They get two weeks off. Natasha thinks she could have bargained for more, and Fury would probably agree, but she doesn't see the point. If the problem can't be fixed, or at least diminished within span of two weeks, she will have to rethink her strategies. A simple trip certainly won't help then.
She packs their bags. They take a flight from New York to London, and then London to Zagreb, and she sleeps through most of the hours they spend in air. Clint doesn't; he doesn't get much sleep lately, if any. She wonders if he dreams about Loki and things he would force him to do.
They land on Pleso airport in three a.m. It's a small airport, quiet in this time of the night and she begins to relax as soon as her feet touch the solid ground. Nothing bad ever happened here, and nothing bad was ever done by her. Clint gets the local currency (“Kuna? How do you pronounce that?” “ Like ha – KUNA – ma – ta -ta” she says without missing a beat.); Natasha goes to rent a car. She chooses a Volkswagen; she'd always liked reliable German cars, besides it's a common sight on local roads. She doesn't want to draw attention to them in any way.
The young guy at car rental agency looks sleepy as he hands her the keys. He can't be more than twenty but his English is perfect. She braves her rusty Croatian; it's a distant relative of Russian and speaking makes her feel just little nostalgic.
“Hvala lijepa,” she thanks him, thinks how her accent drags.
“Nema na čemu. Idete li daleko?”
“Do Dubrovnika.”
“Prilično duga vožnja,” he smiles, and he would probably offer the advice of taking the highway. She doesn't want to, though. She gives him a kind of smile that will satisfy a young man like him.
“Možda ne dovoljno duga.”
Clint doesn't complain about her choice of car. Just as she hoped, he pulls the seat down as she enters the car on the driver's side, bringing in a plastic cup of coffee. She's slept enough, and she certainly drove for longer hours than she is planing on now, but she needs the caffeine kick. Between two of them Clint is the true fan of coffee, she treats it as a necessity she doesn't particularly enjoy. He smells the coffee, hums, reaches for the cup. She swats his hand away.
“Sleep,” she says. “I've got this.”
*
Only the destination is new. Other things are meticulously planned and picked; worn and familiar clothes, his and hers alike; shoes they've worn in and books they've both read. Things that they both know, safe memories that don't reside on minefields.
Rest of the fic is here, with meta info, translations, music and pictures. (http://head-on-home.livejournal.com/12957.html)
Fic: Li.ber.tas, rated R, no warnings
They get two weeks off. Natasha thinks she could have bargained for more, and Fury would probably agree, but she doesn't see the point. If the problem can't be fixed, or at least diminished within span of two weeks, she will have to rethink her strategies. A simple trip certainly won't help then.
She packs their bags. They take a flight from New York to London, and then London to Zagreb, and she sleeps through most of the hours they spend in air. Clint doesn't; he doesn't get much sleep lately, if any. She wonders if he dreams about Loki and things he would force him to do.
They land on Pleso airport in three a.m. It's a small airport, quiet in this time of the night and she begins to relax as soon as her feet touch the solid ground. Nothing bad ever happened here, and nothing bad was ever done by her. Clint gets the local currency (“Kuna? How do you pronounce that?” “ Like ha – KUNA – ma – ta -ta” she says without missing a beat.); Natasha goes to rent a car. She chooses a Volkswagen; she'd always liked reliable German cars, besides it's a common sight on local roads. She doesn't want to draw attention to them in any way.
The young guy at car rental agency looks sleepy as he hands her the keys. He can't be more than twenty but his English is perfect. She braves her rusty Croatian; it's a distant relative of Russian and speaking makes her feel just little nostalgic.
“Hvala lijepa,” she thanks him, thinks how her accent drags.
“Nema na čemu. Idete li daleko?”
“Do Dubrovnika.”
“Prilično duga vožnja,” he smiles, and he would probably offer the advice of taking the highway. She doesn't want to, though. She gives him a kind of smile that will satisfy a young man like him.
“Možda ne dovoljno duga.”
Clint doesn't complain about her choice of car. Just as she hoped, he pulls the seat down as she enters the car on the driver's side, bringing in a plastic cup of coffee. She's slept enough, and she certainly drove for longer hours than she is planing on now, but she needs the caffeine kick. Between two of them Clint is the true fan of coffee, she treats it as a necessity she doesn't particularly enjoy. He smells the coffee, hums, reaches for the cup. She swats his hand away.
“Sleep,” she says. “I've got this.”
*
Only the destination is new. Other things are meticulously planned and picked; worn and familiar clothes, his and hers alike; shoes they've worn in and books they've both read. Things that they both know, safe memories that don't reside on minefields.
Rest of the fic is here, with meta info, translations, music and pictures. (http://head-on-home.livejournal.com/12957.html)