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≫ーーー▶
Natalia didn’t eat without prompting. It was one of the first things Clint had noticed when she’d defected to SHIELD, but in all honestly, there’d been so much going on, the detail had escaped contemplation. Now that he was thinking about it, he genuinely could not think of a time where he’d seen the assassin eating something that Clint hadn’t set in front of her. Sure, she technically picked her own meals when they went to the cafeteria, but even then, she only went to the cafeteria when he insisted they did. He brought it up to Coulson later that week, and his handler confirmed the fact.
Phil squeezed his shoulder, a gesture that should have been reassuring, but only sent Clint spiralling further into his thoughts. It wasn’t just Natalia’s lack of instinct when it came to meal times that was bothering him now. It was such a simple thing, that shoulder squeeze, a calming gesture that made Clint feel sick to his stomach. When was the last time anyone had comforted Natalia? Had there ever been someone there for her in that way? He knew that the Red Room was vicious, knew that she’d been forced to kill any of the girls who’d fallen behind, but… had there been someone there? Some who cared? Clint highly doubted it. Maybe that was why she didn’t eat, maybe no one had ever cared enough to make sure she’d eaten her fill, or that it was totally normal to just eat when she was hungry.
He’d ask her about it later, the food thing, that is. He figured the rest she would tell him when she felt like it. Currently, they were sitting at his tiny dining table, Clint wolfing down pasta while Natalia pushed her portion around the plate. Training had been brutal that afternoon, and Natalia had taken a nasty knock to the face courtesy of Rumlow. She’d knocked the agent out cold in return, which had been enough to land her a three-day ban from the training rooms. Fury was rather strict when it came to what was and wasn’t acceptable training protocols. Once they’d returned to his quarters, Natalia had started one of her many stretching routines, completely ignoring Clint’s questions about what she wanted for dinner. He’d finally settled on pasta, but they’d been sitting at the table for fifteen minutes and she hadn’t taken so much as a single bite.
“I didn’t poison it, ya know,” He prodded, knocking his knee against hers under the table.
“I am not hungry.” Natalia responded, her voice hollow. Clint knew damn well that that was a lie; they’d skipped lunch and spent seven hours training, there was no way in hell she wasn’t ravenous. She pushed back from the table, stalking silently to the door. “Goodnight, Agent Barton.”
Clint let his forehead connect with the table. Clearly, this was going to be a difficult topic to broach.
»—⊳ »—⊳ »—⊳
The next morning, Clint found Natalia in her apartment, doing some sort of warm-up routine in the kitchen. He watched silently for a few minutes as she folded herself in half, one hand resting lightly on the countertop. When it was clear she was just wrapping up, Clint addressed her. “Thought you might want to join me for breakfast, Doreen made-”
Natalia turned to face him, dark circles hollowing out her eyes. “I am not hungry.” Without another word, she returned to her room, the lock clicking shut behind her.
»—⊳ »—⊳ »—⊳
Maria found him during lunch the day before Natalia’s training room ban was lifted. “Where’s your other half?” She questioned, her tone light. From the look on her face, Clint knew this wasn’t just a friendly chat.
“In her room,” Clint replied honestly around a mouthful of food, “Said she wasn’t hungry.”
Maria hummed quietly, “What did you do?” There wasn’t much heart to the accusation, but it still stung. Clint had been trying to get Natalia to join him for days, but she’d basically barricaded herself in her room, refusing to come out unless it was to train.
“Invited her to breakfast,” he shrugged, “She hasn’t spoken to me since. Been two days.”
Maria swatted him upside the head, her hand striking so fast he didn’t have time to dodge. “Get up.” Without waiting to see if he’d obeyed, Maria began stalking across the cafeteria. Clint followed her all the way to Fury’s office, only hesitating for a second outside the door. Whatever this was, Clint had a feeling it wasn’t going to be fun.
»—⊳ »—⊳ »—⊳
Director Fury was seated at his desk, Coulson and Maria hovering behind him, but what really surprised Clint was Natalia. She was perched on the edge of the couch, her back so straight someone could have told him there was steel-rod in place of her spine and he probably would have believed them. An untouched sandwich sat on the coffee table in front of her, but Natalia kept her eyes trained on the floor, refusing to acknowledge its- or anyone else’s- presence.
