Maybe not quite what you had in mind, but the best I could come up with on short notice ...



" Are you okay?"

"Whaddya mean, am I okay."

Natasha carefully brushes a handful of rubble off Clint's torn and filthy tac vest. He almost recoils at her touch.

"And you can cut the mother hen routine, too. It's a bit scary, actually."

Her hand pauses over his chest.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm more comfortable when you try to kill me."

She scans his face, trying to find a lie, but all she sees is Clint.

“Still wallowing? Want someone to hit you to make you feel better?”

He frowns, and it’s clear that he’s actually thinking about the answer. Coming from Mr. In-the-Moment, that’s almost evolutionary; in what direction remains to be seen.

"Nah. Remember that time in Medellin?"

How could she not? She'd found him two hours after he'd been taken by the cartel, and the goons hadn't wasted a minute. Seeing what had been done to him, not knowing whether there was still life under all that blood, had been the first time she'd realized that ...

"Yes. I wish I didn't."

"Well, this ... Loki ... this wasn’t like that. No cigarette burns and bike chains, for starters. No time to think about what'd be coming next, whether I’d break, whether I’d see you again, hoping I wouldn’t because that might mean they had you, too. Took me months to get that shit out of my head.“

He shakes his head as if to clear out the memory before it gets the chance to take root.

“And this time?”

Maybe she shouldn’t press, but if there’s another thing she remembers from Medellin, it’s this: That he didn’t stop being silent and withdrawn one moment, exploding the next … not Clint … until he’d started talking.

“This time ... There weren’t any thoughts. None that were mine, anyway. Everything was his. My brain was a fucking blank, with just bits of me trying to fight a way out, like a hamster trying to run out from under a wet blanket."

For all his protest at being coddled, he doesn’t seem to mind being helped out of his tac vest. His back is one large bruise, still pale but bound to be a spectacular purple tomorrow. He could sure use a shower (as can she) but seeing him like this, dirt, scars and all, she can’t help but bury her face in the crook of his neck and breathing him in. Clint responds by pulling her close and putting his chin on top of her head, no doubt to stare off into the distance somewhere.

“You were right when you said that wasn’t me who did all that shit. That was someone else and he’s fading. Not my memories. Yes, I feel like crap about the things he made me do. But the thoughts themselves? They don’t burn.”

He repays the favour and starts pulling down the zippers of her suit, peeling it off her shoulders with sure, strong fingers. (No one who thinks leather cat suits are cool has ever tried to take one off when it’s damp with sweat and blood, and every muscle in your body screams for a hot jacuzzi.)

“Holy shit, Tash. That’s one hell of bruise on your hip. Where’d you get that?”

She scrunches her lips a little as she tries to remember – the fight with him on that catwalk? jump off that Chitauri sled? The memory comes back in a roar of green, and she shudders involuntarily. Clint must have felt something, and circles her waist with his arms, pulling her closer again. The feeling of skin on skin is oddly calming, and Natasha puts her cheek on his chest, feeling for the beat of his heart.

“The Hulk,” she whispers. “On the carrier. Before Banner managed to … sort of control him.” Saying the names out loud almost is a bit like shining a light into a dark corner – maybe there was a ghost there, but now there’s nothing. And so she adds, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life. I even forgot the first rule of running, don’t look back.”

She steps back out of his embrace as he starts to chuckle.

“It’s really been a shit few days, hasn’t it?”

It has, it absolutely has. She grins back at him.

“Yeah. But, like Cap said, we won.”

“That we did.”

Clint seems to be becoming aware of something else, something … He lifts his shooting arm, inhales, and grimaces.

“Race you to the shower.”


Edited 2014-09-13 08:33 pm (UTC)

Awwwwww!!!!! This was lovely and painful and perfect. And I love the end lol.

Thank you! :-)

Awwwww!

Love this!

Ah, this is fabulous. Love, love, love it!

:) Thanks!

Such a little gem, so many good bits in this, but these are my favorites:

She scans his face, trying to find a lie, but all she sees is Clint. -- And well, if there's someone who'd know the difference... :D

He could sure use a shower (as can she) but seeing him like this, dirt, scars and all, she can’t help but bury her face in the crook of his neck and breathing him in. -- OMG SWOON

Thank you! *hugs*