Title: Meet Me in the Aftermath
Author: lar_laughs
A Gift For: allisnow
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: angst, reference to canonical death
Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary/Prompt Used: This is the story of the road trip Natasha and Clint took across the country after helping save the world from being overrun with ugly creatures from space. It’s also the story of how Clint came to terms with the fact that he was responsible for the death of a friend. It is, thankfully, not a story of how Tony came to own the Bellagio. We shall save that for another adventure.
Authors Notes: So many thanks to H for looking over this multiple times while I had countless meltdowns and holding my hand until I wasn’t quite so wibbly-wobbly. A huge thanks to A for helping get this idea off the ground and then sweeping in to fix my tense errors (of which there were legion) when it was done. If you are familiar with FRIENDS, you will notice a few references from “The One With Joey’s Big Break” and “The One in Vegas”. The title is taken from the Lifehouse song “Aftermath”.


Banner by frea_o




They decide on their vacation destination over shawarma. Everyone's barely able to chew their food properly, their eyes threatening to close, but then Steve says, "I've only ever seen New York."

Natasha stares at him as she tries to figure out what that has to do with spiced meat but it's Bruce that asks the question they're all trying to formulate in their battle-addled brains. "Didn't you spend time in Europe? You fought in World War Two, after all."

"But I've only ever seen this part of the United States. I've always wanted to visit the Grand Canyon. Ride a burro down the canyon wall or check out the cliff dwellings." There's a faraway look in Steve's eye, part nostalgia and part exhaustion. He puts his food down as he finds himself caught up in the past. "I remember reading about those places when I was a kid. They sounded so interesting. Since I was sick a lot, I did a lot of reading. A kid like me, I never dreamed I’d get to see the places I’ve seen or, well, the creatures, but there are normal places I’d still like to visit now that I have the chance."

"I always wanted to visit Mount Rushmore." Bruce pushes the last bit of food from one corner of the basket to the other, lost in his own thoughts. "It would probably take a lot to ruin a mountain if, uh, the other guy were to, uh, decide to visit."

"I, too, have wanted to visit Mount Rushmore. We have something very similar on Asgard." Thor searches the faces that have all turned to him, all wearing identical confused expressions. "I have not spent my time away from your planet in vain. The faces of your past presidents engraved into a mountainside is something even the gods can marvel at."

Thor’s revelation takes some time for everyone's tired brain to process. It's Tony who finally breaks the silence. "We've got two votes for Mount Rushmore and one for the Grand Canyon. What about you two? Where do a couple of master assassins want to go this road trip?"

"Road trip?" Clint shakes away just enough of the lethargy that he can start to follow the conversation. When he looks over at Natasha, she's contemplating her food as if she needs to know exactly what her next bite looks like. Until this minute, he's been ignoring everyone but it’s clear to him that Natasha hasn't. Anyone else who looks at her right now might think that she's falling asleep but her shoulders are tight with the anticipation of what could happen if Tony pushes at the wrong button. Since Clint’s woken up from the blue-hued nightmare, he's watched her skate the fine edge of a rage more powerful than even what the Hulk can produce. She’s put it off for the sake of doing right by Coulson... a subject he’s not willing to touch just yet.

Natasha will never answer the question with the truth, if she even decides to answer it at all. It doesn't mean she doesn't want to play the game that’s suddenly become a thing, just that she doesn't give out such important facts. Not with the silly grin on Tony's face that says he wouldn't believe her even if she’s up for offering truth.

Clint takes a stab in the dark because the idea of a vacation sounds nice. The very last thing he wants to do is deal with reality at the moment. "Las Vegas. Isn't that where everyone wants to go when they've seen every last place on earth?"

It doesn't feel like anything real until she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, a small smile tugging at her lips. Las Vegas? Really? He always figured she only gambled with her future, not her paycheck.

"Las Vegas?" Tony looks just as skeptical. "You two don't seem like the type."

Natasha turns to give him the full force of her glare. Even though Clint can't see it, he knows exactly what Tony is seeing and just how the man will (and should) react. Sure enough, he swallows convulsively but his eyes never leave Natasha's face. The man is made of far sterner stuff than Clint was those first years of their association but that might be that Tony is still underestimating the woman so many people fear for a very good reason. Maybe that’s for the best.

