![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Avengers - Viable
Title: Viable
Genre: AU, Het, Clint/Natasha
Rating: R
Length: ~4,000 words
Spoilers: Set post-Captain America: Winter Soldier, but not canon compliant.
Warnings: Implication of non-con, implication of dub-con, mention of forced breeding, mention of loss of child, mention of sterility
Synopsis: Hydra's attempt at a mass super soldier army decades ago had lasting effects throughout the world. Their most recent attempt at destroying SHIELD from the inside has only made them that much more desperate to fix that mistake.
Author's Notes: For the "rape/non-con" square at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
hc_bingo.
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
It was two and a half months after the fall of SHIELD that Clint went missing. Natasha abused each and every one of her contacts for any and all intel, but most were terrified to be associated with her and those who didn't care either didn't know anything or had very little to go on. The tiny thread she discovered was less than heartwarming to say the least. It also indicated an operation that she would need additional resources to infiltrate, let alone destroy.
It was the need for those resources that found her poised and outwardly calm as she sat upon one of the overly comfortable leather chairs in one of Stark's private offices. Her coffee was untouched and her nerves more than a little frazzled. She had laid out what she knew and now waited for a response.
Stark didn't believe her.
"So, shit went down, your entire organization went under, all your secrets and lies put out there for the world to see, and you're surprised Barton hit the shadows?" he asked, not unkindly.
She slid a drive over to him to peruse. "This was one of the few files to have been kept from public eyes," she explained. There were a few secrets she had been willing to keep, not that she had time to be picky about it all. The safety and protection of those she cared about had been deemed far more important than weapons bases and planned prototypes. It was a decision she had yet to regret. "It was accessed fifteen days ago and has had sixty-seven hits since then, all from the same IP." She didn't explain that it wasn't downloadable outside of her own copy because she felt he of all people would understand that.
"Eugenics?" Stark asked, surprised. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then smoothed as his quick mind put at least some of the pieces together. "Of course SHIELD would have their own team on the problem - can't have spies if there's no one to create them."
"Barton was a B4."
The screens went dark as Stark stared at her, jaw actually open and at a complete loss for words. "B-Barton?" he eventually managed. He wiped a hand over his lips, tongue barely darting out to touch the lower one. "JARVIS, complete data lockdown. I also want you to start a trace to verify what's just been dropped in our laps."
The AI made some sort of sound of compliance, but Natasha really didn't hear it over the rush of relief that echoed in her ears.
Over the next two days, she learned a lot, both about Stark and about how he operated - more so even than when she had gone undercover with his company. He was protective of his people, this she knew. He deemed anyone associated with the Avengers Initiative his people, this she should have suspected. He was ruthless, this she grew to respect.
She also learned that, despite public rumors that the palladium had destroyed any and all chance for a direct offspring, he himself was still deemed a B2. The plan had been to roll the dice and take the chance. If Pepper became with child, they would announce it as a miracle of chance. It would save them both from the programs currently being voted upon to become mandatory, as well as allow the child to actually be raised by his or her own biological parents, an increasing rarity in these days.
It was amazing what money could buy if you had enough of it.
Barton had not had that luxury. He had the protection of SHIELD and it's far more strict yet far more lenient programs. Hydra's attempt at a mass super soldier army decades ago had lasting effects throughout the world, infertility and unstable mutations being the most obvious. They had doused an unknowing public in hopes of pulling the best and brightest from the results, only to have destroyed hundreds of thousands for generations to come instead. SHIELD tested each and every human body to pass through their doors. If found to be able to produce viable embryos, the agent in question was placed on a mandatory cycle that still allowed missions relevant to their skill set, but also included a breeding and recovery period in between.
Clint had produced nine Viables in his time. One more, and he would have had the choice to opt in or out of future cycles. The tenth was what tied him up. Margaret had become with child, but that child was lost after a minor incursion. It had been too early in the pregnancy to determine if the loss was due to injury or sustainability. Clint had been understanding, but less than pleased; he had been so close to breaking away only to be caught again in such a setback. It was nearly time for what could have been his final cycle when the attack on New York occurred. Psych evals and physical reviews set it back further. His hopefully final routine had been set for one month after SHIELD fell.
