#be_compromised

All for One | AO3 by ultra_fic (PG/K+; warning for canonical character death) Prompt: Creativeprompts: Prompt #1274 "Why are you here?" "You have no business asking me that question. Why are you here?"

and i'll never go home again | AO3 by @clintnatasha (Gen; choose not to warn) Prompt: “ I want to meet you in every place i have loved ” from This is how you lose the time war

Body Count | AO3 by @alphaflyer (Teen; no warnings apply) Prompt: Other SHIELD agents trying to guess Nat and Clint's body count.

Brawling Ballerinas | AO3 by @agentsofpuppies (T; no warnings apply) Prompt: Early in their partnership, Clint is stuck on a job in Malaysia, Laura and Cooper are home with the flu, that leaves Natasha alone to go to Lila's dance recital. She just has to show up, right?

Be My Baby | AO3 by ultra_fic (PG/K+; no warnings apply) Prompt:Dirty Dancing AU

Blaze of Glory | AO3 by ultra_fic (PG-13/T; warnings for implied character death/mentions of suicide mission) Prompt: “i don’t care what happens to me.” “i do.”

Back to the Future | AO3 by @cassiesinsanity (G; no warnings apply) Prompt: Their kid from the future plays matchmaker.

Be there when I’m up | AO3 by @sceniclola (Mature; graphic alcohol consumption, violence, not graphic vomiting) Prompt: (Whumpy H/C) Yelena is in crisis (Could be mental health-related from trauma/being alone after Nat left to go back to the Avengers, could involve substances &/or self-harm). Nat & Clint find her, & Nat takes care of her all night through the worst of it. Clint sits out of Yelena's eyesight & just within Nat's reach, taking care of Nat so she doesn't get triggered/dissociate (ASL is a good tool)

can you hear me screaming "please don't leave me" | AO3 by winged_arrows (G; choose not to warn, spoilers for Endgame) Prompt: "Nat, where's Clint?"

Gold Medal | AO3 by @firlalaith (PG; no warnings apply, werewolf!Clint) Prompt:: Winter Olympics! Competitors on the same team, rivals, coaches, volunteers/staff/organisers/audience, AU, undercover…

How Much? | AO3 by ultra_fic (PG/K+; no warnings apply) Prompt: "I'd fight a bear for you. Wouldn't win, but I'd do it."

If You Don't Mind, Then It Don't Matter | AO3 by ultra_fic (PG/K+; no warnings apply) Prompt: Since Clint spent some time brainwashed by Loki, everyone keeps shoving him at Bucky Barnes. Like, 'they have so much in common', and 'you know how it feels', and 'you might be able to help him.' And Clint doesn't want to, but he kinda resents it. Because it's not the same as what Bucky went through, he's trying to ignore that it happened thanks, he doesn't have his own shit together let alone feel capable of helping anyone else, all of the above… (Eventual friendship, poly, deciding it's okay not to be friends, whatever you like!)

Love and War | AO3 by @mx-loar-tev (Teen; Warnings: war, bombing, hospital) Prompt: A Saint Valentine's legend inspired prompt - getting married in secret.

Little Girl Lost | AO3 by ultra_fic (G/K; no warnings apply) Prompt: Natasha lost her arrow necklace.

Last night I told you | AO3 by @sceniclola (Teen; no warnings apply)  Prompt: we’ve woken up hungover and last night i told you i was in love with you

Match | AO3 by @mx-loar-tev (Explicit; smut, swearing, threats of violence) Prompt: Escape room. Collection of characters of your choice. Shenanigans. AND Nat and Clint match on tinder with intentions of just hooking up. After they both realize that they actually liked the other person, but are worried that they are only interested in FWB arrangement. Pinning.

Memento Mei (Quia ventus est vita mea) | AO3 by by @mx-loar-tev (Teen; temporary character death, amnesia) Prompt: “you remember everything barton does! that’s love!!” “no, that’s intel.”

