he was the one • winterwidow

⊱ thirteen ⊰

- moral of the story / ashe -

Clint didn't know what to do. Whether he should mention it to Natasha, or to Sharon, or to anyone.

The only other person who knew about what happened that night at the Red Room, to his knowledge, was Fury. Even then, he'd never mentioned the name he had heard.

Barnes.

Countless hours of research he had poured in trying to link that name to Natasha.

Who knew all it would take was a last minute trip to Greece and a visit to the bartender the agent had seemed to take such a sudden liking to?

So he made a call to the only person who could help.

Someone he had found out to know James Buchanan Barnes surprisingly well throughout their life.

✧★✧

They were supposed to be leaving that night. That very night at eleven-thirty, meaning Natasha could see James one last time before they departed.

Not like she had to. She barely knew this man, so why would she care?

She just wanted to say goodbye. That's all.

So that was her plan: to get one final drink from the man and wish him well. That was, until, Sharon had came back from the room early in the morning from the reception, where she had asked what time their taxi would arrive to take them to the airport.

"Are your bags ready?" She asked, eyeing the room for a visual answer before a verbal one.

Nat nodded suspiciously. "I helped Clint with his last night. Why bother now, anyways? We don't have to be out the room by twelve."

Before Sharon could say anything, Clint retorted. "Yeah, Ronny, what're you being such a mom for?"

Sharon shook her head at Clint's antics. "Turns out the taxi is coming right before lunch." She tuned to Natasha. "Foot?"

"It's fine now to be honest. I've had much worse, you know." She tried to hold back the slight ache in her chest, grateful for the change of conversation as to not give away how she actually felt about the change in plans.

"I'm very much aware of that," Sharon nodded. "Doesn't mean I'm okay with it."

Just then, Clint rolled his and Nat's suitcases to outside the room, as Sharon had left the door open for him to do so when she returned. He went back for Sharon's and left their bags by the wall for them all to take on their own separate from the buggy that was on its way to get their suitcases.

He currently stood in the doorway, hands on his hips. "Come on, Carter, you know Tasha will be fine."

Sharon nodded. "I think Nat's more focused on her little bartender crush than to care about her literal jellyfish sting at this rate."

Both of the other two seemed to tense up at that comment, Clint soon snapping out of it and laughing almost unnoticeably forcedly with Sharon. Nat just shook her head, disheartened at the reminder that she will never uncover what was so interesting about James. What had drawn her so dearly to him.

Right now, however, she was more confused on why Clint was also somewhat nervous whenever James had been brought up. Maybe he had embarrassed himself around him when getting the drinks? It was extremely plausible, but didn't explain why he never mentioned anything about it, considering the type of friendship he had with both Nat and Sharon.

Either way, Nat stood, straightening out the dark green top she wore, which cut right by the waistband of her cargo shorts, leaving a slight slither of tanned skin. Not too tan of course, had to avoid Clint's ginger-in-the-sun jokes somehow.

"We best go eat now if we want to not be literally starving at the airport." Nat announced, receiving an immediate agreement from Clint.

"Please," The archer looked thankful. "I cannot go through those lines hungry and low on caffeine. That was hell as far as I know it."

Natasha shook her head. "No, hell was you dragging me into your pit of sand, getting stung by a jellyfish, and having Sharon fucking Carter literally piss on me."

"Will you ever let that go? I said sorry!"

"Over my dead, hot body."

✧★✧

They had eventually gotten onto the plane, this time easier than the last. Clint had started a very energetic conversation about the middle aged Greek daytime bartender, who they had told the horrific beach story to and received various teases.

Soon enough afterwards, Clint was snoring and Sharon had occupied herself with 'The Notebook' which was extremely unlike her and honestly worried Nat about what could have caused her to turn that on instead of her usual 'Mean Girls'.

As always when she was left to her thoughts, Natasha's mind drifted. The memory of the first bartender that she'd encountered had brought her back to James, someone she was dreading to think about.

It wasn't even the fact that she would never figure out what it was about him anymore, but the fact that she would truly never see him again.

The way his hair had been messily trimmed just around his forehead almost matched her choppy cut. The gloves he seemed to always wear, skilfully gliding a cloth across each and every glass that had found its way into his hand. His piercing blue eyes that reminded her solely of what home felt like.

James had brought her to comfort: something only two others had ever been able to do, but not in that exact way. His presence alone seemed to make everything remotely bad about her life disintegrate in the moment like a tissue on a calm sea.

Calm. Another thing he seemed to bring her only by being there. As if he were the intact anchor to her absolute shipwreck, keeping Natasha steady with his doings.

That's when she realised what it was about him.

He was the one.

Something about the daunting realisation seemed off. Not in her mind, but her surroundings. That was when Natasha noticed Clint's faint snores had disappeared from beside her, along with the light resting of his head on her shoulder.

When she turned to look at him, Clint was staring straight at her, a different kind of expression than what he'd usually wear masking his features. Almost guilty.

As if he knew something.