"Nine?" Stark asked, impressed.
"Only seven people ever made it to ten, three of them continued on," Natasha confirmed. She didn't mention the fact that she herself had been deemed a B0 upon initial review, unable to carry any child to term due to what the Red Room had done to her, as he would have seen that in her file. It was also why neither Rogers or Banner were tested: if the attempt to create a super solider is what put this plight into the world, furthering the line was just plain stupid and a waste of resources.
Stark had clearly read and absorbed everything she had given him. "You even had a B6 on staff, that's practically unheard of," he commented. Eric had been the only one she knew whose results could maintain potential viability for that long outside of his own body, long enough to give even B2's a chance at conception. He had been killed in the uprising.
"So you believe me now?" she guessed. She had glimpsed enough of the files he had scattered around on various screens to reason he had the beginnings of a plan in place.
Stark nodded. "I believe you, and think I've found him," he confirmed.
She was ashamed to say she let out an outward sign of surprise at that pronouncement. She had tried searching for Clint for eleven days before she resorted to requesting the assistance of Stark and his tech. She honestly wasn't sure what she expected when she did. Maybe a tiny data scrap that would help, maybe an intelligent acquaintance to listen to her problems. Steve and Bruce had arrived that morning and provided the latter. It would appear Tony himself had provided the former.
Maria had become involved solely to say that she could not outwardly become involved, not with the Feds tracking her every move. She had placed herself in that position to protect the rest of them, and would continue to do so to the best of her ability. She also, however, confirmed the suspected source of the leak. They had yet to fish out every Hydra agent that pretended to be loyal, and one in particular had been found to still be attempting to access various supposedly locked files on a semi-regular basis. Maria herself had questioned him, and then removed the risk with extreme prejudice.
Which is how Natasha found herself surrounded by her former and once again teammates, suited up in gear both new and old. The facility was barely a dot on the map, at least outwardly, which she took to mean a massive underground network of rooms and suites lay beneath the facade. She was not disappointed in what they found.
She was also not disappointed at the sheer number of agents within the facility's walls. Some she recognized from when SHIELD fell, others from long before. She took no small comfort in decimating them all. Maria had not given the order to kill, nor had she given the order not to. The rest of the team seemed fit to leave Natasha to her own devices and choices, and she rather appreciated that fact. More than once, she caught Steve use greater force than necessary. More than once she caught Tony destroy when disabling might have been enough. Sam had offered to help, and was a damned good shot, though he mostly used that skill to protect Bruce so that the scientist could go through any potential data they found.
It appeared they too did not take the kidnapping of someone proved to be loyal lightly.
She was faster than any of them, it was a simple fact of nature. She weaved in and out of danger, goal in mind, while they dealt with the resistance and made the bigger scene to draw more of the armed agents out of their holes. Which is why she was the first one through the series of locked doors three levels down, the first one into what could only be described as a sterile lab space, the first one to find Barton.
The two scientists that hovered over him were dead before they hit the floor. She put the room on lockdown to prevent the need to deal with any others until the situation was under what she deemed control. Whether that control was over her own emotions or actual physical circumstances was another matter all together.
Clint was strapped down to table, four buckled restraints per arm and a matching number per leg. A tearaway gown provided a mockery of modesty, a table full of tubes and vials and needles at his side. A single line dug deep into his veins and she knew before she looked that it was nutrients only. They were not going to risk drugs damaging the goods, but needed said goods remotely healthy and hale or the whole thing was for naught.
She removed the line out of principle, then the gag, and then started on the restraints. It shouldn't have surprised her, yet it still did, when a hand reached up and clutched at her throat the moment it was free. "It's me, Clint," she wheezed, need for air already becoming an issue. "I'm here to get you out of this place."
The grip lessened slightly and Barton raised his head to look her in the eyes. "Nat?" he asked, clearly not trusting what he saw. His lips were cracked and split from the gag and there was the gritty grime of dried tears at the corner of his eyes.
She lowered his now lax hand and leaned forward so that he could see her clearly. She placed a gentle kiss in the middle of his forehead and promised, "It's me, you idiot. And I've brought backup."
