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be_compromised2013-01-04 07:53 pm
cybermathwitch.livejournal.com) wrote in be_compromised2013-01-04 07:53 pm
Entry tags:
FIC: Mend (1/2) (for daxcat79) - PG-13
Title:Mend (1/2)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
anuna_81
A Gift For:daxcat79
Rating: teen-ish
Warnings: mentions of violence, past abuse, mind manipulation and everything shady Red Room might do to one of their “assets” (and I assume, SGA Replicators aren’t much different from RR.)
Pairings: Clint/Natasha, established.
Summary/Prompt Used:crossover between Stargate and Avengers.
Authors Notes: In this universe Natasha has been injected with nanotechnology while she worked for Red Room, in order to help her body heal faster.
My dear giftee, I hope you’ll enjoy this crazy roller coaster of wackyness. I did my best to write you something exciting. It was a daunting task at times, considering how I found myself in a genre I don’t often write, but despite that I am hoping you’ll be pleased. To everyone else, I fear this fic won’t make much sense if you haven’t seen Stargate Atlantis, at least first three seasons of it (and have knowledge on the shameful way they gotten rid of their leading lady, but let’s not go into that now). But – if you do know it – I hope you’ll enjoy this crazy ride.
Banner byfrea_o
Two years ago
The knocking was constant and stubborn and Elizabeth realized she wouldn’t be able to ignore her guest.
Not really a guest, she thought, because it was one of those things she was ordered to comply with, and sometimes she just decided to be difficult. She usually wasn’t, because her life had been something completely different, purposeful and filled with responsibilities, and there was a way to use her stubborness to reach her goals. Worthy and valid goals, goals that brought her on the top of the game. It was the distant past now, because she lived behind this door, anonymous and hidden from the world, and only allowed a semblance of normalcy because that was right. That was human. They owed her too much, to hook her up to a machine and trap her mind in an illusion created by a computer.
Sometimes Elizabeth wondered if that would have been better.
Sometimes she wished Rodney McKay just let her die.
Right now she wished Vala Mal Doran would just leave. Except she wasn’t going to.
“Elizabeth! Come on, girl, open the door! I will be here all day long, honey, and this pie is going to get cold,” she called from the porch and Elizabeth sighed. She went to the door and opened it and there was Vala, flashing a brilliant smile, complete with pigtails and a tray in her hands and it actually hurt inside Elizabeth’s chest.
“Pardon my honesty, but you look like hell,” she said when she took in Elizabeth’s appearance with exaggerated disapproval on her face. “Did you even brush your hair?”
“I did,” Elizabeth chuckled, despite her mood and Vala shook her head as she entered, walking like a queen.
“I don’t believe you,” she insisted. “You’re a victim of self neglect and it’s a good thing I’ve come to the rescue.”
“Really?”
“Really. We can’t have this,” she decided, hands on hips, standing in the middle of Elizabeth’s kitchen.
Elizabeth didn’t cook. The only thing she did make regularly was coffee, and she made it because she still enjoyed the taste. She didn’t need food, though; she didn’t need coffee or apple tart or other things that Vala brought each week. (She didn’t need Vala, she didn’t really need anybody, because her entire life was like a recording in her head. One she could pause, rewind, and replay moments of her life and experience them again, exist in them. But not live. Never live them again, and in a way it wasn’t life. She wished sometimes Rodney never reanimated her, she wished he simply let her die, and in some way she thought she wasn’t even alive any more.)
Elizabeth certainly didn’t need a better hairdo, but once Vala put her mind to something, she usually found her way to do it. If that meant cutting Elizabeth’s hair, then her hair was bound to be cut off and styled according to Vala’s idea.
“Bangs?” Vala asked, scissors in one, and a strand of Elizabeth’s hair in other hand. Elizabeth looked at her expression and thought how she could do all of this and even more just because she was a self programmed machine, one that didn’t age and didn’t need sleep. (One that didn’t need friends, or sweets, or being pretty, because she was a machine, and not human any more). She could easily reprogram her hair, her skin, her complete appearance.
“Elizabeth,” Vala’s hand paused and then she started to stroke her hair, to smooth it down and it reminded her of almost forgotten times, of being a little girl whose grandmother combed her loose curls. She met Vala’s eyes, uncharacteristically deep and serious. It seemed like they connected, right there in the mirror. Vala was always breezy, always cheerful, a deception and self defense and possibly, the role she needed to play to stay sane, but this Vala right here, the one in the mirror, she seemed like flesh and blood and pain, something real, something Elizabeth ached for.
After she was released from Area 51 (after a team of scientists were convinced that she wasn’t a ticking timebomb, and that she could control herself and handle herself), she was given this house. Her schedule was precise and strict and there was a checkup every week, Doctor Greyson every week at Cheyenne Mountain, and she knew and felt how people looked and stared at her as she passed the corridors and rooms to reach the sterile, highly secured lab.
And then someone figured out she could use some company. She might need actual social contact, a companion, an imitation of friendship.
Unfathomably, Vala volunteered.
“Why do you do this?” Elizabeth asked and Vala busied her hands, lowering her eyes.
“Because you need it,” she said.
“I can grow the hair back overnight, Vala,” Elizabeth said, realizing it was unfair, but everything and everyone was unfair to her as well.
“I said, I’m doing this because you need it,” she repeated, looking back up and to Elizabeth’s expression, searching her eyes in the mirror.
“I don’t —”
“Yeah. Save it. I’ve been there, honey,” it was Vala’s voice and Vala’s face, but a new, unknown Vala that looked back at her; one that looked incredibly more serious than the always cheerful woman who kept visiting her for two months now.
“We’re not friends, Vala. You barely even know me,” Elizabeth begun, but Vala was shaking her head and there was a sad look in her eyes.
“It’s true.... and it won’t change unless you let me.”
Elizabeth smiled bitterly.
“Why?”
“Why not?” Vala replied promptly.
“Because —” Elizabeth’s voice caught and Vala held her gaze.
“Because you’re a monster? A machine? Because you’re dangerous and can’t be trusted, with all those tiny machines inside of you?” Vala supplied and Elizabeth was going to say something, something smart, something to point out how dangerous it was, could be, but Vala didn’t allow her to voice those thoughts. “I had a Goa’uld in my head. For years people looked at me like I was a monster, and even I saw one when she looked at the mirror, and I stared at my face. And then, when I was set free I realized she would still own me and my life if I thought that it was me. I may not be a good person, but I am not her.”
They stared at each other stubbornly and Elizabeth felt her chest deflate, felt her lungs fill with sorrow and longing and things she wanted to stay away from.
Finally; Vala looked back at Elizabeth’s hair. “This is just disastrous,” she stated firmly. “We can’t have this, honey. This is a perfect waste of your good looks,” she said and Elizabeth smiled a little, bowing her head and accepting this.
The haircut was more frilly than what Elizabeth usually wore, but she decided to keep it the way Vala did it nevertheless.
*
Five days ago
“I can’t let you inside, ma’am,” the soldier looked at her respectfully, but she could almost smell his fear.
“That’s fine. Can you call Colonel Mitchell,” Elizabeth said with more calm than she truly possessed as she took in the front side of the house. It looked inconspicuous and calm, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
It certainly didn’t look like a place where Doctor Gerald Greyson was killed last night. The soldier who stood in front of the door was a tall young man, but still not a match for Elizabeth if she chose to use her unnatural, nanite-induced strength. He debated her request and then activated his radio, asking for the Colonel’s presence.
Mitchell appeared after two minutes and when he saw her, he didn’t look surprised.
“Elizabeth,” he said, and for the most part he looked like he wasn’t afraid. Which he probably wasn’t, but things had changed. She could tell that he wasn’t going to let her inside, she knew she wasn’t a part of the team any more, but something all of them had to manage. A situation, a problem. “What are you doing here?”
She wished she could put her thoughts into a single look. He was apologizing with his eyes, with his entire body language and she shook her head.
“You need me here,” she said.
“Elizabeth, I have an entire team working on this. In fact we have --”
“What? You have what?” she asked, trying to read him, but his expression was closed off.
