They started with the 'uncomfortable' part as the guy liked to call it when Natasha returned, more vulnerable than ever looking in that thin white gown. Part of Clint wanted to join her when the doc moved over to that chair, hold her hand or something, but that would have been really awkward. The situation was shitty as it was. So he stayed on that stretcher and mostly stared at his hands while the doc did his work and scribbled down a few things from time to time.
Only when Tomasini sent Natasha back, telling her, she could put on her pants and bra, he looked up, hesitating. Not sure if he was ready to see what was on the man's face after that first check.
The guy looked one shade even paler than before, and a frown had settled on his face, but Clint very well knew that didn't have to mean anything. He knew Natasha's file better than some S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors, the scars that were left from years of torture... The scars that were the reason why she had been told, she couldn't conceive again. The guy should at least understand part of that story now. Natasha obviously wouldn't have told that other doctor yesterday.
Part of him wanted to ask right away, but that wouldn't have been fair as long as Natasha wasn't in the room. Also, they weren't done yet.
And most importantly, he still wasn't sure, he even wanted to hear the answer. He had thought, the wait yesterday had been bad, but sitting around here now, not being able to do anything, not even hold Natasha close, while their fate was written down on these damn pages over there... It was probably only thanks to decades of archery patience and focus that he hadn't started running through the room yet. On his lower arms, there were faint red marks from his own nails though, and a few times he had to keep himself from tearing that damn paper cover on the stretcher to pieces.
He was relieved and even more terrified when the doc politely told him to move his ass so they could do the ultrasound next. That part he had been even more afraid of. He didn't know if he could bring himself to look at that damn monitor. And he didn't know if he could make himself look away. Watching that damn thing, seeing... seeing this was definitely the most stupid idea of the century, but he didn't trust his self control even the slightest bit.
Which was why he was very glad when the doctor made sure to turn the monitor away from both of them, after Natasha had laid down. After a moment of stupid standing around, not knowing where to put his hands, Clint just knelt down on the front end of the stretcher and reached for Natasha's hand.
"Nearly done", he murmured and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. He wasn't surprised at all to find it tremble and too cold and made it his job to warm it softly between his gently caressing hands while his gaze was sternly fixed on her face.
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Only when Tomasini sent Natasha back, telling her, she could put on her pants and bra, he looked up, hesitating. Not sure if he was ready to see what was on the man's face after that first check.
The guy looked one shade even paler than before, and a frown had settled on his face, but Clint very well knew that didn't have to mean anything. He knew Natasha's file better than some S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors, the scars that were left from years of torture... The scars that were the reason why she had been told, she couldn't conceive again. The guy should at least understand part of that story now. Natasha obviously wouldn't have told that other doctor yesterday.
Part of him wanted to ask right away, but that wouldn't have been fair as long as Natasha wasn't in the room. Also, they weren't done yet.
And most importantly, he still wasn't sure, he even wanted to hear the answer. He had thought, the wait yesterday had been bad, but sitting around here now, not being able to do anything, not even hold Natasha close, while their fate was written down on these damn pages over there... It was probably only thanks to decades of archery patience and focus that he hadn't started running through the room yet. On his lower arms, there were faint red marks from his own nails though, and a few times he had to keep himself from tearing that damn paper cover on the stretcher to pieces.
He was relieved and even more terrified when the doc politely told him to move his ass so they could do the ultrasound next. That part he had been even more afraid of. He didn't know if he could bring himself to look at that damn monitor. And he didn't know if he could make himself look away. Watching that damn thing, seeing... seeing this was definitely the most stupid idea of the century, but he didn't trust his self control even the slightest bit.
Which was why he was very glad when the doctor made sure to turn the monitor away from both of them, after Natasha had laid down. After a moment of stupid standing around, not knowing where to put his hands, Clint just knelt down on the front end of the stretcher and reached for Natasha's hand.
"Nearly done", he murmured and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. He wasn't surprised at all to find it tremble and too cold and made it his job to warm it softly between his gently caressing hands while his gaze was sternly fixed on her face.