#they write it so badly it comes across as painfully misogynistic

[the-owl-tree]

"can women have children and a career? erin hunter, author of a long running book series aimed at children, boldly declares for the fifth time in the series: no."

[quietlyimplode]

I love all your fics, I just read them over and over again, especially the Tony and Nat fics that you had recently written. Here I put some symbols I’m interested in, feel free to do whatever you want :) ✓ ❥ ✈ Greetings from Spain

Hello!! Thanks so much for your lovely message. I really appreciate it. It’s been a bit of a rough week so apologies for the delay. I hope you like this one, it didn’t come out how I wanted but it’s done! It’ll sit here with the rest here. (Warnings for Rumlow being a dick and disordered thinking).

waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared

barefoot, sleepy wanderings

reaching out for someone [bonus points if they mumble! their! name!

...

The plane is a small cloaked quinjet, big enough for two. She’s glad the mission is over, safety is in her reach. If it’s Clint picking her up, she can sleep; and she wants it so badly to be Clint on board. As the hatch opens, and no one greets her, she knows it’s not. Natasha’s face morphs into anger as she realises who’s come.

“Hey Russia.” Comes the low voice.

The taunt, on any other day would not even be a blip on her radar, but now? When she was so tired that she wanted to sleep? It deepens her emotions. Her anger bubbles and in her core she wants to punch something or break down completely.

Neither are permissible.

She’d promised her body and her mind that once they were here, at this point, that they could rest. It feels like a kick in the guts she can’t.

The fallout was coming.

It was a race to get home before her past began to morph with her present. She’d pushed herself too far. Was now, pushing herself too far.

She’d been tracked for almost 4 days, catching glimpses of sleep when she was sure that her body was covered, knives in hand and glass surrounding her, a sound warning in case her body didn’t react quick enough. The sheer amount of adrenaline that has been pumping through her body of the last couple of days is leading to a full shut down. She’s already feeling the effects of adrenal fatigue, and it’s showing in her actions.

She can’t sleep with Rumlow here, she doesn’t trust him to close her eyes around him. And now, she has 14 hours, more likely 15 to get home and hide.

She wants to cry.

Instead, she acknowledges him, sits next to him in the cockpit and takes a deep breath as they take off.

.

They’re lucky the quinjet flies itself.

Rumlow sleeps five hours in.

Natasha is so sick of making and answering small talk, and evidently so is he. She’s angry and tired and Rumlow likes to stir her. She kept away as much as she can, felt his eyes watching her as she reads, eats, drinks. There’s definitely something about him that she hates, and it’s not just because he snores.

Theoretically she could sleep, but instead she starts her mission report. It’s futile. She starts writing and her eyes close drift close . She reads and her eyes close. She looks over and sees Rumlow in deep sleep.

“I could kill you so easily.” She whispers with a snarl, mostly to herself.

Her eyes drift close.

.

“Take my socks. You’ll feel better soon.” Natasha soothes passing them across to Oksana.

Oksana looks up at her, a shiver passing through her body. “It won’t help. They know I’m sick.”

Natasha shakes her head, “No. You’ll be ok,” she says, taking her hand and patting it, dread pooling in her stomach. The door creaks and Natasha tip toes back to bed, and watches as the guard does his round of the girls beds. Watches as he stops at Oksana’s bed. Squeezes her eyes closed, and then peeking as she watches him pick her up and take her away.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers.

“What are you sorry for?” A male voice says.

Natasha’s eyes open abruptly, thoughts of Oksana still fresh.

“Regretting this line of work?” He follows up, “or planning to kill me?”

She checks the time. 4 hours to go. She’s slept but feels worse, nightmares and dreams making her feel nauseous.

“What do you think?”she retorts.

Natasha gets up and gets a drink, sipping the caffeine slowly, hoping it works miracles.

Rumlow rolls his eyes when she steps back into his view.