“We’re handling this,” he said evenly. She snorted, because it wasn’t a game, because the man someone presumably killed had too much, way too much information about her.
“Do I need to remind you of everything this man knew?”
“I am well aware of everything he was involved in,” Mitchell replied and before she could answer someone else showed up at the door.
Someone she really didn’t need to see and didn’t want to see.
“Elizabeth,” John Sheppard said, and the way he said it made her breath catch. She took a deep breath and tried to compose her thoughts. Some things were not taken away from her, and maybe that should have been comforting.
“John,” she forced a smile and looked him in the eye and saw the same shades of guilt on his face, recognized them and stopped herself from speaking.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said as his eyes darkened. There was always a connection between them, for almost as long as she remembered; he read her well and she could read him in return, and that, too, hadn’t changed. He was feeling guilty and she was feeling angry and they were not talking about it. “It’s too dangerous,” he added and he almost believed that. She could tell. He believed he was protecting her.
Even Mitchell shifted uncomfortably and she raised her chin a little and frowned, because she didn’t need them to protect her. She was far more dangerous than the two of them combined, and they knew that. Someone else would have called this bullshit.
“Whatever happened here is far more dangerous than the fact that I know about it,” she said.
“Speaking of which —” Mitchell started and Elizabeth shook her head.
“He was scheduled to meet me today,” she offered as a way of explaining.
“That doesn’t explain —”
“It’s not as important as other things, Cameron. The fact that I can help you with this is far more important right now —,” she said and looked at both of them. Both of these men used to trust her. Now both of them probably thought she was dangerous to herself and should have been fixed, helped, and until then? Kept out of the way? Elizabeth knew John well, she knew his intentions were good, and his heart was probably at the right place, but she didn’t need this. She needed honesty, she needed him to face her and tell her that he screwed up and was sorry, but that he was leaving it all there. Picking himself up and carrying on.
And for a moment, just for a moment it looked like they might give in.
Which they didn’t.
“We have orders, Elizabeth,” John said softly, but his words felt like a slap across her face and she nodded. She knew a dead end when she saw one, which meant she would need a detour, and need it fast.
Half an hour later she was calling Vala, instructing her what needed to be stolen. There was almost no need for convincing. Twenty minutes after that Vala called her back to tell her that Rodney McKay and John Sheppard were kidnapped, and Cameron Mitchell was injured.
Everything they found in Greyson’s house, all the evidence material, everything, was stolen as well.
Suddenly, she felt like a ticking bomb, a trigger someone could pull from far away, and then, she thought no. And she decided nobody was going to stop her; not the machines in her blood or the people who believed she was one, a puppet on strings anyone could pull, if they knew how.
(Rodney knew how and someone took him. Someone took him and John, someone out there wanted something, and it lead straight back to her, it had to.)
She walked into SGC with head held high and demanded to see Colonel Mitchell and General Landry, and they would have to realize that she was their best chance right now.
She had enough — enough of everything.
*
Two days ago
Natasha woke up coughing and shaking, feeling an itch all along her skin. She was cold, except she felt like she’d been drenched in hot water, almost like she’d been burned all over. Clint was asleep beside her, dead to the world, still looking tired after a full day of training and not enough sleep ever since the mission. The mission, she thought and did her best to push it all back. She peeled the covers away, left the bed soundlessly, and he shifted, hand blindingly searching for her. She held her breath for a moment and stood there, simply looking at him. She didn’t want to leave him, she didn’t want him to lose, to be left behind, but her every waking hour felt more and more like a goodbye.
She didn’t want to disappoint him. He believed in her, believed she was strong. (They all did; Bruce, Steve, Thor, even Tony. She didn’t want to leave them either, but she felt, with more certainty after each passing hour that her mind was leaving her).
First it was just nightmares; a blur of colors and sounds and nothing out of the ordinary. (She had nightmares. She could handle nightmares).
But it didn’t stop there. Dreams progressed, from those that jerked her awake to the worst ones, ones that sent her screaming and Clint would sit up next to her, pulling a gun first and then pulling her to him, after he realized it was her. It started happening every night, not always with screams, but she had to get up, get away from him, let him have some rest. He was no good like this, constantly on the watch for her and unable to help her.
But it was not all. It started happening during the day —voices, faces, names; names she did not know, things she did not remember, at least not consciously. A white dog and a man named Simon, a woman with dark skin and a honey smile; metallic hallways and large windows erupting in an explosion, throwing her to the ground. Men, cold men with empty eyes and cold hands, cold, metallic minds that pulled her and took her and a hand that dragged her behind and a dark haired man that took a shot at her, no, at the man dragging her and she looked at his face (so so familiar) as he asked if she was okay (No, but I will be), and it almost slid into place.
Except it didn’t.
Except she had to get it out of her, whatever it was, from under her skin and she cut her hand bad enough for Clint to shout for Bruce into a comm link, but when Bruce arrived running her hand had healed.
“Nat,” Clint’s voice was soft as she stood in the kitchen, trying to warm herself with a glass of milk. (Nothing could warm her. Nothing could sort her out, she was going crazy, she was losing it, they got to her, they gave her something, she felt it, felt the needle, and she was fucking losing it.) “Nat, hey,” he was right behind her, still talking softly, although his voice was a bit firmer, a solid thing in her mind. He touched her shoulder, steady, powerful hand grounding her and she could feel his chest behind her and all she wanted was to cave, turn around and fall against him. But if she couldn’t stand on her own, if she couldn’t put herself back together she would become a liability, to him, to everyone else. “What’s wrong?” he asked and she just shook her head.
“Nothing,” she tried even as his hands went to her hips and held her against him.
“You’re a remarkably bad liar,” he said, kissing the back of her head, “when it’s about your well being.”
She shook her head and tried to come up with something assuring, but there was nothing except the fear to fall asleep and the fear to stay awake, to be ambushed with memories she didn’t remember creating.
“This isn’t normal, Clint,” she said and felt how he leaned his chin on top of her head, pulled her flush against his front and they fit together. She sighed in relief, holding onto his hand and fearing it wouldn’t be enough this time. “This —”
“Shhh,” he soothed like he knew, like he always did and she tried her best to trust him. “Bruce said something about your nanites. That they’re more active than usual.”
“That can’t explain this.”
“It can explain your hand,” he said steadily, putting pressure on her shoulders until she turned around to face him. She tried to avoid his eyes but he removed her hair from her face, gently, and lifted her chin.
“It can’t explain everything else,” she countered.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said and pulled her against him. “We’ll figure it out and we’ll fix this —”
“Clint I am — I fear I’m losing my mind,” she stammered against his chest and felt how he was shaking his head, holding her to him like he could push her inside of his chest and keep her there.
“Nat, you’re scared. Something's going on and you’re scared and it doesn’t mean you’re losing it,” he said softly.
“Clint, I’m seeing things! Hearing things —”
“And they would do that to you, to mess with you, right? They would do what you’re afraid of, wouldn’t they?”
She nodded, because it made sense, because she wanted him to be right.
He held her, steady and soft at the same time and it felt like the feeling of him, familiar and good, could chase everything bad away.
“They’d want you to think you’re … going crazy. But … You’re not alone any more,” he said, kissing her slowly and softly everywhere he could reach. “You’re not alone.”
*
Present time
The guy on the bed started to stir and wake up.
She remained seated in her spot and focused on the man in front of her, who, just as she expected, tried to move and found out he was shackled to the headboard.
“... the fuck,” he groaned. She expected that too.
“Well, hello, sweetheart,” Vala smiled, moving in her chair. She crossed her legs and let her prisoner take a good look at her, because a nice pair of legs were a distraction at least. “Nice to see you're awake,” her smile was bright and fake, but she knew how to play this game. Something was telling her, however, that this wouldn't go as smoothly as it started.
“Who the hell are you?” he tugged at the cuffs tying him to bed. “Where the hell are my pants?”
Well. She hoped she was better than “hell”.