She finished unbuckling the restraints and helped him sit upright, steadfastly ignoring everything so plain to see about his treatment and just what had been done to him. He staggered to his feet despite her protests, and his knees nearly gave way completely before he caught himself on the edge of the table. Several long breaths later, he began to move, not towards the door she had come in through, but one set in the wall on the opposite side.
She helped to support him whether he thought he needed it or not, and managed the lock on the door when he couldn't. The jamb lit up when he rested a hand against it, his B4 status declared for all to see. He removed it as though burned and took too fast of a step into the room on the other side, nearly bringing them both down.
It was small, but somewhat comfortably appointed. A bed was laid out with simple linens, a pair of slippers set neatly at the foot of it. There was a washroom to the side and a large LED screen that approximated a scene of the outdoors while solidifying the idea that the entire place was not much more than a cage. He ignored it all save for a sneer and headed for the tiny dresser instead. It seemed to hold only variations of types of sweats and night clothes, and he grabbed a combination far more modest than what he currently wore and set about pulling them on.
She reached to help once and only once and though he didn't actually slap her hand away it was a near thing. "I've got it," he growled, and she let him be. It wasn't until he tried and failed to get the slippers on that he accepted her assistance. She sat next to him on the bed and he even leaned into her when he breathed, "I'm done, right? I know humanity's in crisis and all that shit, but I get to be done now, right?"
She thought about her own treatments, about how Coulson had very carefully scheduled her as Clint's tenth in hopes that they had worked, about how Fury himself had promised they would both be done if deemed successful, and any Viable produced would be theirs and theirs alone to raise as an actual child should they choose, the product of two of his top agents who he felt would be best to nurture it until ready to join the rest of the world. What she said, what she promised, was, "Yes, you are."
He buried his face in her neck and silently sobbed. She held him close and let him get out what he needed to, what she knew he wouldn't be able to in front of the others. She had promised years ago to be there for him, that someday they would choose their own path and that the only certainty would be that they would be together. She was not going to take that away from him, not now and not ever. She was, however, going to remind him that they were still deep inside an enemy compound and needed to get a move on if they were to get out of there alive.
He nodded and scrubbed at his face with his knuckles after he reluctantly pulled back. She stood and wetted a washcloth, which he took gratefully. He had just tossed that cloth to the side when the door to the lab was blown in, the echo of footfalls edging nearer.
"Widow?" Steve called, and she lowered her weapons. He found the entrance to the room on his own and took in both the surroundings and his two teammates in a single glance. Relief was a physical thing, his expression losing its tightness and his shoulders slumping slightly. "The place is rigged to blow. We've got to get out of here," he said.
She expected Clint to be right on board with that plan, but instead he shook his head. "Tell Stark to delay it if he can. There's at least a dozen Viables in here, probably more, and that doesn't count the embryo room." He turned to Natasha and said, "I wasn't the only one they took."
Steve looked as though slapped, but nodded his head. "We get out what we can. We'll figure out what to do with them later." He started to leave, but paused, concerned as he asked, "Are you okay?"
Clint took one of Natasha's guns and shouldered his way past him, looking ridiculous in slippers and sweats but clearly not giving a damn. "I'll be fine," he insisted and kept on going.
"Nat?" Steve requested, taking her judgement over Clint's, especially since the man in question was already nearly to the hallway where the center of the current battle lay and wouldn't be able to deny it.
"Not even close," she confirmed.
Steve nodded as though expecting nothing less. He slumped against the doorway for a brief second before he gathered himself to follow and sort out just what needed to be done. Natasha stuttered to a stop when she saw the display in his wake, a B7 shining bright and bold. She blinked and filed that information away to be dealt with later.
She did the same with the B1 that resulted from her own hand brushing the frame. There were more important matters at hand for now, a ridiculous and unlikely chance that was more likely error than fact could be ignored.
It would be months before everything calmed down, but only a week later found Natasha and Clint huddled close on the couch in his new apartment high up in the skyline and safely inside what Stark had renamed to be the Avengers Tower. Every Viable, every child, had been treated and reviewed for potential health and mutation issues. The public had been outraged at the treatment of what they saw as humanity's likely only hope, even as Natasha knew some of the lesser organizations had been given new and likely foul ideas. The sway on the pending vote was still in the air though, at least for now.