"I didn't realize there were rules to this little game." Her words are quiet, skirting contempt only because she’s smiling back at him. Her mocking tone makes it sound like she’s playing her own game but Clint can tell that Tony sees the fires of rage in her eyes and along the brittle brilliance of her smile. "Pray, tell us where we should vacation."

Clint is fine to let Tony sweat but it's Bruce who steps in. "No one said this was a game. I thought we were just talking about where we'd like to visit."

This stretch of silence has them all struggling to keep their eyes open. When Tony pounds his hands on the table, pushing himself to his feet, he has all their attention right away. "I think we should go. We deserve a vacation. We just saved the planet from destruction. Again! One of us died."

There is silence for a heartbeat's length of time. A thousand memories go through Clint's brain before he slams shut the door he has them hidden behind. He's not ready to mourn Coulson just yet. Certainly not here, sitting in a ruined store front in the midst of a dusty city that he helped destroy. The guilt, if he let it, would consume his completely.

When enough time has gone by that everyone has had time to properly think of Coulson, Tony continues. "Some of us are going to be sore for a good long time. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Green Arrow. Don't try to hide the lacerations because you're bleeding through that nifty costume of yours. And here I thought SHIELD was all about uniforms in the black and gray spectrum."

Clint splutters, more at the new nickname than at the revelation that he hasn't been able to pull off healthy in front of these people who’ve only just met him. That he's bleeding is a given, considering he can't find the strength to leave Natasha just yet. Not when he's riding the adrenalin high back down to where he was when he woke up with the splitting headache and vague memories of being Loki's bitch. A trip to the infirmary can wait a little while longer.

When Natasha looks over at him with the starting of a smile that reaches all the way to her eyes, he has to fight the urge not to grin back at her. Instead, he sticks out his tongue and nudges her with the foot he's propped up behind her. It's a gesture that says What do you think? Las Vegas? For real? because Tony's going on and on about how vacations are good for keeping heart attacks at bay and, since heart attacks kill more people every year than mutant aliens from space (thanks to the Avengers, of course), they should think about getting away from reality for awhile.

She nods. That's all he needs before he's mentally packing his bags.

***

New York to Vegas, as the crow flies, isn't far. On a map, it's 2500 miles. Natasha points out that they've driven the same mileage in a day but that was in one of the ramped-up SHIELD jeeps, in place where they didn’t have to deal with traffic.

"Do you want to take Maggie?" she asks, completely serious.

He's given it a lot of thought but it's not the sort of trip she'd enjoy. "No. We'd spend more on gas if we brought her along. Besides, if we had to take her into one of those roadside mechanics for any reason, she'd never speak to me again."

"Does she speak to you now?"

It's an old joke, nearly as old as their partnership. He flips his middle finger at her as he continues to look over the map spread out in the middle of the bed. The route is pretty self-explanatory, except for one thing. "North or south?"

"North," Natasha answers right away before asking, "What did I just agree to?"

"We can go the northern route or the southern route."

"Have you done either one?"

He nods. "Both. They have high and low points, if I remember correctly. We go south, we'll probably hit a fair amount of heat but there are some great fish places along the Gulf. If we stick to the northern path, they've got a lot of roadside attractions."

"Is that the high point or the low point?"

"Both," they say at the same time, her elbow coming in contact with his side with just enough pressure that he knows she’s enjoying this. "Seriously, though," he continues, "there's something to see every 100 miles or so. Once you get started, you can't stop. If you see one amazing sight, you have to see all of them."

She flips onto her stomach, her face cradled in her palms. When she looks like this, intent on memorizing whatever it is in front of her, she looks like a college student studying for midterms. It makes Clint's throat ache at what she's never had, even as it makes him dizzy with lust as he contemplates pushing the map aside so he can roll her over and see if he can't find a way to inspire another expression altogether.

