1/ Familiarity 

“Tasha. Fuck,” he moans softly. “if you keep doing that, I’m going to—“

She cuts him off with a deep kiss. 

“And?” She questions, with a grin. 

“I just-fuck.” She twists her hips and sinks lower. 

“Clint,” she calls; “stop watching. Come play.” 

He moves across the room and kisses her. 

“I like watching.” He says, winking at Bucky. “like watching you play.” 

“Should have waited,” Bucky grinds out. 

“Yes.” Clint agrees. “Now keep going.” 

Natasha pulls Bucky’s head towards her chest, groans as he sucks on her, tongue moving in circles around her breasts. She groans. Their position allows him to push his hips up, pulling them closer to the edge.

Running her hand through his hair, Bucky reaches between then, flicking her clit, then pushing his fingers up against it, rubbing hard. He moves quicker, a rhythmic thrusting helps as she comes hard; kissing him again. He’s close behind, finishing inside her. 

“Why do you both look so good doing that?” Clint's voice sounds, breaking their reverie. 

Bucky laughs, throws the nearest item of clothing at Clint’s head. He pulls out of Natasha, giving her a quick kiss and heads to the bathroom. 

“You ok?” Natasha nods down to Clint’s crutch, where it’s painfully obvious that he’s not. 

“I’ll be just fine. But hold that thought for later?” She smiles, nods and follows Bucky into the bathroom and then into the shower. 

Clint sits back, and waits for... things to settle. Grabs his laptop and opens up his emails. Immediately he wishes he hasn’t, it’s all work, work, work. 

It’s almost Christmas, why are they still getting jobs sent through? They’re lucky they have the pick of jobs they want to do, and even luckier they’re sent all together, but goddamn he just wants time off, and spend it with those he loves. 

Clint scrolls down, before giving up on actually reading anything or doing anything and goes to where he wants to be. The shower. 

2/ “There are certain moments where I consider you someone with brilliant ideas. This is not one of those moments." 

“I want to go back to Russia.” She announces over dinner. 

Bucky and Clint share a look. 

“I’m going back for Christmas.” She clarifies. “I need to go back, so that I know I never need to go back.” 

Looks down at her dinner. 

“Will you come?” She asks with hesitation. 

Bucky, with all his history in Russia, can’t look at her. Knows that it’s not somewhere he can follow her. 

Not now. Not ever. 

Clint, with all his knowledge of both of their histories, shakes his head. 

“Nat, this is a horrible idea.” 

“It’s ok,” she says, ignoring Clint’s words, pushing the food around her plate. “It’s ok if you don’t want to come. I’m going to go, because I need to.” She reaches for Bucky’s hand. “I don’t need you to come, I just thought I’d ask. Offer.” 

Bucky makes a sound, pushes his chair away from the table and stalks off. 

“Go after him.” Clint encourages. “Try and explain better. It’s Christmas, Nat. Why now?” 

She’s still not making eye contact. “I just need to go. I’m happy.” She says cryptically. 

He laughs incredulously. “What?” 

She doesn’t respond and goes in Bucky’s direction. 

Clint rubs his face and sighs. Opens his phone and looks at flights into Moscow.

He hasn’t gone far, he’s never far from either of them. She doesn’t get too close to him. She fears his words and hopes that he can at the very least understand; not try and talk her out of this. 

“You know, I need to find their graves. I’ve never gone looking, never wanted to see; but Christmas. It’s almost Christmas, James. I remember Christmas with them. I want to say thank you. For those first 4 years. For trying to save me. To ask for their forgiveness, of all that’s happened. All that I’ve ...” she stops and takes a breath. 

“Don’t go.” He whispers, just loud enough for her to hear. “Don’t go where I can’t follow you, Natalia.” 

“I have to.” She whispers back. “If not now, then never.” She stares at him, stoically. 

“Then never.” He says fiercely; turning to face her. 

“I can’t go back. I can never go back.” 

“I know.” She says sadly. “But I need to.” 

“You’ll take him with you, then?” 

“If he’ll come.” 

His hand clangs hard against the handrail of the stairs, before walking off again. 

She sighs. That went about as well as it could, she supposes. 

Heading back towards Clint, she wipes at her face. “Well,” she challenges, “what have you got to say?” 