Stark Industries had broke the news before the Feds could and, as such, had declared full rights over the children. There was to be a lottery, based not on wealth or income, but on stability and background checks that showed the potential parental units actually gave a damn about the child as something more than a status symbol. Given that the government long ago had set up schooling and nutrition programs for the surviving youth, the rich held no argument that they could better provide and were set to the same playing field as the rest of society for likelihood of being chosen.
Those held captive by Hydra were given a choice to go public and possibly join one of the many organizations available for breeders, or to have their names scrubbed from any and all records in hopes of preventing them from becoming future targets. Some willingly let their names be known. Clint's decision surprised absolutely no one and was supported by all.
He did make one request and the team did everything in their power to make it happen. Every Viable he produced, from the nine known to SHIELD to however many Hydra had created without his consent, would be given the option of meeting their biological father should they request it. He felt he owed them at least that much, and Natasha was not one to disagree.
Neither one of them had choice childhoods, but both had grown up during what was still technically the beginning of the crisis. They had seen traditional families with parents taking care of children in traditional ways at least part the time, and various stable couples who happened to get lucky in one way or another still be able to have the right to do so without the child being ripped away from them to be raised by some unknown entity. Both agreed that everyone should have the chance to raise a child if they wanted to, biology be damned, but the general thinking that led to a child being treated as something of a commodity, something purchased or handed out at random to those that some higher governing body or corporation deemed to deserve it, was not exactly something they were comfortable with and was in truth something they both fought on multiple fronts to prevent.
A child was a prize, yes, but not an award. Basic human respect should be a given, not a forgotten triviality.
"How are you doing?" Natasha asked when Clint squirmed a little closer.
He kissed her shoulder then hooked his chin over it to meet her gaze. His own eyes were still shadowed, his pallor not quite back to normal but, to be fair, none of his habits eating or otherwise were either. He looked away before he spoke though, the mindless clouds through the window still easier to talk to than another person after everything that had happened.
"SHIELD was different, you know?" he began. She tightened her hold on the arms he had wrapped around her and he sighed at the contact. It was comfort given and taken at the same time, both in memory of their fallen colleagues and everything they had gone through as part of the organization. "Yeah, those of us who rated were cycled through, but we were still treated like humans. I still had missions, I still had paperwork, I still had the usual whatever. I just had one extra blood test each month, a few weeks each year marked off to be mission-free. Every time, they'd talk me through it and explain why it was still important. Every time, I had a right to reneg from my contract, even if it meant losing everything I'd gained."
She understood. It was not complete free will, but it was far closer to it than some of society dictated. Besides, he signed the contract going in, he knew what to expect, knew what was at stake. Coulson and Fury and even Hill had always made sure the agents knew if the attempt had been successful, let them monitor the child as he or she grew, let them see that the family they had been gifted to were treating them well and grooming them to be just as good as their parents - all of their parents.
"Hydra used me," he said, voice not much more than a whisper. "I was a thing to them. I was a tool to be used to create more agents, programmed to do and be whatever Hydra chose for them. I was supposed to be a cog in a machine that just created more cogs, kept the beast running, and I'm losing track of the analogy but you know what I mean, right?" He snorted and she ignored the sniff at the end.
"I know," she promised. She kissed his temple and refused to loosen her grip for fear he would run away, disappear, never come back to her.
He surprised her though, and pulled back only slightly to look at her as much as he could given their current positions. "If this hadn't happened, if Hydra hadn't fucked up all those years ago, do you think we could have made it? Red Room aside, do you think we could have been parents? Raised our own little assassin to be released out into the world to break hearts and kick ass? Or maybe just become like a school teacher and have kids of their own, make society better instead of worse?"
She smiled and blinked and resolutely did not shed a single tear. "I know it," she told him, and it was the truth. True as anything in the life they shared, which was good enough for her. It was a dream, a chance, something they could hold on to and whisper about in the dead of night if never in the light of day.
He pulled her close again and settled in for the long haul. His arms were wrapped around around her waist with one resting almost protectively atop her flat stomach, hers hands now entwined with his own as much as she dared. Together, they gazed out at the white clouds and blue skies that were slowly turning crimson with the setting sun and thought of what might have been and what might yet be.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.
