Title: Shattered

Rating: NC-17

Shattered

"Love you, Nat."

His eyes close as she curses at him to stay with her. The med team takes him away in and she sits in the rubble, waiting, covered in his blood. The crackle in her earpiece minutes later confirms her worst fears; Hawkeye is down. Clint Barton is dead.

She has been made and unmade since she can first remember, a sand sculpture, torn down and remade in a new mold to be what any given target wanted and what Russia needed her to be. You are a diplomat's daughter. You are an art student visiting Russia from Paris. You are a dilettante bisexual from Rome. Clint changed that; he brought her into SHIELD and, eventually, the grains of sand became hardened glass. She is not unmade now, she is shattered.

Steve Rogers

72 hours after Hawkeye dies the Black Widow vanishes without a trace, it's not happenstance she's waited that long.

They managed to revive Coulson after 48 hours of cellular reconstruction work I don't even want to think about. Death is occasionally curable at SHIELD, and if you're a super soldier, you can be on ice for decades, but for humans, after three days… you're not coming back.

Fury tells me to back off, to give her some space. Says she'll return when she's ready. I want to tell him to shove it, but that's not in my nature. This is my team, they are my responsibility. I've already failed her once, I led them into the situation that got Hawkeye killed, I can't fail her again. Every night I'm up till three tracking her.

Two days later, we start getting the reports. Unauthorized termination of suspected HYDRA contacts. Ones associated with the sect responsible for Clint Barton's death.

Fury calls me into his office. "Bet you thought I didn't know about the programs you've been running all night." I nod, but refuse to apologize. "I get cc'd on them before you do. " He hands me a file. "She's been spotted in Istanbul. Bring her home."

Natasha Romanov

Captain fucking America thinks I don't know he's here, but the whirling disco lights reflect in his blonde hair like a beacon, pointing the way to safety. Fuck safety. Clint is dead and I am done following orders. I've come here for one of the top suppliers of hashish in western Turkey; he's killed dozens of innocents, but I don't give a fuck about that - so have I. The problem is, he's also unknowingly funneled millions of euros in to HYDRA's bank accounts. That's his death warrant. The heroin-skinny dark haired man approaches and offers to buy me a drink. I smile back, and the widow begins weaving her web. I've decided to start fucking them before I kill them… It'll solve two needs at once. It was my MO in Russia, before Cli- before SHIELD. I'm going back to my old ways.

Suddenly, Rogers is in front of us. "Hunh?" says my date du nuit. I smile. So he is as stupid as he looks. Good.

"Excuse me, Miss," Cap barks in his best team leader voice. "May I have a word with you?"

"I'm off duty," I whisper into his ear with smile. I step back, draping myself around my new 'friend.' Cap's eyes darken and he frowns. He's not looking too bad himself tonight, it's one of less than a handful of times I've seen him out of SHIELD-issued gear, casual grey button down shirt over a T-shirt stretched over taut muscles, broad shoulders concealed under a deep-brown leather jacket. Jesus, Romanov, I think to myself, your mind is in the gutter tonight.

"I insist," he growls between clenched teeth.

"Hey buddy," says my new pal, "the lady don't wanna talk to you. Now buzz off, we got business to attend to." He looks down at me, leering. I squirm against him in encouragement.

"Natasha."

I look up in surprise, both at Rogers use of my first name and the gentle tone with which he speaks it.

"Is this..." he jerks his head toward the dealer. "Is this really what you want? Is this really going to help anything?"

Goddamn. Goddamn it to hell.

I reach over and viciously pull his head down to mine, my nails bite into the back of his neck as I hiss. "This is MY life, Captain! What can you give me? Another mission, another cause, another chance to die saving a world I no longer give a shit about? Is that all you can offer me?"

Rogers grabs my hand and jerks me against him. He looks unsure of how to get me out of here. I can smell his clean male scent and shiver as the tips of my breast are crushed against his hard chest. He doesn't say anything, but his lips are pulled back from his teeth, growling with frustration. And then he kisses me. For a man usually so gentle there's nothing nice or polite about this kiss, it's rough, demanding and unfamiliar. Barton was undemanding and familiar. I want to forget Barton.