“Agent Barton,” Fury started, his voice sending a familiar chill through Clint’s body. Every time he was in the director’s office, he always spent the duration feeling like that dumb kid he’d been when Phil had first recruited him. “Have you read Trainee Romanov’s file?”
Clint shook his head. He’d been waiting for Natalia to tell him the details herself, if and when she felt ready.
“Have you read any of the Red Room files?” Fury asked next, and Clint again responded in the negative. The only information he had on the Red Room had been in the mission report Coulon had handed him when he’d been sent to kill Natalia. Truthfully, there wasn’t much information to be gained in that file, it’d mostly been blurry photographs, kills attributed to the Black Widow, and a throwaway paragraph about the Red Room’s brutality. Once he’d recruited her, Coulson had given him a stack of files on both Natalia and the Red Room, but they’d been sitting untouched in the corner of his closet since the day he’d received them.
Coulson groaned, lightly squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Agent Barton, did it not occur to you that the information in those files might be important?”
Clint shrugged, “Just figured Natalia would tell me what I needed to know when she was ready.” At this, Maria audibly snorted and Fury shot the agent a look that could have curdled milk.
“You were given those files because I deemed the information immediately relevant,” the director spat, and Clint let his gaze fall to the floor.
“Trainee Romanov,” Phil started, and Clint saw Natalia’s gaze snap up to meet their handler’s. “When was your last meal?”
“Three days and four hours ago.” Natalia stated without hesitation, without even the slightest hint that she knew how utterly fucked that was.
“Return to your quarters.” Fury directed, and Natalia left without a second thought. “Agent Barton, you are to return to your quarters as well, and I want those files read by end-of-day tomorrow. Am I understood?”
Clint nodded, feeling like they were failing to acknowledge the most important revelation of the meeting. As he turned to leave, Fury spoke again, “Get her to eat something, Barton. She refused the sandwich Maria offered, and I will not have her returning to training without eating at least two meals. Fix her.” Clint could only nod in response.
»—⊳ »—⊳ »—⊳
When Clint made it back to his quarters, he was surprised to find Natalia sitting on the couch. In front of her were the files he’d hidden in the closet, the ones detailing her life, and the ones describing the Red Room. She didn’t look up when he entered, simply continuing to thumb through the folder in her hands.
“Hey,” Clint said softly, not wanting to startle her. Natalia didn’t even blink. “Those are classified, you know.”
That got her attention. Natalia looked at him over the top of the folder, and it was all Clint could do to keep his face blank. The circles under her eyes were so dark he couldn’t imagine she’d slept at all for days, and her skin was pale and covered in a sheer layer of sweat, at odds with the goosebumps covering her arms. It was a wonder she’d been able to walk here from the director’s office at all. “They are about me,” Natalia said with a shrug, her voice quiet.
Clint allowed himself ten seconds to absorb all of the information in front of him. “What do you want for dinner?”
Natalia blinked at him, long and slow, before returning to the files. “I am not hungry.”
That was what broke him. Her voice was so frail, so faint, and yet, she was still… lying. Clint did the first thing he thought of. He grabbed a small trinket off of the TV stand and hurled it at the opposite wall, mostly hoping to startle her out of whatever weird trance state she was currently in. “Cut the crap, Natalia.”
Her eyes widened slightly behind the folder, but she refused to meet his gaze.
“Look. This is SHIELD, shit’s different here.” Clint ran a hand through his hair, trying to regain control of his emotions. “You don’t gotta pretend you’re not hungry. You can just eat.”
Natalia stared at him for a long minute, and Clint could almost hear the gears turning in her brain as she tried to reconcile the information against her programming. “Failure earns no rewards.” She finally said, and then it clicked for Clint. Really, truly, clicked.
Three days, four hours. She hadn’t eaten since before her sparring match against Rumlow. Since she’d been hit in the face. She was, this was… “Is this… a punishment?” Clint asked slowly, sinking onto the couch cushion next to hers. Natalia placed the folder back on the coffee table, her gaze refusing to meet his.
“Punishment,” Natalia repeated back to him, the word sounding unfamiliar. “It is not a punishment. It is a reward. I failed, and thus, the reward was not earned.”