Genre: AU, Het, Clint/Natasha
Rating: R
Length: ~4,000 words
Spoilers: Set post-Captain America: Winter Soldier, but not canon compliant.
Warnings: Implication of non-con, implication of dub-con, mention of forced breeding, mention of loss of child, mention of sterility
Synopsis: Hydra's attempt at a mass super soldier army decades ago had lasting effects throughout the world. Their most recent attempt at destroying SHIELD from the inside has only made them that much more desperate to fix that mistake.
Author's Notes: For the "rape/non-con" square at
hc_bingo.Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and am making no profit from this.
Also available on AO3.
It was two and a half months after the fall of SHIELD that Clint went missing. Natasha abused each and every one of her contacts for any and all intel, but most were terrified to be associated with her and those who didn't care either didn't know anything or had very little to go on. The tiny thread she discovered was less than heartwarming to say the least. It also indicated an operation that she would need additional resources to infiltrate, let alone destroy.
It was the need for those resources that found her poised and outwardly calm as she sat upon one of the overly comfortable leather chairs in one of Stark's private offices. Her coffee was untouched and her nerves more than a little frazzled. She had laid out what she knew and now waited for a response.
Stark didn't believe her.
"So, shit went down, your entire organization went under, all your secrets and lies put out there for the world to see, and you're surprised Barton hit the shadows?" he asked, not unkindly.
She slid a drive over to him to peruse. "This was one of the few files to have been kept from public eyes," she explained. There were a few secrets she had been willing to keep, not that she had time to be picky about it all. The safety and protection of those she cared about had been deemed far more important than weapons bases and planned prototypes. It was a decision she had yet to regret. "It was accessed fifteen days ago and has had sixty-seven hits since then, all from the same IP." She didn't explain that it wasn't downloadable outside of her own copy because she felt he of all people would understand that.
"Eugenics?" Stark asked, surprised. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment, then smoothed as his quick mind put at least some of the pieces together. "Of course SHIELD would have their own team on the problem - can't have spies if there's no one to create them."
"Barton was a B4."
The screens went dark as Stark stared at her, jaw actually open and at a complete loss for words. "B-Barton?" he eventually managed. He wiped a hand over his lips, tongue barely darting out to touch the lower one. "JARVIS, complete data lockdown. I also want you to start a trace to verify what's just been dropped in our laps."
The AI made some sort of sound of compliance, but Natasha really didn't hear it over the rush of relief that echoed in her ears.
Over the next two days, she learned a lot, both about Stark and about how he operated - more so even than when she had gone undercover with his company. He was protective of his people, this she knew. He deemed anyone associated with the Avengers Initiative his people, this she should have suspected. He was ruthless, this she grew to respect.
She also learned that, despite public rumors that the palladium had destroyed any and all chance for a direct offspring, he himself was still deemed a B2. The plan had been to roll the dice and take the chance. If Pepper became with child, they would announce it as a miracle of chance. It would save them both from the programs currently being voted upon to become mandatory, as well as allow the child to actually be raised by his or her own biological parents, an increasing rarity in these days.
It was amazing what money could buy if you had enough of it.
Barton had not had that luxury. He had the protection of SHIELD and it's far more strict yet far more lenient programs. Hydra's attempt at a mass super soldier army decades ago had lasting effects throughout the world, infertility and unstable mutations being the most obvious. They had doused an unknowing public in hopes of pulling the best and brightest from the results, only to have destroyed hundreds of thousands for generations to come instead. SHIELD tested each and every human body to pass through their doors. If found to be able to produce viable embryos, the agent in question was placed on a mandatory cycle that still allowed missions relevant to their skill set, but also included a breeding and recovery period in between.
Clint had produced nine Viables in his time. One more, and he would have had the choice to opt in or out of future cycles. The tenth was what tied him up. Margaret had become with child, but that child was lost after a minor incursion. It had been too early in the pregnancy to determine if the loss was due to injury or sustainability. Clint had been understanding, but less than pleased; he had been so close to breaking away only to be caught again in such a setback. It was nearly time for what could have been his final cycle when the attack on New York occurred. Psych evals and physical reviews set it back further. His hopefully final routine had been set for one month after SHIELD fell.
"Nine?" Stark asked, impressed.