"Like what?" she asks and he has to shake himself out of the dream of her draped over his body, her own glistening with sweat after riding him to completion. Since she can see that she’s lost him somewhere, she clarifies. "What things are there to see?"

"There's the always popular World's Largest Ball of Twine. You haven't lived until you've peed on it. There's the World's Largest Rocking Chair. And the guy who has a beard made of bees. Can't forget to see that."

"A beard of bees?"

He grins, knowing he's hooked her in. "Yep. A beard of bees."

***

There are things that need to be done before any of them can leave. Specifically, Loki needs to be taken care of. It’s easy to see that Thor is torn between staying on Earth and going back to Asgard to deliver the wanna-be Frost Giant to Odin for punishment and, hopefully, banishment as far away from Earth as he can get thrown.

Clint would have preferred getting in the car and taking off as soon as the cleanup was done. He doesn't particularly want to stick around for the grand see off. As far as he’s concerned, if he never sees Loki again, it will be too soon.

It’s Natasha who asks him to stick around. That she even feels the need to ask is strange enough that he pauses long enough for her to sneak in one last plea. "It'll be good for you to see this to the end," she insists when he starts to turn away. "It might help the-"

He cuts her off before she can say nightmares because she isn't supposed to know about those. He's done his best to head them off by not sleeping or, if that failed, trying to sleep somewhere no one would be able to hear him if he woke up screaming. "It won't help."

"It might," she insists. If anyone knows about nightmares, it’s Natasha. Still, he doesn't want her weighing in on this. It’s bad enough his failings are shining through so spectacularly these days, available for anyone to notice and comment on.

"Quit trying to fix me, Romanoff."

She visibly cringes at the name he’s chosen to use. When they’re working, she’s Nat. When they’re alone, she’s Tasha. He's been known to call her Countess when he wants to get her riled up and has often fallen back on using Natasha when in a group with other people who don't know her well. The only time he's ever used only her last name is when he’s upset with her and wants her to know.

"If you don't go, you'll never know for certain that he left. You'll always be looking over your shoulder, waiting for him to show up."

"Are the gods up in Asgard so sure they can keep him there this time? Who's to say that he doesn't con himself out of whatever prison they put him in. Look at his history. I'm not feeling very good about the chances of him staying put."

It's only later, when they see the get up that Thor outfits him in, that Clint starts to like his chances of never seeing the God of Mischief again. When Natasha leans over and whispers, "That's one way to deal with a silver tongue," he can't help but smile because he was just thinking the same thing. Leave it to Natasha to be reading his mind.

Steve gets the head start because he's on a motorcycle. That hardly seems fair but no one wants to argue with Tony as he decides that they are turning this into a game. They have to stop somewhere every night because driving without sleep isn't good. They have to stay there for eight hours. It doesn't matter if they don't sleep for those eight hours because none of them have ever gotten eight hours of sleep in their lives.

"And you get a wake up call every morning, Cap." They all look at Tony with uneasy breathlessness as they sense a joke at Steve's expense. Tony just smiles as if it's the funniest thing he's ever thought of.

When Steve laughs, they all breath a little easier. “Thanks for that. Wouldn't want to miss out on the next few decades, huh?"

"Nope. We only get to sleep eight hours a day. Or whatever it is that the master assassins do when they're holed up in their room for eight hours at a time."

Clint feels Natasha let out her breath and his own body tenses as he tries to figure out if this conversation is going to end with someone going to the hospital. It doesn't and they've all been given their assignments. Steve strikes out on his own to the scenic Southwest while Bruce and Tony are headed toward the Northern Midwest.

"You're right behind us, right?" Tony calls as Bruce throws his stuff into the backseat of the sweet little sports car that was supposed to help them see more of this great country of ours but Clint envisions a cold trip, complete with at least one mad dash through a moderately large town as they tried to find a mechanic who could deal with temperamental European cars.

"We just have to finish a few things," Natasha hollers back. Clint gives her a look but stays quiet until they're both in one of SHIELD's modified Mustangs. It's the most comfortable ride Clint can think of without drawing attention to themselves or breaking down along the way. "Did you really want to be right behind Stark?"

