Water, right. Clint couldn't remember much of the drive but he was still pretty good with things he was told to do. So he followed Natasha in the house and closed the door behind them, not even wondering anymore that she took their little visitor with her. Well, at least Liho was clean by now.
What was left in that one bottle was indeed disgustingly warm, so he stored it in the fridge and got himself a new one. It was one of the last, so he got a new pack from the store room and refilled the fridge. They would have to go for a few new packs again, he thought dully.
With the new, unopened bottle held against his temple he tried to fight what already felt like a killer headache, without much success. He drank slowly because brain freeze wouldn't make that much better but eventually he got the bottle empty and felt at least a little clearer. The lingering panic from the car ride was still crawling under his skin but he fought it back with pure will power.
Better to concentrate on getting something edible for Natasha on a plate. Already reaching for the oranges, Clint remembered her reaction to sour fruit yesterday and cut a banana and a few plums into a bowl instead, drowning both in a good deal of plain yogurt, cereals and honey. Sweet and crunchy stuff was okay, right? He had no idea and probably should have asked her, but his ability to speech had gone on holiday again. Also, it was obvious she wanted to be alone.
He took the bowl with him to the sofa and left it on the table while he crouched in the corner himself, with his legs hanging over the side rest. It was a nice spot to hide his face in the sofa corner, close his eyes for a while and try to come up with a plan. His brain was an asshole as usual. It insisted on showing him the memory of Natasha in that damn white gown today, so small, so helpless, so scared looking.
And the damn scanner on her belly, the doctor scanning this... the... the fetus inside, the baby. Maybe he should have looked at that screen after all. It would have made it easier if Natasha changed her mind, after the news they had got today. It also would have made it hell if she still wanted to stop this madness. It would hurt even more if she didn't and then something happened to that... to their baby...
His fingertips started to hurt from how hard he clutched that damn sofa edge, and that tightness in his chest was back. He had no plan, he had nothing he could tell Natasha, not this time. He couldn't even think about all this without feeling like screaming. This wasn't supposed to happen, this hadn't been in the books for them. He had just wanted to make her happy and to be happy with her, just a little piece of a nice normal life like other people had it.
Other people have kids all the time, you know. I heard that's a thing.
Great, on top of everything now he had a bad Tony Stark imitation in his head. Unfortunately knocking his forehead against the cushioning didn't help get rid of it. Not hard enough for that. Maybe he should open a bottle of whiskey after all.
no subject
What was left in that one bottle was indeed disgustingly warm, so he stored it in the fridge and got himself a new one. It was one of the last, so he got a new pack from the store room and refilled the fridge. They would have to go for a few new packs again, he thought dully.
With the new, unopened bottle held against his temple he tried to fight what already felt like a killer headache, without much success. He drank slowly because brain freeze wouldn't make that much better but eventually he got the bottle empty and felt at least a little clearer. The lingering panic from the car ride was still crawling under his skin but he fought it back with pure will power.
Better to concentrate on getting something edible for Natasha on a plate. Already reaching for the oranges, Clint remembered her reaction to sour fruit yesterday and cut a banana and a few plums into a bowl instead, drowning both in a good deal of plain yogurt, cereals and honey. Sweet and crunchy stuff was okay, right? He had no idea and probably should have asked her, but his ability to speech had gone on holiday again. Also, it was obvious she wanted to be alone.
He took the bowl with him to the sofa and left it on the table while he crouched in the corner himself, with his legs hanging over the side rest. It was a nice spot to hide his face in the sofa corner, close his eyes for a while and try to come up with a plan. His brain was an asshole as usual. It insisted on showing him the memory of Natasha in that damn white gown today, so small, so helpless, so scared looking.
And the damn scanner on her belly, the doctor scanning this... the... the fetus inside, the baby. Maybe he should have looked at that screen after all. It would have made it easier if Natasha changed her mind, after the news they had got today. It also would have made it hell if she still wanted to stop this madness. It would hurt even more if she didn't and then something happened to that... to their baby...
His fingertips started to hurt from how hard he clutched that damn sofa edge, and that tightness in his chest was back. He had no plan, he had nothing he could tell Natasha, not this time. He couldn't even think about all this without feeling like screaming. This wasn't supposed to happen, this hadn't been in the books for them. He had just wanted to make her happy and to be happy with her, just a little piece of a nice normal life like other people had it.
Other people have kids all the time, you know. I heard that's a thing.
Great, on top of everything now he had a bad Tony Stark imitation in his head. Unfortunately knocking his forehead against the cushioning didn't help get rid of it. Not hard enough for that. Maybe he should open a bottle of whiskey after all.