He’s tried her personal cell, her Avenger cell, her SHIELD cell, and even her burner phone, but no matter how many times he calls, she doesn’t pick up.
Something is clearly wrong, and Clint feels an uneasy little curl of worry winding its way up through his ribcage.
She’d sided with Stark. She should have been safe. They’d discussed this the minute the Accords had been set in front of her – he still has the text messages on his phone – it was too dangerous for her to side against the Accords, even if she didn’t trust so much as the introductory paragraph. Someone with her background, and who had all her records plastered across the web for anyone to see, could not afford to have a UN-sized target on her back.
Someone with a spotless record like Steve could get away with it. Someone respected, with a military rescue background like Sam, could get away with it. An ex-Red Room assassin with a ledger full of red? Not a chance, no matter how many times she’d helped save the world.
Natasha would need to play along.
They’d discussed this. They’d planned this.
And apparently something had changed.
Clint sighs, letting his hand drop back to his lap with the phone screen displaying a message that the number he has dialed can no longer be reached. Every time he hits redial, his nerves wind tighter.
He knows Nat. She’s probably gone and done something brave and heroic and incredibly dumb, and now she’s in big trouble because of it. He has a few ideas about where to look for her, where he can leave a message that might find its way back to her, but otherwise he’s drawing a blank, and the phone flashes the word “disconnected” up at him like it’s mocking him.
Natasha is on the run. His best friend is in some kind of danger.
FILL: After The War (3/?)
He’s tried her personal cell, her Avenger cell, her SHIELD cell, and even her burner phone, but no matter how many times he calls, she doesn’t pick up.
Something is clearly wrong, and Clint feels an uneasy little curl of worry winding its way up through his ribcage.
She’d sided with Stark. She should have been safe. They’d discussed this the minute the Accords had been set in front of her – he still has the text messages on his phone – it was too dangerous for her to side against the Accords, even if she didn’t trust so much as the introductory paragraph. Someone with her background, and who had all her records plastered across the web for anyone to see, could not afford to have a UN-sized target on her back.
Someone with a spotless record like Steve could get away with it. Someone respected, with a military rescue background like Sam, could get away with it. An ex-Red Room assassin with a ledger full of red? Not a chance, no matter how many times she’d helped save the world.
Natasha would need to play along.
They’d discussed this. They’d planned this.
And apparently something had changed.
Clint sighs, letting his hand drop back to his lap with the phone screen displaying a message that the number he has dialed can no longer be reached. Every time he hits redial, his nerves wind tighter.
He knows Nat. She’s probably gone and done something brave and heroic and incredibly dumb, and now she’s in big trouble because of it. He has a few ideas about where to look for her, where he can leave a message that might find its way back to her, but otherwise he’s drawing a blank, and the phone flashes the word “disconnected” up at him like it’s mocking him.
Natasha is on the run. His best friend is in some kind of danger.
And he doesn’t even know where to start.