Vala let her grin brighten. He seemed fond of curses, but then, he must have had a bad headache. Goa’uld devices coupled with Replicator hand interrogation probably weren’t very pleasant. “You don't need them right now,” she said, getting up and bringing her chair closer to him. “What you need is to talk to me.” Because a nice conversation was good against headaches, wasn't it?
He just gave her a look. A very incredulous and an unfriendly look.
“Oh, I see,” Vala said. The secret agent types, she thought. They always thought no information could be gained from them, and they were wrong, wrong, wrong. “Doesn't really matter. You can always listen if you’re not inclined to talk,” she decided, taking a seat at the end of the bed. He wasn't really attractive (why did Elizabeth describe him as attractive? Vala always thought Elizabeth had a good taste in men, if Colonel Sheppard was any indication — and really, nobody would convince her they were just friends); but this one was strong and reasonably handsome. Just reasonably, not terribly — he was rather short, but his arms were probably something to look at. Maybe she should have taken his shirt instead of his pants, or maybe both. “You're probably wondering why you're here,” she lifted up a keychain with several keys on her pointing finger and dangled it close enough to see his fingers twitch. He didn’t like being helpless, he didn’t like being exposed. He wouldn’t do good in the front line of the battle, he was a guy for the shadows.
She decided she liked that idea as she took a seat at the end of the bed, near his bare feet. Nice feet, for a guy.
“No, actually, I get kidnapped every week,” he answered sarcastically.
“I would believe that,” Vala snatched the keys in her hand. “Considering your job.”
He flinched. Very very briefly, and someone who wasn't her probably wouldn't notice.
“Ah. We're having a conversation now,” she decided and leaned back against the other board of the bed. “Also, your girlfriend. Forgive me, but she doesn't seem like a conversationy type,” she said and he gave her a look that could be classified as a glare. “The red one, love,” she added as if it was self explanatory when it wasn't. “There's a man in you after all,” she said pleasantly, giving him a Cheshire grin and wondering just how dangerous he normally was. Probably very dangerous, but she always liked to mess with the best.
“What do you want?” he cut to the chase, and she liked the attitude. There was something about him that she instantly liked, and it wasn't his looks.
“I'll tell you first what I don't want,” she said.
“Interesting approach.”
“I'm an interesting lady.”
He tugged at his restraints again. “I bet.”
“I don't want to hurt you. Actually, I don't plan to hurt you,” she said evenly.
“Well, that's priceless,” he said.
“I'm really sorry about your head, darlin'. That was necessary,” she added with a sigh.
“Oh, I'm convinced.”
“I bet you are. I can do all kinds of sneaky things, but I doubt I would win a hand to hand fight against you,” she answered. He seemed fun, but there was not enough time to carry on with it. “Look, honey. I know more about you than you would like, which is something I can completely understand,” she added some empathy to her voice, but not too much. She wasn’t terribly empathic. That didn't soften him at all, and she approved, even though it meant her job wouldn't be easy.
“No shit.”
“Your friends are in danger. Your buddy Stark is swimming in hot water, but I would be really worried for that lovely redhead if I were you.”
He looked at her like he wanted to say something, but he didn't.
“Why should I believe a woman who.... apparently knocked me out and tied me to a bed?”
“Well, you could have done a lot worse, honey,” she said. “I understand why you don't believe me, but then we'll just have to do without your help.”
Or agreement, she thought.
“Oh how wonderful.”
“Do you know what nanotechnology is?” she asked now, her tone turning more serious. He remained quiet but there was a shift in his expression. He heard of it, she assumed, but he probably didn’t know much, or rather didn’t know enough. But there was something itchy in his expression, a tightness around his mouth. “I’ll go with a theory someone told you it’s dangerous.”
“Are we here to discuss... theoretical technology?” he asked.
“Oh love. And I thought you weren’t naive,” she smiled amusedly, leaning forward and running a fine fingernail along his leg.
“Let me use your reversed approach and tell you what I am — I’m pissed,” he said.
Predators, she thought. Didn’t they call him Hawkeye? Predators enjoyed playing with their food before eating it, but he wasn’t a predator in a way she was. He was simply a hunter. You sent him to do something, and he did it, without leaving a mess in his wake. Just very clean, very precise cuts.
“You are one of the highest ranking SHIELD agents. Yes, love, i am aware of its existence. Your security clearance is pretty high, but sadly, if SHIELD has information regarding nanotechnology and certain Russian secret agency which might or might not be interested in it —”Vala looked at him and noticed how he tried very hard to keep his expression calm and contained — “you’re just not important enough.”
“What the fuck are you saying?”
“You and your team of extraordinary friends rescued your girl last week, didn’t you? Not really usual for a person like her, to be knocked out like that, isn’t it, Barton?” Vala said and she could see how his face gradually lost its coloring. She looked at her hands and forced thoughts and memories to stay hidden as she concentrated on him and let her bravado drop. “Yet your medical staff didn’t find anything out of ordinary. Except her nanites. The ones that Red Room gave her. Am I right?”
“How... how do you know that?”
“You told us,” she looked at him steadily and seriously, deciding it was the time to show him she was serious and deadly, just as he and his friends were. And they better be, because if Elizabeth was right — “look. You can be pissed at me or anyone later. The thing is, people are in danger right now —”
“And I should trust a person who forced information out of me?” His voice was close to a hiss and she could understand. She could. She’d been there, longer than he had been.
“You’re not the only person here whose body and mind were hijacked by a volatile, sadistic, tyrannic alien creature,” she said before she could think better of it. His face was steel but his eyes looked painful. “Yes, we got information against your will but nobody made you hurt anyone and it won’t happen, actually the last thing we want is someone to get hurt in the first place —”
“We? Who is we you keep talking about?”
She opened her mouth but before she could say anything the door unlocked and she could hear Elizabeth’s voice behind her.
“Maybe it’s better if I take over, Vala,” Elizabeth said. Vala got up and she could see the look on the agent’s face when he set his eyes on Elizabeth. To Vala she was just Elizabeth, but to many other people she was the famous US diplomat who was missing, presumably killed on a classified mission.
“Well, shit,” Clint Barton said and shifted. The discomfort on his face was telling, just like something else Vala couldn’t quite identify. Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest.
“If I remember correctly, you told me once that you don’t forget faces,” she said. “I suppose it’s a useful trait for a marksman.”
“It sounds like something I would say,” Barton replied. “Pretty impressive memory there, considering I was just a hired gun on your security detail.”
Elizabeth arched her eyebrow.
“Memorizing facts is a useful thing for a diplomat, Agent Barton. And I disagree. You weren’t just a hired gun.”
He held his expression schooled but he probably knew he was caught in his bluff. That, and Elizabeth did have an unfair advantage. “While I was negotiating the release of an American activist, you were after something entirely else. Or, should I say, someone,” Elizabeth ventured further into the room. “And no, I wasn’t aware of it at the time.”
“Why do I have the feeling I am being set up here, Doctor Weir? It’s Weir, is it?”
Elizabeth’s mouth quirked. “If I recall correctly, all of you used to call me Doctor Weird.”
“Again, that’s a pretty impressive memory. We’re talking about something that happened …”
“ — ten years ago,” Elizabeth supplied. “It’s interesting how that story isn’t finished yet.”
Elizabeth walked to the chair Vala was occupying previously and took a seat. Barton seemed more interested than irritated right now, but that was Elizabeth’s usual effect on people. She knew how to captivate attention and keep it where she wanted it; she had the impact without the need to irritate someone or press their buttons to gain answers.
She thought of how Elizabeth had been treated for the past two years and felt angry all over again.
“Human memory is always flawed,” Elizabeth said. “Human beings are flawed by design,” Barton look confused, but Vala knew why she said it the way she did. She noticed the lack of we in her words. “Would you agree?”
“Are we having a philosophical discussion now, Doctor?” Barton tugged at his restraints.
“Not really. Though I wish this was in the realm of philosophy and science fiction,” she said. He snorted.
“Can we get to the point here?”