"Only seven people ever made it to ten, three of them continued on," Natasha confirmed. She didn't mention the fact that she herself had been deemed a B0 upon initial review, unable to carry any child to term due to what the Red Room had done to her, as he would have seen that in her file. It was also why neither Rogers or Banner were tested: if the attempt to create a super solider is what put this plight into the world, furthering the line was just plain stupid and a waste of resources.
Stark had clearly read and absorbed everything she had given him. "You even had a B6 on staff, that's practically unheard of," he commented. Eric had been the only one she knew whose results could maintain potential viability for that long outside of his own body, long enough to give even B2's a chance at conception. He had been killed in the uprising.
"So you believe me now?" she guessed. She had glimpsed enough of the files he had scattered around on various screens to reason he had the beginnings of a plan in place.
Stark nodded. "I believe you, and think I've found him," he confirmed.
She was ashamed to say she let out an outward sign of surprise at that pronouncement. She had tried searching for Clint for eleven days before she resorted to requesting the assistance of Stark and his tech. She honestly wasn't sure what she expected when she did. Maybe a tiny data scrap that would help, maybe an intelligent acquaintance to listen to her problems. Steve and Bruce had arrived that morning and provided the latter. It would appear Tony himself had provided the former.
Maria had become involved solely to say that she could not outwardly become involved, not with the Feds tracking her every move. She had placed herself in that position to protect the rest of them, and would continue to do so to the best of her ability. She also, however, confirmed the suspected source of the leak. They had yet to fish out every Hydra agent that pretended to be loyal, and one in particular had been found to still be attempting to access various supposedly locked files on a semi-regular basis. Maria herself had questioned him, and then removed the risk with extreme prejudice.
Which is how Natasha found herself surrounded by her former and once again teammates, suited up in gear both new and old. The facility was barely a dot on the map, at least outwardly, which she took to mean a massive underground network of rooms and suites lay beneath the facade. She was not disappointed in what they found.
She was also not disappointed at the sheer number of agents within the facility's walls. Some she recognized from when SHIELD fell, others from long before. She took no small comfort in decimating them all. Maria had not given the order to kill, nor had she given the order not to. The rest of the team seemed fit to leave Natasha to her own devices and choices, and she rather appreciated that fact. More than once, she caught Steve use greater force than necessary. More than once she caught Tony destroy when disabling might have been enough. Sam had offered to help, and was a damned good shot, though he mostly used that skill to protect Bruce so that the scientist could go through any potential data they found.
It appeared they too did not take the kidnapping of someone proved to be loyal lightly.
She was faster than any of them, it was a simple fact of nature. She weaved in and out of danger, goal in mind, while they dealt with the resistance and made the bigger scene to draw more of the armed agents out of their holes. Which is why she was the first one through the series of locked doors three levels down, the first one into what could only be described as a sterile lab space, the first one to find Barton.
The two scientists that hovered over him were dead before they hit the floor. She put the room on lockdown to prevent the need to deal with any others until the situation was under what she deemed control. Whether that control was over her own emotions or actual physical circumstances was another matter all together.
Clint was strapped down to table, four buckled restraints per arm and a matching number per leg. A tearaway gown provided a mockery of modesty, a table full of tubes and vials and needles at his side. A single line dug deep into his veins and she knew before she looked that it was nutrients only. They were not going to risk drugs damaging the goods, but needed said goods remotely healthy and hale or the whole thing was for naught.
She removed the line out of principle, then the gag, and then started on the restraints. It shouldn't have surprised her, yet it still did, when a hand reached up and clutched at her throat the moment it was free. "It's me, Clint," she wheezed, need for air already becoming an issue. "I'm here to get you out of this place."
The grip lessened slightly and Barton raised his head to look her in the eyes. "Nat?" he asked, clearly not trusting what he saw. His lips were cracked and split from the gag and there was the gritty grime of dried tears at the corner of his eyes.
She lowered his now lax hand and leaned forward so that he could see her clearly. She placed a gentle kiss in the middle of his forehead and promised, "It's me, you idiot. And I've brought backup."