One Giant Leap | AO3 by ultra_fic (PG/K+; no warnings apply) Prompt: Time travel, but into the future.

She Doesn’t Give a Shirt | Ao3 by ultra_fic (PG/K, no warnings apply) Prompt: from twitter: my girlfriend was looking for a shirt to wear from MY closet and had the audacity to say "we need more shirts" AND Drabbble challenge! Exactly 100 word fill/s for any prompt.

Sharing is Caring by @cassiesinsanity (G; no warnings apply) Prompt: from twitter: my girlfriend was looking for a shirt to wear from MY closet and had the audacity to say "we need more shirts"

Soul Meets Body | AO3 by @isle0fmisfitt0ys (Mature; Major Character Death/Fix-It & all the grief & despair that comes along the way, PTSD moments (mentions of suicidal ideation-fleeting, not explicit; discussion of seeing Natasha unalive- again, not graphic), injury & pain (just enough to make the story good, I promise :) ) Prompt: Natasha in space after events on Vormir

The Freezer | AO3 by @brekitten (Gen; no warnings apply) Prompt:Clint finds out he's half alien

Tell Her What She Wants To Know | AO3 by ultra_fic (G/K; no warnings apply) Prompt: Clint gets to know that Bucky is in love with Natasha. During their talk, Clints basically ends up giving Bucky a pep-talk to go for it. Bucky is surprised that he would be so chill about it. “I pretty much assume that everyone is in love with her at all times”, Clint shrugs, “doesn’t bother me.” (Could end in OT3 or just as Clint&Bucky conversation about Nat.)

The Right Decision | AO3 by @brekitten (Teen; minor violence Prompt: Natasha undercover in HYDRA

Third Wheel | AO3 by @inkvoices (PG13; open relationships, polyamory) Prompt: Third-wheeling with this post as inspiration

The Red Room and Hydra had never gotten along.

Natalia wasn't entirely sure why. After all, they were quite similar to one another — both were very powerful organizations with people all over the globe, and their goals were quite similar in many ways. They really should have been allies, but maybe they were just too similar for that to work. They were constantly fighting to usurp each other, though neither had succeeded so far.

But that was Natalia's mission — to help the Red Room gain the upper hand.

She was working as a scientist that had recently gained a place deep within Hydra's ranks, deep enough to get access to special projects. She was certain that Dreykov had been planning this for years; the position she was about to take wasn't one gained through a few lies and manipulations. That meant this mission was important. So, Natalia Romanova became Nikoletta Richter, one of the best scientists in Germany.

Her mission was simple, at least in theory. All she had to do was destory Hydra's newest weapon and any records of it so the experiment couldn't be repeated.

In practice, however, this task was going to be much more difficult.

As she was led down the winding halls, she noted how complex the layout was. Few hallways continued in a straight line for very long, and the number of branching halls she saw seemed to grow in number the further into the building she went. It would take her a while to memorize the layout, if she was permitted to explore at all, and she wasn't looking forward to trying to escape this maze at the end of her mission.

There were also cameras in every main corridor (if any of these halls could be considered a "main corridor." It truly was confusing) and even some in the smaller hallways. It would be impossible to avoid them all. There were also guards stationed in several places, protecting what she assumed were the more important areas, as well as many others in the same uniform patrolling the halls.

She'd had some difficult missions before, but this probably already made it to the top the list. She didn't think she'd be able to flirt her way out of trouble this time.

"Welcome, Ms. Richter." A familiar man greeted her outside the door to the lab she'd been brought to. He nodded to the two men flanking Natalia's sides, and they left. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

Heinrich König. Not the head of the project, but still very high up on the ladder according to the file she'd read. He was also the one that had been communicating with "Nikoletta Richter" all this time.

"The pleasure is all mine." Natalia plastered on her best professional smile.