"Hey!" whines my date, not about to bow out gracefully, not when he's got a live one on the line. "Hey! What the fuck you doin'?"

Rogers grabs my mark by the scruff of the neck, and I've decided on a change a plan. A clear dart the size of a mosquito appears on the dealer's neck, and then melts away completely. Cap notices and glares at me, I smile, hiding the tiny air gun between my knuckles. We both know he'll be dead in by the end of the night. Mission accomplished… One of them anyway.

"Back off," Rogers hisses, his eyes as dark and deadly. "Find another date."

He releases the mark, who rubs his shoulder and neck and pouts prettily. "Babe?" he mewls, pleadingly.

"Yeah, back off. Something's come up." I wrap one arm around Cap 's neck and rub my other hand against the front of his faded jeans. Oh my, something certainly has.

It seems impossible, but Steve Rogers back straightens up even stiffer. He grabs my wrist again, and the pain shoots up my arm like fire.

"We're getting out of here," he growls.

My thoughts exactly.

Steve Rogers

Her feet are on the dashboard, and I stifle the impulse to tell her to get them the hell down, sit up straight and fasten her seatbelt. Her next movement makes me regret that I hadn't followed that impulse. She kicks off her right shoe, then the left. Her bare feet hang in the air for a moment, and I am mesmerized by how small and white they are. I wrench my eyes back to the road, reminding myself to stay on the left. Getting into an accident in Turkey with the agent you were assigned to retrieve would not look good on your permanent record, Steve.

But all coherent thought leaves me as Natasha's pretty little feet settle over my lap, the heels rubbing insistently against me. My cock, still semi-hard from her touch only minutes before, jerks back to full-alert status. The breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh.

What the fuck have I gotten myself into? I think. I grab her ankles and shove them off me, leaving my right arm between us as a barrier.

"Agent Romanov," I say, emphasizing the 'agent,' "I am putting you to bed-" I raise my voice over the low sultry laugh this statement produces, "-and then we are going back to Manhattan! And we will forget this incident ever happened. On Monday, I'm going to refer you to a SHIELD counselor, so you can deal with your grief-"

"Oh, but I know the perfect way to deal with my grief, Captain, I really do."

She's moving across the seat, getting closer, slow and sinuous as a cat.

"And I'm afraid the only person-the only person-who can help me with that is you-"

My right hand comes up to block her progress as she tries to crawl into my lap. Undaunted, she takes my hand in both of hers, nipping at the knuckles, drawing her nails along the sensitive palm, and finally, slowly, taking my middle finger in between her rosebud lips and flicks her tongue across the top.

Oh God, Rogers, I think to myself. You're a dead man.

She's making me lose control and I'm suddenly angry. Angry with myself for what's become of my team, one agent dead and the other gone rouge murdering and seducing out of grief without a second thought.

"Is this how you honor Barton's memory, Agent Romanov, taking strangers to bed, by trying to seduce me?" I'm not normally a cruel man, but I have to get her away from me. It's too much, she's too close, and I need to reinstate control over the situation.

The words hits home, and she recoils. "Fuck you, Captain." Venom drips from the words. "You sent him to his death. Never speak to me about him again." She opens the door and leaps out of the moving vehicle. Rolling to a standing position, I watch her flip me the bird from the rear view mirror.

Great job, Rogers. I'm sure Fury will give you a commendation for this one.

The building where she is staying is less than three blocks away. I park and head to the penthouse. I know Clint has used this as a retreat before, because he has a space on the roof with all his essentials.

I follow my instincts and find her in the Hawk's nest. She's staring sightlessly in past me, out into the darkness below.

I reach out to touch her shoulder and she jerks away.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone."

God, I'm terrible at this. She hunches over and falls in on her self, lost.

I watch the best agent I've every worked with break under the weight of his loss and feel my heart break as well.

I reach for her hand. "Please–"

And suddenly I'm spun around, the upper half of my body dangling off the roof. Her eyes burn into mine.