She finished unbuckling the restraints and helped him sit upright, steadfastly ignoring everything so plain to see about his treatment and just what had been done to him. He staggered to his feet despite her protests, and his knees nearly gave way completely before he caught himself on the edge of the table. Several long breaths later, he began to move, not towards the door she had come in through, but one set in the wall on the opposite side.
She helped to support him whether he thought he needed it or not, and managed the lock on the door when he couldn't. The jamb lit up when he rested a hand against it, his B4 status declared for all to see. He removed it as though burned and took too fast of a step into the room on the other side, nearly bringing them both down.
It was small, but somewhat comfortably appointed. A bed was laid out with simple linens, a pair of slippers set neatly at the foot of it. There was a washroom to the side and a large LED screen that approximated a scene of the outdoors while solidifying the idea that the entire place was not much more than a cage. He ignored it all save for a sneer and headed for the tiny dresser instead. It seemed to hold only variations of types of sweats and night clothes, and he grabbed a combination far more modest than what he currently wore and set about pulling them on.
She reached to help once and only once and though he didn't actually slap her hand away it was a near thing. "I've got it," he growled, and she let him be. It wasn't until he tried and failed to get the slippers on that he accepted her assistance. She sat next to him on the bed and he even leaned into her when he breathed, "I'm done, right? I know humanity's in crisis and all that shit, but I get to be done now, right?"
She thought about her own treatments, about how Coulson had very carefully scheduled her as Clint's tenth in hopes that they had worked, about how Fury himself had promised they would both be done if deemed successful, and any Viable produced would be theirs and theirs alone to raise as an actual child should they choose, the product of two of his top agents who he felt would be best to nurture it until ready to join the rest of the world. What she said, what she promised, was, "Yes, you are."
He buried his face in her neck and silently sobbed. She held him close and let him get out what he needed to, what she knew he wouldn't be able to in front of the others. She had promised years ago to be there for him, that someday they would choose their own path and that the only certainty would be that they would be together. She was not going to take that away from him, not now and not ever. She was, however, going to remind him that they were still deep inside an enemy compound and needed to get a move on if they were to get out of there alive.
He nodded and scrubbed at his face with his knuckles after he reluctantly pulled back. She stood and wetted a washcloth, which he took gratefully. He had just tossed that cloth to the side when the door to the lab was blown in, the echo of footfalls edging nearer.
"Widow?" Steve called, and she lowered her weapons. He found the entrance to the room on his own and took in both the surroundings and his two teammates in a single glance. Relief was a physical thing, his expression losing its tightness and his shoulders slumping slightly. "The place is rigged to blow. We've got to get out of here," he said.
She expected Clint to be right on board with that plan, but instead he shook his head. "Tell Stark to delay it if he can. There's at least a dozen Viables in here, probably more, and that doesn't count the embryo room." He turned to Natasha and said, "I wasn't the only one they took."
Steve looked as though slapped, but nodded his head. "We get out what we can. We'll figure out what to do with them later." He started to leave, but paused, concerned as he asked, "Are you okay?"
Clint took one of Natasha's guns and shouldered his way past him, looking ridiculous in slippers and sweats but clearly not giving a damn. "I'll be fine," he insisted and kept on going.
"Nat?" Steve requested, taking her judgement over Clint's, especially since the man in question was already nearly to the hallway where the center of the current battle lay and wouldn't be able to deny it.
"Not even close," she confirmed.
Steve nodded as though expecting nothing less. He slumped against the doorway for a brief second before he gathered himself to follow and sort out just what needed to be done. Natasha stuttered to a stop when she saw the display in his wake, a B7 shining bright and bold. She blinked and filed that information away to be dealt with later.
She did the same with the B1 that resulted from her own hand brushing the frame. There were more important matters at hand for now, a ridiculous and unlikely chance that was more likely error than fact could be ignored.
It would be months before everything calmed down, but only a week later found Natasha and Clint huddled close on the couch in his new apartment high up in the skyline and safely inside what Stark had renamed to be the Avengers Tower. Every Viable, every child, had been treated and reviewed for potential health and mutation issues. The public had been outraged at the treatment of what they saw as humanity's likely only hope, even as Natasha knew some of the lesser organizations had been given new and likely foul ideas. The sway on the pending vote was still in the air though, at least for now.
