Chapter Text
Natasha Romanoff was not one to fall back on emotional instinct and fleeting moods. She prided herself on her analytical mind and logical reasoning. It's what kept her alive all these years. It's what made her dangerous. She was never not in the know. When she told Steve that she only acted like she knew everything, that was mostly true. There was no way to understand everything around her, but she made sure to know more than most, to know as much as she could.
It was easy to slip into survival mode at SHIELD, which may have been more humane of an organization, but was still a secret agency operating in the gray. Clint could break her out of it, catching rare glimpses of her personality that she sometimes forgot she was allowed. And when the Avengers burst on the scene, she found herself surrounded by others unwilling to accept her mask.
Steve was the most insistent. Bruce still didn't realize she was playing him. Tony was just obnoxious and they spent as little time as possible together. Thor was familiar with shield-maidens, as he had dubbed her, and made no effort to force down her walls, enjoying her company nonetheless. And Clint was, as always, Clint.
But SHIELD fell. And her aliases, most of them anyways, were compromised. Her secrets, the ones SHIELD knew, were out in the open. Survival mode was high and she was in her element. She still knew more than most. She would be fine.
So why was she staring at a video like it would kill her?
It was a simple video, some would call it heartwarming. Two brothers-in-arms reunited after time and death seemed to separate. But Natasha didn't see Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes entering the compound at 2 am. No, she saw the man she had come to respect and admire as a leader, someone she could say she trusted, and the man she would once burn the world with.
With a decisive flick, the footage skipped and suddenly looped.
Despite her sabotage, the entire Avengers facility had been made aware of their new occupant by noon. Tony was still nursing wounds, but hadn't caused a fight yet. Sam acted nonchalant, but she could see the way his eyes flicked to James, assessing, cautious, hiding behind his jokes and welcoming him home. Wanda was sympathetic, Vision indifferent.
And Natasha watched it all from the surveillance room.
"You're in my spot," Clint complained as he slipped from the vents and landed beside her.
Nat rolled her eyes, "You've been home for the past 6 months, you lost ownership rights."
"Aw, come on Tasha," he pouted, but then turned to the screens, "What'd I miss?"
Clint wasn't dumb, no matter what facade he put up, he knew exactly what was going on. It was why he was here, "I'm surprised Steve called you."
"Sent a text asking for team meeting," he said with a shrug, "Should I let him know that most dads bring back souvenirs when they go on trips, not low-functioning, possibly crazed assassins?"
"You brought me back," she said softly, eyes trained on James, allowing Clint to watch her, "What's your excuse?"
"Uh, I wasn't a dad yet, didn't know any better?" he paused, watching her closely, "Or perhaps I need to tell him not to play favorites. Looks like it's a souvenir for you."
Her walls snapped back in place as she shot a glare at him. He had the decency to flinch and hold his hands up, "Ease back. You're not talking, so you know I resort to button pushing. Who is he?"
"James Buchanan Barnes." Her tone was clipped, professional.
"Nat," he said softly, "Who is he to you?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Clint crawled through the vents and dropped into the living room, where everyone was tensely waiting. It was kind of funny to still see Tony jump when he did that. Everyone currently residing on earth had been called: Tony, Vision, Sam, Rhodes, Wanda, Steve. Steve's old friend was mysteriously absent. And with Clint here, that left only Nat MIA.
"Barton, you're late," Steve admonished.
He grinned, "Got caught up, so what's new?"
He got an eye roll from Steve and a smirk from Sam. Bird Bros for life. Steve spoke again, "Have you seen Natasha?"
"Got a call from Fury," he said with a shrug, resisting the urge to look at the camera. "Said to go on without her. She knows what it's about."
Steve sighed. The meeting wasn't informational. Everyone already knew Bucky was on the compound. Still, couldn't be helped, "Alright. As most of you are aware-"
"All," Tony butted in, "All of us are aware. Get to the point Capsicle so we can skip to the yelling."
He pursed his lips, but continued, "I convinced Bucky yesterday to come home, to start treatment. I have been speaking with T'Challa who believes they can erase the triggers from his mind. Wanda, I wondered if you might be able to help as well?"
Clint bristled at the thought. "Cap, she's a kid."
He nodded, "I know. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think her capable and she won't be with him alone."
"I'm not saying he'll hurt her. I'm saying he's been through hell and she doesn't need to see that." Natasha told Clint enough of the Red Room to cause him nightmares. To have Wanda witness that first hand....no, it couldn't happen.
Steve was nodding, but resolute, "I know. And again, I'm just asking."