He smiled back, and she could already tell he was going to be an easy man to please. "Come. I'll show you where you'll be working." He pulled a keycard out of his pocket and swiped it.

The door slid open, and Nat noticed several things when she stepped in. One, despite the sterile smell permeating the lab, there was still a strong stench of blood. From all of the uncleaned blood she could see around the room, no doubt. Two, many of the tools laid out on the tables looked like straight-up torture devices rather than actual medical tools. And three, there was a man about her age strapped to a chair in the center, blood dripping down his chest from a long and jagged cut a man in a lab coat had just made.

Heinrich turned to Natalia again. "We're currently testing the weapon's healing factor. Just small cuts, nothing too serious."

She wouldn't consider the gashes on the man's chest "small cuts," but that wasn't her problem. He was going to die anyway.

"I see." She glanced around the room again. "What else have you done?"

Heinrich opened a drawer and pulled out a file, passing it over to her. "This details all of our experiments so far, as well as any other important information. The guards will take you to your quarters, and I would recommend that you read through the file before tomorrow morning so you will be caught up."

Natalia nodded. "I will."

"Excellent." He led her out of the lab and handed her a dark red keycard with Hydra's logo in the corner. "This will give you access to anything you'll need during your stay."

"Thank you." She slipped it into her pocket. She doubted it would give her access to much — probably just the lab and her room, and maybe one or two other areas she'd need for her job. It was highly unlikely that it would give her access to the things she needed for her mission, though.

"Of course. I will see you in the morning, Ms. Richter." He waved over the men from earlier. "Take her to her quarters. It'll be in the east wing."

"Yes, sir," they said, and they briskly led her away.

Once again, she was taken through winding hallways that she was certain she would get lost in if she wasn't being led around by the guards. This really wasn't ideal. If something went wrong — and it shouldn't, but she knew not to just hope for everything to go perfectly according to plan — then she would likely never make it out of here.

She really had to make sure that she didn't fail.

She glanced around as she stepped into the bedroom and shut and locked the door behind her. There were a few obvious cameras with equally obvious blind spots, and she almost scoffed at such an apparent trap. She could already see the hidden cameras and she wasn't even looking. Did they really think she was that stupid? She didn't doubt that there were also listening devices scattered across the room, but she had no reason to go looking for them and make herself seem suspicious. This was a no contact mission.

She sat on the bed — soft mattress. This was going to be horrible to sleep on — and opened the file. Inside were dozens of papers.

She had a feeling this was going to take a while.

~*~

The man's name was Clint Francis Barton. He had been sold to Hydra by his father about twelve years ago, and he had been experimented on ever since. Hydra had apparently tried to fix his hearing impairments, first through surgeries and then through actual experiments, but all of those efforts only made it worse until he was completely deaf. Natalia would have assumed that they would have just given up and killed him because he was defective — the Red Room wouldn't have even gone those lengths to fix him — but he was apparently the best shooter they'd ever had, so they continued their experimentation to make him the "perfect soldier" by pumping several different variants of the super soldier serum into his body.

It was really a miracle he'd survived this long.

Currently, Hydra was testing to see if anything else needed to be modified, such as his healing or senses (while his hearing still hadn't changed, his sight was apparently "like that of a hawk").

It wasn't part of her mission to feel anything for her target, but she still felt a pang of sympathy for him. He'd been put through a lot.

She quickly shoved that feeling down; it wouldn't do her any good to dwell on how horrible his circumstances were. That would just make it harder to carry out the mission, and she could not afford to fail.

At precisely seven in the morning, there was a knock on the door, and Natalia opened it to find the same guards from yesterday.

"The boss told us to come fetch you," one said. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Yes. Lead the way."

As they took her down the halls again, she told herself that adding to Barton's suffering would be more beneficial than not. She could at least learn his weaknesses now.

(Why was she calling him by his name? Doing so would only make this worse on herself. No, he needed to be referred to as the weapon or the test subject or the target, because that's what he was. Not a man that had been through too much pain.)

