Natasha wonders at just how he’s helped to change her. She remembers shying away from his touch the first time he’d done so, the hand she’d taken simply to save her own life. Who’d have ever thought then that the same woman would be curled against him, mapping out his features with her fingers as though she’ll cease to exist without such knowledge.
Clint’s always been the one to make her real - to ground her in what is, rather than what might be. He’s her anchor, the debt which can never fully be erased; but she’d stay without such a pull nevertheless.
As she looks back at him, into his eyes rather than the eerie blue of the tesseract, she smiles slightly. He’s the lull between the storm and the calm, that irrepressible moment that balances forever between chaos and safety.
He’s home, whether she likes it or not - the first home she’s ever really had. So she’ll stay, of course she’ll stay. For as long as he’ll have her, she’s his… possibly long after the fact as well.
“Go to sleep,” she tells him, her own tone recovering some of its usual assurance. “You have a hard fight ahead of you. Tougher than anything we’ve faced in the field.” And it is, in a way. This is a battle fought with politics and words, when they’re both more accustomed to action.
Clint was still holding on to her, afraid to let go, afraid she might be gone as soon as he stopped holding her. His hands were on her back, just holding her close to him, one of his hands softly playing with her hair.
He didn’t know why, or how, but he knew that he needed her. He needed her more than the air to breathe. He was afraid to close his eyes, knowing that she might be gone when he woke. But she promised to stay, she promised.
Their eyes met, he could see his owneyes in hers, their colours mixing up to the colour of a sea after a great storm. A closeness that hey were both not used to. A closeness that felt so warm, so welcoming and so right to him, that he would never be able to word it.
She was warm, she brought warmth and sun and positivity in the dark, cold hole others had left him in.She was the boat saving him from drowning in his thoughts and the one ray of sun that hit him in the darkest of times. Her voice was softly ringing in his ear, it needed a while for him to process what she said, before he blinked to get himself out of his thoughts.
“Tasha..”, he whispered, looking back at her again, had he looked away for a brief second. “You’re staying, right?”, he asked, biting the inside of his lower lip to keep calm, his nose softly touching hers as he looked into her eyes.He wanted to kiss her, he always wanted to, but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t until she would allow it to him. Because there was nothing worse than broken trust, a broken friendship. He knew that he meant something to her, of course. But she never said those words and he didn’t, either.
All he did was waiting for her, waiting on a reaction that would make him see that it was okay for him to kiss her. Touching those lips must feel like heaven. Like flying through clouds to reach the sun or sailing to the most beautiful island. He was sure of it, but he wouldn’t say it.
“I promised I’d stay,” Natasha tells him, fingers smoothing over the familiar features - she should stop touching, but she won’t. This night is theirs alone. The rest of the world can wait to claim what is left come morning.
She knows every line, every scar, every tiny quirk of the muscle beneath the skin, and yet it still comforts her to be able to feel it real and warm beneath her touch.
“And I don’t break promises. Not to you.”
One day, it won’t be true. She’s disappointed enough people to know that, and been disappointed in turn, but for now she has meant every word she ever said to him.
Drawing back just a little, just to refocus him in her sight, she sees that look - the one they’ve both been pretending she doesn’t see for longer than she cares to remember. This is the point where she should turn away. It would be easy enough to do, and done delicately enough it wouldn’t seem to be anything at all.
Instead, she smiles softly, letting her fingers finally trace his lips slowly, almost tentative by her standards. If this is her last night with him, she doesn’t want to leave without knowing what might have been.
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...