“Natalia,” Clint breathed, “That’s, that’s insane.”
Natalia stared at him in confusion, as if she hadn’t just said one of the most batshit crazy things Clint had ever heard. He’d lost meals at the circus before, been punished by going to bed hungry, but a reward? “Eating isn’t. It's not a reward, Natalia. Everyone needs to eat,” he sputtered. Clint practically ran to the fridge, throwing it open and gathering an assortment of snack foods and vegetables before returning to the living room. With his foot, Clint swept the files off of the table and set about arranging the snacks. Natalia remained in her spot on the couch, eyes staring steadfastly at the wall. Clint sat next to her again, gently taking one of her pale, clammy hands in his.
“Look, I get it. This is a new thing for you. But I promise, Natalia, no one is going to punish you if you eat, even if you think you haven’t earned a meal.”
Her green eyes turned to his then, so empty, and yet, Clint could see the desperation in them. “I am…” Natalia hesitated, reading the warning in Clint’s expression. “I am hungry.”
“Then let’s eat.” Clint started tearing into packaging, and soon enough, Natalia was munching on carrot sticks, occasionally looking around as if expecting Director Fury to jump out of a closet and punish her. The longer she ate, the more she relaxed, and soon enough, Natalia was curled up on the couch, dozing peacefully as Clint finally set about reading those damn files.
»—⊳ »—⊳ »—⊳
Natalia slept for six hours while Clint read, and when she finally woke up, it was to the case of his hearing aids closing. Clint motioned for her to wait, and put one back in. “Sorry,” he offered, but she waved it off.
Natalia regarded him quietly for a few minutes, and Clint was just about to start talking when she finally opened her mouth, breaking the nervous silence. “I have a question.”
“Shoot,” Clint smirked, though he was pretty sure his heart rate spiked a little.
“Why do you ask what I want for dinner?” Clint blinked, surprised. He’d been expecting a question about what he’d learned from the files, but this? This had him off-balance and he wasn’t quite sure how to reply.
“I… want to know.” He eventually replied, not sure where she was going with this.
“But why?” The question was so earnest that Clint felt his heart breaking just a little more for the assassin in front of him.
“Have you, has no one-” Clint trailed off at the almost imperceptible shake of her head.
“Surely you have read enough of these files to learn that choice was not a- Not an option in the Red Room.” She stared at her hands, blinking slowly before admitting, “I have- I have never had a choice before. Not until you asked me to join SHIELD.”
Clint stared at her in horror. “That was- that was hardly a choice, Nat. I told you that you could join SHIELD, or I could finish my mission.” Guilt clambered up Clint’s throat, he was so disgusted with himself. He had provided her with the first choice she’d ever had to make in her life, and he’d offered her… a choice between SHIELD and death.
“It was still a choice.” Natalia shrugged, not even acknowledging the nickname he’d used. “And I am glad you offered it.”
Tears welled up in Clint’s eyes before he could stop them, and Natalia reached out to grab his hand. “I am glad you offered it.” She repeated, and before she could stop him, Clint had drawn her into a tight embrace.
“I call challenge,” Clint said without thinking, “From now on, I want you to make at least one choice a day. I don’t care if it’s as simple as choosing between two different tac suits, but I want you to make your own choices.”
Natalia buried her face in his shoulder, quiet sobs shaking her body. Clint’s heart shattered even more.
≫ーーー▶
“You pull your punches,” Clint stated as soon as he and Natalia found an empty table in the corner of the cafeteria. He saw the flicker of rage cross her face before the mask slammed back down and smiled to himself.
“I do not,” Natalia spat, the words harsh in her accent. Clint knew better than anyone that Natalia had mastered several American accents, and he was almost certain she only used the Russian accent to unsettle the agents around her. (He had to admit it was effective)
“Look, I'm just saying, I remember our first fight, and watching you now? You're pulling your punches, Red.” Clint could see the unspoken challenge in her eyes, practically daring him to continue. Usually, he'd back down, not wanting to push Natalia too hard while she was still finding her footing at SHIELD. Today? He wanted to know just how much of her skills etc she was hiding from Fury and the Council.
“In fact…” Clint trailed off, trying to gauge her reaction, “I call challenge.”