Barton— no, the weapon was being pulled into the lab from a door off to the side when she stepped into the room, and she watched him get strapped down into the chair without a fuss. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was already starting to dissociate.

Not that she could blame him. She doubted they put him on painkillers.

"So, Ms. Richter." Heinrich grinned at her. "Where would you like to start?"

She glanced over at B—the weapon and bit back a sigh. "Let's see what he's made of." She grabbed a tool and got to work.

~*~

It was on day five that Natalia was left alone with the weapon for the first time.

It had been a slower day; they were only doing some strength assessments, so the only scientists she'd seen were the ones that brought the weapon to and from his cell, and they always left soon after Natalia arrived. Partway through one of the tests, Heinrich got a call and had to leave the room, so she allowed the weapon to set down the weights he was lifting.

"You're new," he said softly. His voice was slightly hoarse, like he didn't speak often. He probably didn't; she'd never heard him speak before.

She lowered her clipboard slightly and looked over at him. "Yes, I am."

He nodded slowly, staring at her face as if he was searching for something. "You're different from the other scientists."

She quirked a brow. "What, because I'm a woman?"

"No."

"Then why?"

He just shrugged.

Natalia eyed him. "I've never seen you talk to anyone before. Why are you suddenly talking to me?" He undoubtedly wanted something.

"Just curious."

"About?"

"Why you're so different."

Natalia let out a huff. So helpful. "I don't think I'm any different."

"You are." He was still watching her, studying her. "You don't have the same look the others do."

She was shocked he'd noticed — she was usually very good at blending in exactly how she needed to, and few could see past her masks — but he wasn't wrong. Everyone else watched his suffering with a sadistic glee she supposed she couldn't quite replicate.

Natalia didn't show her surpise on her face, though. "Is that so?"

"Yep." He cleared his throat, sounding more hoarse with every word that came out of his mouth. "So why are you different?"

"I'm just doing my job." Her eyes flicked over to the door as it slid open.

"Sorry about that. Couldn't leave him on voice mail." Heinrich clapped his hands together. "Now, where were we?"

Barton didn't say another word during the session, but his eyes were always on her.

~*~

Natalia didn't get many opportunities to talk to Barton after that — and yes, she had unfortunately taken to calling him that rather than something more impersonal. She tried her best not to dwell on anything other than her mission, but that was proving to be incredibly difficult.

She'd never actually cared about her targets before. It was usually quite easy to focus on the mission and ignore any feels that may arise from it (not that it happened often). But now?

Now, she felt bad for her target. He didn't seem like a horrible person; he was just a victim of Hydra's cruelty.

She could relate to him, to some extent, and that alone threatened the entire mission.

Just why did she have to start caring now? When she was so deep in enemy territory that she would certainly die if she failed?

She was doomed.

After a few weeks, Natalia had figured out how to navigate from her room to the lab and back without the aid of the guards, but she still didn't know how to actually get out of the building. She hadn't been outside since she'd arrived here, and Heinrich had refused to let her out when she asked, even after she gave him her best smile, the one that always got her what she wanted from men.

"It's a bit of a precaution, you see. We want to make sure there's no chance someone can steal our information and use it for themselves, so very few people here ever leave, and even fewer know how to get out of here unassisted. Most of the guards don't even know the way out. I hope you understand, but I just can't let you leave right now."

She did understand, but even if it was a smart move on their part, it was less than helpful for her. Heinrich wouldn't even give her a map — that was one of the first things she'd asked for.

That meant she had to do things the hard way.

She walked down the twisting halls one night with the utmost confidence, just like she had been every day. The guards didn't need to suspect that she was doing anything wrong, and they didn't, as no one stopped her. At least, not until she reached the lab.

The guard standing in front of the lab door held out his hand as she pulled out her keycard. "I can't let you in here. This area is off-limits at night."

Natalia raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "I'm here to do some testing."