“Of course,” she said. “Human beings usually don’t remember these kind of details. Machines, however, can be programmed to retain information for long periods of time. Even to retrieve them, and then retain them unchanged. Something like digital photographs,” she leaned slightly forward and it seemed she had Barton’s complete attention.
“What exactly are you telling me, Doctor?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly and took a breath. Then, her eyes were steady and determined, and she was again the woman who led an entire city, not someone whom Stargate Command kept locked away and forced to report in every week.
“The thing you’re most afraid of, Agent Barton,” she said.
“I don’t like this,” he looked like he was trying to retreat, but he had nowhere to go.
“I’m certain you don’t. I like it even less, because there are lives at stake. Someone’s been stealing nanite technology, Agent Barton. You’re familiar with the term, I assume?”
This time around he was quiet, but his expression was telling. “This time around it’s a different kind of nanite technology than what was used on your friend Natasha. She is, I assume, the person you were after at the time when we first met.”
Vala noticed the change in his eyes when Elizabeth used the name.
“Yes,” he said.
“People like those who run the Red Room don’t like when their property is stolen from them,” Elizabeth said darkly.
“They didn’t even try to take her,” Barton said.
Elizabeth smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes. Vala took a deep breath and thought of Teal’c, of Ba’al and the man who harbored the Goa’uld through an unnaturally long lifetime. She thought of Que’tesh and that girl she was, the woman she could have been if she didn’t so accidentally crossed Que’tesh’s path.
“Why drag the machine of war along, if you can simply flip a switch, Agent Barton? If you can order it into war and it would listen to you?”
Barton didn’t say anything. Elizabeth did.
“Please, Vala, untie him, and give him back his clothes and his shoes.”
*
Flip a switch, he thought. He fixed his tie and unwillingly offered his hand to a woman who somehow knocked him down and tied him to a bed while he was unconscious. Clint didn’t trust her, and he wasn’t sure he trusted Elizabeth Weir either, but there was just too much coincidence and too many things she knew, too much of it just to be random noise he could dismiss. The hallway of the Stark Tower was dimly lit and Clint’s eyes stayed ahead of them.
“It’s clear,” Elizabeth’s voice cut next to him, and as far as his senses could affirm, she was right.
“I don’t recall this as a requisite trait for a diplomat, Doc,” he said, carefully leading the strange-named woman on his arm.
“That’s because I’m not a diplomat any more,” she answered.
“I’m not sure I really want to hear more,” he said. “But I don’t like shooting blind, so to speak.”
“Understandable,” Elizabeth answered. “I’ll answer all of your questions.”
They walked as quickly as it was possible, without looking suspicious. Clint was acutely aware of his gun, tightly strapped under his right arm and wondered if two women in pretty gowns had any weapon on them. He also wondered if they really needed them.
“How do you know about Red Room and —”
“And Natasha Romanoff?” Elizabeth said and he nodded. “Classified intel. I used to work for an organization that’s equally shady and dangerous as yours.”
“Let’s not forget equally powerful,” Vala added.
“You’re not the only one with a coverstory,” Elizabeth said with a hint of mirth. “SHIELD is not the only organization that would like to take Red Room out of the equation. They have taken something incredibly dangerous now —”
“Nanites?” Clint supplied. They rounded a corner and started walking toward an elevator, talking in hushed tones because there were people in this hallway. Clint offered his free hand to Elizabeth.
“Yes. But not just any kind of nanites,” she glanced at him. “These nanites are alien made.”
“I’m a huge fan of alien technology,” Clint said with a bitter hint in his voice.
“I’m aware of that,” Elizabeth said.
“Are you now?” he glanced at her pointedly.
“I’m not a fan of what that same technology allows me to do,” she said with a perfectly straight face and Clint kept walking forward on sheer power of will as his mind caught up with the meaning of her words. “Which explains why I’m not a diplomat any more, Agent Barton. I was involved in dangerous things on a dangerous mission. I was....” she looked briefly at him. “I think you would use the term compromised.”
“I think it’s a fitting description,” Vala supplied. “Shouldn’t we stick here for a moment?” she said then, looking around the lobby that opened toward the main gala - room where Tony’s grand Christmas party was being held.
Elizabeth nodded. A waitress with a tray passed them and three of them accepted offered glasses. Clint took a small sip, champagne certainly wouldn’t help the mess going on in his head right now. Frankly, he would prefer something stronger, but he needed to stay sober and alert, but also to keep up an appearance.
“Are you saying you were compromised with alien technology?” Clint asked, not liking this one bit.
“Yes.”
“And it allows you to —?”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Vala. They were smiling politely at each other, keeping their eyes on the people around them and making sure nobody was in earshot.
“You wouldn’t be able to take me down. Not with guns, arrows or any kind of weapon you know of, and not with your own strength,” she said.
“That sounds like someone I know,” Clint gave her a serious look. She looked fragile, with light skin and dark hair pinned in an elegant hairdo. She might have been a ballerina, yet she was telling him she was potentially deadly and dangerous. He remembered her as a diplomat, eloquent, competent and steely-nerved, but she hadn’t been deadly.
But, Clint was very familiar with the fact that a woman’s looks weren’t related to potential danger.
“I think she could beat up your supersoldier friend,” Vala smirked and winked at Elizabeth. “Maybe we could organize a match later?”
Elizabeth glanced at her with mild fondness. “Vala —”
“I know, I know! These are Serious Things. I am well aware, only you’re ruining my style,” Vala smirked and Elizabeth look turned into a mixture of chiding and almost amused. “Oh please. You wouldn’t have had fun without me.”
“Okay, I’ll admit that is true,” Elizabeth said and then turned to Clint again. He wondered if they would be a decent if not pleasant company if circumstances were different.
“I can access computers,” Elizabeth continued.
“You mean hack them,” Clint offered with a false smile. By all means, they were having a nice chat as far as anyone else was concerned.
“I prefer accessing information I need through the least obtrusive means possible.”
“Like using my access codes?”
“Yes,” she said evenly. The nerve this woman, had he thought. Or perhaps, the desperation. He wasn’t sure which was driving her actions yet. “Which I did only because SHIELD systems would detect me. Logging on as Agent Barton was far less suspicious and gives us all more time.”
“Which makes me wonder how you found out my numbers?”
“Nanite technology allows me to manipulate different things, Agent Barton. Machines, computers, weaponry... and organic matter. In other words, I’m able to access your, or anyone else’s mind.”
Clint felt every hair on his body raise. He didn’t like this, he didn’t, no matter what justification she was trying to paint it with.
“I am truly sorry,” she continued. “And if it’s any comfort I know what it’s like from personal experience.”
“It’s not,” Clint said.
“That’s perfectly fair,” Elizabeth replied. “I’d like to remind you why we’re here.”
“I would like to know how Natasha fits into this,” he said because, frankly, that was the thing that kept him listening to her. She lead him to think that Natasha was in danger, she mentioned those things about memory and Clint thought about things Natasha had mentioned a few days ago — she remembered details, things from her past she thought forgotten and gone, she had nightmares that came out of nowhere and it started happening after she was knocked out. It started the next day, he remembered.
“I suspect she was given my nanites,” Elizabeth said and a wave of solid chill went through Clint.
If The Red Room had done that —
“You mentioned a switch,” Clint’s voice was just as dark as his mind.
“The nanites can be turned into a switch. If someone can activate the nanites, if they can command them,” he voice became quiet but he could hear every single word over the chatter filling the room. “- and we know that it can be done —”
“No,” was all Clint could say.
Elizabeth’s eyes locked onto his, fiercely. “There’s only one person in the world who knows how to do that.”
“Who — where is this person?” Clint was aware he didn’t sound quite right, but he didn’t give a damn. If this was all true, the things that could happen to Natasha —
Elizabeth turned to face the ongoing party. “He’s my friend,” Elizabeth paused and looked at her hands. “And I suspect they’ve got him. Also ….I’m fairly sure whoever wants to flip a switch in Natasha Romanoff’s head is after my friend, and subsequently, they’re after me too.” She looked at Clint, long and hard. “I need your help, Agent Barton,” she said.