“Bozhe moi,” Natalia grumbled, rolling her eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw several agents stiffen at the Russian. It was so for show. “What is this, challenge?”
Clint smirked, letting a touch of the Archer's viciousness show through. “You and me, in a training room after lunch. A no-holds-barred fight. Just the two of us, no cameras,” he added as an afterthought.
Natalia sat silently for a few minutes, pushing her salad around in its bowl. Eventually she looked up, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes that Clint hadn't seen before. “Deal.”
≫ーーー▶
Clint’s entire body ached. They’d only just returned to base after Natalia’s first recon mission with SHIELD, and every muscle in his body was protesting the return to action. All Clint wanted was a hot shower, a heated blanket and some quality sleep, but it seemed like Natalia had other plans. The moment they walked into Clint’s on-base living quarters- which Natalia spent more time in than she did in her own- she’d made a beeline for the kitchen and started deep cleaning the oven of all things.
Ignoring her antics for now, Clint proceeded into the tiny bathroom and began the arduous process of scrubbing all of the dust, grime and blood off of his body. His discarded tac suit was left crumpled in a corner of the bedroom, and Clint half-heartedly promised himself that he’d move it to the hamper in the morning. Finally clean and dressed in his favourite sweatpants, CLint returned to the living room to find Natalia glaring at him while she stretched.
“You are very messy,” she stated plainly, still moving through various stretches. She was still wearing her tac suit, Clint noted, although the various detachable holsters had been removed and placed in a neat pile on the coffee table. Clint hovered by the bedroom door, not sure if she expected him to respond. After a few silent moments, he moved to the kitchen, intent on grabbing a quick snack, only to discover that the fridge was completely empty.
Clint spun back towards the living room, jumping when he found Natalia standing right behind him. “Your food was spoiled,” Natalia said, reaching around him to grab her water bottle off of the counter.
Clint huffed. Sure, most of it was nearing or slightly past its expiry date, but, “It was still edible.”
Natalia rolled her eyes and started heading to his room. Clint followed, grabbing her arm before she could pick up his discarded suit. “Stop, just, Natalia. Stop doing shit.”
Natalia spun out of his grasp, glaring at him, but made no further move towards his laundry. “There is still much to do,” she argued. Clint ran a hand through his hair, thinking.
“I call challenge,” he declared. Natalia’s eyes flashed, but she waited for him to continue. Clint hesitated, so much of what Natalia did was a direct result of the training she’d received in the Red Room, and while he understood that, he also needed her to just chill out a bit. If this was going to be a regular thing after missions, Clint thought he might just go insane. “I want you to try relaxing.”
“It is not the time for relaxation,” Natalia protested, her expression one of genuine confusion. “I have to-”
Clint stopped her, resting a hand on her shoulder. Natalia stiffened at the contact, but made no move to pull away, which Clint considered major progress in its own right. “You don’t have to do anything. No one will be angry if you leave some dirty laundry on the floor or if you don’t deep clean the oven right after a mission. Hell, I’d be surprised if anyone even checked on us in the next day or so.” Clint squeezed her shoulder ever so slightly. “I promise, relaxing is exactly what Director Fury expects us to be doing right now.”
And there it was, a little glimmer of past traumas flashing across Natalia’s face. “I-”
“Natalia,” Clint spoke softly, “Just come sit down.”
Begrudgingly, Natalia allowed Clint to steer her back to the living room, her quiet protests entirely ignored.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to stick a frozen pizza in the oven since someone threw out everything in the fridge…” Natalia rolled her eyes, but refrained from arguing with him about expiry dates. “You get to pick a movie from the collection, we’ll watch it, eat our weight in pizza and then we’re going to bed. No more cleaning, stretching or training until we’re fed and rested.”
≫ーーー▶
“I’m just saying-” Clint started, dodging the punch Natasha had aimed at his spleen, “You need to find something you like doing.”
Natasha countered his roundhouse kick with her signature takedown, hoping to her feet before Clint had even processed that he was on the ground. “I already have fun things to do, Barton.”
Clint rolled his eyes, accepting her offered hand. “I mean like, outside of work and training, Tasha. New challenge, actually. Can you name three things you like doing outside of work?”