"This late?"

"Yes. The time is part of the experiment, though I don't believe you have a high enough clearance for me to tell you the details."

He narrowed his eyes. "Was this experiment sanctioned at all?"

"Yes. If you would like to call Heinrich and confirm it, be my guest. But I don't think he would appreciate being woken right now. There's a reason he's not here for this test." She maintained eye contact and didn't waiver. She was one of the best liars in the Red Room for a reason.

The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes as the guard stared at her. Then, "Fine. But try not to take too long."

"Thank you." She swiped her keycard and headed inside.

The lab seemed more ominous in the dim lighting of the small floor lights they turned on at night. The glint of the metal tools made them look sharper, the shadows were longer and swallowed much of the room, and the deathly silence that had fallen over the normally sound-filled lab made Natalia feel as if something terrible was about to happen.

She had never been afraid of the dark — it was such a childish fear — but this place put her on edge.

Deep, slow breaths, she reminded herself. Fear clouds the mind and makes people sloppy.

She could not afford to be sloppy.

She opened the door at the other end of the room and made her way down the darkened hallway until she reached the only locked door. She pulled a pin out of her hair and picked the lock, then pushed open the door.

Inside the room was a pitch black void, one that the dim lighting in the hall could barely even begin to illuminate. It took her a moment to sort through the darkness and find Barton, who was curled up in the far corner facing the door. He was fast asleep and probably wouldn't wake any time soon.

It would be so easy to kill him, right here, right now. She could try to finish her mission — she wasn't sure where she would find all of the experiment records, but they had to be here somewhere. She could return home.

But she'd made up her mind long before she stepped out of her room tonight. It was probably the stupidest decision she'd ever made, but… it felt right, for once.

As she stepped into the room, she noted that the floor was padded. She was suddenly reminded of the sensory rooms in the Red Room — but unlike those rooms, everything she could see was painted black, not white.

How odd.

She ventured further into the room and carefully nudged Barton with her foot. She didn't want to get too close, unsure of how he would react. It would be rather counterproductive if she got injured.

His eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, but he didn't attack like she'd half-thought he would. Instead, he sat there and squinted at her. Even though she could barely see him in the light, it was quite obvious how tense he was. His breathing was slightly heavy, too. She doubted anyone ever came for him at night, and she had definitely never come for him herself, so she couldn't blame him for being nervous.

Natalia sighed and held out her hand. "Come on. We're getting out of here."

He slowly reached forward and took her hand, and she pulled him to his feet.

"We need to be quick," she said, letting go of his hand. "Once we leave this— what?"

He just looked confused, and he didn't seem to be calming down at all. This in turn confused her, and it took her a moment to remember what she'd read in his file. Right, he was deaf, and the room was so dark he likely couldn't read her lips. How had she forgotten that?

She stepped outside of the room and turned towards him, making sure she was facing the dim lights. "Let's try this again. We'll have to be quick, because once we leave the lab, there's no going back. We'll have to make a break for the exit, wherever it is."

"I know where it is," he said softly. "Vaguely anyway. Most of the hallways are connected some way or another, so we shouldn't run into many dead ends."

That surprised her. She would have expected there to be plenty of dead ends in this labryinth of a facility. She wondered how much she could really trust him, but even if he only vaguely knew where the exit was, he was still better off than her, so she didn't have a choice.

"Good to know. You'll lead the way, then." She took a deep breath. Calm mind meant a focused mind. "Are you ready?"

He nodded. "I'm ready if you are."

She was far from ready, actually. This was by far the worst idea she'd ever had. But there was no going back now. "Then let's go."

She led him out, and she made quick work of the guard. He had barely even turned towards the door as it slid open before she'd snapped his neck and dropped his body. She grabbed his gun and checked that it was loaded before proceeding down the hall.

They didn't get very far before an alarm sounded.

