utter that seemed like it could come close to being sufficient for this.  So he did the next best thing he could think of.  He silently lay down beside her and put an arm around her, breathing into her neck to let her know he was close.

Her face registered surprise, then went blank, as if whatever had been shouting at her in the deep recesses of her thoughts had been quieted.  And finally, she allowed herself to shut her eyes.

To be continued

 

 

[silentdreamer789]

This is so awesome!

[Anonymouse]

Quote

His whole being-really-good-at-shooting-things shtick relied pretty heavily on those.

haha poor Barton... he's such a badass at what he does, but so many things could render him incapable. 

"Cold air makes me sniffly" oh my God what a great sentence? And Clint giving himself a pep talk was way too cute.

When Tasha checks out his wound... the build up to that was suspenseful and hilarious. And the conclusion was unexpectedly tender!

I love the two of them role-reversing a 1950s husband and housewife. Such a contrast to the first part, though you could tell Nat was warming up a bit there at the end.

Quote

He could swear that the room had steadily grown colder

Having a Russian in the room automatically drops the temperature by 10 degrees. 

His admiration for her goes so deep. I love that he marvels over her looks and her intelligence and other skills. She truly is an amazing human being. And her frustration at his mis-use of the word "ironic"

Clint in the blanket burrito trying to get warm by the fire. ? I just about died at Nat counting his sneezes.

Onto part 3...

Edited August 7, 2017 by AnonyMouse

[Anonymouse]

Quote

he swore that he would never experience comfort again.

I can so identify with that level of sickness and cold/frozen misery. I've been there before. You can't remember what it feels like to not be sick. 

Omg Natasha and that mini flashback... :/ I love how she and Clint sort of... bond over being stubborn.

Quote

But her senses were still with her, at least somewhat, because the moment she heard the telltale intake of breath that let her know that he was about to open his big mouth, she muttered

I love that as weak and tired and sick as she is, her reflexes still trump his. You handled her trauma very well here... I'm glad Clint came back with the tissues for her and proved that he was sticking around. That very last part was heartbreaking.

Next part: I love sick Clint figuring out the code! Must have been a huge blow to Nat's ego. It also shows there's more to him than meets the eye. It's so cool to think about how nervous she is about being more than friendly-ish to him, and how close they become in the future. 

Quote

 

There was no way she was going to make good on that threat.  In fact...

“There is no way you are going to make good on that threat,” he muttered.

So she did.

 

!!

Omg Nat... damn. :| I'm glad he was there to comfort her. <3

[AngelEyes]

Still loving this!

[Leafeon78]

This is really good love your writing.

[The Kneezle]

This is AMAZING. I love the story structure and natasha's sneezes are so perfect. Thank you so much for sharing!!!

[SleepingPhlox]

@silentdreamer789, @DevilsGaze' @Gengar, @The Kneezle, @AmummyMouse Thank you guys so much for the comments and Mouse in particular thank you for being SOOOO freaking patient with my, uh, less-than-regular update schedule.  This is where is was supposed to end with a little epilogue after but as I mentioned I'm a bit worried about it not measuring up for trade purposes so I cut out the last scene and re-wrote the one before it to make it more open ended so it can either end here or I can have room to write a bit more in either in the cabin or in the jet if I need to and that way I'm covered.

_____________________________

Part 4 Watching and Waiting

Natasha had tried pacing the room, had tried engaging in a bit of training, had tried going back to the listening post to see if any more critical information was flitting through the airwaves, but she always came back to the seat next to the bed.  Her tight ponytail had long been abandoned in favour of letting her long red hair tumble messily around her shoulders.  Currently she sat with her legs drawn up in a cross-legged position on the seat, casually munching on a bag of dried beef, watching Clint with occasionally amused curiosity as he meandered between heavy slumber and feverish tossing and turning.

If she had asked what had been going through his mind during the chaotic dream states, if by some small miracle he had been able to remember it upon waking, there is no way he would be able to explain it.  Snippets of memories, some fresh and some thought long forgotten, mingled and mixed together with horrifying nightmare scenes that only a fever-affected mind could come up with and it all swirled together and merged perfectly until he couldn’t be sure what were genuine memories anymore.

