It's not terribly common they get solo missions anymore. The Avengers take most of the big things, and he and Nat still run a job every now and again, but their cover was completely blown with the Manhattan Incident, and the missions they used to take were mostly out the window. Hard to be a covert agent when nearly everyone in the world knows your face.
But Nat had taken this one solo--a simple run and grab mission somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. As fucking routine as their missions ever get So he doesn't even think to worry about her. She's the most competent person he knows, it's an easy take and she's supposed to be home in a couple days and he plans on celebrating her absence with a whole lot of sex. Any excuse, really--
So he doesn't even think about it when his cell rings. Just, picks it up and answers, "Barton."
Ten minutes later she has to admit that nothing will. The water is steadily rising as the ship sinks deeper and deeper into the ocean and she is irreparably stuck beneath the heavy beam. No matter how hard she tries, she can't shift it. On the bright side, her efforts have awakened a dull red ache in her hips. So, at least her spine isn't broken. Much good as it does her now.
She's in the middle of the Pacific ocean, far outside the usual trade routes or cruise lines. They're so far out at sea not even fishermen come here, and it'll take the coast guard of any country at least a good two hours to get out to her location. She'll be long dead by then. There's simply no way out of this. It's funny, she always knew this day would come, but somehow she's surprised now that it has. Of course, she thought it'd be quick like a bullet to the heart or head, bleeding out from a ripped femoral artery or a slit throat, or hell having a building collapsed over her. Never did she think that she would drown or that it would be this slowHer mind
( ... )
He's surprised when he hears the voice on the other end of the line, but there's a spot of warmth that settles in his chest every time he hears her voice that shows up now, and Clint leans back into the couch, letting her hear the smile in his voice when he speaks. "Hey, you." His tone is softer with her than it is with any other person on the entire fucking planet, and there's a real, honest affection there he can't even pretend to feign
( ... )
The warmth in Clint's voice washes over Natasha's and for a moment it drives away the cold seeping into her bones. For a moment she can almost imagine that she's safe in his arms and that everything is alright. Then the lights flicker and die and the warmth slips away instantly. The compartment is plunged into pitch black, lit only by the display of Natasha's phone sending a rippling shimmer of light through the water. Her teeth chatter hopelessly and she has to suppress a shudder. Thankfully, the emergency lights come on, washing the scene in a dim red light; Natasha is oddly relieved that she won't have to die alone in the dark
( ... )
It's strange, but he swears he can hear her shivering--but that doesn't make sense, because Nat makes no action she doesn't want to, and he can't remember ever hearing her shiver. Besides, it might have been cold where she was, but nothing she was prepared for. It's when she speaks that an idea starts in the back of his mind, aching and distantly like a sore tooth, but he can't help but worry at it. Why is she calling
( ... )
"Duress?" Natasha lets her voice go incredulous. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. A promise is a promise." The chill of the water just keeps getting worse. One would think that she'd grow numb to it, but it's like she's freezing from the inside out by inches. The tone in his voice doesn't help either. The tone that tells her that maybe he's already guessed what she doesn't want him to know
( ... )
The fact that she doesn't call him on it is what tells him this might actually be happening. That she might be in a place she can't get out of. He swallows, tightens his hand around the little elephant and realizes, randomly, that the movie is still going on in the background. He shifts his hand over and pushes the power button, the silence echoing around him in their empty apartment.
Each second that ticks past without word from her lodges another bit of ice into his heart, building around in some mockery of construction, icing out the emotions he might be having. His breath hitches slightly in his throat even as he tries to rally. She hasn't said anything yet, after all. There's nothing that says she isn't just injured and pissed about it. Except, of course, he knows her, better than he knows anyone, including himself, and he thinks a part of him already knows the truth even if he refuses to accept it
( ... )
The moment the sounds of the film cut out in the background, Natasha's heart stutters in her chest. In the silence their conversation seems so much more serious than it did mere moments ago. The only sounds she can hear is his breaths and the steady rush of water mixing with the groan of the hull. She holds her breath to focus on the familiar sound of his breathing. A shudder so violent it drives a quiet gasp from her runs through her body and she has to clamp her mouth shut to keep from making another noise
( ... )
"No!" He doesn't mean for it to sound as desperate as it does, but the idea that she's going to hang up on him claws at his heart, because he refuses for this to be the end of it. Not when there could be seconds more, not when there's a chance he could convince himself this isn't happening for a moment more.