Natalia cursed and pushed Barton in front of her so he could take the lead, and they started running. It wasn't long before guards swarmed them, and she began shooting. The guards dropped like flies.

Then she ran out of bullets, and she was once again reminded of what a catastrophically bad idea this was.

Until Barton slammed his fist into a guard's face, and the man crumpled to the ground, followed by another, then another.

Looks like he had been holding back in his strength tests.

Natalia didn't focus on him for long. She threw the gun at a guard's face and lunged. They needed to get this fight over with quickly.

They worked… surprisingly well together. It was almost as if they'd been fighting at each other's sides for years — he easily covered her weak points and she covered his, and their fighting styles, though very different, seemed to compliment each other well.

They took down the guards somewhat quickly and only had a few cuts and bruises to show for it. Both of them grabbed a couple guns from the downed guards and quickly continued down the hall.

From there, it was almost too easy to get to the exit. Any other guards they came across were taken care of with a single bullet to the head — Barton really was an amazing shot — and they encountered no other resistance as they eventually burst through the exit and out into the crisp night air.

Natalia let out a small sigh of relief. They had actually made it out alive.

"Come on. I don't know how much time we have." Barton went over to a truck and tried the door before breaking the window and unlocking it.

Natalia got in on the passenger side and silently watched him hotwire the truck. At least he knew what he was doing.

As the truck fired up, Barton looked over at her. "What's your name?"

She almost lied and gave him the name she'd been using, but what was the point? There wasn't a reason to hide her identity anymore. "Natalia."

He gave her a small smile. "I'm Clint."

She bit back a comment about how she already knew that and instead turned to the window.

"Hey— uh, thank you. I didn't think I'd ever get out of there." He averted his eyes as she looked over at him. "I really appreciate it."

"Sure." She wondered what he thought her mission had been. Would he ever suspect she had been sent to kill him, not save him?

He took a deep breath. "Where are we going?"

"I… don't know. Just drive." She looked back at the window.

She saw him nod from the corner of her eye, and he drove off.

She really didn't know where they could go at this point. She knew the Red Room wouldn't be any better than Hydra for him, and Madame would surely punish her for disobeying anyway. She hadn't even gotten rid of the records. Dreykov was going to be furious.

She couldn't go back now. She knew that for a fact, because the Red Room did not tolerate failure. Especially on a mission they'd been planning for years.

When the bullet pierces Nat’s stomach, Steve feels his heart clench. She goes down hard with a thud. That’s it; these fuckers are done.

Rage is a powerful motivating factor. It isn’t that he wasn’t using his full force before, but now that Nat is hurt, he feels himself kick into high gear—taking the bullets as they sprayed at him. The simpletons didn’t know who they were dealing with. They started to cower back when none of the ammo was doing any damage, instead simply fueling his anger.

When he finally reached them, he made extremely quick work of the goons—smashing their heads into each other, knocking them unconscious, and bending the barrels of their guns into neat little pretzels. He didn’t have time to dispatch them entirely. Nat was more important.

At the safehouse, he gently lays Natasha down on the bed, unconcerned about the crimson blood pooling on the mattress beneath her and smearing on sheets. The gaping wound is defiantly visible through her clothes, spilling over and over anytime he pulls away the T-shirt he is using to try and staunch it.

“Get me my husband,” she wheezes out as Steve gingerly touches around the offending wound.

He freezes. “Husband?”

“I need him here,” she pants.

“Who…?” Steve starts to ask, but is cut short when Nat starts to try and dig her fingers into the wound as if she would find the bullet herself.

Her hands are slick with blood and her grasp is weak. She’s losing too much blood.

Steve has never seen her this bad. Nat is always so careful, always okay. But he suddenly realizes, maybe for the first time since they became teammates…friends…that Natasha Romanov, despite everything, is all-too human. This is fucking bad.

“Who am I supposed to call?”

“Phone,” Nat’s hand flops off the side of the bed, pale and limp, but gesturing to her duffle bag at the foot of the bed.