Clint didn’t feel like helping her, but it seemed he didn’t have many options to choose from.
Author:
anuna_81A Gift For:
daxcat79Rating: teen-ish
Warnings: mentions of violence, past abuse, mind manipulation and everything shady Red Room might do to one of their “assets” (and I assume, SGA Replicators aren’t much different from RR.)
Pairings: Clint/Natasha, established.
Summary/Prompt Used:crossover between Stargate and Avengers.
Authors Notes: In this universe Natasha has been injected with nanotechnology while she worked for Red Room, in order to help her body heal faster.
My dear giftee, I hope you’ll enjoy this crazy roller coaster of wackyness. I did my best to write you something exciting. It was a daunting task at times, considering how I found myself in a genre I don’t often write, but despite that I am hoping you’ll be pleased. To everyone else, I fear this fic won’t make much sense if you haven’t seen Stargate Atlantis, at least first three seasons of it (and have knowledge on the shameful way they gotten rid of their leading lady, but let’s not go into that now). But – if you do know it – I hope you’ll enjoy this crazy ride.
Banner by
frea_oTwo years ago
The knocking was constant and stubborn and Elizabeth realized she wouldn’t be able to ignore her guest.
Not really a guest, she thought, because it was one of those things she was ordered to comply with, and sometimes she just decided to be difficult. She usually wasn’t, because her life had been something completely different, purposeful and filled with responsibilities, and there was a way to use her stubborness to reach her goals. Worthy and valid goals, goals that brought her on the top of the game. It was the distant past now, because she lived behind this door, anonymous and hidden from the world, and only allowed a semblance of normalcy because that was right. That was human. They owed her too much, to hook her up to a machine and trap her mind in an illusion created by a computer.
Sometimes Elizabeth wondered if that would have been better.
Sometimes she wished Rodney McKay just let her die.
Right now she wished Vala Mal Doran would just leave. Except she wasn’t going to.
“Elizabeth! Come on, girl, open the door! I will be here all day long, honey, and this pie is going to get cold,” she called from the porch and Elizabeth sighed. She went to the door and opened it and there was Vala, flashing a brilliant smile, complete with pigtails and a tray in her hands and it actually hurt inside Elizabeth’s chest.
“Pardon my honesty, but you look like hell,” she said when she took in Elizabeth’s appearance with exaggerated disapproval on her face. “Did you even brush your hair?”
“I did,” Elizabeth chuckled, despite her mood and Vala shook her head as she entered, walking like a queen.
“I don’t believe you,” she insisted. “You’re a victim of self neglect and it’s a good thing I’ve come to the rescue.”
“Really?”
“Really. We can’t have this,” she decided, hands on hips, standing in the middle of Elizabeth’s kitchen.
Elizabeth didn’t cook. The only thing she did make regularly was coffee, and she made it because she still enjoyed the taste. She didn’t need food, though; she didn’t need coffee or apple tart or other things that Vala brought each week. (She didn’t need Vala, she didn’t really need anybody, because her entire life was like a recording in her head. One she could pause, rewind, and replay moments of her life and experience them again, exist in them. But not live. Never live them again, and in a way it wasn’t life. She wished sometimes Rodney never reanimated her, she wished he simply let her die, and in some way she thought she wasn’t even alive any more.)
Elizabeth certainly didn’t need a better hairdo, but once Vala put her mind to something, she usually found her way to do it. If that meant cutting Elizabeth’s hair, then her hair was bound to be cut off and styled according to Vala’s idea.
“Bangs?” Vala asked, scissors in one, and a strand of Elizabeth’s hair in other hand. Elizabeth looked at her expression and thought how she could do all of this and even more just because she was a self programmed machine, one that didn’t age and didn’t need sleep. (One that didn’t need friends, or sweets, or being pretty, because she was a machine, and not human any more). She could easily reprogram her hair, her skin, her complete appearance.
“Elizabeth,” Vala’s hand paused and then she started to stroke her hair, to smooth it down and it reminded her of almost forgotten times, of being a little girl whose grandmother combed her loose curls. She met Vala’s eyes, uncharacteristically deep and serious. It seemed like they connected, right there in the mirror. Vala was always breezy, always cheerful, a deception and self defense and possibly, the role she needed to play to stay sane, but this Vala right here, the one in the mirror, she seemed like flesh and blood and pain, something real, something Elizabeth ached for.
After she was released from Area 51 (after a team of scientists were convinced that she wasn’t a ticking timebomb, and that she could control herself and handle herself), she was given this house. Her schedule was precise and strict and there was a checkup every week, Doctor Greyson every week at Cheyenne Mountain, and she knew and felt how people looked and stared at her as she passed the corridors and rooms to reach the sterile, highly secured lab.
And then someone figured out she could use some company. She might need actual social contact, a companion, an imitation of friendship.
Unfathomably, Vala volunteered.
“Why do you do this?” Elizabeth asked and Vala busied her hands, lowering her eyes.
“Because you need it,” she said.
“I can grow the hair back overnight, Vala,” Elizabeth said, realizing it was unfair, but everything and everyone was unfair to her as well.
“I said, I’m doing this because you need it,” she repeated, looking back up and to Elizabeth’s expression, searching her eyes in the mirror.
“I don’t —”
“Yeah. Save it. I’ve been there, honey,” it was Vala’s voice and Vala’s face, but a new, unknown Vala that looked back at her; one that looked incredibly more serious than the always cheerful woman who kept visiting her for two months now.
“We’re not friends, Vala. You barely even know me,” Elizabeth begun, but Vala was shaking her head and there was a sad look in her eyes.
“It’s true.... and it won’t change unless you let me.”
Elizabeth smiled bitterly.
“Why?”
“Why not?” Vala replied promptly.
“Because —” Elizabeth’s voice caught and Vala held her gaze.
“Because you’re a monster? A machine? Because you’re dangerous and can’t be trusted, with all those tiny machines inside of you?” Vala supplied and Elizabeth was going to say something, something smart, something to point out how dangerous it was, could be, but Vala didn’t allow her to voice those thoughts. “I had a Goa’uld in my head. For years people looked at me like I was a monster, and even I saw one when she looked at the mirror, and I stared at my face. And then, when I was set free I realized she would still own me and my life if I thought that it was me. I may not be a good person, but I am not her.”
They stared at each other stubbornly and Elizabeth felt her chest deflate, felt her lungs fill with sorrow and longing and things she wanted to stay away from.
Finally; Vala looked back at Elizabeth’s hair. “This is just disastrous,” she stated firmly. “We can’t have this, honey. This is a perfect waste of your good looks,” she said and Elizabeth smiled a little, bowing her head and accepting this.
The haircut was more frilly than what Elizabeth usually wore, but she decided to keep it the way Vala did it nevertheless.
*
Five days ago
“I can’t let you inside, ma’am,” the soldier looked at her respectfully, but she could almost smell his fear.
“That’s fine. Can you call Colonel Mitchell,” Elizabeth said with more calm than she truly possessed as she took in the front side of the house. It looked inconspicuous and calm, like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
It certainly didn’t look like a place where Doctor Gerald Greyson was killed last night. The soldier who stood in front of the door was a tall young man, but still not a match for Elizabeth if she chose to use her unnatural, nanite-induced strength. He debated her request and then activated his radio, asking for the Colonel’s presence.
Mitchell appeared after two minutes and when he saw her, he didn’t look surprised.
“Elizabeth,” he said, and for the most part he looked like he wasn’t afraid. Which he probably wasn’t, but things had changed. She could tell that he wasn’t going to let her inside, she knew she wasn’t a part of the team any more, but something all of them had to manage. A situation, a problem. “What are you doing here?”
She wished she could put her thoughts into a single look. He was apologizing with his eyes, with his entire body language and she shook her head.
“You need me here,” she said.
“Elizabeth, I have an entire team working on this. In fact we have --”
“What? You have what?” she asked, trying to read him, but his expression was closed off.
“We’re handling this,” he said evenly. She snorted, because it wasn’t a game, because the man someone presumably killed had too much, way too much information about her.
