It was her turn to talk and Clint let her. Even in the moments when he wanted to interrupt her, when the bad conscience wanted to take over and he wanted to assure her, he would never think such a thing of her.
Maybe it was better to busy himself with straightening out her hair while he listened, with probably too much of that foamy white stuff and the most carefulness he could give to not hurt her, not again. Just like he had already realized outside... How should she believe him how highly he thought of her, when he felt so much hate for himself at the same time?
By the time, her hair was tidily falling back over her shoulders in long wet waves and he turned the shower off, carefully wrapped a big towel around her shoulders so she wouldn't freeze, she had stopped talking. But her words lingered heavily on his mind. He could feel her watching him, knew that she waited for an answer and she deserved one. Maybe he needed it too, finally heading into the right direction. Into any direction, instead of lingering in this zone of illusion, resignation, hopelessness and nightmares, hoping things would just turn out to be alright as they always had.
Natasha's words, maybe harder and more cutting than she had ever talked to him, made him realize for the first time, how dangerous holding on to this childish hope really was. His life had been turned upside down, this wasn't something that would fix itself. Running from it, as it had always been his way, wouldn't help it either. And he couldn't run. Didn't want to run, not from her, from what they had.
He had told her, he had always been a fighter and that was true... But after Natasha had confessed to him this weekend and they were closer than ever... Maybe for the first time he had a real, solid and good reason for such stubbornness. Something he didn't want to lose, not only something he wanted to achieve because he wanted to be special.
But what did he do for it? Natasha kept on fighting for him, to the point of this exhaustion right now, he could hardly even watch, through tears, screaming and anger... And he went on nodding, smiling and going right back to the business of self-destruction as soon as she wasn't looking.
Had he really wondered just for a minute where this heavy crisis suddenly had come from?
"I'm really stupid with this, right?"
Only when he spoke up, he realized he had ended up with his forehead resting on his arms, leaning heavily on the edge of the tub, his thighs faintly throbbing from the long uncomfortable position. The last of water from the shower had dried, but strangely enough, his side of the greyish ceramic wall was still covered with drops that wouldn't stop running. He had a vague idea, they would probably taste of salt.
"Shit, Nat... I would never... You're the greatest person I know. You're making it better, all of it, ever since I know you..."
He started babbling again, when really he should be talking about himself. He wanted to. He tried several times, but then there came the point when his voice was just too choked to talk, and he didn't even care if she would see and hear him crying in a way he seldom - maybe never - had been able to let go in front of her.
There was just... nothing left. Where over the last year had settled all that anger, all the doubts, the disgust of what he had done and become, the hate... Suddenly there was a hole inside and he couldn't breathe right. He didn't get his hopes up that all these feelings were gone... What had been done, couldn't be undone. The guilt would always be there, it was just heavily numbed right now.
But maybe... just maybe, there was something else there too, that could help him let go of the blame at least. The only one to blame was out of his reach. Millions of light years away and even if the bastard was here, there hardly would have been a way to make him pay. On the other hand that asshole still had control over him, though, still made it to make his life a struggle everyday. Something felt seriously wrong in this picture. Unfortunately Clint had never been much of a painter, so he couldn't quite figure out how to redo it. Or even fill that sudden vacuum inside.
He couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear, that he would be magically healed. Not right now, at least. He could just repeat what she already knew and hope, it would be enough for her.
"I want to live, Nat. I want to try make up and be happy with whatever life is there for people like us. I want to be happy with you. I don't know what else to say."
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Maybe it was better to busy himself with straightening out her hair while he listened, with probably too much of that foamy white stuff and the most carefulness he could give to not hurt her, not again. Just like he had already realized outside... How should she believe him how highly he thought of her, when he felt so much hate for himself at the same time?
By the time, her hair was tidily falling back over her shoulders in long wet waves and he turned the shower off, carefully wrapped a big towel around her shoulders so she wouldn't freeze, she had stopped talking. But her words lingered heavily on his mind. He could feel her watching him, knew that she waited for an answer and she deserved one. Maybe he needed it too, finally heading into the right direction. Into any direction, instead of lingering in this zone of illusion, resignation, hopelessness and nightmares, hoping things would just turn out to be alright as they always had.
Natasha's words, maybe harder and more cutting than she had ever talked to him, made him realize for the first time, how dangerous holding on to this childish hope really was. His life had been turned upside down, this wasn't something that would fix itself. Running from it, as it had always been his way, wouldn't help it either. And he couldn't run. Didn't want to run, not from her, from what they had.
He had told her, he had always been a fighter and that was true... But after Natasha had confessed to him this weekend and they were closer than ever... Maybe for the first time he had a real, solid and good reason for such stubbornness. Something he didn't want to lose, not only something he wanted to achieve because he wanted to be special.
But what did he do for it? Natasha kept on fighting for him, to the point of this exhaustion right now, he could hardly even watch, through tears, screaming and anger... And he went on nodding, smiling and going right back to the business of self-destruction as soon as she wasn't looking.
Had he really wondered just for a minute where this heavy crisis suddenly had come from?
"I'm really stupid with this, right?"
Only when he spoke up, he realized he had ended up with his forehead resting on his arms, leaning heavily on the edge of the tub, his thighs faintly throbbing from the long uncomfortable position. The last of water from the shower had dried, but strangely enough, his side of the greyish ceramic wall was still covered with drops that wouldn't stop running. He had a vague idea, they would probably taste of salt.
"Shit, Nat... I would never... You're the greatest person I know. You're making it better, all of it, ever since I know you..."
He started babbling again, when really he should be talking about himself. He wanted to. He tried several times, but then there came the point when his voice was just too choked to talk, and he didn't even care if she would see and hear him crying in a way he seldom - maybe never - had been able to let go in front of her.
There was just... nothing left. Where over the last year had settled all that anger, all the doubts, the disgust of what he had done and become, the hate... Suddenly there was a hole inside and he couldn't breathe right. He didn't get his hopes up that all these feelings were gone... What had been done, couldn't be undone. The guilt would always be there, it was just heavily numbed right now.
But maybe... just maybe, there was something else there too, that could help him let go of the blame at least. The only one to blame was out of his reach. Millions of light years away and even if the bastard was here, there hardly would have been a way to make him pay. On the other hand that asshole still had control over him, though, still made it to make his life a struggle everyday. Something felt seriously wrong in this picture. Unfortunately Clint had never been much of a painter, so he couldn't quite figure out how to redo it. Or even fill that sudden vacuum inside.
He couldn't tell her what she wanted to hear, that he would be magically healed. Not right now, at least. He could just repeat what she already knew and hope, it would be enough for her.
"I want to live, Nat. I want to try make up and be happy with whatever life is there for people like us. I want to be happy with you. I don't know what else to say."