Work Text:
“Clint, where's Natalia?” Coulson asks, after rapping his knuckles on the door to the office. His suit is crisp and he holds a folder in his hand.
Clint tenses, looking up from a pile of paperwork, folders of his own littered across the table. What happened? They've made sure to be careful, especially after the incident in the cafeteria last week, but Natalia's sworn to cooperate until they at least get official word back on her status. But he shoves those thoughts down, blinks, and hears himself reply, “Natalia? Why don't you ask Hill; they had a meeting earlier.”
“I visited her already. She informed me that they finished already. I assumed she'd be here with you,” Coulson replies pointedly.
“Huh. She's probably in her room then. Why do you need her?” He straightens up in his seat, shoving the paper aside.
“Fury's asked for her,” Coulson says with a wry smile. “I think you've got yourself a new partner, Hawkeye.”
Clint's eyes light up, releasing a breath. “Wait, she's in? She's actually an agent now?”
“Against the Council's original intentions, the Black Widow is officially a member of SHIELD.” Coulson hands him the file. “Welcome to STRIKE Team: Delta.”
~~
Clint winces, his right arm screaming red as he clamps his hand over the open wound. His bow is on the ground, discarded, and his unused arrows weigh on his back. The air is still and quiet other than his own heart pulsing and ramming in his ears. His chest heaves with shallow breaths and he pries his eyes open to squint through the settling dust.
Tasha.
He turns his comms back on, fumbling as the pain jolts up his arms. “Have you heard anything from Romanov?”
“Nothing yet.”
“Shoot.”
Coulson breathes on the other side of the comms, his own breath steady against Clint's own jagged breathing. “Barton, where's Romanov?”
“No sign of her,” Clint chokes.
Coulson's voice crackles back, static augmenting his voice. “Where did you last see her?”
“Last I saw, she was taking on three hostiles. Phil, she just healed from a bruised rib. She insisted. I should have told her no, fought off her stubbornness, she would been fine. It's been like 15 minutes, Coulson.” The words tumble out of his mouth, but his mind is waking up and he knows the signs of scuffle on the ground, knows which direction he'll start running first, knows that he has enough arrows to still make a few rash decisions. He takes a steadying breath, adrenaline coursing through him as he grabs his bow and stands. “But she'll make it back home.”
“Barton-”
“Talk to you later, Phil,” he says, before switching comms off.
~~
He had jumped, but the ground never came up to meet him.
Not when Natasha had tackled him midair and given him no choice but to be forced to clutch her hand tighter and watch as her fingers lost grip and her hand slipped. As she-
And all that's left is a hallow echo of his heart skipping every odd beat, trying to catch up to someone who is no longer there.
The sky is streaked in a mocking array of reds and purples, and he chokes because she should be seeing it, not him, and the sky is dripping, dripping in maroon red like his ledger had become, that he should have paid for, that- That he was too weak to fight for.
Now, he had to go back home with the stupid glowing space rock alone.
And face the reality that will color the rest of his life.
He momentarily registers the warm sky dissolving around him, his body is weightless as he is pushed through bent time and space, his mind too fuzzy and overwhelmed with a buzzing sensation. The world can pass by in a blur for all he cares. The sterile walls of the Avengers Compound are cold and there's no cause for celebration, not when he traded his best friend for a stone. His knees hit the ground, a dull ache.
His mouth is dry, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he can only open and shut it without noise, when the ringing in his ears lull.
“Clint, where's Nat?”