a/n: This is not what you intended. Inspired by watching the Olympics pair figure skating.


You think, there is ice in her heart. You know her pale wrists, strong enough to break a man’s neck and gentle enough to sew a four-inch wound, and you think, they used garroting wires like marionette strings. It is not so hard, in moments like these, to see the young girl raised and twisted by crueler hands, made to dance to bloody operas for the pleasure of her handlers.

You see the Widow in the face washed out by the TV’s glare, strange hollows and curves that you should know like your own hands, your old bows by now.

You also see the child.

She lets you; you know this as well. If she wanted to hide all her scars, all the hollow places in her, you would see nothing but the mask of Natasha Romanoff, the agent who can watch figure skating in her homeland with a pleasant smile and bright eyes.

You think you should be scared by the trust that lies between you.

She shifts, settles back into the couch with unease in her curled posture, her pinched lips, and finally glances up at you. And it sings, this thing that runs from your heart through your feet out to her, that stretches and pulls and connects two killers in the dark of your apartment. You know the woman lying on your couch in a too-large sweatshirt from a college she never attended, in ankle socks turned a brilliant white by the light from the TV, with hands under her head and a question she doesn’t know how to ask in her eyes.

Natasha Romanoff, Natalia Romanova, half a dozen other names she has been called by and given herself over a lifetime of playing to Death’s melodies – it doesn’t matter. You love her, the woman underneath those mantles and barbed wires, and the only thing that keeps you alive is that the tie which binds you isn’t garroting wire at all.

She stretches a hand out to you, uncertain and unsure but needing all the same, and you take it.

You always have.

Russia’s pride and joy dance together with blades on their feet and trust in their hands while you watch, another discarded champion tucked up against you, resting her head on your chest. You are proud of her. There is ice in her heart enough to match the sweeping expanses that these skaters glide across so easily, so gracefully, in a performance the whole world watches; but there is fire too, and you will hold her until she remembers it.

You could burn the world, if she needed that to remember it.

That should scare you. But the woman curled in your arms is a weapon unto herself, and this thing between you is bright and sharp and silver in the night, you know there is ice in your heart as well.

You lie like this until she falls asleep in the early dawn, dreaming of distant worlds and past lives. You think, it's enough.

And it is.

Oh, the FEELS. Just so lyrical and lovely!

Perfect icon is perfect. Thank you very much! :D

A - this is amazing. Very beautiful. :-)

B - wasn't that performance by the Russians *gorgeous*?? Loved it!! I can totally see how that would inspire this.

Love it! :D

A) I'm glad you liked it! :)

B) It was fantastic! I was watching the performances live on tv and realized I was holding my breath during both of the Russian dances. So. Damn. Pretty. And their reactions afterwards? All the feels.

damn, this is gorgeous! lyrical is a great way of putting it - so evocative and poetic.
Loved Clint thinking about all the things about him and Natasha that he should be scared of, but isn't - because his fearlessness is probably the reason Nat fell in love with him in return.
And the imagery of 'ice in the heart' and comparing the bond between them to the ice-skate blades... and Natasha as a 'discarded champion' of Russia! I never thought of it that way before, but it's so apt.

You know, I didn't even realize I had linked the bond with skating blades until you pointed it out. Cool! Thanks for pointing it out. :) And yes, I think his ability to be clear-sighted - to see past the lies, to see the truth at a distance and up close - definitely has something to do with her love for him. Thank you very much; I'm glad you enjoyed it!

That's bloody wonderful.

Thank you. :)

Beautiful prose and lovely observations. Loved it!

Thank you! I'm glad you liked it. :)

Who cares what I intended I just enable ;) And oh my heart am I glad to have enabled this. This is gorgeous. I LOVE the metaphors and imagery you have throughout this, and holding it all togther, the ice, dancing, sharp blades and edges, balancing on that edge, Natasha revealed to Clint (clear ice, not hidden under snow), taking her hand (like another move in the dance, partners), the past, and Natasha as a 'discarded champion' (that's perfect, just YES and THANK YOU :D

See, when you start off by talking about enabling, I expect a completely different icon. But this one is PERFECT. You are most welcome; a short fic is the least that I could offer you in return for all the encouragement you've given me!

Oh dear, I guess I use a certain icon rather a lot ;D