"Good point." He reaches over to take her hand, lacing their fingers together. Each and every time he does this, he’s amazed at how well they fit together. "You really do think of everything, don't you?"

***

They make it to Canton, Ohio when Natasha begins to fidget. They've just stopped to get gas and stock up on peanut M&M's and red licorice (for Clint) and Dove Chocolate and chewy caramel candies (for Natasha) so she shouldn't need a pit stop. Still, he feels honor bound to at least look over to make sure she’s okay.

"We've listened to this same CD for the last seven hours."

He shrugs, tapping his fingers along with the beat of a song he’s only partially listening to. "So change it."

"We didn't bring any other CDs along."

It’s been a long week but they’d decided to drive through the night because Tony never made a rule about stopping this first day. Still, seven hours of driving, on top of a draining, yet satisfying, morning, means Clint has to sift through a lot of data at a very slow speed so there's a long pause before he says, "We didn't bring any CDs? Where'd we get this one?"

"It was already in the car."

“Who leaves CDs in a car as if they aren’t...” His voice drifts off as Clint remembers the look the garage mechanic had given him before handing him the keys. It had been a mixture of pity and uncertainty but Clint had chalked it up to everyone giving him strange looks since coming back to headquarters after being blue-eyed. He waits until there's a break in the traffic and he can pull off at a little used exit before he takes the thought any further.

He pulls the keys from the ignition. A metal key fob, like a thousand others they've already seen in the two gas stations they've stopped at, feels cold as he holds it out on the palm of his hand for her to see. Inscribed along one edge are the words New Mexico.

"I didn't even notice. You'd think I would because..."

She places her hand over his, offering up comfort to buffet his pain. The warmth of her hand makes the cheap metal burn all the colder until it feels like it might be burning a sigil into his skin.

"I bought this for Phil while we were out in that god-forsaken desert. There was this tiny gas station just on the outskirts of the next little town over. He'd send me for one of those extra-large sodas, just to give me something to do. I bought this as a joke."

He doesn't feel the crack in his voice coming until the very last word and then it splinters down the middle, pulling him into a pit of grief so deep and dark that he isn't sure he'll be able to come out of it. Natasha had tried to get him to mourn when she’d first told him the news of Phil’s death but he'd kept refusing, trying to push it down where he might be able to forget it. Now, he thinks he's moved right on past mourning and is physically breaking apart into bits and pieces of himself.

When her arms wrap around him in an awkward fashion, he lets himself fall into her as if she's the only thing that will keep him anchored as the tears froth and roar at the eroding beach of his heart.

***

Neither of them are in any sort of shape to continue driving so they decide to stop for their allotted eight hours. The hotel they check into smells of stale smoke and cheap cleaning products. From out of the only window in the room, they can see the cars passing by on the highway but neither of them open the curtains other than to check to see what kind of exit possibilities there are. Clint takes a long shower, as hot as the water will get, and comes out to darkness only broken by the glow from the screen of Natasha's phone.

"We don’t have to take this route. Where haven't you been before?" she asks in a quiet voice as he settles down on the bed next to her. "What doesn't have memories for you?"

"I haven't been here before. In this room. With you." But he knows this isn't what she wants from him. She wants a location that hasn't been tainted by memories, either good or bad. They'd done something similar through Europe after a particularly bad mission that called up a lot of ghosts from her past, one of them still alive and taunting her with dead children covered in red paint. I've got red in my ledger... This is supposed to be about helping him now that his own world has collapsed in on itself.

He takes the phone from her, trying not to snort as he sees the web page open to 25 Places Not to Miss in the Midwest, and sets it on the bedside table. He'll have to give it back because it's on his side of the bed and she'll need to be within easy access to it when she wakes up. It's a ritual and he doesn't dare tread on those when he can help it.

"You're my favorite person in the whole world. You know that, right?" She nods her head, expressing the same sentiment back to him with an upward slant of her lips. "There are times when being able to make new memories with you helps. But I don't think this is one of those times."

She starts to protest and he stops her with a shake of his head. "Seriously, Tasha. Today wasn't about bad memories. It was about losing someone I cared for. That was just mourning. Granted, completely inappropriate mourning because I'm kind of at a breaking point right now, but still just mourning. It's been a tough few days."

