Through, Together (A Romanogers Fanfiction)

The Ties That Bind Us

Rain was falling heavily on the streets of Tokyo. It created a blur of color, the city's neon lights shining in the dark. Bright greens, reds and pinks glared off of the slick, rain-soaked streets and their many puddles. The once-booming city was now a trash-filled shell of its former self. Just like the rest of the world. Natasha brought the Quinjet down just outside city limits. Clint's last reported location was somewhere near Chuo City. He'd been leaving a trail of Yakuza corpses in his wake. As if the world didn't have enough dead to mourn. Not that these were the types to mourn the loss of. None of Clint's victims were, really. Still, the fact that he had victims at all was troubling. The Clint that Natasha knew, the Clint that she loved, didn't have a body count.

But that was before he'd had everything taken away from him. And why did the criminals, the murderers and rapists, get to live when his family didn't?

Things were quiet, despite the rain. Natasha walked the streets with caution, bypassing driverless cars and empty shops. If there were people around, they weren't showing their faces. She could understand why. There had been a fight here recently. Half a dozen, if not more, men were strewn across the street, half-hanging out of windows or splayed across the hoods of cars. Natasha had passed the Tsukiji Market about five minutes ago and saw a similar scene, there. Dead men among dead fish. It seemed that Clint was working fast. The people were right to hide.

Natasha couldn't help but to think about what Steve told her. About looking for someone who wasn't there anymore. He'd faced a similar obstacle with Bucky, but he never gave up. Even when everyone else, when the whole world, was against him, Steve fought for his friend. Natasha should've been doing that. She should've tried to reach Clint sooner, but fear of failure had kept her rooted in place. She didn't know what she would be able to give him, what she could possibly do to pull him back from that ledge. What did she have other than herself? And what happened when that just wasn't enough?

God, she needed this to work.

She needed her family. She needed them complete and together, like they used to be, because without them, Natasha had nothing. Even before the incident, when she'd been on the run with Steve and Sam, Natasha had felt the very noticeable absence of everyone else that had become so incredibly important to her. The rift that had formed between them was with her every single day. She wouldn't have traded her time with Steve for the world. If asked to do it again, she would stay with Steve, every single time, but Natasha always wished that she didn't have to choose.

Sounds of a struggle came from up ahead. Natasha started to jog, following the noise of yells, grunts, and the clash of steel against steel. She clutched her umbrella tightly and peered through the sheet of rain that fell just outside of it. Two figures came into view, men locked in the grips of a vicious fight to the death. The man on the defensive was Japanese, dressed in a fine suit that was now soiled with rain and blood. The other, hooded and clothed in all black, could be none other than Clint. His back was toward her, and she had no way of viewing his face, but Natasha still knew. She'd fought by his side long enough to know how he operated. Even wielding a sword instead of a bow, there was no mistaking him.

Natasha stood, locked in place, and watched the fight. She knew better than to intervene. Not that Clint needed it. He blocked and parried each quick, vicious blow the man sent his way. Sparks flew each time the blades kissed, creating small flashes like lightning before the two individuals. The sound echoed across the hollow street. Natasha watched as Clint got behind the man and sliced into the back of his leg. He was brought down to one knee, and Clint promptly disarmed him with another slice to his sword hand. In another second, he was standing in front of the Yakuza and stabbing his sword through the man's chest. Natasha flinched at the sound of his choked cry of pain. He went stiff, then still, and when the sword was pulled from his chest, he fell face first onto the rain-soaked street. Clint wiped the blood from the blade onto his sleeve in one, fluid motion, and then gracefully slid the sword back in its place on his hip. Natasha stood in place and watched as he, his back still toward her, lowered his hood and removed the mask from his face.