Seeing her like this, in a mess, with her eyes red from crying, cowering on the floor, always broke Clint's heart, but in a way it had never been as bad as today. For a moment he felt like turning around and running after all, simply because he didn't even know how to stand himself right now, leave alone be there for her. But he didn't show it and he didn't run. He had never run when Natasha needed him. As long as she was not telling him to go, he wouldn't.
But his hands were shaking badly when he went down on his knees next to tub and just stayed there, helplessly, with his arms crossed on the edge and his eyes not only burning from the too hot steam filling the room. Her skin was reddened, too red, and he took a second to regulate the temperature a notch down, before he just stared at her, with one hand tightly clutched into his hair.
That she was really crying, still was, was so much worse than when she had yelled at him.
The throwing up part was over, but she was pale, much too pale, and all he wanted right now was pull her in his arms, wrap her in a blanket and hold her until things would be alright again. Only this time it wouldn't be that easy.
"I hate this." Starting by how much his voice trembled. This was all too fucking fucked up. "I hate what this made of me and that I hurt you. I wish I could just go back to normal and wipe it all out. I wish I could deal with this like you do. I thought I could. You know, the first few weeks... after were actually pretty good."
And suddenly he was telling her the one occasion he had never told anyone, the one thing he had kept to himself, something he hadn't wanted to burden her with. Maybe he should have. Maybe things hadn't gone downhill so fast. At least... maybe she would have understood. Now all he could do was try to explain why he felt the way he did about himself.
"The whitecoats had all these nice words and explanations and the Council didn't order to execute me and all. Thought I was doing pretty well. We were nearly finished dismantling the Helicarrier, just a few people left, and in Washington there was a nice little timeout waiting for me, for training, recovering and all. Soon it would be the two of us in the field again, against the rest of the world. I was doing good. Then I came from a late construction shift and just wanted to crash. I didn't even look up when these two guys joined me in the elevator. Knew them, we were on four tours together shortly before New Mexico. That was before I killed one of these guy's brother during New York. Stood right by the turbine when it blew up."
His voice had gone flat, completely emotionless, so not at all what he had expected if he was ever to tell this to anyone. Maybe he had spent enough months thinking, screaming, punching and crying about all this to be drained of all emotional energy.
"I went out of that elevator with two broken ribs, a new fracture in my nose, three cuts that I could hardly stitch myself and I've been pissing blood for two weeks. But that didn't hurt that much, you know. It was the pain in this one man's eyes that broke me. S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me a home when I had nothing, and I let all these people down. And whenever I think I'm over it, when you tell me how you feel about me, when they write down another evaluation telling me how good I'm doing... Then I see this guy's face on my mind and I'm right back to the start. I feel like I'm not making any progress at all. I'm... not like you. I'm not strong, Nat."
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But his hands were shaking badly when he went down on his knees next to tub and just stayed there, helplessly, with his arms crossed on the edge and his eyes not only burning from the too hot steam filling the room. Her skin was reddened, too red, and he took a second to regulate the temperature a notch down, before he just stared at her, with one hand tightly clutched into his hair.
That she was really crying, still was, was so much worse than when she had yelled at him.
The throwing up part was over, but she was pale, much too pale, and all he wanted right now was pull her in his arms, wrap her in a blanket and hold her until things would be alright again. Only this time it wouldn't be that easy.
"I hate this." Starting by how much his voice trembled. This was all too fucking fucked up. "I hate what this made of me and that I hurt you. I wish I could just go back to normal and wipe it all out. I wish I could deal with this like you do. I thought I could. You know, the first few weeks... after were actually pretty good."
And suddenly he was telling her the one occasion he had never told anyone, the one thing he had kept to himself, something he hadn't wanted to burden her with. Maybe he should have. Maybe things hadn't gone downhill so fast. At least... maybe she would have understood. Now all he could do was try to explain why he felt the way he did about himself.
"The whitecoats had all these nice words and explanations and the Council didn't order to execute me and all. Thought I was doing pretty well. We were nearly finished dismantling the Helicarrier, just a few people left, and in Washington there was a nice little timeout waiting for me, for training, recovering and all. Soon it would be the two of us in the field again, against the rest of the world. I was doing good. Then I came from a late construction shift and just wanted to crash. I didn't even look up when these two guys joined me in the elevator. Knew them, we were on four tours together shortly before New Mexico. That was before I killed one of these guy's brother during New York. Stood right by the turbine when it blew up."
His voice had gone flat, completely emotionless, so not at all what he had expected if he was ever to tell this to anyone. Maybe he had spent enough months thinking, screaming, punching and crying about all this to be drained of all emotional energy.
"I went out of that elevator with two broken ribs, a new fracture in my nose, three cuts that I could hardly stitch myself and I've been pissing blood for two weeks. But that didn't hurt that much, you know. It was the pain in this one man's eyes that broke me. S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me a home when I had nothing, and I let all these people down. And whenever I think I'm over it, when you tell me how you feel about me, when they write down another evaluation telling me how good I'm doing... Then I see this guy's face on my mind and I'm right back to the start. I feel like I'm not making any progress at all. I'm... not like you. I'm not strong, Nat."