"Not just for you," she sighs, snuggling up against his side. Without the aid of the light from the phone, he can't see her expression but he feels her grief as palpable as his own. She doesn't truly relax against him for several hours as they mourn in silence. It's a compliment that she does eventually fall asleep but he has an idea that she knows he won't sleep.

It's because he doesn't sleep that he hands her the keys the next morning. "You sure about this?" she asks because he’s always the driver. It’s a control issue that she’s long given up trying to knock out of him.

"Maybe I'll take a nap. We're getting to the boring part of the country."

Since handing over the keys means he's no longer in complete control of the route, they head south to Columbus and then through some of the larger cities in the Midwest. When they pass by the various roadside attraction signs, neither of them says anything about pulling over. This trip isn’t about mindless pleasantries any longer. It’s become a test of survival, to see if they can right their lives after losing one of their supports.

"How do we want to cross the Rocky Mountains?" she asks as they hit the edge of Colorado and the rocky spires start to rise up in their front window.

"Quickly," he mumbles, chugging the rest of his last can of Red Bull, confused by how quickly he went through that four-pack he’d picked up this morning. His brain has started to do computations of how long he's been awake, all without his permission. They're three days away from New York by this time, closer to the Pacific than the Atlantic. Natasha seems to be enjoying herself but Clint's too ramped up to be anything but cranky.

Clint expects her to head south from Denver, straight into the area of the country he'd rather not be right now. Instead, Natasha keeps going west straight into the Rocky Mountains and on into Utah.

The hotel they stop at is the cleanest rental room that Clint has ever been in. It's like being invited into someone's home. Natasha must notice the distinction as well because she prowls the room for a good hour, searching for any sign of imperfection. There's no way that either of them are sleeping in this room. Instead, Clint pulls out a deck of cards. "Usual rules?"

***

As they head south toward Las Vegas, he asks her to veer off the route and head through Zion National Park. They spend some time in the visitor’s center before deciding they’ve seen plenty of nature already. As they get back on course, they decide to stay another night at the dirtiest hotel in the state. The up side, other than Natasha being able to sleep because it's impossible not to hear everything around them thanks to the thin walls, is the blueberry pie at the hole-in-the-wall diner next door.

"Phil liked blueberry pie." It's the first time that Clint's said his name since his meltdown. Forming the word is a sort of healing in and of itself.

Natasha looks like she may start crying so he orders a third piece and they share it, one small bite at a time. They share memories of their handler and friend using as few words as possible but it's enough.

"Poland," Clint says to start off and Natasha laughs.

She counters with, "Stalingrad." Clint groans, rubbing a finger over the thin white line along the underside of his left arm.

Almost at the same time, they whisper, "Bogata." They both wipe at their leaking eyes.

They keep going this way for an hour, trading a word or two as they relive those moments in their heads. When they’re finally done, they are both so emotionally exhausted that they decide to stay another night. She falls asleep almost right away, as if her body understands that it's going to need as much rest as possible to get through the rest of the night. His own eyes close only minutes after hers do even though he's draped across a chair with stuffing falling out and springs that have finally succeeded in freeing themselves of their fabric prison.

At midnight, almost to the second, he goes from a deep sleep to an instant alertness. It takes him a few precious seconds to figure out what is different. The scrape of flesh against abrasive cotton is his only clue that something is wrong. In the darkened room, the threat could be coming from anywhere. He begins moving toward the window when he realizes what exactly he's hearing. A tiny moan, barely more than an indrawn breath of air, wipes the last trace of sleep from his brain. Another comes right after it, full of pain and fear.

"Tasha?" His whisper is as quiet as he can make it but it still sounds like a shout.

It's instantly too quiet as both of them hold their breath. He counts to five before saying, "You okay?"

"Clint?" She says his name as if it’s foreign to her.

"I'm right here, babe. I'm right by the window. There's no one else here." Clint keeps his tone gentle as he tries to gauge what she needs from him. "You had a nightmare but you're fine now. You're okay."

