Work Text:
Besides, I wasn't sure who to trust.
Fury's words echoed around the cave-like area, resonating with everyone in the room, but his eyes were fixed on her. It wasn't a half-hearted apology or a plea for forgiveness. It was merely an explanation designed for her, begging her to understand why he had chosen the course of action he did. Why he had left her out in the cold, believing that yet another person she had cared about was dead.
He hadn't trusted Steve, but that was reasonable. For all that Captain America was generally trusted as the all-american ideal, a truly dependable soldier, he had only come out of the ice 2 years ago and he had always been slightly suspicious of SHIELD.
Nevertheless, Fury had trusted Steve more than her, a fact she couldn't quite push from her mind. As if responding to her thoughts, the doctor pressed down on the bullet wound in her shoulder, and Natasha bit her lip as a wave of pain ran through her body.
It was fair. She was an ex-KGB assassin, a spy, making a life out of lies and manipulation. She had killed hundreds of innocents, without question. She had even murdered SHIELD agents when still with the Red Room, good people under Fury's control.
He was completely justified in his decision not to trust her. But still, it hurt.
Natasha Romanoff didn't expect people to trust her at first, or even after a lifetime of knowing her, but there were some exceptions. Clint had been the first - the unconditional trust he placed in her, the way he placed her in his blind spot and listened to her mission advice...it made her want to be a better person, even when it didn't seem possible. At some point over the years, she had begun to reciprocate it, and had come to care greatly for her partner.
Phil Coulson had been the second. Natasha Romanoff had never had a good relationship with her handlers in the past - trust was not something one found an abundance of in the Red Room - or indeed at all - but there had been something special about Coulson. Maybe it was the way he cared about every single agent, or the way he checked up on them after missions. Maybe it was the way he had fought with his superiors to get them out of the missions they couldn't bear to do. Maybe it was the way he patched up their wounds because he knew that both she and Clint could never articulate their fear of medical staff. Phil Coulson had been special, and Natasha had trusted him. Until he had died, and abandoned her.
When Natasha had followed a reckless blond archer into his superior's office so many years ago, she had never expected to one day trust the director like a father. She had never expected to end up fighting for his organization and caring about her job.
She never thought she would end up sat in an underground cavern hearing how he had thought she would betray him, to go work for a secret Nazi cult. And she had certainly not expected this truth to hurt like a dagger plunged into heart, sending chills running through her veins that had nothing to do with her gunshot wound.
Much later, when they were alone, he cornered her, offering an apology of sorts. She had dealt with corruption and lies and with her life crumbling at her feet. She had dealt with Hydra men in masks trying to kill her friends. But as Natasha closed her eyes and calmed her breaths, she acknowledged that this conversation was not for now. She couldn't do it.
Because deep down, she knew that Fury was speaking the truth. She would have done the same in his circumstance. She would have left even the people she trusted with her life in the dark. And as she listened to the ex-director's words, Natasha realized the things that truly terrified her were the walls she had built up between her and the world. She lied to herself that they would keep her safe, and in a twisted way she was right.
If no one can see your soul, you will be untouchable. You will be safe.
With her partner's help, Natasha had managed to force almost all of the Red Room's lies out of her mind. Almost. It was the lies that were mixed in with truths she struggled with, as in a messed up, illogical sense, they were correct. Hide your true self was just another programmed idea buried in her mind, tucked neatly alongside love is for children and I have no place in the world. An idea that she couldn't be shaken.
Looking up, Natasha found herself in a small room in the bunker, with no memory of arriving there. The room was dimly lit, and she hadn't attempted to find a light switch of any kind. She was the Black widow. A creature of the night, a murderous assassin, who deserved to spend her days shrouded in darkness. A soulless monster.
Internally cursing for losing herself in her thoughts - again - Natasha perched on the edge of the small bed. If Clint were here, he would stop her. Chase the darkness from her mind, keep her away from her demons. Prevent her from forcing hurt upon herself.
But Clint wasn't here.
Natasha leaned back against the wall, welcoming the pain that radiated from her shoulder wound. She deserved it; she had been careless, so she should suffer. Her hands were soaked in the blood of the innocent, and her ledger was dripping.
She had murdered hundreds of innocent people for the Red Room, and she had acknowledged that years ago. But this all mixed in with the blood of those she had murdered for SHIELD - for Hydra. Who knew who she had killed? What did it matter anyway? They were all dead.
She had created a tangle of lies around herself so deep that she had trapped herself in her own web. And she had cut off the light - there was no escape. The only person who would help her was far, far away. He was better off away from her anyway.
Natasha's fingers traced the silver arrow that lay at the base of her neck, and before she knew it her fingers had curled tightly around the necklace, knuckles going white as she clung to her only lifeline in this sea of death and lies that she had created. A tremor ran through her body, and she curled her legs up into her chest. The tremors grew into shuddering movements as the assassin fell apart in a cold, hidden room, far from prying eyes.
Opening her mouth to suck in a sharp breath, Natasha whispered 'Clint,' the word catching in her throat and coming out as a sob. She pressed her free hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs, and her tears fell silently down her face, dripping onto the concrete floor below.
She had to get out. This toxic cycle of lies and death, death and lies, endlessly continuing for as long as she could see had poisoned her mind. She could never be more than the monster they had created, she could never escape their clutches. She would remain trapped in this cold concrete room, so similar to the building in which she had been made. She would remain shackled to the bed whilst the darkness closed in, squeezing the air from her lungs...