Natasha glared, but replied curtly, “I watch movies with you, I sleep, and I…” Her voice faltered, and her glare hardened. Clint suddenly pitied anyone who had come across Nat in the field. That expression alone could kill a target stone dead and she wouldn’t even have to lift a finger. “Fuck off.”
Clint couldn’t hide the smirk that crossed his face- not that he wanted to, anyway. “That’s exactly my point. And sleeping doesn’t count as an activity, Natasha. Especially considering that you get up at the ass-crack of dawn every morning. You obviously don’t like to sleep that much if you’re getting up that early every damn day.”
If Fury hadn’t spoken with Natasha that very morning about her penchant for hitting agents outside of the sparring ring, Clint was ninety-percent certain she would have decked him right then and there. Of course, Clint knew damn well why she was up that early, but he had to admit that he got a kick out of teasing her.
“Look, I just think, you need to find something to do outside of training. And outside of movie night.” Clint shrugged, wiping the sweat of his forehead with a towel. When he turned back to face her, Natasha was already gone.
»—⊳ »—⊳ »—⊳
Natasha finally answered his question some three weeks later. They were sitting on his couch, catching up on the latest episode of Dog Cops when she spoke. “I like dancing.” Her voice was so soft Clint could barely hear it, and when he glanced over at her, Natasha refused to meet his eyes. He waited several minutes for her to continue, but Natasha kept staring at the floor.
He knew from reading the files that she’d been trained as a ballerina, but Clint had kind of figured that it was just another thing that she’d been forced to do. “What kind of dancing?” He finally probed, unable to stand the silence for a second longer.
Natasha finally raised her head and when she met his gaze, the openness in her expression nearly split his heart in two. “All of it. When the music starts, everything goes quiet, and I feel like I can finally breathe again.” Natasha went back to staring at the floor, but she was still smiling.
“Dance with me?” Clint asked, and her head snapped back up. “I can’t promise not to step on your feet, but-”
Natasha grabbed his hands, practically dragging him off the couch. Taking a minute to disconnect his phone from his hearing aids, Clint selected a song from their playlist. They must have danced for hours, and- true to his word- Clint stepped on Natasha’s feet about twenty times. If it hadn’t been for Phil’s call to action, Clint thought he could have stayed there, dancing with Natasha forever.
≫ーーー▶
Natasha lingered silently outside the door to their apartment, not ready to face Clint after last night’s argument. He’d tried to call challenge on her while they were having sex- a fucking stupid idea that she hadn’t let him get away with- but they’d ended up in a shouting match at three am as a result. Natasha had fled back to her rooms, but in the stupid morning light, she felt guilty. Which was, of course, ridiculous. She had nothing to feel bad for. Barton was the one who’d made the dumbass comment, and her reaction had been… okay, so maybe kneeing him in the face hadn’t been the best response, she could admit that much. Still, if he hadn’t insisted on calling his fucking challenge, they wouldn’t be in this mess. Deciding against apologising- which was also a stupid idea- Natasha stalked off to the cafeteria in search of coffee.
Maria pulled her aside the second Natasha had a coffee in hand, and practically dragged her all the way to Coulson’s office, where she was greeted by her handler and… Clint, sporting a shiny black eye. Natasha smirked, momentarily proud of her handiwork before recalling that, perhaps, giving your partner a black eye in the middle of the night- while trying to keep certain benefits of your relationship a secret from everyone else- wasn’t her best idea. Too late to cover her smirk, Natasha played it off. “Looking good, Agent Barton.”
Coulson’s hand slapped the desk. “You’re joking. You’re actually joking. Agent Romanov, would you care to explain why your partner showed up in the cafeteria sporting a black eye that wasn’t there when we were at the bar last night?”
“He fell on the way home?” Natasha shrugged, hoping Clint had gone with a cover story. When Coulson’s eyebrows shot up, Natasha knew she’d answered correctly.
“And it has nothing to do with the argument Agent Hill heard last night?” Coulson deadpanned, and Natasha schooled her expression into one of cool disinterest.
“We were watching a movie. It got a little heated, but it was all in fun.” Clint spouted, obviously not trusting Natasha to correctly guess the rest of his cover story. Coulson huffed, but dismissed them. They were going to hear about this again later, that much Natasha knew for certain.
