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Natasha’s gaze sought out and locked onto Clint as soon as she entered the studio. She smiled at him, tight-lipped and strained, wishing not for the first time this week that their roles necessitated at least some pretense of civility. Unfortunately, their covers’ relationship was no better off than their own. They were posing as estranged husband and wife, Nadine and Clark Ratcliffe. One of sixteen couples seeking consultation at the Eden Resort, a premier marriage-counseling destination for the rich and would-be powerful/famous.
They—or more accurately Natasha, as Clint was simply part of her cover, and also back-up in the unlikelihood it was needed—were here to extract information about a potential hit on a high-ranking member of the World Security Council. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s intel pointed to one of the other guests, Marie Hart. She was the wife of Phillip Hart, the CEO of a fledgling tech conglomerate, and the mistress of Sen. Eugene Stivak. Stivak was the head of The Corporation and the man they suspected of sanctioning the hit.
The assignment had been simple, if not painstakingly slow and tedious. Natasha was to win over Marie’s trust and confidence, use their similarly tragic “love stories” to get her to open up and talk about Stivak. It was a play Natasha had used time and time again. One that was made all the easier by the amount of bonding the two had practically been forced into.
The head counselor at the resort was a firm believer in the old adage “absence makes the heart grow fonder.” As such, the guests spent the majority of their time with their cohorts, only seeing their spouses during group sessions or couples therapy. It was an arrangement that had given Natasha meals, team-bonding sessions, and late nights in their shared room to connect with Marie.
Last night, during one such gab-session turned sob-fest, Natasha had finally gotten the information she needed. Now all that was left was to execute a swift and, more importantly, believable exodus in order to avoid the second week of this mind-numbingly torturous hell.
“Alright, everyone,” Priya, their spiritual leader for this session sing-songed as she danced into the center of the circle of chairs, pulling Natasha’s attention back to the room. “Now that we’re all settled, let’s go ahead and get started.
“When we began this beautiful, mystic journey together, we started out by cleansing our minds and spirits. By confessing to our partners all of the things about them that fill our lives with grief and misery, we were able to rid ourselves of the negative energy that was preventing us from forming true loving relationships.”
Nadine nodded sagely, brow knit together in earnestness as she recalled the truly moving experience, while internally Natasha grimaced.
It was one of the best kept secrets of spy-craft. That the best covers, the best lies, were rooted in truth. When she and Clint had been developing their backstory, the unfortunate tale of love and woe that had landed Clark and Nadine at Eden’s Resort, the two of them had unwittingly started picking and prodding at the cracks in their own relationship. The end result had been the unearthing of old wounds and the creation of new ones.
Still raw and reeling from those tense, if not damn-near-hostile pre-mission briefings, Natasha had not held back. She’d used that moment, ‘that safe space, free of repercussions and judgement’ to lash out at Clint, calling him foolish and naive and overly trusting. Claiming that his unwillingness to judge people based on their worst mistakes would eventually be the death of him. Stunned by her own outburst, she’d then floundered through a hastily added dig on his penchant for drinking directly out of the carton or coffee carafe.
Clint had looked at her, pity and pain warring for control on his face, before responding in an irritatingly calm tone. He’d told her that he knew what she was doing, knew that she was trying to push him away. That she would rather run than risk exposing herself. That her inability to let people in would end with her being cold and alone, just like she’d been when he’d found her.
It had been a painfully brutal experience. One that had left them both hurting more than they cared to admit. The only silver lining being that it had given them something concrete to fall back on during their couples counseling and something tangible to share with Marie.
“Throughout this first week,” Priya continued, “within our private sessions and group activities, you learned how to keep those unfavorable emotions at bay. Now, with that negative energy gone, we can begin the process of filling the space it occupied with love and understanding.
“Using clay as your medium, I want you to create the form that best demonstrates what you cherish about your partner. Let your love for them flow from your heart, down to your hands, where it can guide them as they mold the clay.”
