"we were emergencies" by gyzym (explicit)

[stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com]

Fandom: The Avengers (movieverse)
Pairing: Natasha Romanov/Clint Barton
Length: ~37K words
Author on LJ: gyzym
Author Website: Tumblr
Why this must be read: gyzym is one of those you-know-it's-going-to-be-good authors, and "we were emergencies" is no exception in hir body of work. This fic is brutal and suffused with emotion to the point that its roughness and angst are almost physical. That said, it's also an engaging and worth-telling story of the nature of love and memory, and of two people finding their way (back) to each other. There's a whole extra world in the details here, and if you don't come out of this shipping Clintasha (Black Hawk?), nothing will convince you.

"I should've checked up on you sooner."

"That's how I knew you weren't right," Clint says. "I know you don't believe me, and I guess I don't blame you, but for the record? That's what really clinched it for me. I was pretty sure in that recovery room, but I thought maybe…I mean, I know how you are about risk, about keeping it quiet, so I let it go. And then I was pretty fucking sure when you compared that shitshow to Budapest, but when you just let me go…that's when I was sure. You'd never have done that if your head was on straight."

"My head is on fine," Natasha says, but she sounds unsure. "For the sake of full disclosure, you want to tell me what you think happened in Budapest? Because I've seen the footage, Clint. I think I would've noticed if we'd stopped in the middle of a firefight to do whatever it is you think we're doing."

"I said we were in love," Clint sighs, "I didn't say we were stupid. There was a firefight; we cleaned up. You had a hotel and I didn't. You invited me up for a drink and some first aid before the debrief. It turned into a couple drinks, and then…you really don't remember this?"

"I don't think it counts as not remembering if it didn't happen," Natasha says, but gently. It's a death knell anyway, ripping through what's left of Clint's certainty and leaving a wrecked, ribbon-cut white flag in its wake. "Go on, tell me the rest."

"We fucked," Clint says, with as much distance as he's capable of maintaining right now. "Okay? We fucked, and it was the first time, and then we blew off the debrief and stayed for….Jesus, I don't know. A few weeks, probably, all told. Ate too much, posed as all kinds of different people, did a little corporate espionage for kicks. Had a lot of sex. Saw an opera--well, you did, anyway. I took a nap."

"That does sound like you," Natasha admits after awhile. She sounds like she's reaching for amused and not quite managing it; Clint would open his eyes, check her expression to confirm, but it seems like more effort than he's got it in him to expend. "And then…what? What is it you think happened next?"

"Please don't make me do this," Clint says, trying and failing to avoid sounding bitter. "Please don't make me recount three years of being fucking crazy about you while you sit there and act like…Jesus, Tash. I don't have it in me right now, okay?"

"Because you don't remember the details?"

"Because you don't," Clint snarls. "You can guess about me screwing with the marshals for kicks and retracing my steps, but you can't figure out why I don't want to listen to you tell me the realest thing that I--that you--fuck."

"He really did a number on you," Natasha says, sounding badly shaken. "Didn't he?"

"On one of us, anyway."

we were emergencies