“Do I need to remind you of everything this man knew?”
“I am well aware of everything he was involved in,” Mitchell replied and before she could answer someone else showed up at the door.
Someone she really didn’t need to see and didn’t want to see.
“Elizabeth,” John Sheppard said, and the way he said it made her breath catch. She took a deep breath and tried to compose her thoughts. Some things were not taken away from her, and maybe that should have been comforting.
“John,” she forced a smile and looked him in the eye and saw the same shades of guilt on his face, recognized them and stopped herself from speaking.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said as his eyes darkened. There was always a connection between them, for almost as long as she remembered; he read her well and she could read him in return, and that, too, hadn’t changed. He was feeling guilty and she was feeling angry and they were not talking about it. “It’s too dangerous,” he added and he almost believed that. She could tell. He believed he was protecting her.
Even Mitchell shifted uncomfortably and she raised her chin a little and frowned, because she didn’t need them to protect her. She was far more dangerous than the two of them combined, and they knew that. Someone else would have called this bullshit.
“Whatever happened here is far more dangerous than the fact that I know about it,” she said.
“Speaking of which —” Mitchell started and Elizabeth shook her head.
“He was scheduled to meet me today,” she offered as a way of explaining.
“That doesn’t explain —”
“It’s not as important as other things, Cameron. The fact that I can help you with this is far more important right now —,” she said and looked at both of them. Both of these men used to trust her. Now both of them probably thought she was dangerous to herself and should have been fixed, helped, and until then? Kept out of the way? Elizabeth knew John well, she knew his intentions were good, and his heart was probably at the right place, but she didn’t need this. She needed honesty, she needed him to face her and tell her that he screwed up and was sorry, but that he was leaving it all there. Picking himself up and carrying on.
And for a moment, just for a moment it looked like they might give in.
Which they didn’t.
“We have orders, Elizabeth,” John said softly, but his words felt like a slap across her face and she nodded. She knew a dead end when she saw one, which meant she would need a detour, and need it fast.
Half an hour later she was calling Vala, instructing her what needed to be stolen. There was almost no need for convincing. Twenty minutes after that Vala called her back to tell her that Rodney McKay and John Sheppard were kidnapped, and Cameron Mitchell was injured.
Everything they found in Greyson’s house, all the evidence material, everything, was stolen as well.
Suddenly, she felt like a ticking bomb, a trigger someone could pull from far away, and then, she thought no. And she decided nobody was going to stop her; not the machines in her blood or the people who believed she was one, a puppet on strings anyone could pull, if they knew how.
(Rodney knew how and someone took him. Someone took him and John, someone out there wanted something, and it lead straight back to her, it had to.)
She walked into SGC with head held high and demanded to see Colonel Mitchell and General Landry, and they would have to realize that she was their best chance right now.
She had enough — enough of everything.
*
Two days ago
Natasha woke up coughing and shaking, feeling an itch all along her skin. She was cold, except she felt like she’d been drenched in hot water, almost like she’d been burned all over. Clint was asleep beside her, dead to the world, still looking tired after a full day of training and not enough sleep ever since the mission. The mission, she thought and did her best to push it all back. She peeled the covers away, left the bed soundlessly, and he shifted, hand blindingly searching for her. She held her breath for a moment and stood there, simply looking at him. She didn’t want to leave him, she didn’t want him to lose, to be left behind, but her every waking hour felt more and more like a goodbye.
She didn’t want to disappoint him. He believed in her, believed she was strong. (They all did; Bruce, Steve, Thor, even Tony. She didn’t want to leave them either, but she felt, with more certainty after each passing hour that her mind was leaving her).
First it was just nightmares; a blur of colors and sounds and nothing out of the ordinary. (She had nightmares. She could handle nightmares).
But it didn’t stop there. Dreams progressed, from those that jerked her awake to the worst ones, ones that sent her screaming and Clint would sit up next to her, pulling a gun first and then pulling her to him, after he realized it was her. It started happening every night, not always with screams, but she had to get up, get away from him, let him have some rest. He was no good like this, constantly on the watch for her and unable to help her.
But it was not all. It started happening during the day —voices, faces, names; names she did not know, things she did not remember, at least not consciously. A white dog and a man named Simon, a woman with dark skin and a honey smile; metallic hallways and large windows erupting in an explosion, throwing her to the ground. Men, cold men with empty eyes and cold hands, cold, metallic minds that pulled her and took her and a hand that dragged her behind and a dark haired man that took a shot at her, no, at the man dragging her and she looked at his face (so so familiar) as he asked if she was okay (No, but I will be), and it almost slid into place.
Except it didn’t.
Except she had to get it out of her, whatever it was, from under her skin and she cut her hand bad enough for Clint to shout for Bruce into a comm link, but when Bruce arrived running her hand had healed.
“Nat,” Clint’s voice was soft as she stood in the kitchen, trying to warm herself with a glass of milk. (Nothing could warm her. Nothing could sort her out, she was going crazy, she was losing it, they got to her, they gave her something, she felt it, felt the needle, and she was fucking losing it.) “Nat, hey,” he was right behind her, still talking softly, although his voice was a bit firmer, a solid thing in her mind. He touched her shoulder, steady, powerful hand grounding her and she could feel his chest behind her and all she wanted was to cave, turn around and fall against him. But if she couldn’t stand on her own, if she couldn’t put herself back together she would become a liability, to him, to everyone else. “What’s wrong?” he asked and she just shook her head.
“Nothing,” she tried even as his hands went to her hips and held her against him.
“You’re a remarkably bad liar,” he said, kissing the back of her head, “when it’s about your well being.”
She shook her head and tried to come up with something assuring, but there was nothing except the fear to fall asleep and the fear to stay awake, to be ambushed with memories she didn’t remember creating.
“This isn’t normal, Clint,” she said and felt how he leaned his chin on top of her head, pulled her flush against his front and they fit together. She sighed in relief, holding onto his hand and fearing it wouldn’t be enough this time. “This —”
“Shhh,” he soothed like he knew, like he always did and she tried her best to trust him. “Bruce said something about your nanites. That they’re more active than usual.”
“That can’t explain this.”
“It can explain your hand,” he said steadily, putting pressure on her shoulders until she turned around to face him. She tried to avoid his eyes but he removed her hair from her face, gently, and lifted her chin.
“It can’t explain everything else,” she countered.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said and pulled her against him. “We’ll figure it out and we’ll fix this —”
“Clint I am — I fear I’m losing my mind,” she stammered against his chest and felt how he was shaking his head, holding her to him like he could push her inside of his chest and keep her there.
“Nat, you’re scared. Something's going on and you’re scared and it doesn’t mean you’re losing it,” he said softly.
“Clint, I’m seeing things! Hearing things —”
“And they would do that to you, to mess with you, right? They would do what you’re afraid of, wouldn’t they?”
She nodded, because it made sense, because she wanted him to be right.
He held her, steady and soft at the same time and it felt like the feeling of him, familiar and good, could chase everything bad away.
“They’d want you to think you’re … going crazy. But … You’re not alone any more,” he said, kissing her slowly and softly everywhere he could reach. “You’re not alone.”
*
Present time
The guy on the bed started to stir and wake up.
She remained seated in her spot and focused on the man in front of her, who, just as she expected, tried to move and found out he was shackled to the headboard.
“... the fuck,” he groaned. She expected that too.
“Well, hello, sweetheart,” Vala smiled, moving in her chair. She crossed her legs and let her prisoner take a good look at her, because a nice pair of legs were a distraction at least. “Nice to see you're awake,” her smile was bright and fake, but she knew how to play this game. Something was telling her, however, that this wouldn't go as smoothly as it started.
“Who the hell are you?” he tugged at the cuffs tying him to bed. “Where the hell are my pants?”
Well. She hoped she was better than “hell”.
Vala let her grin brighten. He seemed fond of curses, but then, he must have had a bad headache. Goa’uld devices coupled with Replicator hand interrogation probably weren’t very pleasant. “You don't need them right now,” she said, getting up and bringing her chair closer to him. “What you need is to talk to me.” Because a nice conversation was good against headaches, wasn't it?