“You’re really going to go? Even if we didn’t go with you?” 

“I have to. I have to go now. I know you heard me. Why. I’ve been thinking on it for ages now, I can’t put it off any longer.” 

“When do you want us to leave?” He replies, surprising her. 

The look of shock and relief on her face is worth the solidarity with her. 

.

Natasha goes for a run, clearing her head after the disaster that was dinner. She’d lasted till the final bite before pushing her plate away and announcing to Clint she was going. 

Clint had taken the opportunity to find Bucky, who was currently in their room cleaning his guns, and reassembling them. 

“I used to be able to do this in a minute.” He says, acknowledging Clint’s arrival. 

“Now?” Clint inquires. 

“I don’t have to time it.” Bucky replies, holding up the fully assembled glock. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” Clint says throwing himself on the bed. “she’s gone for a run,” he adds when Bucky looks at the door. 

“She’s gonna hurt herself more.” He shakes his head. “She knows what lies in Russia for her, and it’s not going to go well.” 

Clint bites. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

Bucky laughs. “Of course, you would think that. You have no idea of the hurt she faces, her past; my past, we may be intertwined but I...” 

Clint moves closer and places his hands over Bucky’s. Gently he moves the gun out of them, and places it in the dresser. 

“You trust me?” Clint asks softly. 

“With everything that I am.” Bucky replies pulling him down for a kiss. 

“I’ve got her back. If she needs to go, then I’ll take her to the ends of the earth… Just promise you’ll be waiting to put us back together when we get back.” Clint touches his head to Bucky’s and breathes deep as Bucky replies. 

“Always.” 

3/ “God damn maybe I am a little paranoid 

Cause I can feel it getting harder to breathe I really don't know when it began to be unbearable

But now it's sickening me” (Disturbed - The Best Ones Lie) 

They arrive at Vnukovo Airport, opting for the smaller of the two airports in Moscow on December 23rd. 

“Do they celebrate Christmas here?” Clint asks, trying to alleviate some of Natasha apprehension that’s written all over her face. 

She doesn’t answer. 

“Let’s just get to the house.” She says by way of response. “It’s too open here.” 

He follows her lead in picking up the rental a car, her Russian accented like she’d never left. 

He goes to hold her hand, instead chooses to squeeze it three times. Reassurance through touch. 

They’re about 4 hours into the drive when she finally starts to relax. Her death grip and laser focus is wavering. 

“What’s it like being back?” He ventures. 

“I don’t know if this was a good idea.” She replies. 

Shit, Clint thinks; he misread that one. 

She abruptly pulls the car to the side, and opens the door; breathing hard. 

He runs to the side of the car, grabs her and pushes her head between her knees. “Breathe.” He commands. 

This isn’t the first panic attack he’s coached her through, but it is the first in Russia, he’s starting to not feel up to the task. 

God, he wishes Bucky was here with them, he’d know what to do, know how to help. 

He doesn’t know if it’s the sounds, the smells, the impending sense of doom but he knows she’s not ok. 

He crouches in front of her as she breathes in hacking breaths, that then turns into a cough, it gets caught in her throat and she gags harshly. 

“Tasha. Breathe.” He reminds her. 

“What have I done?” She whispers. 

“First, the house.” He says, reminding her. “say it with me.” 

“First the house.” She repeats after him. 

He waits til her breathing is under control and then hands her water and kisses her forehead. 

“I’ll drive for a bit huh?” Clint pulls her around to the other side of the car, and straps her in. Kisses her again, and moves to the driver’s side. 

“Do you want to call James?” He asks, softly, once they’re on the road again, placing his phone in her hands. 

“We should let him know we’ve arrived ok. Even though he’s with Sam and Steve you know he’s gonna be waiting for you.” 

Clint talks to the automated voice and tells it to call Bucky. He answers on the first ring. 

“You ok?” He says as hello. 

“Natasha’s not breathing so well.” Clint calls. 

“Shut up.” She says breathlessly. “I’m fine. I’m fine.” 

“Where are you?” Bucky attempts. 

“Russia.” Natasha replies. 

Clint can feel Bucky’s eyes roll from here. 

“We’re about 4 hours out of Moscow; 10 hours to Samara.” Clint clarifies. 

“Ok.” Bucky dead pans. 

“Talia?” 

“Here.” 