"Come'n Nat," He says, swallowing hard, "We're a team, right? You just said it. We do this like we've done everything else. We do this together."
His hand is so tight around the phone he swears he can hear it cracking, but it's Starktech, metal, and it's stupid to think something like his grip could break it. "Okay?" His voice breaks, but he pushes through it, "We do this together. You don't get to--" He can't force the word out, can't even wrap his head around it, that it's even a possibility. "I'm not letting you do this alone."
Natasha's lower lip trembles hopelessly. Though she blames it on the cold that has every muscle in her body contracting. He knows. It makes all her carefully packed away boxes come tumbling down and spilling open. The rush of emotions and memories is almost overwhelming and it makes the tears that's been burning at her eyes roll down her cheeks. They cut a straight line through the drying sea-water on her skin
( ... )
The hitch of her breath when the tears come rips at his heart with sharp claws that mean to maim, to shred him to ribbons. His own eyes are wet with it, but he doesn't notice, all of his attention on her and the words coming out of her mouth. That explains it, and for a moment he swears he can see her, trapped under a beam, water rising, pale skin shining with the wet under the red glow of emergency lights
( ... )
Natasha's arm trembles hard and threatens to give out under her. She has to brace her hand against the steel floor (or is it the wall? Natasha can't remember) and lock her elbow to keep from falling back into the water. The movement very nearly loses her the cellphone as it threatens to slip from her grip into the dark water below. Only her excellent reflexes helps her numb fingers curl tight around it before it falls. She's still sorry. So damn sorry
( ... )
There's a short, strangled sort of laugh and he leans back, closing his eyes even as he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off the overwhelming ache that's battering at the edges of his mind, trying to overtake him. There will be time for that--plenty of it--after this is done. For now Clint is going to drag out every single moment he has with her. He's going to savor it so he's got them later, when he needs them most. She may be sorry this is happening, but he's sorry he's not there with her. They were supposed to do this together--he never imagined they'd live to be old, but he had imagined they'd at least go out together
( ... )
There's a brief moment where Natasha thinks that maybe she can box it all away again. If he laughs and just goes soft with her again, maybe she can forget the cold and the pain and the panic slowly clawing at her throat. The truth of the matter is that she doesn't want to die. She has a life with him and she'd give anything for another day together, for one final chance to touch him
( ... )
"I should have kissed you in Hong Kong," He says, quietly, and it's true. Just imagine what they could have done with ten extra years with one another. God, they would have rewritten history. Clint had thought about it, then, as the minutes ticked toward midnight, about tucking her slim body close and kissing her deep and heavy--and then the building had fallen out from underneath them
( ... )
But Nat had taken this one solo--a simple run and grab mission somewhere in the middle of the Pacific. As fucking routine as their missions ever get So he doesn't even think to worry about her. She's the most competent person he knows, it's an easy take and she's supposed to be home in a couple days and he plans on celebrating her absence with a whole lot of sex. Any excuse, really--
So he doesn't even think about it when his cell rings. Just, picks it up and answers, "Barton."
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She's in the middle of the Pacific ocean, far outside the usual trade routes or cruise lines. They're so far out at sea not even fishermen come here, and it'll take the coast guard of any country at least a good two hours to get out to her location. She'll be long dead by then. There's simply no way out of this. It's funny, she always knew this day would come, but somehow she's surprised now that it has. Of course, she thought it'd be quick like a bullet to the heart or head, bleeding out from a ripped femoral artery or a slit throat, or hell having a building collapsed over her. Never did she think that she would drown or that it would be this slowHer mind ( ... )
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Each second that ticks past without word from her lodges another bit of ice into his heart, building around in some mockery of construction, icing out the emotions he might be having. His breath hitches slightly in his throat even as he tries to rally. She hasn't said anything yet, after all. There's nothing that says she isn't just injured and pissed about it. Except, of course, he knows her, better than he knows anyone, including himself, and he thinks a part of him already knows the truth even if he refuses to accept it ( ... )
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"Come'n Nat," He says, swallowing hard, "We're a team, right? You just said it. We do this like we've done everything else. We do this together."
His hand is so tight around the phone he swears he can hear it cracking, but it's Starktech, metal, and it's stupid to think something like his grip could break it. "Okay?" His voice breaks, but he pushes through it, "We do this together. You don't get to--" He can't force the word out, can't even wrap his head around it, that it's even a possibility. "I'm not letting you do this alone."
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