The silence was heavy, painful, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to break it. She had to let him digest what she said, had to give him time to deal with it and form his own reaction. She couldn’t risk influencing that reaction, couldn’t make him feel he had to comfort her or lie to her to make her feel better. It was her body, but this was still very much a part of him too.
What was he thinking? She wished she could read him, but all she could see was shock and fear, two very understandable reactions. This was never supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to be possible, so they had never really talked about it beyond both of them agreeing that they didn’t want children.
That should settle it right there, the next step; that should make it easy. Neither of them wanted a family, and it was highly unlikely she would carry to term as it was, so why would she try? Yet somehow the thought of an abortion made her stomach flop. She thought of Rose, of that tiny person that had not lived long enough to take her first breath. She had wanted that baby then, had wanted her so bad, but that was a long time ago and Natasha was a different person now.
Why was he still not saying anything? She wasn’t sick, she wasn’t dying, she was merely pregnant, and that could be easily fixed as well, but Clint looked anything but relieved. She wanted to say his name but the word caught in her throat and she couldn’t breathe, so when he finally pulled her into his shaky embrace her breath came out in a painful gasp. She slipped her arms around his back and held him tightly as she buried her face against his shoulder, glad for the break from his gaze.
“Five weeks,” she answered, turning her head so her voice wouldn’t be muffled against him. “Must have been when I returned from Alaska.” They had had one of those heated reunions that lasted all night and involved many different positions. “I’m sorry, Clint,” she suddenly burst out. “I thought we were safe, I swear. You read my file, you know.”
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Date: 2014-06-08 11:05 pm (UTC)From:What was he thinking? She wished she could read him, but all she could see was shock and fear, two very understandable reactions. This was never supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to be possible, so they had never really talked about it beyond both of them agreeing that they didn’t want children.
That should settle it right there, the next step; that should make it easy. Neither of them wanted a family, and it was highly unlikely she would carry to term as it was, so why would she try? Yet somehow the thought of an abortion made her stomach flop. She thought of Rose, of that tiny person that had not lived long enough to take her first breath. She had wanted that baby then, had wanted her so bad, but that was a long time ago and Natasha was a different person now.
Why was he still not saying anything? She wasn’t sick, she wasn’t dying, she was merely pregnant, and that could be easily fixed as well, but Clint looked anything but relieved. She wanted to say his name but the word caught in her throat and she couldn’t breathe, so when he finally pulled her into his shaky embrace her breath came out in a painful gasp. She slipped her arms around his back and held him tightly as she buried her face against his shoulder, glad for the break from his gaze.
“Five weeks,” she answered, turning her head so her voice wouldn’t be muffled against him. “Must have been when I returned from Alaska.” They had had one of those heated reunions that lasted all night and involved many different positions. “I’m sorry, Clint,” she suddenly burst out. “I thought we were safe, I swear. You read my file, you know.”