“Second thoughts?” 

“No.” 

“Want me to stop talking?” 

“No.” 

“You forgetting to breathe?” 

“No.” Sucks in a breath. 

“First. Get to the house. Then deal with everything else. Right?” 

“Right.” 

“You need anything?” 

“No.” 

“The scenery is lovely,” Clint says, as they pass tree after tree. 

Natasha pushes out a laugh. 

“Take some photos for me then.” 

They finish the phone call with the promise to call in soon, Natasha looks better but still rests her head in her hands. 

“Tell me if you’re gonna be sick?” Natasha nods. 

They drive on in silence. 

4/ The Appointment in Samara

They reach the house a little worse for wear. Strung out on caffeine, they’ve only stopped twice to fill the car up with petrol and get food and drink. Natasha looks... Ok. Given everything. 

They’ve touched base with Bucky again and let him know they’re here. 

She’s quiet and has remained so since they arrived in the country. He keeps trying to draw out conversation but nothing gets a bite, he gets a grunt; a one worded answer and at times nothing at all. It’s made for a terse drive, filled with apprehension. 

He checks in with her once again; asks if she wants to come with him to the supermarket, before heading out to collect food alone. He wants to be in and out of here as quickly as they can, but, he reasons; doesn’t want to rush her in this. Whatever this is. 

She declines going with him, and says she’s going to have a shower and lie down. He accepts this, wanting to let her deal with her homecoming in her own way. 

He’s back within the hour, making sure to scout the area thoroughly before going back inside. Knocks before opening so she knows it’s him. 

He’s surprised that the showers still running; he thought she’d be napping and either reading or perhaps planning what she wanted to do now she’s here. He knocks on the bathroom door, and pushes it open. 

She’s curled up in the bath/shower with the water running over her; knees to chest. 

Her skin is red, and she’s not seeing anything. 

He calls her name; once; twice. Moves to turn off the shower and finds it more than freezing. 

“Tasha.” He says admonishingly; wanting to know how long she’s been sitting in the freezing bathtub for. Wonders how long it takes to get hypothermia. 

He pulls towels around her, not like the ones at home he muses, and picks her up; heads for the spare bed and lays her down. 

She curls in a ball on the bed and he dries her slowly. Talking through where his hands are; softly kissing her; bringing her back to him. 

“Stop thinking so hard.” He whispers; pressing his thumbs into her forehead. “It’ll give you wrinkles.” She blinks up at him. 

She’s more cognisant of what’s happening now, the bits of warmth he's provided helping her state. 

“They’re here; I want to see them... It... I want to go tonight.” 

They’ve just done a ten-hour flight, and under 15 hours in the car, he can’t think of anything worse than hopping back into it and driving another half a day out. 

“No,” he says, pulling her upright and handing her clothes, “No. Tonight we rest. Tomorrow we can continue. Besides I got us food.” 

She shakes her head. “I’m not hungry. I think... I think I’ll just lay down.” 

He accepts that; they don’t talk about whatever that was in the shower, what sent her catatonic. 

They can talk later. Clint feels for the time they’re here, they’re purely running on survival mode. 

He hands her some water and pushes hard candy into her hands. Smiles at her when she realises what it is. 

“Bucky sent them.” 

“Always finding ways of being with us.” She smiles too. 

The first one he’s seen in the last 30 hours. 

Ok. They can do this. 

.

She drifts off to sleep early. He waits for the inevitable. Nightmares approach, and he watches the tension in her body grow. 

She starts awake, and realizes where she is. Looks to him, he’s still reading his book. 

Pushes his hand away when he reaches for her. 

Goes into the bathroom. He can hear her vomiting and then the water running. It’s about half an hour before she emerges. 

“Ok?” He asks; knowing the answer. 

Natasha nods. Pulls open her book. 

Clint leaves the light on, and closes his eyes. Knows she’s going to push herself to stay awake, to not relive whatever her dreams showed her. Bucky has warned him. He’d also already known. 

“Leave the light on.” He says, eyes closed. 

Maybe some light in the darkness will help with the demons. 

.

What feels like the longest night, comes to an end with Natasha packed and changed. She’s plotted to where she thinks the graves should be, from memory; where the old house should be. He asks her what she expects to find and he’s met with a noncommittal grunt. He turns her round and makes her stop. 

