A Gift From: crazy4orcas
Title: Baby Don’t Go
A Gift For: quietlyimplode
Rating: T
Warnings/Choose Not To Warn: Choose Not To Warn
Summary/Prompt Used: I went with a little bit of all of your prompts – I hope you like it!
Author's Note: Happy Holidays Quietlyimplode! Lots of thanks to C for the beta!


Baby Don’t Go

he’s gone (thump thump)

he’s gone (thump thump)

he’s gone

The words echoed over and over in Natasha’s head, in time with her heartbeat. She wasn’t sure how she managed to get to their quarters … his quarters. Couldn’t remember arriving back on the helicarrier or traveling the route from the landing deck. Pain radiated through her body, everything hurt – her head, neck, chest, limbs, everything. She’d call it soul-crushing if she thought she had a soul. It was excruciating, bone-deep, and all-consuming.

And she knew it would never, ever end.

he’s gone (thump thump)

The colored lights, gold garland, and small silver-tinseled Christmas tree Clint insisted they needed blinked and twinkled at her. The tacky mooning Santa on the coffee table belted out a ‘ho, ho, ho’, bent over and dropped his red trousers in response to her stumbling further into the room. She stopped under the sprig of mistletoe he’d hung right before they left on this cakewalk mission, a horrible reminder that they were trying to be normal. A sharp pain flared like a dagger in her heart - now they never would be.

The room swam before her eyes, the Christmas festivity replaced with the gruesome image of Clint’s head snapping back, red spray perfectly arching out from his temple before he collapsed in the entryway to the Quinjet. Just as they were heading back post-mission.

he’s gone (thump thump)

She screamed and screamed and screamed until her throat was raw with it. Something tortured and feral rose in her chest; she had to let it out before it consumed her whole. The lights and garland shredded under her hands. Ornaments shattered as she bashed the tree against a wall. Santa’s ‘ho, ho, ho’ was cut off as she smashed him against the coffee table. The destruction continued as she tried to exorcize that image of Clint from behind her eyes, tried to make what used to be their small sanctuary reflect the ugliness and emptiness that was now all she could see in her future, if she had a future at all.

Natasha collapsed to her knees amidst the carnage she’d created. Maybe carnage and destruction was all she was meant for. She slumped to her side and hugged her knees to her chest. Her vision blurred and she could feel herself shuddering, unwilling to actually let loose the sobs that tore at her.

-----

Maria Hill stood sentry outside the Med bay where a team was looking after Barton. The so-called ‘uncomplicated’ mission Strike Team Delta completed had ended with a double-cross and Barton almost getting his head blown off. From the brief reports she’d gathered from the flight crew, shots were fired just as Romanoff and Barton crossed the gangplank into the hold of the Quinjet. Barton collapsed and the flight back to the helicarrier had been made in a mad rush to treat him.

Now that she had the doctor’s assurance that his injuries weren’t as serious as originally thought - a serious graze and mild concussion - it dawned on her that she hadn’t seen Natasha. She stopped one of the Med Techs as he passed. “Who’s treating Agent Romanoff?”

The Tech shrugged and replied, “She isn’t here.”

Alarmed, Maria strode out of the Medical unit, intent on finding Natasha. The fact that she hadn’t been waiting outside Barton’s Med bay with her now raised a massive red flag in her mind.

Bypassing Natasha’s assigned quarters, she made her way directly to Barton’s. Her alarm level spiked when she saw blood on the electronic lock. She drew her weapon and keyed in her executive override. She cautiously entered and let the door close behind her as she swept the room, amazed at the sheer amount of destruction that had taken place.

Icy fear settled in the pit of her stomach when she saw Natasha curled on the floor, shaking. She quickly holstered her gun and slowly approached her, careful not to get within arm’s reach.

“Natasha,” she called, voice calm and controlled. She called her name again a little louder when she didn’t get a response. “Natasha, can you hear me? If you can hear me, please look at me.”

Natasha turned to her, but didn’t say anything. Maria didn’t see any obvious signs of injuries until she stepped closer and reached out to push the hair away from Natasha’s face. Then she saw it – a jagged scrape on her neck. It didn’t look like a bullet wound and the only thing Maria could think of was some kind of arrow or dart. She took a closer look at the long, angry gash, careful not to touch it. It was still freely oozing and there was some kind of greenish substance along the edges of the wound.