Natasha turned dutifully on her stool, to the small table that had been sat behind her. She stared down at the lump of clay, mind suddenly going blank. She could easily think of something meaningless and trite. One of a thousand cliches to simply make it through the activity. She found herself balking at the thought, overcome by a need to truly express herself, to try and mend some of the hurts that she’d wrought on her partner during this mission.
With that in mind, she turned to the miss-shaped lump in front of her, pushing her hands deep into the clay and feeling it squish between her fingers. Though she’d vehemently deny it, she tried to follow Priya’s instructions, tried to let her feelings guide her hands, to let her thoughts and emotions take shape. The problem was, she didn’t know what she felt.
She knew what Clint was to her in the field, solid and competent, reliable. Someone she trusted to have her back time and time again. Outside of that, outside of the mission, it was—unclear. Comfortable and safe, he was someone with whom she could let her guard down, with whom she could relax. It was the reason she was fond of him, but also the reason was why he was dangerous.
He had awakened emotions she’d long thought dead and buried. Emotions that were frowned upon by S.H.I.E.L.D. and punishable in the Red Room. Emotions that spoke of ties and connections. Emotions that could get you killed.
She knew that he was right. That the more he poked and prodded, chipping away at her defenses, the more she’d withdrawn. Steeling herself away behind a new, stronger wall. It was a habit, a nasty and painful one, learned through necessity and therefore not easy to abandon. She was beginning to think, however, as she turned the clay over in her hands, it was one she wanted to break.
*~*
“That’s it!” Priya announced happily some time later, “time’s up! Let’s see what magic you wrought!”
Natasha turned, meeting Clint’s eyes across the room, as she carefully maneuvered the small table with her sculpture to the center of the circle. Lifting her hands, as if to present her work, she quickly twisted her palms outward, signing to her partner ‘all done’ in ASL.
Clint, for his part, didn’t bother to hide his relief and Natasha couldn’t help but smile in agreement as it flitted across his face.
“Let’s see, who wants to go first?” Priya asked. “How about you, Benji? Do you want to show us what you cherish about Hilda?”
Natasha listened idly as the others showcased their works, stretching to find meaning in the deformed lumps of clay, until her name was called.
“Nadine, what do you cherish about Clark?”
Natasha cleared her throat to try to stave off the nervousness that she hoped appeared fake. "Clark and I have really learned so much from your seminar. For that, I'm so grateful." She pushed a smile into her face as she turned her sculpture around to show to the room.
It was a heart, offset with a pattern that to anyone else would look like hourglasses. Piercing the crude shape was an arrow. "When we first met, it was—it was as if Cupid had struck me down? He shot me with his arrow and ever since then it's been a completely different life for me. A better life, one I never would have otherwise thought possible.”
"That is so beautiful!" Priya cooed, close to tears. "Clark? What did you make for Nadine?"
Clint cleared his throat roughly. "I don't think there's enough clay in the world to make models of everything I cherish about Nadine,” he told them, a smile pulling at his lips as he looked across the room at her.
Natasha smiled right back at him, feeling some of the tension she’d been carrying all week start to ebb.
"But above all, she's this,” he proudly turned his creation around to show the room at large.
It was a lump, with no form whatsoever. In fact, it didn’t even look as if he’d so much as laid a hand on the clay. Natasha tried to steal herself away, to hide the hurt. Despite her efforts, she felt her smile waver.
“She’s my rock," he explained after a moment, soft and earnest, eliciting a collective of ‘awws’ from the group. “Steady and sure, she’s the foundation of my everything.”
Natasha couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. She didn’t even try, as she climbed to her feet, meeting Clint halfway across the room.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered in his ear, as he wrapped his arms around her.
“Me too,” he answered back, before leaning in and kissing her.
Natasha hesitated, nearly pulling away from him, before giving in, her lips softening against his as she deepened the kiss. As she stood there, wrapped in his arms, she made a mental note to write Priya and the Eden Resort a five-star review.