“How do you know this is the right place?” He asks. 

“Yelena.” She says. “Bucky.” She looks at him, straight in the eyes. “Things I remember, things they’d torture us with.” 

He nods. “Ok.” 

Doesn’t want to push it further. Trusts her direction and follows her to the car. 

“I’ll drive,” he says; taking the keys and pushing the old map into her hands. He makes her stop for breakfast; feeling like no food and no sleep is not a good combination. 

He messages Bucky, with their coordinates and a brief outline of what they’re doing. Gets a “be safe” back. Knows they’ll only be safe when their stateside and together again. 

.

It’s evening when they arrive. Natasha’s been driving for the last leg, and he doesn’t think her body could get any more strung. 

The cold is icier and feels more unforgiving here. It’s getting dark too. They’ve rented a dacha to stay in, though they haven’t found it yet; google maps tells him it’s less than 5 miles from where he is. 

She stops the car abruptly. 

“There.” She says, pointing into darkness. 

She pulls herself out of the car, and moves towards where she just pointed. 

Clint pulls the keys out of the car, and locks it as they move across the street and down the alleyway. 

“I know this place.” She says, quietly. “I know this place.” 

She moves quickly past a burnt house, where only the chimney remains; then stops. Steps back a couple of steps and stares. 

“Is that?” 

She nods. “I think so...” 

“That’s where you escaped death, huh?” She’s too wrapped in her thoughts to answer. Clint looks to where her eyes are staring, seeing what she sees; the cemetery. 

“Do you think they’re in there?” She asks him, grabbing for his hand. 

“Yeah,” Clint says, pulling her close. “I think they are.” 

She surges forward into the cemetery, brushing down the headstones and moving systematically from one to another. He lags behind her, not enthused by her fervour. 

She’s about three graves ahead of him when she stops and hears her suck in a breath. He moves quickly next to her. 

“It’s them.” She says, her voice shaky. 

The grave is marked simply by two names and dates of deaths. She knows it’s her parents like she knows her own skin. She touches the worn engraving lightly; sinks to her knees and stills. 

He stands over her watching her in silent grief. 

He’s not too sure how long they stay there for, but he feels it will never be long enough. He takes a photo of her; not sure if it’s the right thing to do. 

He touches her shoulder, breaking her out of her thoughts. 

“Here.” He says. 

He hands her three little action figures. 

She bursts with a sobbing laugh. 

“So some part of you will be with them always.” 

“Who came up with this, you or James?” She says, wiping her eyes with her sleeve, standing up, she places the figures at the base of the grave; two boys and a girl now stand proudly with weapons at the ready. 

“Both of us?” He wraps his arms around her. 

“Merry Christmas, Nat.” 

“Merry Christmas, Clint.” 

5/воссоединение/Reunion. 

Sometimes you have to trust that people are experts in themselves. 

Clint’s glad she’s had this opportunity; despite Bucky’s misgivings. 

Feels that rarely, if ever Natasha has ever done anything for herself like this. Done anything to confront her past; her childhood and wonders if it’s taken to this point to be and feel safe enough to do it. 

He’s really proud of her. 

Bucky is waiting for them when they return. 

He doesn’t leave their side til they get home. 

He proudly opens the door, and pulls them inside. “Look!” 

He’s decorated everything. 

“Sam and Steve helped!” He admits. 

There are lights in every corner, lighting even the darkest of places. There’s stockings and Christmas trappings and the more Natasha looks the more she sees. 

Laughing, she gives James the biggest of hugs. 

“It’s not Christmas anymore, you idiot.” 

“It’s a do-over, you missed it here with me; so it’s now Christmas Eve again; tomorrow we celebrate.” 

She kisses James hard; trying to convey everything in it. 

“Hey.” Clint pouts. 

“Come here then.” 

Natasha hugs and kisses Clint just as she had done with Bucky; but also pushes kisses into his neck. 

“Thank you,” she whispers into his ear, “thank you.” 

He nods and kisses her cheek. “I love you,” she says to her boys. “So much.” 

She doesn’t miss the boys holding hands behind her. 

.

They can’t keep their hands off each other. 

Nothing’s broken beyond repair. 

Christmas Eve on the 27th, is going to become their new tradition; she knows. 

Just them.