Suddenly, without warning, his head thrashed to the side and he called out.  Natasha hit her fist against her chest and coughed slightly as the sudden movement and noise happened to coincide with a small bit of dried beef trying to go down the right pipe.  Not that she was capable of being startled, of course. Pure coincidence. His legs kicked out, threatenening to dislodge the blanket from his body.  Again.    She sighed and leaned forward, rearranging the blanket so that it was back over his shoulders.  Though she had kept the fire roaring brightly deep into the night, and as unbearably warm she found it in the cabin, he still kept shivering in his sleep, and still needed to be kept warm.  Evidently.

He looked as if he was going to settle back into sleep and she had just leaned back into her chair when he shouted out “No!  Out of the way!  I can save them!”  She raised an eyebrow.  She was certainly curious about the circumstances of that little outburst.  She’d never ask, of course.  People were entitled to keep their secrets.  She reached over to press a hand gently to his forehead.  The heat was definitely creeping back up to dangerous levels.  Sighing, she got up to resaturate the cloth over his forehead with cold water to cool him back down a bit.

_____________________________________________

Every inhale of Natasha’s was sharp and jagged.  Every exhale came with a slightly voiced moan.  And she had barely sat still since she had gone to sleep.  Whatever was going in in her mind was a doozy.  She sure did have a lot to say about it too, but it was all in Russian, and Clint had no idea what she was talking about.  The best he could do was sit next to her and occasionally wipe her forehead with a damp cloth when it became too sweaty.  He wasn’t sure if it was even helping.

She stopped thrashing and for a moment she was still, save for the dramatic rising and falling of her chest.  Perhaps this was a turning point.  Perhaps she was out of the woods, perhaps her fever was beginning to-

“Alexei Sokolov,” she moaned.

Clint folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.  “Excuse me?”

But she didn’t answer him, nor seem to hear him.  She seemed for all the world to still be asleep, though her utterance was followed by a perfectly enunciated recitation of a series of names in a flat, monotone voice.  First they were all Russian, then they were joined by some Eastern European sounding names, then in crept some German, some Italian, and then after a while some French and English, and then there was just a jumble of nationalities with no particular pattern to them

It would be some time before he learned the purpose of that list, before he learned of a certain little ritual she had.  Or why the names she knew off by heart were always said in the same exact order, every single time.  Or that the “name” she always finished the list off with wasn’t a name at all, but “I’m sorry” in her native tongue.

To him, right now, she was just talking in her sleep.  

“Barry Langston...Lisa Peterson...Gerard Laurent...Max Stein...Ruby Stein...”

She was showing no signs of stopping any time soon.  He sighed and removed the cloth from her forehead.  Maybe topping it up with some cool water would help.

___________________________________________

He had periods where he slept quietly, though “quiet” was relative.  She had witnessed him asleep while they were packed together in close quarters more time than she would care to count and on no other occasion had she ever heard him snore.  Obviously breathing through his thoroughly blocked nose was an impossibility, and his mouth was open wide as can be, heavy congested snoring sounds emanating from deep within.  Oh yes, every once in a while he would stop for a while, allowing her a moment of reprieve, except that he replaced with a soft “khhhhh...” marking every exhale.  That was almost worse.  She couldn’t tune it out and it was just there in the background, over and over and over...

And over...

And over...

Just as she was about to get back up to pace the room again, just to distract herself from the noise...

“HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahhggkhSSSSHH!...*sniff*”

No, that didn’t startle her at all.  Not even a little bit.

“Well good morning, Sunshine,” she said wryly.

“Guh...is it bordi’g?”

“Not really, not even close.  You’ve only been asleep for...nearly three hours.” She couldn’t keep the slight sigh from her voice.   “We’ve got a ways to go yet.”

“*sniff*...ah bad, I was hopi’g this would clear up if I godda bidda sleep.  I thi’g I feel eved worse...”

