i'm so much older than i can take. ( closed )

[atoner]

Who| natasha romanoff and clint barton
What| holding hands and dying???? happy new year!!!!!
Where| the spaceport
When| as it blows up
Warnings/Notes| death, angst



( strike team delta are living legends in the halls of SHIELD history. every recruited field agent learns about agents barton and romanoff and the unstoppable force that they make together. but the thing that really sets them apart from every other agent is that they never have an extraction plan when they go into the field. that way, they don't have to risk the lives of other agents. they've always made their own escapes, and there have been some spectacular ones over the years where they had scraped by the skin of their teeth.

but they always made it, without fail. out in the world, with all the odds stacked against them, they are still the masters of their own destinies. they know their skills and their limitations.

in here, in the arena, they are like trapped animals. waiting to die. and when the countdown begins, natasha thinks she understands what it's counting down to. maybe their capitol audience has gotten bored with watching them slaughter each other. maybe the resources dried up, or this is a message they are sending the tributes for some reason. there are a myriad of reasons, but the countdown is familiar. natasha knows the sound of a bomb when she hears it.

they could run, could puncture the walls of the station and leave, but in the artificial confines of space, there's nowhere for them to actually go. the voice counts down, getting faster now. getting closer to zero.

she looks at clint and shoves down the odd feeling of dread that settles in her gut. )

Comments

[cognitived]

[ Before Natasha, Clint had been reckless and accomplished, building himself a name that etched itself alongside the legends of SHIELD's history. But that was nothing compared to the name Strike Team Delta forged for themselves. Missions were their bread and butter, each successful one serving to build them up. And there have been odd missions, legendary missions; missions seemingly more impossible than not. That was what they were known for, and they were good at it. But this isn't anything they had ever prepared for.

She looks to him and it's nearly familiar for all its unfamiliarity. It's been a while since Natasha's ever looked at him like that, struck mute and helpless in the face of something they can't fight. But this is his first Arena, and he's still quite sure that he doesn't know all that Natasha has to offer on this place and these people, but it is enough for now.

They're well and truly stuck.

So instead, he huffs and rubs a hand through the short spikes of his hair, leaning in close and warm against her side. There's dread writ into the lines of her face, subtle but for the years he's known her. That's what scares him, really, not simply the climbing dread that the coming toll of their death knell brings. He reaches out, fingertips gently tracing upon the ridges of her knuckles, letting her take his hand in hers should she wish. ]

We gave it a good run, huh?

[atoner]

( that's the problem, isn't it? they've always been able to fight their way out of problems. fighting or bluffing or lying their way out of danger was what they excelled at. only here, they can't do that. they have no information and nowhere to run, and the weight of that is pressing on her more heavily than she'd like to admit. natasha doesn't like being powerless. maybe it's because it brings back memories of herself as a girl - no, not a girl, but a weapon to be used.

she's spent the last few decades of her life fighting to make her own choices, to decide her own fate. no matter how useless that turned out to be, what with SHIELD being a cover for HYDRA the whole time.

it makes her wonder if everything she's done amounts to nothing.

but these are thoughts that natasha pushes away, and clint is perhaps the only person who could see the lines of worry that trace her expression. here is what she knows: the arenas are all broadcasted. taking clint's hand is a gesture that will ultimately serve to appease the bloodthirsty citizens of the capitol. people die, and sometimes they are revived - but not always.

this is what natasha knows, and part of her pride makes her want to refrain, but the sentimentality wins out in the end. it doesn't matter if they might come back or not. death is not a game, despite what these people might think. she takes his hand and squeezes it tight. )

Yeah, I guess we did.

( there are other things she wants to say. that she doesn't want to die, but if she has to, she's glad it's with him. but she doesn't say those things. she leans against his side instead, taking comfort in the rough callouses of those hands that have killed to protect her time and time again. like she has done for him.

it's the end of the line. )

[cognitived]

[ He knows people are watching, and reaching for her now might send the wrong message -- but in truth, Clint is thinking that they are showing they won't be parted. One of them might truly die in the end, never to be awoken within the Capitol, and to be toyed with like that makes him furious.

But she takes his hand and squeezes tight, and he returns it, they're holding tight enough to forge themselves together. And that's good, that's okay; the clock is counting down incessantly, but they were always going to meet this end. Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton; taking out one wouldn't be enough, to succeed, they must die together.

It's fitting, nearly.

So she leans into his side and he leans back against her, the weight familiar, the callouses on their hands mirror points. Clint rubs at his eyes, thumbs the bridge of his nose, hears the count dip furtherfurtherfurther. Doesn't have anything else to say that she doesn't know, that he can spill without the ears listening in taking them away.

So he doesn't. ]

[atoner]

( if they were alone, if they were not being watched, there's so much natasha might want to say to him. clint is the reason why she got out of her old life. he's the one who took her in, who convinced SHIELD to give her a chance. otherwise, they would have killed her on the spot. and they'd have the right to, after all the damage she had done. but clint had dug in his heels, he'd pulled a favor or ten to get her a spot on the team roster, no matter how tentative that was.

nobody trusted her, back then. nobody but him. clint barton is the one who gave her a chance to be more than just a killer, more than a weapon she was made into. and now that they're about to be blown to bits, she doesn't have the chance to tell him.

all she can do is squeeze his hand tight. they're gonna die together. in a way, she had always thought that they might. and the truth is, living without him might take more strength than she thinks she has. )

Not quite like Budapest...

( she laughs, low and throaty. if they speak in references to each other, well. that's something they will keep for themselves. )

[cognitived]

[ He knows, oh, he does. She doesn't speak of all the things they might, but he can see it in her eyes, in the delicate, subtle lines of her face. But bringing her in was the best decision he ever made, and he's never regretted that. Not after the trust she gave her in return of his own. Not after the times they saved each other's skins, time and time and time again.

He knows, even if they don't talk about the favors he had to pull, or the problems it cost the both of them in the very beginning.

So she squeezes his hand tight and he holds back just as tightly. The bones in his hands press tight to hers, and that's good that's okay. He looks down at the crown of her head, a soft laugh falling from his lips at the old references. ]

A bit like Abidjan, though.

[atoner]

You just had to bring that up again, didn't you?

( she's smiling at him, even though it's so incredibly tired. natasha has been fighting from day one, struggling to keep herself on top of everything that's been happening. in a way, it's habit now. she pretends as if she's omniscient and endlessly capable, because it makes everything easier to deal with.

the clock ticks down. one minute, now. her breath catches in her throat.

she doesn't want to say goodbye. )

[cognitived]

Well.

[ Clint returns the smile, a soft worry lingering in his eyes at the tired cast to the lines of her face. Maybe without him here, she didn't have someone who knew exactly how hard she'd push herself past limits. But Clint knows her, he just can't say anything with who knows how many people listening in.

So the clock ticks down -- half a minute -- and Clint curses, softly. He shifts, blocks her view of the clock and catches the turn of her elbow in his free hand. It's more touchy than he usually is, but it's the goodbye he can't bring himself to say. ]