“You know Romanoff, people would like you better if you’d just relax more, maybe smile and not glare. It’d make people be more at ease around you. We’re supposed to be on the same team, and you and Barton are..”

She knows. She knows he’s baiting her.

Natasha can’t help it.

She snaps, her body moving faster than her mind, and she punches him in the face; knocking him to the floor, anger fuels her movement and the snarl the comes from her is animalistic as she punches him again, knocking him out.

Oksana smiles.

Natasha smiles back.

“He’s like our old handlers.” Oksana whispers, in Russian, squatting next to Rumlow. “Misogynistic and rude.”

Natasha turns away and sits in the cockpit, and waits with her friend as the jet flies them home.

.

Rumlow is still unconscious when they land.

Natasha can’t find it in herself to care. He’ll be fine, she’s sure. Doubts that he’s going to admit what happened, or may potentially skew it to his own version of events. Natasha looks back, watches the rise and fall of his chest and then turns and exits the jet with Oksana by her side.

She heads straight for her apartment, she doesn’t check in, doesn’t make contact with anyone; just wants her bed, her own security and own space.

She’s so close.

.

Clint arrives back from Maine with a smile on his face. Mission success and he’d eaten delicious lobster before heading home which made for a good week in his book. Entering headquarters, he’s immediately summoned to Fury’s lair. He’s not even through the door before he sees Rumlow and all at once his good mood is gone.

“Sir?” He says at the doorway.

Rumlow turns and Clint smirks as he sees two black eyes narrowing at him.

“Rumlow.” He acknowledges.

“Where’s your bitch of a girlfriend?” Rumlow spits.

Fury steps out, eye narrowing.

“What did you just say?” Clint’s hands ball into fists.

“Where’s Romanoff?” Fury translates.

Clint reluctantly turns his attention to Fury.

“I don’t know.”

He looks back to Rumlow.

“Why?”

“She sucker punched me and we haven’t seen her in over 24 hours.”

Clint raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I just got back.” He informs them.

“She hasn’t contacted you?” Fury clarifies.

Clint huffs. “No sir.”

Fury sits back down.

“You’re dismissed.” He directs at Rumlow. “You stay.” He nods to Clint.

Rumlow shoots him a dirty look and leaves.

“Sir?” Clint inquires, he’s now starting to get worried about Natasha. “Any insight you want to give me on why one of them most measured people I’ve ever met, who doesn’t do anything without thinking about it at every angle, punched another agent and is now missing?”

Fury shakes his head.

“Find her. I don’t want to have to report this to the WSC.”

Clint assumes he’s dismissed and exits quickly.

.

He finds her in the bathroom of his apartment in the corner with her head in her hands. He can’t tell but she’s either dissociating or asleep; neither of which are ideal in an area with cold floors and sharp objects.

“Tasha?” He nudges her foot, hopes that it’s enough to wake her.

“Natasha.” He says again. Louder this time.

He watches as she slowly opens her eyes and a tear slips out and drop down her face.

“Clint?” Her face crumples and she looks like she’s going to cry. “Help me.”

He makes her stand, and steadies her as she stumbles, leading her tired form to the bed.

He pushes her down and lays with her. Her breath is coming out in short gasps and he doesn’t really know what to do.

“Hey,” he pulls her into a hug. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s ok.” Clint is terrified.

She pushes back into him, drawing his arm around her.

“I’m so tired.” She whispers. Clint rubs her back, whispers in her ear that it’s going to be ok. He feels the hitch of her breath and white redundant anger rolls through him. Whatever Rumlow or Fury did to reduce her to.. this.. He doesn’t understand.

He thinks she’s finally asleep, and starts to move away, wanting to see her face, scout what she’s been doing in the past 24 hours, hopes that it’s nothing self-destructive.

He stands and finds himself caught by her hand, he hears her mumble his name and the desperate plea of “don’t leave.”

Settling back next to her he wraps his hands back around her.

Everything else can wait.