protected || natasha romanoff [DISCONTINUED]

there is a me in team. me, i'm the team.

i blink and the world blurs together. "what did you do?" i ask, blinking again. clint is staring over me in a black room. not a room- a jet. fuck. he must've tranqed me after... i shake the thoughts away.

"nat- tasha- are you okay?"

"i don't know," i mumble.

"you aren't acting like yourself," he says, sitting down. he puts one hand on my thigh, and i try not to flinch away. "is your- is the brainwashing coming back?"

i turn my head to face him. i put my hand over his and tap in morse code. thank you.

he puts his other hand over mine. "we have each other's backs."

thank you, i tap again before pretending to drift off again. it's hard to stay awake, but i need to clear my head. i grew up being told my only purpose was to kill, that i was a tool, that my body didn't belong to me... but clint seems to care. and i'm not used to it.

-

i wake up to a hand holding mine. i can't help it- i yank myself away.

"what's wrong?"

i let out a breath i didn't know i was holding. it's clint. "hi."

"hi," he says back, not looking me in the eye. "i- just wanted to apologize."

"don't," i say, holding the eye contact when he glances back up. "really. it was supposed to be an easy mission. don't blame yourself."

he nods, and then presses his earpiece. "sir, i don't think she's ready for that-" he says after a moment, stopping like he's being cut off.

"ready for what?" i ask, sitting up.

he pushes me back down. "you've been out for a week, tasha. i told them not to, but they just kept sedating you... there's a new director." damnit. i didn't even know carter was retiring. some spy i am.

"and he wants to see me," i say. "help me get ready, i am not meeting my new boss in a hospital gown."

he takes my hand reluctantly and helps me balance. i mean, it's not my fault i haven't used my muscles in a week.

there's an outfit sitting, folded, on a chair against one wall. i put it on- it's just a red t-shirt, black jeans, and a leather jacket. "really pushing the black widow thing, aren't we?" i ask.

he laughs. "want a necklace?"

"if you get me a necklace with an hourglass on it, i'll get you one with an arrow," i snap.

he laughs. "that's the bright and sunny attitude fury will love."

i'm assuming that's the new director. "get out so i can change."

"yes, ma'am," he says, saluting.

a few minutes later, he knocks on the door. "come in!" i say.

clint steps in, followed by an older, taller black man wearing an eyepatch. "natasha, this is nick fury."

"agent romanoff," fury says, reaching a hand out for me to shake. i think i've seen him around before, but i think i'd remember seeing a pirate. maybe the eyepatch is new.

i take it. "hi," i say calmly, even though my heart is racing. "normally i don't sleep for a week straight."

"normally she sleeps for... what's your record, forty hours awake?" clint jokes.

"closer to fifty," i snort, "and it was for surveillance, not for fun."

"that's... reassuring," fury says. dammit clint, i'm trying to make a good impression. "i kept you asleep. you both came back distressed, and-"

"i understand," i say, cutting him off. i don't need to hear his damn excuses. i don't understand, and honestly i don't want to.

"i've read your file, romanoff, i just wanted to actually meet you. carter thinks very highly of you, but you'll have to earn my trust."

so this is about my past. "i'm one of SHIELD's most efficient agents, sir."

"i know. you'll find that we have more in common than you may think. it was nice to meet you, agent romanoff." he turns and slams the door behind him.

the next morning, i wake up to a text from clint. i hope you can walk.

why? i text back.

fury wants to see us. his office, in ten.

great. i don't respond. i just stand up and throw my phone on the hospital bed. i pull on a t-shirt and jeans, tucking my shirt in lazily. as i walk out, i grab my phone. i sure hope fury's office is the same as carter's.

fortunately, it is- i can see him standing at the large window. i beat clint there, too. i knock on the doorframe, since the door is open. "sir?"

"come in." i slip inside and stand by his desk. "i'm just waiting for agent barton," he continues. he turns and sits down, motioning for me to do the same. he grins. "don't worry, it's good news."

so we sit in silence until barton arrives. fury smiles at us. "you two are often partners, correct?"

i nod, and clint just smiles. "yeah, ever since-"

"clint," i say loudly to cut him off. he raises his hands in mock surrender and i smirk.

"anyways," fury says, not approving nor disapproving of our antics, "i've decided to make you two into a STRIKE team."

but you've just met us. but you don't trust me. but there's just two of us. but we've just failed a mission. i keep my thoughts to myself- clint opens his mouth.

fury waves him off. "i know. i don't trust people easily, but don't prove me wrong."

there's a knock on the door. "come in!" fury says, looking pleased with himself.

another man steps in- caucasian, roughly six foot, but he doesn't seem like a threat. "hi, i'm agent coulson."

"hi," i say, crossing my arms.

"hey," clint says, reaching out to shake his hand. "what?" he asks when i give him a weird look.

"i've literally never seen you be polite before."

"i can be polite!"

"uh- is this-"

"yes, agents, this is phil coulson. after his last mission, i've promoted him."

"to..?"

"he's your handler."

i choke, then pretend nothing happened. "nice to meet you, sir."

"her brain is broken," clint says cheerfully.

"clint!"

"don't worry, i was debriefed," coulson says reassuringly. "it's not like that. you can just call me phil."

"yes, s- coul- phil-"

clint holds out his hand for a high five and i glare at him.

"you're dismissed."

i'm the first to stand up and leave- clint lingers a little. i make it halfway down the hall till he catches up, though. "how are you?"

"fine," i say shortly. i know what he's talking about, and i don't even want to think about it.

"you can talk to me, nat," he insists as i reach the elevator.

"i am," i say. i know i'm pushing him away, and it's probably hurting him, but i'm not ready. i press the button for my floor, but clint stays at my side. "please," i say. i don't need to finish the sentence- he understands.

"it's not your fault," he says, stepping out right before the doors close.

wait, i want to say, talk to me. because nobody has ever said that to me before. but i pushed him away. and i'm too prideful to say that i need him.