≫ーーー▶
Four years to the day after Natasha’s defection to SHIELD, Clint found himself pacing outside their bedroom door. Nat had been sent on a solo-mission while he’d been on a short leave, and he’d only found out about it when he got a call from Coulson, who insisted that they needed him in med-bay. Upon arriving, he found Phil, Maria and May attempting to restrain Natasha while she fought to escape the room. She was bleeding profusely from the stomach, and despite their assurances that they only wanted to fix her torn stitches, Natasha was doing her damndest to escape the doctors. Her eyes were wild when they skipped past Clint’s, and she landed a solid hit to Maria’s face before Clint had time to react.
Slowly entering the room, Clint raised his hands in surrender before turning to the two remaining agents. “Everyone out.”
“Barton…” Phil cautioned, but Clint shook his head.
“Cut the cameras if you haven’t already, and scrub the footage. This doesn’t leave the room.” Turning back to Natasha, Clint found her backed into a corner, glaring at him through a thick curtain of hair.
“мой паук,” Clint started, taking a seat on the floor opposite to her. Clint had never been more grateful for Nat’s Russian lessons than he was when her eyes snapped to his, some of the wild expression fading as he spoke. “что произошло? Tash?”
“Ловушка,” She whispered, and Clint recognised the fear in her eyes, a level of fear he hadn't seen since he’d stood over her all those years ago with a gun to her temple.
“What trap?” Clint questioned, continuing in Russian. Confident she wasn’t going to attack him, Clint scooted closer to her. “What was a trap?”
“The mission.” Natasha grabbed his hands, and Clint realised she was shaking. “They want me gone.”
Clint started cataloguing injuries; obviously the wound on her stomach was major and really needed stitching, but aside from that, Clint only noted some scrapes and bruises scattered across her body. Pulling a hand free from her grasp, Clint started smoothing back her hair, subtly searching for any lumps and- there it was. A large knot had formed on the back of her skull, and Natasha flinched away from his touch. “My spider, who wants you gone?”
“They do,” Natasha gestured towards the window, where Clint could see Phil and May watching the exchange with twin expressions of concern. He waved for them to move away and was met with a firm shake of the head from Coulson. Obviously, they didn’t trust Nat very much right now. Which, on the one hand, Clint understood, but at the same time… She clearly wasn’t in her right mind, and he wasn’t sure how he could help her when she was so obviously terrified of their friends.
“Friends, Tasha, they’re our friends.” Natasha shook her head vehemently.
“It was a trap,” she insisted, desperation evident in her voice. Finally, Clint had an idea.
“Why don’t we go home? Home is safe.” Natasha considered his proposal for a few minutes before agreeing. Clint took that as a good sign, but there was still the matter of her pulled stitches to contend with. “Before we go, I need you to do something for me. Do you think you could do one thing for me first?”
Natasha shrugged, that edge of fear still evident in her gaze. “Just let me fix your stitches.”
It was the wrong thing to say. Natasha had him in a headlock before he could blink. Clint waved furiously at Coulson and May, wordlessly convincing them to let him continue to handle it, at least for the moment.
“I won’t go back,” Natasha hissed, sounding much more like the girl he’d met all those years ago. “I won’t.”
Clint nodded as much as her grip allowed, though the edges of his vision were beginning to blur. As quick as it had started, Natasha released him, backing away as far as the room allowed her too before burying her face in her knees.
“Tashy?” Clint whispered, “No one is making you go back. I won’t let them.”
“Then why was he there?” Natasha’s head snapped up, her expression suddenly one of rage. “It was a trap.”
It occurred to Clint then, that without the details of what she’d been doing, he was helpless when it came to fixing the problem. What was she doing? He signed to Coulson who immediately came to the door, sliding a file under the gap. In it, he found the mission briefing, photos of the engineer and a sheet that, in Natasha’s perfect script, roughly outlined what had occurred on the mission. It was obviously missing a good portion of the action, as it made no mention of their extraction, or the cause of Natasha’s wounds, but at least it was a start.
“Who was there?” Clint asked, feeling hopelessly lost.
“Зимний солдат,” Natasha murmured, which was absolutely no help. The second word was soldier, but the first one? Clint had no clue.