He just gave her a look. A very incredulous and an unfriendly look.
“Oh, I see,” Vala said. The secret agent types, she thought. They always thought no information could be gained from them, and they were wrong, wrong, wrong. “Doesn't really matter. You can always listen if you’re not inclined to talk,” she decided, taking a seat at the end of the bed. He wasn't really attractive (why did Elizabeth describe him as attractive? Vala always thought Elizabeth had a good taste in men, if Colonel Sheppard was any indication — and really, nobody would convince her they were just friends); but this one was strong and reasonably handsome. Just reasonably, not terribly — he was rather short, but his arms were probably something to look at. Maybe she should have taken his shirt instead of his pants, or maybe both. “You're probably wondering why you're here,” she lifted up a keychain with several keys on her pointing finger and dangled it close enough to see his fingers twitch. He didn’t like being helpless, he didn’t like being exposed. He wouldn’t do good in the front line of the battle, he was a guy for the shadows.
She decided she liked that idea as she took a seat at the end of the bed, near his bare feet. Nice feet, for a guy.
“No, actually, I get kidnapped every week,” he answered sarcastically.
“I would believe that,” Vala snatched the keys in her hand. “Considering your job.”
He flinched. Very very briefly, and someone who wasn't her probably wouldn't notice.
“Ah. We're having a conversation now,” she decided and leaned back against the other board of the bed. “Also, your girlfriend. Forgive me, but she doesn't seem like a conversationy type,” she said and he gave her a look that could be classified as a glare. “The red one, love,” she added as if it was self explanatory when it wasn't. “There's a man in you after all,” she said pleasantly, giving him a Cheshire grin and wondering just how dangerous he normally was. Probably very dangerous, but she always liked to mess with the best.
“What do you want?” he cut to the chase, and she liked the attitude. There was something about him that she instantly liked, and it wasn't his looks.
“I'll tell you first what I don't want,” she said.
“Interesting approach.”
“I'm an interesting lady.”
He tugged at his restraints again. “I bet.”
“I don't want to hurt you. Actually, I don't plan to hurt you,” she said evenly.
“Well, that's priceless,” he said.
“I'm really sorry about your head, darlin'. That was necessary,” she added with a sigh.
“Oh, I'm convinced.”
“I bet you are. I can do all kinds of sneaky things, but I doubt I would win a hand to hand fight against you,” she answered. He seemed fun, but there was not enough time to carry on with it. “Look, honey. I know more about you than you would like, which is something I can completely understand,” she added some empathy to her voice, but not too much. She wasn’t terribly empathic. That didn't soften him at all, and she approved, even though it meant her job wouldn't be easy.
“No shit.”
“Your friends are in danger. Your buddy Stark is swimming in hot water, but I would be really worried for that lovely redhead if I were you.”
He looked at her like he wanted to say something, but he didn't.
“Why should I believe a woman who.... apparently knocked me out and tied me to a bed?”
“Well, you could have done a lot worse, honey,” she said. “I understand why you don't believe me, but then we'll just have to do without your help.”
Or agreement, she thought.
“Oh how wonderful.”
“Do you know what nanotechnology is?” she asked now, her tone turning more serious. He remained quiet but there was a shift in his expression. He heard of it, she assumed, but he probably didn’t know much, or rather didn’t know enough. But there was something itchy in his expression, a tightness around his mouth. “I’ll go with a theory someone told you it’s dangerous.”
“Are we here to discuss... theoretical technology?” he asked.
“Oh love. And I thought you weren’t naive,” she smiled amusedly, leaning forward and running a fine fingernail along his leg.
“Let me use your reversed approach and tell you what I am — I’m pissed,” he said.
Predators, she thought. Didn’t they call him Hawkeye? Predators enjoyed playing with their food before eating it, but he wasn’t a predator in a way she was. He was simply a hunter. You sent him to do something, and he did it, without leaving a mess in his wake. Just very clean, very precise cuts.
“You are one of the highest ranking SHIELD agents. Yes, love, i am aware of its existence. Your security clearance is pretty high, but sadly, if SHIELD has information regarding nanotechnology and certain Russian secret agency which might or might not be interested in it —”Vala looked at him and noticed how he tried very hard to keep his expression calm and contained — “you’re just not important enough.”
“What the fuck are you saying?”
“You and your team of extraordinary friends rescued your girl last week, didn’t you? Not really usual for a person like her, to be knocked out like that, isn’t it, Barton?” Vala said and she could see how his face gradually lost its coloring. She looked at her hands and forced thoughts and memories to stay hidden as she concentrated on him and let her bravado drop. “Yet your medical staff didn’t find anything out of ordinary. Except her nanites. The ones that Red Room gave her. Am I right?”
“How... how do you know that?”
“You told us,” she looked at him steadily and seriously, deciding it was the time to show him she was serious and deadly, just as he and his friends were. And they better be, because if Elizabeth was right — “look. You can be pissed at me or anyone later. The thing is, people are in danger right now —”
“And I should trust a person who forced information out of me?” His voice was close to a hiss and she could understand. She could. She’d been there, longer than he had been.
“You’re not the only person here whose body and mind were hijacked by a volatile, sadistic, tyrannic alien creature,” she said before she could think better of it. His face was steel but his eyes looked painful. “Yes, we got information against your will but nobody made you hurt anyone and it won’t happen, actually the last thing we want is someone to get hurt in the first place —”
“We? Who is we you keep talking about?”
She opened her mouth but before she could say anything the door unlocked and she could hear Elizabeth’s voice behind her.
“Maybe it’s better if I take over, Vala,” Elizabeth said. Vala got up and she could see the look on the agent’s face when he set his eyes on Elizabeth. To Vala she was just Elizabeth, but to many other people she was the famous US diplomat who was missing, presumably killed on a classified mission.
“Well, shit,” Clint Barton said and shifted. The discomfort on his face was telling, just like something else Vala couldn’t quite identify. Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest.
“If I remember correctly, you told me once that you don’t forget faces,” she said. “I suppose it’s a useful trait for a marksman.”
“It sounds like something I would say,” Barton replied. “Pretty impressive memory there, considering I was just a hired gun on your security detail.”
Elizabeth arched her eyebrow.
“Memorizing facts is a useful thing for a diplomat, Agent Barton. And I disagree. You weren’t just a hired gun.”
He held his expression schooled but he probably knew he was caught in his bluff. That, and Elizabeth did have an unfair advantage. “While I was negotiating the release of an American activist, you were after something entirely else. Or, should I say, someone,” Elizabeth ventured further into the room. “And no, I wasn’t aware of it at the time.”
“Why do I have the feeling I am being set up here, Doctor Weir? It’s Weir, is it?”
Elizabeth’s mouth quirked. “If I recall correctly, all of you used to call me Doctor Weird.”
“Again, that’s a pretty impressive memory. We’re talking about something that happened …”
“ — ten years ago,” Elizabeth supplied. “It’s interesting how that story isn’t finished yet.”
Elizabeth walked to the chair Vala was occupying previously and took a seat. Barton seemed more interested than irritated right now, but that was Elizabeth’s usual effect on people. She knew how to captivate attention and keep it where she wanted it; she had the impact without the need to irritate someone or press their buttons to gain answers.
She thought of how Elizabeth had been treated for the past two years and felt angry all over again.
“Human memory is always flawed,” Elizabeth said. “Human beings are flawed by design,” Barton look confused, but Vala knew why she said it the way she did. She noticed the lack of we in her words. “Would you agree?”
“Are we having a philosophical discussion now, Doctor?” Barton tugged at his restraints.
“Not really. Though I wish this was in the realm of philosophy and science fiction,” she said. He snorted.
“Can we get to the point here?”
“Of course,” she said. “Human beings usually don’t remember these kind of details. Machines, however, can be programmed to retain information for long periods of time. Even to retrieve them, and then retain them unchanged. Something like digital photographs,” she leaned slightly forward and it seemed she had Barton’s complete attention.