"I told you not to touch me, CAPTAIN."

Looking down I see the streetlights flicker hundreds of feet below. I give my odds of surviving the fall about 50/50.

"You sent us in. YOU GOT HIM KILLED"

I can only look at her and tell the truth. "Yes. We both did." She is taken aback. "I led us in there, but we both know he took that blast because of you." The wind whips around me as I look at the pavement below. A not-insignificant part of me wants her to let me fall. "You didn't see it coming so he jumped in the way. I'm not saying he was wrong to do it, but don't kid yourself, Widow - his blood is on both of our hands."

Her eyes fill with tears, real tears, not the beautiful crocodile ones I've seen her produce on command. It's horrible, terrifying and heartbreaking. "I know." The whisper is barely audible as she looks down at me. "I know."

She pulls me back onto the roof, and tries to push me away, but I won't, can't, let her go. Pulling her into my arms, we sink down onto the gravel and sob together.

"It's ok, everything is going to be alright." Stupid, useless platitudes, but the soothing sound of my voice seem to be having the desired effect. She seems to be calming down; the sobs turn in to whimpers then sighs.

"He loved me, Steve, and I never got a chance to say - I should have told him -"

"He knew." I smile at her. "You never needed to say it."

We stay like that for a few moments, taking strength and forgiveness from each other's embrace. I give in to a selfish impulse and breathe in the sent of her hair as she presses against me.

Grief, I realize, is a powerful aphrodisiac as she looks up, eyes echoing the desire in mine.

My traitorous body responds to having her in my lap, even if it is for all the wrong reasons. I want her and I'm angry, not a good combination. I'm angry with myself for wanting her, angry with her for being so ungodly desirable and, most of all, furious at Clint for dying and leaving Natasha and I alone without him.

"Steve..." Her body shifts slightly as she lifts her face to mine, her tearful blue eyes close just before our lips come together. Oh Fuck! I hadn't meant to kiss her. Or had she kissed me? But it's all right. I can handle this, I can be comforting and kindly and-then she opens her mouth under mine, and the shock of sensation makes me gasp. She tastes so sweet, and she's making the most erotic little sounds as she writhes in my lap...

She's in love with a man who died saving her less than a week ago, she's my team mate, and rule #1 is that you don't get emotionally compromised with people you send into life and death situations. There are a million and one reasons I should stop this. And somehow, with her hot, sweet mouth against mine, I don't give a damn about any of them.

She is now kissing up my neck and nibbling on my earlobe, my hips involuntarily thrust up, grinding my erection against her ass. Oh fuck!

I groan as I disentangle her from my lap. "Natasha, we can't do this." Oh thank god, my voice works and my professionalism and self control rears it's slightly tardy head.

"Don't you want this?"

As if the erection pressing against her ass hadn't been answer enough.

"You're not thinking straight. Let's get back to headquarters and we'll deal with this later." I try not to be distracted by the flush of her skin or the way her lips part as she pants for breath. Jesus Christ she's panting!

"I know how to deal with this." She straddles my lap. "And I know exactly how to work through my grief." She runs her slender, elegant fingers through my hair. "Please Steve, make me forget."

My conscience is on vacation. I am insane. I am damned. The gentleman I was raised to be is squashed beneath my overwhelming need for her. I pull the temptress tormenting me into my arms and kiss her brutally. She is breathing heavily, as am I, but all powers of speech have left us. I have never felt such lust in my entire life, and it controls me, refusing to release my better judgment from its steely grip.

She reaches out clawing for my shirt, but desire and desperation make her fingers clumsy. Her patience wears thin and the buttons bounce all over the floor as she rips it off, I quickly remove my tee shirt before it meets the same fate. She licks her lips at the sight of my bare chest, delicate nails run down my abs, her lips follow the same path nipping playfully.

I can't take this teasing anymore; I grab her ass and lift her up 'til her center is directly against my cock. Her legs wrap around my waist as I push her to the nearest wall and pin her body to it with my weight. I move my hands up to her waist and slide them under her tee shirt, her skin is makes silk feel like burlap. I lift the garment from her gently and her ripe breasts are suddenly in front of my nose. She's not wearing a bra.

