“There is,” Natasha tells him softly, looking up to meet the burn of his gaze. Oh, it makes her flawed, real in his arms - here, she isn’t bulletproof. The opposite, in fact. “You could stay here. Be safe. Forget about me - have a wife, kids.” She wants it for him so badly, the happiness she knows her deserves. Yet at the same time, she knows she would kill to keep him with her, wants no one’s hands on him but hers for as long as they live.
She curls closer, stroking her own fingers through his hair. “He won’t. They’ve never trusted me, not like you do,” she answers, pressing her mouth to whatever skin she can touch. She’s never allowed herself to cross this line, not for a moment, but she needs the reassurance of the somehow familiar taste of his skin lingering on her lips.
“Clint,” she says again, little more than a whisper, but it’s an admission of sorts. She strokes down over his face, through his hair, and she knows every single inch of that expressive face. “I can’t ask you to do this for me. You…. do you ever regret it? Saving me?”
Clint was quiet, holding her, feeling her, his hands running over her back now that he had stopped clinging on to her, one of his hands still in the dark red locks, buried deep within them, softly playing with it. His touch is soft, yet he isn’t the kind of guy to be like this.
Only she could make him be like that. Only Natasha made him weak, made him soft and gentle. He couldn’t, wouldn’t be with anyone else but her. He only wanted her, for as long as he’d breathe and he knew that. This closeness was killing him and helping him out of everything at the same time.
Her fingers on his face made him sigh contently, looking down at her, in her eyes, those deep eyes that made him want her so much more. Not on a physical level, not on a sexual one, but on one that danced on souls.
“Natasha…”
His words got stuck in his throat as she asked him this and his eyebrows narrowed again, he pulled her to him, holding her even closer now, pressing her against his chest.
“Natasha…”, he whispered in her hair, swallowing shortly then.
“I don’t want… wife or kids… Unless I have it with you..”, he finally admitted, not letting her stop him from talking.
“I will never, not once in my life regret the decision to save you. And as long as I’m breathing, I will protect you, if with words or with my skills. And If I have to give Fury my word, he’ll trust me. He maybe doesn’t trust you, but he trusts me. But if you need me elsewhere, if you want to run..”, he said, lifting up her gaze with one of his fingers under her chin, getting lost in the warmth of her eyes.
“Then I’ll go with you.”
Natasha curves instinctively against Clint’s touch, still breathtakingly aware that he knows exactly how she needs to be held. She allows him to press her against his chest, fingers barely grazing against the firm muscle, and the stronger scent that she could identify amongst thousands as his lingering.
“I can’t give you children,” she tells him, a quiet, shameful admission. She should never have kept it from him, but there’s only one other person at SHIELD who knows. “What they did to me… I can’t have children.”
His confession steals the breath from her, and she simply looks back into his eyes and tries to keep herself in the moment. Oh god. She can’t do this, she can’t take him from what he knows, the system he still trusts in. “Clint, please,” she says, and she doesn’t know what she’s pleading for now. All she knows is that she’d live the rest of her life more soundly if he was by her side. She trusts in Clint in a way she hasn’t done since she prayed to a long forsaken god as a child.
“You saved my life,” she tells him, softer than she’s comfortable with. “So many times, Clint. Now? I’m saving yours. Stay here. Talk to Fury, yes - but if you can’t convince him to take your word… Let me go alone.” She hates every single word that escapes her mouth, the weakness that’s audible in every syllable, but she has to save him. She loves him, but the debt comes first. She must repay him before she succumbs to the final weakness of love.
bannerandbarton reblogged this from inheritorofmemories and added:
Clint looks at her, he’s not that big of a mind, really, but he understands a lot. And so he understands what she’s...
inheritorofmemories reblogged this from bannerandbarton and added:
Natasha rests her hands on his chest, fingers twitching slightly with the need to make him understand - well, that and...