Fury looked down at the two folders on his desk. The first said "Agent Romanov died from a gunshot to the head; time of death 0453". The second one said "Agent Barton died from a gunshot to the head; time of death 0457".

I'll be in that corner, crying.

Damn... although this is definitely a very Black Widow & Hawkeye response to the prompt, it just... ugh. Thinking of them strapped to chairs, for once unable to get out, of exchanging glances and holding gazes when they realize that this is the end, that there was no cavalry or knight in shining armor (he was all she ever got, a half-schooled archer in a beat-up circus outfit, and he didn't believe in anything but her), listening to the men holding them prisoner, tracking the motion of the gun as it was waved and pointed and finally put to the side of her head (give us the information) and if there's one thing they can do to save the world, if there's one thing they're good at, it's keeping their secrets and their cards to their chests - and he watches her life end in a spray of red mist, and follows her shortly when their captor realizes with disgust that the last thing he will say is her name, spoken fourteen hours before when they were ambushed and not a word since.

Some lives end in glory and meaning, and theirs end in a hole in the dirt, muddy and bruised and hollow.

Coulson notes the time stamps on the emailed video and hurls the pen across the room, turning away to the sound of digitally manipulated laughter.

STOP MAKING ME CRY EVEN MORE, OMG.

**SOBS**

(and dude, i had almost envisioned a scenario where it was one of those no-escape beyond horrible situations and they had one chance to end it themselves so clint actually shot her and then himself before they could be captured. a quick end on their own terms as opposed to a slow and torturous death. OMG WHAT IS MY BRAIN???)

Edited 2013-03-30 02:25 am (UTC)

YOU ARE NOT HELPING.

Her fingers twitch, the shattered bones grating together under the bruised skin, and she says "You have to," voice hitching (punctured lung, he notes automatically), the I can't loud and clear in her broken doll posture and broken hands gesture.

He breaks then, bent over her body, knowing every breath she breathes is almost too painful for her to bear, is taking her farther away from him one way or another - and when she breathes no more, his name a sigh on her lips, he finds the circuitry hidden in the wall and patches his heartbeat into the feed.

There's one last way to take these fuckers down with them.

OMG YOU HAVE KILLED ME. MY HEART IS SHREDDED AND IN PIECES ON THE FLOOR.

PRAY CONTINUE. <3

NO, NO, I'M GOOD.

She can put him together again, she knows, and grabs for the fluttering piece of him that the wind picks up and swirls by her, still holding carefully onto her other scraps tucked in a gentle fist.

There's enough left, there's enough to save this, and she won't have to be alone here anymore.

Gossamer and gauze on her fingertips, and hope in the ragged and uneven edges.

Oh that's awesome! (In a super sad way). Love love love it. :D

OMG I CAN'T EVEN HANDLE THIS SHIT. I LOVE YOU AND HATE YOU AND LOVE YOU SOME MORE.

I'LL BE OVER HERE SHAKING AND CRYING.

*HOLDS YOU*

OOOH! That was a direct hit. Very nice. Very nice *whimpers* indeed.