I run my tongue in circles around her nipples, biting lightly. She whimpers and arches against me.

"Please, Cap - Put me down."

Oh shit, she doesn't want this... What did I almost do?

I put her down dazedly. "Natasha, I'm so sorry. I didn-" I'm abruptly shoved against the wall.

"Shhh." Her fingers move downward across my chest and to my belt buckle. My mouth drops open as she deftly unbuckles it and kneels before me.

"Nuuuh, Natasha..." That was eloquent Steve, really eloquent.

The boxers are off in one quick movement. She looks up at me with a surprised smile and raises one eyebrow "Let's hear it for genetic enhancements," I can't resist a smirk. Oh, Christ, she touches me. The smirk disappears. She's so gentle, almost hesitant. The tip of her tongue slides lightly up the underside of my cock. It's a light sensation, but enough to make me groan. She licks again, from the base all the way up the shaft, over the ridge and the head with the flat of her tongue. I bite back a curse.

She swirls her tongue around my engorged shaft. A long moan comes from my throat and I reach out to grab the wall behind me with one hand, the other caressing her silky red curls. I try to tell her that she doesn't need to do this, but what comes out is "Ohhhyesss."

She makes a satisfied sound. "Mmmm."

Oh well, I suppose it's a close to conversation as we're going to get at this point. My knees have buckled and I rely completely on the wall for support. I can feel my cock throbbing against the back of her throat, and she's only about 3/4 of the way down my shaft. Her hands come around to cup my ass and she takes a long breath. Before my mind can even begin to comprehend what she's going to do, I feel my cock slide past the resistance and Natasha Romanov deep throats me until her lips are at the base of my cock.

Oh God, I'm going to hell for this but it's worth it.

My brain starts to short circuit and I have to get her to stop or it's going to be over before it even begins. I lift her off the ground and push her against the wall. She gasps as I force my tongue in her talented mouth. I'm devouring her, trying to drive all thoughts of Clint from both our minds.

I carry her over Clint's rooftop nest – it has a bed. Jesus Christ, I'm going to fuck Natasha Romanov on Clint Barton's Bed.

I lay her down gently his bed. Reaching down, I slowly unbutton her jeans. I can feel how wet she is through the black silk of her panties. Jesus, I'm can't believe I'm doing this. She's Hawkeye's girl and I'm stripping her bare before his body is even cold.

She raises her hips to help me peel off her jeans. My fingers venture down her panties and find her clit, tracing small circles with two fingers, I can feel her tighten with pleasure. I'm killing myself with guilt, yet I can't stop.

"Natasha, we shouldn't, it's not right," I whisper hoarsely, tearing my hands away from her body. I'm a liar and I know it. All I want is to bury myself in her.

She arches against me and guides my hand back to her silk panties. "Rip them off, Captain."

The swatch of black silk is torn from her frame faster than an arrow. What little rational thought I had left flees abruptly. Lust is a searing hot knife screaming to be quenched. I position myself between her legs and just as I'm about to enter her, I hear her whisper. "I'm sorry, Clint."

She won't meet my eyes. I can't do this. This was supposed to be him, not me, here with her. I begin to pull away and she reaches around, pulling my neck back down, she now meets my eyes and forces me to watch her.

"You think I don't know what I want? You think I never thought about you even when he was alive? I'll show you how I feel you self-righteous jerk."

She flips me over so I'm sitting on the bed. She kisses me, a kiss full of lust, anger, grief, helplessness and, God help me, even love. Our tongues meet in a dance of rage and need. I can't speak, I can't think, I can't keep fighting a war I never wanted to win in the first place.

"I want you, Captain... Please." Tears well up in her eyes. "Denying us what we both want won't bring Clint back." Her words hit home with the accuracy of Hawkeye's arrows. "Steve." The pale light glints off a tear marring her cheek. "Please don't make me beg."

I can deny her nothing.