The distinct sound of a knife being slid back into a sheath makes him breath a little easier but that’s only one weapon that’s been neutralized. "And you?" she asks, her voice getting stronger. “Are you okay?”

"I'm fine. I wasn't standing watch over you and I'm sorry. I slipped up and fell asleep."

The light beside the bed flips on, putting her face into stark relief. "You were asleep?"

"What kind of master assassin does that make me? Falling asleep when I was needed the most."

His self-deprecation is all an act to put her at ease until the dreamscape fades. There's still a catch in her voice as she asks again, "You were asleep?"

The concern in her voice makes his hands clench into fists, ready to fight all the demons he hears in her words. “I know. I’m getting too old for this. I’m falling apart.”

How he wishes this was about making her feel safe again instead of the piecing together of his heart they’ve been working on over the last few days. All of the should haves and would haves have been on the tip of his tongue, a cacophony of intent in the midst of a reality that is everything his nightmares have always been.

I killed Phil. Every time he thinks it, she glares at him as if to retaliate, Loki killed Phil, you idiot. You going blue is not related to those events. He still doesn’t believe her but it’s getting easier to accept.

"You're the strongest one of us." He's ready to protest, not wanting to hear this in the aftermath of how he’s handled everything lately, until she adds, "He knew it. He always said you were stronger than anyone knew. That's why he always wanted you on his team. He picked you, time and time again, because he had so much faith in you. Even when you were... blue, he had faith in you."

It breaks him but he doesn't have any tears left. Instead, he crawls into bed beside her, not sure if it will hold both of them. Her hand combs through his hair, an act of comfort that relaxes him so completely he drifts off to sleep without ever realizing what's happening.

***

They make it to Las Vegas a day behind the schedule they gave themselves at the beginning. The first person they see as they walk through the front door of the Bellagio is Tony Stark. The second is Bruce, an apologetic expression on his face as he turns toward them.

"He didn't like Mount Rushmore and he hated South Dakota. Don't even ask what he thought of Wyoming. There are no words." Bruce gives them a half shrug and holds up a bright pink drink in a salute. "He thought your vacation sounded more fun than the one he was on. If you're Tony Stark, you can't have anyone else have a better vacation."

Natasha stares at Tony for a moment before turning to look at Bruce with an incensed glare. "What's he doing?"

"Trying to buy the Bellagio."

"Of course he is." Clint breathes through his nose a few times. After being a single unit again, he’s having a much harder time coming to terms with the reality of the Avengers as a team. A part of him is strangely jealous that they want to take up the time he was supposed to spend with Natasha. “And I suppose our room have been-”

“Rearranged. Yes. He thought you deserved better.” The only thing that keeps him from attempting to knock the pink drink out of Bruce’s hand is the look of pity on the scientist’s face. “I tried to stop him. I really did. What’s done is done.”

Clint reaches out to take Natasha's hand, letting himself lock his fingers around hers so that, in his mind at least, she can’t break free. "Let's go gamble. Winning money will make it all better."

Three hours later, Clint's still irritated even though he's up five hundred dollars. Natasha looks calm but she's lost more money than he's ever seen her gamble with before. Neither of them are in a better mental place than they were when they started.

This time, when he takes her hand, she tries to pull it away. Even though everyone else sees a beautiful, calm woman, he sees underneath to the anger that bubbles and brews just under the surface. "He wants to buy the Bellagio," she hisses when he pulls her away from the table. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Do you want to go see the Eiffel Tower?"

"Leaving this hotel isn't going to change the fact that Tony is here in Las Vegas."

He shakes his head, his grin slowly growing as he reveals the idea that has been growing since he sat down in the casino. "Not the Eiffel Tower in Las Vegas. The real Eiffel Tower. We can be at Nellis in less than an hour. They'll see that the car gets back to SHIELD. If we ask nice enough, I'm sure we can get ourselves a ride to Germany within the next twelve hours."

Her fingers tangle with his. "Promise me we'll never tell Tony where we decide to go on vacation ever again."

"I promise." She doesn't need the words but he gives them to her anyway. It's what Phil would have done.