Natasha immediately stilled her hand when Clint jumped at the touch.  She had been quiet, deadly silent, but he should have still known she was there.  He hadn’t. 

She expected him to close up, to sit up and try to hide his emotions, to shy away from her touch, so she was grateful when he took her hand instead.  They couldn’t shut each other out, they had to be there for one another, even if only in body, in shallow touches and hollow words.

For a long moment silence reigned and neither of them moved, like a portrait of grief painted on a tattered canvas, so when Clint finally spoke it was Natasha’s turn to flinch.  9am, less than 24 hours from now.

Just a consultation, she reminded herself.  It would feel invasive, he would have to thoroughly examine her, but the procedure would be another few days yet, at least.  She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or upset at that thought.  Part of her just wanted to get it over and done with right now while another part, a smaller part, wanted to put it off.

Without a word Natasha climbed onto the couch behind Clint, molding her body along the curve he created, pressing herself against his back.  She didn’t know if such a touch would be welcome right now but she had to try. 

Burying her face against the back of his neck she tried to concentrate on her breathing, on his warmth, but she couldn’t ignore the nagging voice that was getting louder in her head.  Yesterday he hadn’t wanted to be a father, but now faced with this, with the reality that he could be, she realised she hadn’t offered him the same courtesy that he had.  She hadn’t asked him if he wanted the baby.

She still couldn’t find the words to do so.  She wasn’t sure what she would do if he said yes.  It was easier not knowing.