Stark Industries had broke the news before the Feds could and, as such, had declared full rights over the children. There was to be a lottery, based not on wealth or income, but on stability and background checks that showed the potential parental units actually gave a damn about the child as something more than a status symbol. Given that the government long ago had set up schooling and nutrition programs for the surviving youth, the rich held no argument that they could better provide and were set to the same playing field as the rest of society for likelihood of being chosen.
Those held captive by Hydra were given a choice to go public and possibly join one of the many organizations available for breeders, or to have their names scrubbed from any and all records in hopes of preventing them from becoming future targets. Some willingly let their names be known. Clint's decision surprised absolutely no one and was supported by all.
He did make one request and the team did everything in their power to make it happen. Every Viable he produced, from the nine known to SHIELD to however many Hydra had created without his consent, would be given the option of meeting their biological father should they request it. He felt he owed them at least that much, and Natasha was not one to disagree.
Neither one of them had choice childhoods, but both had grown up during what was still technically the beginning of the crisis. They had seen traditional families with parents taking care of children in traditional ways at least part the time, and various stable couples who happened to get lucky in one way or another still be able to have the right to do so without the child being ripped away from them to be raised by some unknown entity. Both agreed that everyone should have the chance to raise a child if they wanted to, biology be damned, but the general thinking that led to a child being treated as something of a commodity, something purchased or handed out at random to those that some higher governing body or corporation deemed to deserve it, was not exactly something they were comfortable with and was in truth something they both fought on multiple fronts to prevent.
A child was a prize, yes, but not an award. Basic human respect should be a given, not a forgotten triviality.
"How are you doing?" Natasha asked when Clint squirmed a little closer.
He kissed her shoulder then hooked his chin over it to meet her gaze. His own eyes were still shadowed, his pallor not quite back to normal but, to be fair, none of his habits eating or otherwise were either. He looked away before he spoke though, the mindless clouds through the window still easier to talk to than another person after everything that had happened.
"SHIELD was different, you know?" he began. She tightened her hold on the arms he had wrapped around her and he sighed at the contact. It was comfort given and taken at the same time, both in memory of their fallen colleagues and everything they had gone through as part of the organization. "Yeah, those of us who rated were cycled through, but we were still treated like humans. I still had missions, I still had paperwork, I still had the usual whatever. I just had one extra blood test each month, a few weeks each year marked off to be mission-free. Every time, they'd talk me through it and explain why it was still important. Every time, I had a right to reneg from my contract, even if it meant losing everything I'd gained."
She understood. It was not complete free will, but it was far closer to it than some of society dictated. Besides, he signed the contract going in, he knew what to expect, knew what was at stake. Coulson and Fury and even Hill had always made sure the agents knew if the attempt had been successful, let them monitor the child as he or she grew, let them see that the family they had been gifted to were treating them well and grooming them to be just as good as their parents - all of their parents.
"Hydra used me," he said, voice not much more than a whisper. "I was a thing to them. I was a tool to be used to create more agents, programmed to do and be whatever Hydra chose for them. I was supposed to be a cog in a machine that just created more cogs, kept the beast running, and I'm losing track of the analogy but you know what I mean, right?" He snorted and she ignored the sniff at the end.
"I know," she promised. She kissed his temple and refused to loosen her grip for fear he would run away, disappear, never come back to her.
He surprised her though, and pulled back only slightly to look at her as much as he could given their current positions. "If this hadn't happened, if Hydra hadn't fucked up all those years ago, do you think we could have made it? Red Room aside, do you think we could have been parents? Raised our own little assassin to be released out into the world to break hearts and kick ass? Or maybe just become like a school teacher and have kids of their own, make society better instead of worse?"
She smiled and blinked and resolutely did not shed a single tear. "I know it," she told him, and it was the truth. True as anything in the life they shared, which was good enough for her. It was a dream, a chance, something they could hold on to and whisper about in the dead of night if never in the light of day.
He pulled her close again and settled in for the long haul. His arms were wrapped around around her waist with one resting almost protectively atop her flat stomach, hers hands now entwined with his own as much as she dared. Together, they gazed out at the white clouds and blue skies that were slowly turning crimson with the setting sun and thought of what might have been and what might yet be.
End.
Feedback is always welcomed.