“Well like I said, it hasn’t even been three hours.  You’re going to need a bit more rest than that."

“Hihhh...hihhh...HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahrrrrrrrrSSSSHH!...oh god, I thi’g I bight be dyi’g.”

“I highly doubt that.  Anyway, do try your best not to die.  I’d hate to have to go looking for a new partner.”

“No promises,” he groaned, and flipped over onto his side.

_______________________________________

Mercifully, whatever had been going on in her mind seemed to quiet down after an hour or so, and she slept, though fitfully, with jerks of her limbs violently interrupting the silence very now and again.  It always happened to be just as Clint had started to relax, started idly thumbing though the pages of a book he had read many times before.  He would have liked to have been perusing his favourite internet sites, but the signal up here was woeful, and his phone was essentially useless.

Stroking her hair every time she became restless seemed to be the best way to calm her down and send her back into peaceful slumber.  Though, he wasn’t entirely sure how she’d feel about it if she were conscious.  In fact, he was sure that she would have something to say about it.  She wasn’t exactly the letting-herself-be-comforted type.  Not really.  But everyone needed someone in this world, didn’t they?  Even her.

Even him.

Just as he had begun to calm down again and read the same passage he had begun countless times this evening, her legs jerked and she called out suddenly.  He could swear she was doing this on purpose, somehow.  Just to screw with him.  He closed the book in preparation for reaching out to stroke her hair again, but just as he was about to lift his hand, her eyes flew open and she gave a loud gasp.  He jumped slightly, despite himself.

“Hey...how are you feeling?” He said, totally cool and casual and not at all slightly high pitched voice because he totally had not just had the living crap scared out of him, not at all.  She gave him a wry smile and turned on to her side to face him, bringing her arm up under her head.

“Honestly, could be better,” she said with a weak smile, her voice low and raspy nearly to the point of being lost completely.  “It’s no jumping out of a third story window after being shot in the leg, but I could still happily do without it.”  She was still smiling, and there was a hint of a cheeky twinkle in her otherwise glassy eyes and - yet again - he had no idea if she was joking or not.

As if she could read his thoughts, and really at times like this he wasn’t sure she couldn’t, she added: “Be a good boy and I’ll let you see the scar.”  The sentence started out with her trying to force the very last remnants of her voice out through her throat, and ended in a harsh throaty whisper.  Though, she was very evidently trying to play it off as a ploy to be extra sexy, but the bout of harsh coughing that emanated from her chest as punishment for pushing herself too far gave the game away.  And as much as hearing the most beautiful woman alive flirt with him wasn’t...awesome, quite frankly, just awesome...perhaps he ought not to be encouraging this.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try to behave myself and be very good.  And I think that needs to be double for you.  Less talking, more sleeping.”

She made a face at this, clearly not impressed at the selection.

“Go to sleep, Natasha, or so help me, I will sing you a lullaby.”

“Oh no, not that.  Anything but that,” she exclaimed, mostly in a whisper with little flecks of voice coming through.  She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as a joke.  Yet, somehow, it wasn’t long before the joke become reality and she was fast asleep again.

____________________________________________

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” Natasha sang loudly in a tone of voice that was specifically designed to be annoying.  Yes, she was a morning person, and a night person, and a middle of the day person, indeed she could function optimally whenever she happened to need to, thanks to a lifetime of training to keep herself in optimal condition.  But right now, after having stayed awake all night, she was flagging, and they sooner they got out of here, the sooner she could get a bit of a nap.  So, while it may be barely sunrise, she was quite ready for Clint to be up and ready to attack the day.

His fever had climbed during the night, as evidenced by the cycles of alternating between shivering and sweating she had observed during the rest of his largely interrupted sleep.  This gave way not too long ago to just sweating, though his body was a lot calmer.  At least it was after he’d kicked off the blankets.  Oh, naturally she had replaced them, and then he kicked them off again, and so on and so forth until she gave up and decided she trusted him to determine his own comfort levels.