Ignoring the blood flaking and crusting on his own hands, Steve digs around in the duffle until he finds a flip phone.

“Bingo!” he yells, standing and opening it.

The benefit of flip phones is that they don’t have passcodes on them. The downside is that Steve wasn’t around when flip phones came out so he’s not entirely sure how to navigate it. Eventually, he finds the contacts and scrolls down until he finds a contact listed as “Husband.” Easy enough. Just dial this and talk to whoever’s on the other line. He presses the center button and it starts to ring.

What is he supposed to say to this man? Tell him that his wife could be dying. And they’re so far away from the US that if…well, he won’t have time to get here.

The phone rings and rings and rings.

“We’re sorry. The mailbox you are trying to reach is full. Goodbye.” A woman’s mechanical voice says.

“Shit!” Steve hangs up by slamming the phone closed. Then, he tries again.

The phone rings three times. This time, someone picks up.

“Natasha?”

“Clint?” Steve is dumbfounded.

“Steve?” Clint asks, voice shifting into worry. “Where’s…”

Steve cuts him off. “She’s hurt, Clint. Bad.”

“Where are you?”

“Budapest.”

“Okay, I know a guy.” Clint tells him. “Take her there. Now.”

“Where?”

“I’m texting you the address and his name. And I’m getting Tony to get me a flight. I’ll be there in a few hours.”

Then Clint hangs up.

When Steve feels the phone buzz in his hand, he sees the text with an address and the name Samu.

“Natasha, I’m so sorry. We’re going to have to move.”

“Did you call him?” she murmurs, barely audible.

“I did. He’s coming.”

“Good.”

She goes limp, but Steve is strong. It’s fine. He carries her down to the street, bustling with pedestrians and taxis and sound. He knows what it looks like but he raises a hand to hail a cab just the same.

It takes being ignored by several before one finally pulls over.

“You need a hospital?” The middle aged man driving asks.

“No,” Steve pulls out the flip phone to show the address.

“This is a hotel. Are you sure?”

“I know what I’m doing. Please.”

It must be the tone in Steve’s voice, but the man says “all right.”

As he climbs into the back with Nat’s prone form, the driver warns him. “Do not get blood on my seats. Costs extra.”

“I understand,” Steve says, resting her on top of him, laying her onto his chest.

He didn’t care if he got blood on himself.

The taxi races through the city along the Danube River, bobbing and weaving through traffic. Nat’s breathing is shallow against him and his stomach is in knots.

“You’re going to be okay,” he whispers to her, resting a hand on her upper back like she’s a child.

She feels so small in his arms like this. He never considered her diminutive size before this. 

When the cab driver slams on his breaks in front of a small, dingy hotel far from the river, Steve empties his wallet, giving him over 20,000 forints. The driver seems a bit surprised, but also like he was relieved to get the two of them out of the car.

Steve carries Natasha up the steps and into the foyer of the hotel. There are men sitting around, playing cards and having beers.

“I need Samu,” Steve says, showing the blood on his hands.

One of them men closest to the front looks up, startled, but immediately rushes into action, running behind the reception desk and into a back room.

When he comes back, a young man probably about Natasha’s age with dark hair and eyes, Samu he assumes, approaches quickly.

“Follow me,” he says, urgently, no questions asked.

Steve follows Samu behind the counter, into the back room, through a dim hallway, and into another room. The room looks sterile, stainless steel.

“Where are we?” Steve asks.

“No time,” Samu says, gesturing to a gurney in the center of the room. “Put her there.”

Steve didn’t want to trust this stranger, but Clint had told him to go there and Natasha had asked her to call Clint, so here he is. He does as he is told, gingerly setting his unconscious teammate and friend on the cold metal.

“Where is Clint?” Samu asks as he begins to scrub his hands vigorously in an empty sink at the far wall.

“He’s coming as soon as he can.”

“He was not with her?”