Clint patted a hand against the floor a few times to get her attention. Once she was looking at him, he signed, “What soldier?”
Winter Soldier, Natasha signed back, and Clint's heart stuttered. The Winter Soldier was a myth, a legend that came up during late night conversations. But if Natasha had seen him… If she had known him…
“He wasn’t there for you,” Clint stated, hoping she didn’t see right through the lie. Well, truth be told, Clint wasn’t sure he was lying, but he also didn’t know he wasn’t.
Natasha just stared at him blankly, and Clint made no further attempts to speak. After a while, he moved to sit next to her, and she buried her face in his shoulder. They sat there for hours, until it became obvious that they couldn’t put off treating her wound any longer. Only then, when Natasha was so dizzy from blood loss that she could no longer stand, did she allow Clint to stitch what was clearly a bullet wound. Only you, she insisted when Clint went to wave the doctors in. Clint stitched her up as best as he could, and, once she was finally calm enough, picked her up. Coulson protested the move, but it didn’t take more than a simple “Do you want a repeat of this?” to convince him to let Clint take Natasha to their apartment.
»—> »—> »—>
When Natasha woke up the next afternoon, Clint was hovering next to the bed. Once it was clear to him that she wasn’t going to attack, he perched on the edge nearest to her. “Welcome back.”
Natasha blinked, eyes narrowing against the harsh sunlight streaming in from a gap in the curtain. “Back from wh-” Natasha’s head dropped back onto the pillow, her eyes scrunching shut.
“I, uh, wouldn’t move much if I were you.” Clint was pretty sure she’d have smacked him for that if she wasn’t in so much pain.
“Concussion?”
“Big one.” Clint admitted, smoothing down her curls with his hand. “You’re on medical leave for two months. At least.”
Natasha groaned at that, but made no attempt to move. “Did I get shot?”
“Straight through the stomach. Soviet slug, no rifling.” Clint admitted, having just gotten the ballistics report from Coulson a few hours ago. Clint hesitated, unsure of how much Natasha remembered from the previous night. “Tash,”
“How bad is Maria’s nose?” Nat interrupted, confirming her memory as intact. Clint snorted.
“Let’s just say, she won’t be coming around here any time soon.” Clint said, “I’ll show you the photo May sent me when you can open your eyes again.”
»—> »—> »—>
One week later, Clint woke up at three in the morning to find Nat’s side of the bed empty. Groaning to himself, he threw on a pair of sweats and made the short journey out of the bedroom. He found her in the kitchen, moving through another ballet warm-up. “You know you’re not supposed to be training right now.”
Natasha flinched. “Couldn’t sleep. And honestly, this is just stretching, it doesn’t really-”
Clint pinned her with a glare, and Natasha quieted. “Come lay down.” Natasha allowed Clint to lead her back to their room, but hesitated when he went to lay down on his side.
“I can’t… I can’t sleep.” She admitted, plucking at a loose thread on her t-shirt. Clint leaned across the bed to grab her wrist, gently tugging her onto it.
“We don’t have to sleep.” Clint replied, trying to hold back the laugh at his accidental innuendo. “We can just talk…”
Clint trailed off, trying to gauge Nat’s reaction. He was expecting a glare, or something to acknowledge the fact that he hadn’t hid the laugh very well, but she just stared at him. Clint reached to smooth a strand of her hair and Natasha visibly flinched. No sooner had Clint dropped his hand back into his lap, Natasha burst into tears. Obviously, he’d noticed that she wasn’t sleeping, but as with so many other things in their relationship, he’d assumed Natasha would tell him when she was ready. Natasha buried her face in his shoulder, sobs wracking her body. Clint pulled her closer, holding her tightly until the sobs subsided.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” He whispered in her ear, and Tasha tapped her response against his back. “Do you wanna watch a movie?”
Again, Tasha tapped back a response in the negative. Clint sighed, not sure what to suggest next. Medical had given him very strict instructions for Nat’s healing, and as a result he was severely limited in the distractions he could offer. When he went to offer up another option, however, Natasha shushed him with a kiss, pulling back slightly before he had a chance to deepen it. “Just shut up for a little bit?” There was no bite to her words, and Clint could barely cover the smile that threatened to break across his face when she continued, “I call challenge.”