“What exactly are you telling me, Doctor?”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly and took a breath. Then, her eyes were steady and determined, and she was again the woman who led an entire city, not someone whom Stargate Command kept locked away and forced to report in every week.
“The thing you’re most afraid of, Agent Barton,” she said.
“I don’t like this,” he looked like he was trying to retreat, but he had nowhere to go.
“I’m certain you don’t. I like it even less, because there are lives at stake. Someone’s been stealing nanite technology, Agent Barton. You’re familiar with the term, I assume?”
This time around he was quiet, but his expression was telling. “This time around it’s a different kind of nanite technology than what was used on your friend Natasha. She is, I assume, the person you were after at the time when we first met.”
Vala noticed the change in his eyes when Elizabeth used the name.
“Yes,” he said.
“People like those who run the Red Room don’t like when their property is stolen from them,” Elizabeth said darkly.
“They didn’t even try to take her,” Barton said.
Elizabeth smiled, but there was no warmth in her eyes. Vala took a deep breath and thought of Teal’c, of Ba’al and the man who harbored the Goa’uld through an unnaturally long lifetime. She thought of Que’tesh and that girl she was, the woman she could have been if she didn’t so accidentally crossed Que’tesh’s path.
“Why drag the machine of war along, if you can simply flip a switch, Agent Barton? If you can order it into war and it would listen to you?”
Barton didn’t say anything. Elizabeth did.
“Please, Vala, untie him, and give him back his clothes and his shoes.”
*
Flip a switch, he thought. He fixed his tie and unwillingly offered his hand to a woman who somehow knocked him down and tied him to a bed while he was unconscious. Clint didn’t trust her, and he wasn’t sure he trusted Elizabeth Weir either, but there was just too much coincidence and too many things she knew, too much of it just to be random noise he could dismiss. The hallway of the Stark Tower was dimly lit and Clint’s eyes stayed ahead of them.
“It’s clear,” Elizabeth’s voice cut next to him, and as far as his senses could affirm, she was right.
“I don’t recall this as a requisite trait for a diplomat, Doc,” he said, carefully leading the strange-named woman on his arm.
“That’s because I’m not a diplomat any more,” she answered.
“I’m not sure I really want to hear more,” he said. “But I don’t like shooting blind, so to speak.”
“Understandable,” Elizabeth answered. “I’ll answer all of your questions.”
They walked as quickly as it was possible, without looking suspicious. Clint was acutely aware of his gun, tightly strapped under his right arm and wondered if two women in pretty gowns had any weapon on them. He also wondered if they really needed them.
“How do you know about Red Room and —”
“And Natasha Romanoff?” Elizabeth said and he nodded. “Classified intel. I used to work for an organization that’s equally shady and dangerous as yours.”
“Let’s not forget equally powerful,” Vala added.
“You’re not the only one with a coverstory,” Elizabeth said with a hint of mirth. “SHIELD is not the only organization that would like to take Red Room out of the equation. They have taken something incredibly dangerous now —”
“Nanites?” Clint supplied. They rounded a corner and started walking toward an elevator, talking in hushed tones because there were people in this hallway. Clint offered his free hand to Elizabeth.
“Yes. But not just any kind of nanites,” she glanced at him. “These nanites are alien made.”
“I’m a huge fan of alien technology,” Clint said with a bitter hint in his voice.
“I’m aware of that,” Elizabeth said.
“Are you now?” he glanced at her pointedly.
“I’m not a fan of what that same technology allows me to do,” she said with a perfectly straight face and Clint kept walking forward on sheer power of will as his mind caught up with the meaning of her words. “Which explains why I’m not a diplomat any more, Agent Barton. I was involved in dangerous things on a dangerous mission. I was....” she looked briefly at him. “I think you would use the term compromised.”
“I think it’s a fitting description,” Vala supplied. “Shouldn’t we stick here for a moment?” she said then, looking around the lobby that opened toward the main gala - room where Tony’s grand Christmas party was being held.
Elizabeth nodded. A waitress with a tray passed them and three of them accepted offered glasses. Clint took a small sip, champagne certainly wouldn’t help the mess going on in his head right now. Frankly, he would prefer something stronger, but he needed to stay sober and alert, but also to keep up an appearance.
“Are you saying you were compromised with alien technology?” Clint asked, not liking this one bit.
“Yes.”
“And it allows you to —?”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Vala. They were smiling politely at each other, keeping their eyes on the people around them and making sure nobody was in earshot.
“You wouldn’t be able to take me down. Not with guns, arrows or any kind of weapon you know of, and not with your own strength,” she said.
“That sounds like someone I know,” Clint gave her a serious look. She looked fragile, with light skin and dark hair pinned in an elegant hairdo. She might have been a ballerina, yet she was telling him she was potentially deadly and dangerous. He remembered her as a diplomat, eloquent, competent and steely-nerved, but she hadn’t been deadly.
But, Clint was very familiar with the fact that a woman’s looks weren’t related to potential danger.
“I think she could beat up your supersoldier friend,” Vala smirked and winked at Elizabeth. “Maybe we could organize a match later?”
Elizabeth glanced at her with mild fondness. “Vala —”
“I know, I know! These are Serious Things. I am well aware, only you’re ruining my style,” Vala smirked and Elizabeth look turned into a mixture of chiding and almost amused. “Oh please. You wouldn’t have had fun without me.”
“Okay, I’ll admit that is true,” Elizabeth said and then turned to Clint again. He wondered if they would be a decent if not pleasant company if circumstances were different.
“I can access computers,” Elizabeth continued.
“You mean hack them,” Clint offered with a false smile. By all means, they were having a nice chat as far as anyone else was concerned.
“I prefer accessing information I need through the least obtrusive means possible.”
“Like using my access codes?”
“Yes,” she said evenly. The nerve this woman, had he thought. Or perhaps, the desperation. He wasn’t sure which was driving her actions yet. “Which I did only because SHIELD systems would detect me. Logging on as Agent Barton was far less suspicious and gives us all more time.”
“Which makes me wonder how you found out my numbers?”
“Nanite technology allows me to manipulate different things, Agent Barton. Machines, computers, weaponry... and organic matter. In other words, I’m able to access your, or anyone else’s mind.”
Clint felt every hair on his body raise. He didn’t like this, he didn’t, no matter what justification she was trying to paint it with.
“I am truly sorry,” she continued. “And if it’s any comfort I know what it’s like from personal experience.”
“It’s not,” Clint said.
“That’s perfectly fair,” Elizabeth replied. “I’d like to remind you why we’re here.”
“I would like to know how Natasha fits into this,” he said because, frankly, that was the thing that kept him listening to her. She lead him to think that Natasha was in danger, she mentioned those things about memory and Clint thought about things Natasha had mentioned a few days ago — she remembered details, things from her past she thought forgotten and gone, she had nightmares that came out of nowhere and it started happening after she was knocked out. It started the next day, he remembered.
“I suspect she was given my nanites,” Elizabeth said and a wave of solid chill went through Clint.
If The Red Room had done that —
“You mentioned a switch,” Clint’s voice was just as dark as his mind.
“The nanites can be turned into a switch. If someone can activate the nanites, if they can command them,” he voice became quiet but he could hear every single word over the chatter filling the room. “- and we know that it can be done —”
“No,” was all Clint could say.
Elizabeth’s eyes locked onto his, fiercely. “There’s only one person in the world who knows how to do that.”
“Who — where is this person?” Clint was aware he didn’t sound quite right, but he didn’t give a damn. If this was all true, the things that could happen to Natasha —
Elizabeth turned to face the ongoing party. “He’s my friend,” Elizabeth paused and looked at her hands. “And I suspect they’ve got him. Also ….I’m fairly sure whoever wants to flip a switch in Natasha Romanoff’s head is after my friend, and subsequently, they’re after me too.” She looked at Clint, long and hard. “I need your help, Agent Barton,” she said.
Clint didn’t feel like helping her, but it seemed he didn’t have many options to choose from.
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