“No, he was…on a separate mission.” This feels so weird to say. How did Steve not know Natasha and Clint were married? Yet, this man did?

“Okay,” Samu says, and then he gestures with his head to a man standing at the doorway Steve hadn’t noticed in his haste. “Lazlo will take you to a room to wait.”

“But…” Steve starts to protest, but he is interrupted.

“No, you can’t be here.”

He reminds himself that Clint trusts this man. That’s the best he can do as Lazlo takes him to a cramped elevator and up to the fourth floor. They wind around a few corners and finally get to room 417. Lazlo unlocks the door with a key at his belt.

“There is tv,” Lazlo tells him before shutting the door behind him.

Without thinking, Steve walks over to the old CRT television and presses a button to turn it on. It’s on some sort of commercial so he has no idea what channel it’s on. Not that it matters. He can’t pay attention to anything anyway. All he can think about is the blood gushing out of Natasha’s body, how pale she’d looked, her shallow unconscious breathing. He’s glad Clint is coming, but what if he didn’t make it in time? He pushes that thought away, telling himself over and over that Nat is in good hands. Clint trusts this man.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, and muscles screaming at him, his legs numb.  Finally, he thinks he should wash his hands. Natasha’s blood is caked and cracked on his skin, itching and irritating. He convinces himself to get up from his uncomfortable perch on the bed, sticking his hands under the cold faucet water and watching it turn pink as he washes it away. He’s put to mind the religion of his childhood, of Pontius Pilate washing the blood of Jesus from his hands. Is he innocent of the blood of his friend? Or was this all his fault?

He doesn’t dry his hands, just moves himself to sit on the closed toilet in the bathroom. It is from this position he finally hears a voice he has longed to hear.

“Steve?” The voice is tentative but warm and familiar.

He feels his muscles relaxing and his body straightening up at the sound.

“Are you in here?”

“Bathroom,” Steve croaks out, his throat and mouth dry like sandpaper.

Clint materializes in the bathroom threshold, his face a salve on Steve’s frayed nerves.

“Have you seen her?” Steve asks, standing.

Clint nods. “She’s stable.”

Steve releases the tension he’s been carrying since it happened. “I spoke to her a little bit but she’s mostly sleepy. They moved her to a room that I can stay in with her.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

Clint nods. “I know.” He reaches out and claps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Have you eaten anything?”

Steve hadn’t thought about food at all for hours, preoccupied with the thought of Natasha dying.

“No, I guess I haven’t.”

“You look like a guy who could go for some goulash?”

“I’m realizing how hungry I am just now. I’ll take anything.”

“Samu’s guy put some on earlier. I could eat too.”

Steve nods and starts to follow Clint out of the room.

“I would say you probably need a change of shirt with all those holes in that one, but honestly, I don’t think anyone here even cares.”

“Good.”

…

Steve sleeps better than he expected to. After a couple of bowls of hearty goulash, he returned to the room, turned off all the lights, and passed out into a dreamless sleep.

He’s awoken in the morning to a gentle but firm knock on the door. When he slumps off the bed to answer it, Clint is standing there with Steve’s bag that he’d left in the safehouse the previous day.

“Thanks,” Steve smiles a watery smile, taking the item and placing it on the ground near the door inside the room.

“Why don’t you come to our room for some breakfast and you can talk to Nat?” Clint offers with a small head gesture.

“Will there be coffee?” Steve teases.

“And fresh squeezed orange juice. And some sausages.”

“Sounds like a decent little spread.”

“The food is good here,” Clint agrees, as they reach a door just a few down the hall from Steve’s own.

Clint unlocks it and Steve is given visual confirmation that Natasha is, in fact, alive.

“Got a little hairy out there, huh, Rogers?” she says with such a typical smirk that Steve can’t help but laugh despite himself, despite the unmitigated guilt he sat with for untold hours the day before.

“You might say that, Romanov. Or should I say Barton?”