Title: A Dream Itself Is But A Shadow
Author: icecream_junkie
A Gift For: tortuousphoenix
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: implied character death
Pairings: Natasha/Clint
Summary/Prompt Used: It takes Clint hours to find her. How on earth they got separated during the fight he doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter anymore.
Authors Notes: Since tortuousphoenix said she likes angst, that’s what she gets. Enjoy. ;)

I also would like to thank shenshen77 for beta reading and cheerleading. All remaining mistakes are my own.


Banner by frea_o

A Dream Itself Is But A Shadow

It takes Clint hours to find her. How on earth they got separated during the fight he doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter anymore. Neither does the pouring rain or the cold night air that leaves goose bumps all over his skin. He breathes heavily as he stands rooted to the spot. The archer has only got eyes for her as she is laying there on the street, one hand over her stomach, the other next to her side. Even with all the cuts and bruises she is still beautiful. She reminds him of a fairytale princess, waiting to be woken by her one true love’s kiss. But deep down he knows that Natasha won’t wake up. There is too much blood mingling with the rain and her eyes, only half closed, are dead. She is long gone and nothing he can do will bring her back to him. He is too late.

Clint falls on his knees next to her. His hands shake as he reaches out for her. Mere inches before he would touch her cold flesh, he stops himself. Touching her would confirm that what he sees is real. It would mean that Nat is truly gone. If he touched her, there’d be no turning back. So he sits there by her side, not willing to leave her, but not willing to accept the inevitable either.

He’d never thought he would get to the point where he wished that all of this was one of Loki’s mind tricks. If it were, if Thor’s smartass brother was still fucking with his mind, it would most likely mean that it wasn’t real, that she wasn’t dead. But he knows that it isn’t. He just can’t bring himself to accept it.

Clint clenches his fists. It is all his fault. He should have taken better care of her, watched her back as he did in Budapest or New York. A sad smile forces its way on his lips. Nat would smack him if she would ever hear him say this out loud. After all she was the Black Widow. She did not need protection.

He had said these words in his mind over and over like a mantra whenever they were on a mission. He had wanted – no, needed – them to be true and he still does. He can’t think of a life without her. These past years she has managed to get under his skin and steal his heart. Without her, he is just a hollow figure. He needs her for his own survival. After all, it was her who knocked Loki out of his head – quite literally. If it weren’t for her, he would most likely be dead already.

And now he had failed her. The one time, when it would have made a difference, he had failed her. Clint closes his eyes as tears run down his face. For a while he had allowed himself to dream and now he’s lost everything.

With an almost inhuman roar he cries out his pain into the night.

***

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***

He woke screaming her name. It took Clint a few seconds to shake off his dream and realize where he was. Lying in his bed he stared into the dark while he tried to calm down his breathing. The dream had been so real. He could have sworn he still felt the rain on his skin like he did that night. He damn well felt the pain.

Clint turned his head so he could see the alarm clock on his bedside table. 3:47 am. He had only been asleep for a couple of hours, but judging by the pounding of his heart and the sweat that covered his body, he doubted that he would be able to go back to sleep. Of all the things he had seen and done, it was this particular night which haunted him in his dreams.

He freed himself of the tangled sheets and went into the small en suite bathroom. After he had splashed his face with cold water he stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. During nights like this he hated himself. He was a coward. Faced with his own worst fears he had crumbled and it had cost him dearly.

A knock on his door brought him back to the present. Their rooms at SHIELD were not fully soundproof and his scream probably woke one of his team-mates. Great, he thought. The last thing he needed now was a rather mortified Captain America in front of his door, who thought it his duty to comfort him – or a gloating Tony Stark who was wondering why Clint woke screaming her name. Another rather persistent knock on the door made him sigh. Whoever it was they would most likely not let it go. Running a hand over his face Clint walked towards the door and opened it, resigning himself to his fate.

“Would you mind? Some of us would like to sleep”, she said rather grumpyly, but he knew her long enough to see the unasked question in her eyes. Are you ok?

His body ached to touch her, to make sure that she was real. Nevertheless he resisted the urge. She was here for him to see, to prove that the night he had dreamed about ended differently than it did in his nightmares. “Yeah, peachy”, he replied dryly, because he wasn’t in the mood for games. He would spend the rest of the night somewhere high above the ground with his thoughts and a bottle of scotch to keep him company. “Go back to bed, Nat.”

She shot him a concerned look and he knew that she didn’t believe a word he’d said, but she didn’t dare call him on it. Natasha once told him that love was for children, but truth be told, she simply was afraid – and so was he. Thus they both let it go.

But tonight, while he watched her go back to her room, for a second Clint thought about going after her. Nat would be much better company than the scotch. But he didn’t. They couldn’t be more than partners and maybe friends. They couldn’t allow themselves to be compromised, because sooner or later it would get them killed. So he closed the door and went looking for the bottle he had stashed somewhere.