Her morning wake up call was answered by a sudden and loud “Hihhh...hihhh...HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahrrrrrrrrSSSSHH!”, which seemed to bring Clint from slumber to wakefulness.  His head lifted off the pillow with the effort, and then flopped heavily back down.  His arm flopped halfheartedly around looking for the toilet roll to blow his nose with and though his hand came within a mere inch of it, finding it was outside his capabilities, and he decided this was far too difficult to deal with right now, and opted to wipe his nose on the corner of the blanket instead.  It was only after he’d done this that he thought to remember that he wasn’t alone, and wondered if she’d seen him do that.

Judging by the look on her face, she had totally seen him do that.

He opened his mouth to apologise but the second he inhaled, he was overcome by another “HIHHHptchh...HIIHHHptchhu...hihh...hihh...HIHHHPtchhhu...hihhh...hahhggkhSSSSHH!”  This was followed up by a self-pitying groan and he didn’t care how pathetic it sounded.

“I was going to ask if you felt like you were up to flying out of here,” Natasha said, furrowing her eyebrows and narrowing her eyes in suspicion.  “But now I’m not so sure...”  Wow, she actually looked concerned for him and that more than anything else really made him want to suck it up and deal.

“I’m actually a lot better,” he said in a deeply congested and hoarse voice that sounded anything but a lot better.  “It’s actually a proven fact that when you’re sick you sneeze a lot when you first wake up because you don’t sneeze while you’re asleep and your body has to make up for it.  It’s true.  It happens to everyone.”

Natasha folded her arms.  “Doesn’t happen to me,” she shrugged with a toss of her hair.
_________________________________________
“Natasha...yoo-hoo, Natasha...” Clint whispered.  Talking quietly in her general vicinity didn’t seem to be doing the trick in waking her up.  He was debating whether or not to put his hand on her shoulder and shake her gently.  Knowing her freakishly spot on reflexes, he could end up minus one arm or something.  Oh well, if she grabbed his arm and flipped him upside down or whatever, it would actually be a lot more interesting than sitting here doing nothing.  He decided to take the chance.

Gingerly and carefully, he put his arm on her shoulder and shook gently.  “Natasha?” he said quietly.

And then quickly jerked out of the way as his efforts were met with an entirely different involuntary reflex than the one he expected.

“Hehh...ihhh-k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh!”

He managed to get out of the way to avoid most - but not all - of the spray.  And wow, she had either jerked herself into a sitting position from the sheer effort of sneezing or had coincidentally decided to sit up at the same time and actually had the coordination and presence of mind to do so.  Both of which were impressive in their own way.

She rubbed her nose with her wrist and groaned.  “Guh, is it morning already,” she said in a congestion-laden and hoarse voice.  “I feel like I just managed to get to sleep.”

A good night’s sleep did not do her as much good as Clint had hoped it would.  She looked miserable, with her nose and cheeks flushed bright pink, dark circles under her eyes, sweat-dampened and matted hair sticking to her forehead and cheeks.  Her dull and glazed eyes seemed unfocused as they stared emotionlessly at the blanket.  Clint reached up and touched her forehead, and she didn’t flinch or try to bat his hand away.  This must be even worse than he thought.

“I was going to ask you if you felt up to flying out of here,” he said, his face a picture of consternation.  “But now I’m not so sure."

“I’m...hehh...ihhh-k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh!...I’ll be fine, really.”

“Are you sure?  You’ve had kinda a rough night.”

“What are you talking about?  I...hehh...ihhh-k’tchhh!...hehhh...k’tchhh!....hehhh...hihhh...k’tchhh!...oh, man, what is with me right now?  I slept.  You’re the one who stayed awake all night.  Don’t try to tell me you didn’t, either.  I can tell.”

He wasn’t about to say anything remotely contradictory.  Didn’t stop him from thinking it, though.

 

[Leafeon78]

Ooh another lovely chapter the writing was so brilliantly done.

[AngelEyes]

Awww. Sweet watchdogs.