Feeling her panic rising, Natasha scrambled for the doorknob, forcing open the door and stumbling hastily into the corridor. She slipped silently through the bunker, like a ghost hiding from living beings, unable to breathe in the stuffy, claustrophobic underground conditions.
Pushing through the doors into the bridge outside, Natasha took a few halting steps before crumpling down to her knees, her head buried in her hands as she sucked in deep, shaking breaths. The night was cool, but she preferred it this way, with the cold air biting into her skin, reminding her exactly who she was and what she had done.
Natasha sighed. She couldn't go on like this. Clint world tell her to talk to Steve, or Sam or Hill, or even Fury. He would tell her not to stay sitting curled up in the cold, but to seek help from from someone. But she couldn't - they all thought she was strong, unbreakable. She was the Black Widow, forged in fire with a soul of ice. Even Steve, who she had been partnered with for countless missions over the last two years, didn't truly know her.
It was her own fault, of course - she didn't blame them. Her relationships were based on lies, because she had been too terrified of letting people get close to her. Her whole career - her entire life - was a lie, despite how hard she tried to fix her failures. She couldn't ask Steve for help. She wasn't the person he thought she was.
When Fury had first partnered them together, back when Clint was still recovering from the events of New York, she had fought with Steve every step of the way. He didn't want to work with her, and she didn't want to work with him. She demanded that Fury resign her, and when he refused she became reckless in a way that Steve hated. She went out of her way to get on his nerves, and he did the same. Natasha hadn't had anything against Steve, he was a good man, and a good soldier. But he wasn't Clint, and she couldn't deal with the way Fury was trying to replace Strike Team Delta.
It hadn't been until Clint had come back to SHIELD that things had sorted themselves out. Fury promised that Strike Team Delta was still in action, and she went on missions partnered with Steve on the side. He still wasn't Clint - no one could ever be - but they worked well together.
The problem was, occasionally she needed someone to be by her side while she fell apart, someone who knew her past and chose to stay with her anyway. Someone who wouldn't judge her for the tears, someone who would brush her hair from her eyes and chase her demons away. She didn't even know where Clint was - she had sent him a text earlier giving him the barest details of the situation, and immediately destroyed the burner phone, so even if he had replied she wouldn't have received the message. To call him would be a risk. He was safest as far away from this mess as he could get.
Natasha curled herself into an even tighter ball, and closed her eyes. She was so tired of this life, this never ending manipulation. So tired.
She didn't even realise that she had fallen asleep until she felt someone shaking her gently awake a few hours later. 'Nat? Natasha?'
Dreams were cruel, and the night played evil tricks on her brain. She kept her eyes closed, grasping onto the threads of Clint's voice. She would wake up to nothing, just the ghost of a dream that could never be true. The hollowness inside her would grow, and would eventually swallow her whole.
Gentle fingers running through her hair brought her back from her thoughts, and she couldn't help opening her eyes to see if this was real. No one would dare, except Clint. Her archer. She turned her head slightly, and was greeted with a pair of bright blue eyes. She was imagining this. Her mind was taking the things she could see and twisting them into what she wanted.
' 'tasha?' The way the name rolled of his tongue, carved into a beautiful sculpture by his voice forced Natasha to flick her eyes across his body. Clint was sitting on the bridge next to where she was curled up on the ground, his hand resting on her back as he gazed at her, eyes filled with concern. He was warm and solid, and he was right next to her.
Natasha choked back a sob as she buried herself in his arms, inhaling the fresh scent of coffee and bagels that clung to his jacket. To his credit, he didn't ask what was wrong, or try to fix it. He simply encased her in his arms and they sat in the night, content to just hold one another, a moment of calm in the midst of the upcoming storm.
'How long have you been out here?' Clint asked, catching Natasha's chin with a finger and nudging it up so she was looking him in the eye. She held his gaze for a moment before flicking her eyes away, which was an answer in itself. Too long. 'Nat, it's freezing out here, and you can't stop shivering.'
She shifted impossibly closer to him, and when she finally responded her voice was quiet, her words disappearing into the night as if they had never been spoken. 'I couldn't stay in there with them. Not like this.' Before he had chance to work out what his partner meant by that, she looked back at him and asked 'How are you even here? How did you know where we were?'
Clint smiled, the tightness in his lips betraying him as sadness crept into the expression. 'Steve called me.' Natasha's brow furrowed, but he continued before she could interrupt. 'He was worried about you.'
Natasha glared at the ground. 'I don't need Steve to worry about me.'
'Yeah?' Clint raised an eyebrow, his voice tense. 'You sure about that? Because when I got here, I found you curled up outside in the middle of the night, chilled to the bone and shaking from head to toe.' He paused for a moment, before continuing in a low voice 'I can tell you've been crying, Nat, and you can't lie to me. I'm not asking you to tell me what's wrong, but please, don't be mad at Steve. He was right to call me.'
Natasha let out a defeated sigh, the words 'I know' and 'I'm sorry' passing unsaid between them.
Clint tangled one hand in Natasha's hair and pressed a small kiss to her forehead, and then rose to his feet, holding out an arm to her. 'C'mon. Come inside.'
Natasha pulled herself up using his arm, and somehow managed to remain curled into him as they walked back to the bunker entrance.
'Hey Clint?' she asked in a quiet voice as he was just about to open the door.
Clint stopped walking, and turned to look his partner in the eyes. 'Yeah?'
'Thanks. For coming when Steve called.'
Her face was barely visible in the darkness, but her message was as bright as day. Clint smiled softly and gave her a gentle nudge with his shoulder. 'Anytime.'