"I want to help," she said quietly, "I understand the horrors he has gone through. If I can put him at ease, I will do it."
Clint twirled an arrow in his fingers, unable to show his agitation beyond that motion. Of course Cap is just asking, but who says no to Captain America?? And Wanda couldn't say no to anyone. She cared too much. This time he did look at the camera, wishing Nat was here to bang some sense into these idiots.
"Can we get to the yelling already?" Tony asked, "I'm ready."
Steve sighed again, "I'd like him to stay here."
"Yay. No. Absolutely not. That monster is lucky I haven't blown his brains to bits the moment you touched down. Actually, you know what, maybe I'll go do that now. Friday-"
Tony was walking to the door, but Steve planted himself in the way. Clint shuddered at the cold look he was throwing the billionaire. It was so easy to get lost in the apple pie and American way to forget how dangerous Steve was. Tony already went toe-to-toe with him and came out the loser.
Clint stood before it could restart the fight six months ago, "That's rich, coming from you Tony."
"What?" Dark eyes swiveled to him, twitching, finding an easier target than the boulder in the door.
"Why don’t we take a survey? Wanda, would you like to rip Stark to pieces? I mean, he is the reason you lost your parents, your home. You have every right to want to kill him, right?"
He almost regretted at the way she withdrew herself, looking at the floor, but he continued over Tony's protests and Sam's gentle warning, "Colonel, would you like to have Vision decommissioned? He's the reason you need bionic legs."
"Now wait-"
"Steve, do you hold me responsible? Will you have me arrested? I killed a lot of good agents on the attack on the helicarrier. Am I not just as culpable?" The answer was yes, but that was his burden to bear.
"Clint." That was Sam. Time to bring this home.
"The whole point, is that this," he waved around the room, "only works when we recognize that we're a messed up pile of crap. We've all done things that we regret, intentionally or not. What makes us different from the ones we fight is our remorse, is our attempt to clean up the mess behind. You wanna go after Barnes, Stark? He'd probably let you, but you're gonna have to come to terms that he didn't kill your parents. HYDRA did. He was just the gun."
The room fell silent as Tony fumed. He flicked his wrists, the suit forming around him, then took off, flying straight through the ceiling. Rhodes watched with a sigh. "I got 'im."
Clint plopped on the couch, a headache forming from an early flight and long day, "I need a nap."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
In hindsight, Clint should have expected the visit. He did give a pretty good speech. Cap would want pointers surely. But after everyone dispersed, went about their day as normally as possible, Clint found himself staring at the coffeemaker, wondering where he went wrong.
"You okay Clint?" Steve asked.
He pouted, "I can't get coffee."
"Stark ruled nothing caffeinated after 8." he said with a shrug, sitting at the bar, "Although, I don't think that applies to his personal one."
"B-but," he stared at him aghast, "I can't live without coffee!"
"Buck up soldier. You'll be fine."
"You're mean," he said, giving up on the vain quest for coffee and pouring himself cereal instead, "Tony still out?"
"Rhodes checked in and said things were fine. I think they're with Pepper." He nodded, that was good. Pepper was a magician with Tony's moods. "I actually came to thank you."
He looked up, blinking slowly, "Huh?"
"I'm not saying it again," Steve said shrewdly, "I don't agree with your methods, but thank you for standing up for Bucky."
"I wasn't doing it for him, Cap. We live messy lives and carry a whole lot of guilt around. We don't need each other throwing it in our faces too." He munched on his cereal, focusing on the crunch, eyes watching the marshmallows disappear.
"It wasn't your fault those people died on the helicarrier," he said quietly.
Clint pursed his lips, "It wasn't your fault Bucky fell."
His food suddenly tasted sour. He finished the marshmallows anyways then dumped the bowl in the sink. A glare from the captain got him washing it out with a pout. Man, he missed home. "Did Fury really call Nat out?"
He didn't turn to look at him. He knew Steve wasn't really asking. Of all the people at the compound, he understood Natasha the most, or at least a close second to Clint. Steve didn't know her background, but he knew her. And that was a rare gift.
"Has Bucky talked to you about everything he's gone through yet?" Clint asked instead of answering a question they both knew.
"A bit. He has a hard time because he doesn't know which memories are real. They screwed around in his head too much."
He nodded, turning and leaning against the counter, arms crossing over his chest, "You think T'Challa and Wanda can help separate those?"
Steve frowned as he thought through his response, "He doesn't hold much hope of regaining everything, but with time and healing, I think he can regain what's important."
But who decided what was important, Clint mused, letting that remain silent. He hoped for both their sakes it would be enough.