Fighting every instinct to mindlessly bury myself inside her. I press against her hot, wet center, lightheaded with desire. I rub and stroke her clit till she's making those incredibly sexy mewing, gasping noises once more. I put a finger inside her and she writhes under me.

Having a woman who's lovesick and mourning another man moaning beneath me should make me feel like a monster. And it does, but it also gives me a terrible rush of power. I'm here, not him, she's making these noises for ME. I know she's close, I increase the pressure on and she comes, arching up off Clint's bed in pleasure.

"Yes... - More" Her nails rake down my back hard - drawing blood. My blood, our sweat and her tears, all meld together on his bed - how fitting.

I roll her beneath me, entering in one powerful thrust. And for a few moments, there is no Black Widow, no Captain America, and there never was a Hawkeye. There is simply two people locked in a primal embrace, and nothing can touch us, not even Clint's ghost.

She throws back her head and a blood flush comes over her face and neck. Her tiny body goes taut with a ragged cry and I completely lose control. I draw up her perfect ass with my left arm, lifting her and forcing her down on me, then slamming her under the full weight of my body, and keeping her lips on mine.

We are caught like that together in a dark animalistic raw connection, as she explodes around me, and I hold back nothing, I fuck her without restraint, all the lust, anger, love and grief comes pouring out at that moment. My lover screams with pleasure and I cannot help but do the same. Humans were not meant to feel this much, this quickly. We collapse together, exhausted and neither of us can fight the dark, sweet refuge of sleep.

Minutes or hours could have passed, I can't tell. I wake to find her stroking my cheek.

"Are you all right?"

She smiles. "Thank you for bringing me back, Steve." She takes my head in her hands and kisses me. "Спасибо." It's the most intimate moment we've shared. She stands and I admire her lithe form as she dresses. She shows no false modesty in her nakedness, and neither regret nor hesitation about what happened between us. She hands me my button-less shirt. "Sorry about that"

"It was well worth it," I smile, dressing quickly.

The slamming of the rooftop door interrupts her response. Footsteps come racing up the stairs. What the hell...?

I turn and find myself face to face with a dead man. I wonder for a moment if he's a ghost, sent to haunt me like Hamlet's father for the sins I've so recently committed against him.

Natasha pales. "Clint, is that really you?"

Hmm, guess not then.

She sways slightly and he runs to her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Clint lifts her off the ground and holds her like he has no intention of ever letting her go.

I tap down the raging jealousy that wants to howl at the unfairness of this miracle. Instead, I discretely try to retrieve my shirt buttons off the ground and use my tie to keep my shirt together. I seem to be missing a couple buttons. Oh well, with the jacket on I don't think it too noticeable.

Clint regretfully puts her down and comes over to give me a hug. I feel like a big jerk for being jealous, but that doesn't make it go away.

"Captain, I'm so glad to see you!"

He claps me on the shoulder and I look at him in wonder. "What the hell happened, Hawkeye?"

He gives a small shrug. "Apparently Fury, Banner and Stark stretched the 72 hour mark to 96. By the time the were ready to tell anyone, you were both gone, so Fury gave me a lift to your current mission location."

I'm going to fucking kill Nick Fury.

Clint looks at the two of us closely for the first time.

"Is everything all right?"

Natasha looks at me. I know exactly what she wants. "Besides losing a member of my team this week, which seems to have remedied itself - everything's fine." Natasha and I will pretend that nothing happened, this will be our secret.

Clint takes Natasha in his arms again and just looks at her as though trying to memorize every detail.

They make a perfect couple. I don't complain. I can see the love in his eyes when he looks at her, and when she looks at him.

Despite the intensity of our encounter, she loves him. I accept this. I'm a big boy.

But I know Hawkeye; he'll find a way to fuck this up. I know it deep in my bones. He'll try to hard to protect her and get too angry when she puts herself at risk. He'll push for too much of her, and she'll resent it.

Clint Barton will find a way to screw up the best thing that could ever have happened to him.

I'm a patient man. I can wait.

Finis.

Thanks a million to djliopleurodon for being such a fantastic beta and creative bouncing board.

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