She connected her comm unit to the shift leader in charge of Medical. “This is Hill. I need a level 8 Med team in Agent Barton’s quarters STAT. Agent Romanoff is down. Potential unknown chemical agent. Delta protocol, repeat, Delta protocol. I mean it, silent entry. You guys come bursting in here and I’ll shoot you myself.”

“Nat?” she tried again.

Maria watched her fight to get her eyes open and meet her gaze. She’d never seen such obvious, honest emotion on Natasha before, it almost made her gasp. The other woman looked completely and absolutely devastated, shattered like she’d never seen before, even when Natasha had first come to SHIELD.

“Maria, he’s gone. Clint’s gone.” Her eyes closed again and the agony in her voice was almost more than Maria could stand. It made her wonder, not for the first time, at the depth of the relationship between the two agents.

She gently tapped Natasha’s cheek to get her to open her eyes again and look at her. She was prepared for a reaction and wasn’t surprised when she lashed out. What did surprise her was the weak and uncoordinated punch she aimed at her face. With as little strength as she could get away with, Maria pinned her arms down, carefully trying not to inflict more pain. Natasha sluggishly struggled against the hold but Maria didn’t give in.

“Natasha, no,” she said far more forcefully than she normally would have, but she had to make sure she got through to Natasha before she completely lost consciousness and before the Med team arrived. “No, Barton’s alive, it was just a graze. Nat, he’s alive.”

-----

It was two long days before they were released from Medical. And it was possibly the first time in SHIELD history that Clint hadn’t attempted to escape early. He was more than willing to put up with being a virtual prisoner in the Med bay if it meant he could be close to, and keep an eye on, Natasha. Not that he’d admit that to anyone.

It had also helped that Hill had fully briefed him on Natasha’s condition almost as soon as he’d regained consciousness and started demanding to see his partner. Hill could be a complete hardass, but she was also willing to bend the rules at times. Especially if it kept her agents where she knew they needed to be, physically and mentally.

Now they were back in his … their … quarters on Christmas Eve. Clint had made sure to thank Maria for taking care of cleaning up the destruction Natasha had wrought. He had managed to get out earlier in the day to replace the Christmas lights and garland. He’d even found another mooning Santa since it would make Natasha roll her eyes and give him that fondly exasperated look she’d perfected.

Clint carefully made his way from the kitchenette to the couch where Natasha was curled up. He handed her a mug of hot chocolate and slowly settled in beside her with his own mug. He groaned and leaned his head on the back of the couch, closing his eyes.

“You okay?” Natasha asked. He felt her stroke a hand through his hair, careful to avoid the bandage on his temple.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Just tired, bit of a headache. I hate concussions.”

“The head wound probably doesn’t help either.”

“Point,” he said and opened one eye to look at her. “But it’s going to leave an awesome scar. I’ll just be that much more sexy and irresistible.”

Natasha snorted and pressed a soft kiss just below the bandage on his temple.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, “That drug was some nasty stuff.”

“Also just tired.” She set her mug down on the side table and leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips. “Mostly relieved. I really thought I’d lost you … and I couldn’t see anything past that.”

She leaned back, looked him in the eyes for a long moment, and whispered, “Please don’t leave me.”

Clint’s heart clenched at the raw emotion in her voice and in her eyes. “I can’t promise more than I’ll always do my best to come back to you.”

Natasha nodded and kissed him again. “I promise you the same.”

He set his mug down and tugged her closer to him. They traded tender, lazy kisses as Christmas music played softly from the TV which was also showing a loop of a crackling bonfire. They resettled so they were laying on the couch, legs tangled and arms wrapped around each other. Clint reached up to pull a blanket down over them. He hit the button on the remote to turn off the lights and the room was bathed in just the colorful glow of the TV and the tiny Christmas tree Maria had brought them.

“Let’s not make this a Christmas tradition,” Clint said, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Let’s not make the compromised mission and injuries a tradition,” she replied. “But I think hot chocolate and a fake fire on the TV is a good one.”

“Don’t forget the mooning Santa.”