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If you ask most people when they realized they were in love, they’ll wax poetic about how they knew it from the moment they looked into their partner’s eyes, maybe when they held hands or kissed for the first time. Maybe they’ll say it was when the other one showed up at work with coffee just because, just how they liked it, or maybe when the object of their affection and their dog became so close that they began to question their pet’s loyalties.
For Clint Barton, who is a very untraditional man in all things, he knew he was in love with Natasha Romanoff in an equally untraditional way.
>>------->
When Clint brought her into SHIELD instead of carrying out his orders to kill her, to say that she was the mental and emotional equivalent of Fort Knox would be an understatement. It took months of work from skilled deprogrammers and his own personal efforts to break through her mental barriers to make her understand that she was safe, that nobody was going to harm her, that SHIELD was her new home and she had freedom now that she’d never have in Russia. It took her months to accept this cognitively, and outwardly she seemed to give appropriate emotional responses.
Clint, however, who had taken a vested interest in the young girl, knew better. He knew that she was just as locked down as she had been the day she was brought in: a scowling, wounded animal looking to strike. She was no longer any of those things, but she was still an island. No one could reach her. Natasha Romanoff trusted no one; it was the nature of her job and she took her job seriously.
Clint tried not to take it personally.
He’d grown fond of her, however, and decided that he didn’t just want her to know that he wouldn’t let her come to harm. He wanted her to know that he wouldn’t let her get hurt. Clint coveted her trust, not just in the battlefield, but off. They worked amazingly as a team, but he knew that they could do better.
So he kept at it. He kept digging at the walls Natasha had built around herself, wearing them down slowly, like trying to dig through concrete with a spoon. Clint didn’t give up, though. He was determined to win her trust.
>>------->
Natasha had quickly worked her way up the ranks in SHIELD until she was nearly to the top. This, naturally, caused resentment amongst some other agents, none more than Grant Ward. Clint had always thought that Ward was a dick and avoided him as much as possible, but Natasha had been thrown into situations with him several times and had been forced to put up with his snide comments, often about her lack of abilities and various ways she could have achieved such a meteoric rise..
The very thought of someone saying those things about Natasha - much less to her - infuriated Clint to dangerous levels... but he did nothing. Natasha was her own woman and would resent any white-knight intervention on his part. Clint was resigned to grumbling to himself while Natasha brushed him off and took the high road. And if he comforted himself with the thought that, given the chance in the training gym he’d pummel the shit out of Ward, well, Nat didn’t need to know that, did she?
But Clint’s usual sparring partner was Natasha herself. And on this particular Wednesday, she came in scowling. The wounded, caged animal again. Clint was wary: this fire in her eyes always led to the annihilation of her opponents.
Clint, of course, was her opponent today.
And, of course, he was beaten badly.
When he lay on the mat, panting and trying desperately not to groan, Natasha stood up from the place she had been sitting on his chest, kicking her legs higher than she needed to to clear his body in defiance and striding away angrily. Clint sat up, propped himself on one arm and asked with more of an edge in his voice than he intended, “what the hell was that about, Nat?”
“It’s not about you,” she tossed over her shoulder angrily.
“Felt like it.”
She whirled and started towards him slowly from across the room, her rolling, heel-to-toe stride nearly a prowl, and narrowed her eyes to slits when she answered him. “You wanna talk about feelings, HotShot?” she snarled. “Felt like you got the shit kicked out of you, didn’t it? Felt really damn bad, didn’t it? Well, that’s what working here feels like. Working with a bunch of dumb fucking bastards. That’s what it feels like.”
She was getting close and Clint stood, although he fought the urge to back away as she approached. Natasha’s voice was growing thick and he had a vague idea what was going on, what she was talking about, but he’d never seen her anything like this.
She went on: “The only thing I know for sure about the dumb bastards around here is that you’re good for two things: you’re good for doling out emotional beatings and taking physical beatings. I got one today, so I gave the other.”
“Ward.” It was a statement, not a question. Clint knew, now, who had caused this, if not what exactly had happened.
“Yeah. Ward,” she snarled.
“What did he do, Nat?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll hear about it. I’ll be shocked if it’s not written on the bathroom walls by now.” Her voice cracked and eyes shimmered. Clint’s hands twitched to reach for her, but he didn’t. “It’s making the rounds now. Apparently there’s a made up list of names of guys who helped me to the top. Ward’s on it, and he’s bragging.” The tears spilled over, and Clint growled out loud at the sight because he couldn’t cry with her.
“I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t you dare!” she shrieked. “Don’t you dare talk to him about it, or anyone else! I don’t need you, Clint! He can tell his filthy lies and it doesn’t matter, I don’t need you to get involved, I don’t care what anyone thinks...I don’t care... I don’t need you to stand up for me, or...or…” the tears were coming hard and fast now, and her shoulders were shaking, but Clint couldn’t tell if it was from anger, humiliation, or tears. Maybe all three.
“I don’t NEED your help, you’re as bad as he is, I hate you and I hate him…” Natasha covered her face and cried.
Clint’s heart broke. He reached forward, pulling her into his arms and holding her close. She didn’t uncover her eyes right away, but didn’t resist the touch, either. He stroked her hair and murmured reassurances. She sobbed harder at his sweet words and soft touch, and it only took a couple of moments before she was clinging to him tightly. They stood there like that for a long time, two assassins and spies in the middle of a sparring gym, one in tears and the other near tears, Hawkeye and the Black Widow, Strike Team Delta, just holding each other.
>>------->
Most couples have a wonderfully romantic story about the moment they knew they loved each other. The way the candlelight made shadows flicker across her face. The fact that sleep wouldn’t come until they heard the others’ voice. The way suddenly nobody else was attractive anymore, the one beautiful person in the world was that person.
But for Clint Barton, a very untraditional man in all things, realizing that he was in love with the woman of his dreams wouldn’t happen in such a traditional way. It took something much more unusual, much less Hallmark.
Clint knew he was a goner the first time Natasha Romanoff opened her soul and kicked his ass in the training gym, yelled out her remaining angst over a fellow agent who made her feel like shit, then cried on his shoulder.
Clint knew he was in love with Natasha Romanoff the first time she trusted him enough to vent to him. He’d broken down her walls, won her trust and fallen in love in the span of one sound thrashing on the sparring mat.