He had asked her and her answer wasn't unexpected, so he didn't feel either much relief or disappointment. Maybe Natasha could do what he couldn't, maybe she could sort her thoughts in a way that would help them make this decision, without the panic and helplessness that blocked his own mind from getting a grip on this.
"Okay."
Clint gently pulled her hand closer and pressed his lips to her knuckles for a long moment. He was there, always, as long as she kept that in mind, he could go for a few hours without worrying his head off.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me."
For a split second he had considered going on that run he longed for, but as long as Natasha physically didn't feel right, he didn't like the idea of leaving her alone. Even if he took his phone with him... On the top of a volcano, busy inhaling sulfur, he was of no use to her when she needed help.
He brought the plates into the kitchen and took a second to change into the pair of track pants he had brought for exactly this purpose and went down to the cellar then, armed with two bottles of water and towels. The fitness station was as clean as could be, Angelina was as thorough as always. Just the hinges needed help from the bottle of grease from his working table, before he could get started.
He finally collected his weapons while he was on it, just thinking shortly about working on that damn arrow head once more, but he knew, he'd just end up trying to shoot it. He had no idea what he needed right now, but falling into another depression because he couldn't handle his weapon anymore, probably wasn't on top of that list.
Stretching, pressing and lifting it was then, which was more than anything a good indicator about how he felt and how badly he needed distraction. There was hardly anything Clint hated more than working out. Today he didn't even mind that.
He tried to start low, he really did, knowing he wasn't doing himself any favor in pulling stupid stunts. But the harmless weights and exercises just didn't cut it. Only when the movements went form boring to strain and sweat began to soak his shirt, the thoughts in his head finally began to shut up. There was a comforting burn pulsating from his shoulders all the way down already, and when he started working that damn bench with his legs like it had personally offended him in some way, blissful empty shades of red settled in his brain.
He didn't stop to drink or catch his breath, he didn't pause, he merely sat up in between to adjust to a higher setting. It wasn't the empty headspace he enjoyed about handling his bow but it was enough.
Maybe he could work himself into complete exhaustion after all, all without booze or running through the summer heat. Everything was better right now than the memory of that damn ultrasound picture and knowing that this was most probably the only thing he would ever know about his own child.
no subject
"Okay."
Clint gently pulled her hand closer and pressed his lips to her knuckles for a long moment. He was there, always, as long as she kept that in mind, he could go for a few hours without worrying his head off.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me."
For a split second he had considered going on that run he longed for, but as long as Natasha physically didn't feel right, he didn't like the idea of leaving her alone. Even if he took his phone with him... On the top of a volcano, busy inhaling sulfur, he was of no use to her when she needed help.
He brought the plates into the kitchen and took a second to change into the pair of track pants he had brought for exactly this purpose and went down to the cellar then, armed with two bottles of water and towels. The fitness station was as clean as could be, Angelina was as thorough as always. Just the hinges needed help from the bottle of grease from his working table, before he could get started.
He finally collected his weapons while he was on it, just thinking shortly about working on that damn arrow head once more, but he knew, he'd just end up trying to shoot it. He had no idea what he needed right now, but falling into another depression because he couldn't handle his weapon anymore, probably wasn't on top of that list.
Stretching, pressing and lifting it was then, which was more than anything a good indicator about how he felt and how badly he needed distraction. There was hardly anything Clint hated more than working out. Today he didn't even mind that.
He tried to start low, he really did, knowing he wasn't doing himself any favor in pulling stupid stunts. But the harmless weights and exercises just didn't cut it. Only when the movements went form boring to strain and sweat began to soak his shirt, the thoughts in his head finally began to shut up. There was a comforting burn pulsating from his shoulders all the way down already, and when he started working that damn bench with his legs like it had personally offended him in some way, blissful empty shades of red settled in his brain.
He didn't stop to drink or catch his breath, he didn't pause, he merely sat up in between to adjust to a higher setting. It wasn't the empty headspace he enjoyed about handling his bow but it was enough.
Maybe he could work himself into complete exhaustion after all, all without booze or running through the summer heat. Everything was better right now than the memory of that damn ultrasound picture and knowing that this was most probably the only thing he would ever know about his own child.