The warm water helped a little, though Clint still preferred to keep his head slightly tilted to the left, that hurt the least. After two or three attempts he gave it up to soap himself up and just stood there under the hot spray, leaning against the wall with closed eyes.
He felt like shit but that was better than feeling even worse on the inside, he found. At least he had something else to focus on now than circling always the same question in his head like a broken record. Natasha would ask him again, sooner or later, he knew that, and he knew he had to answer her. But what if he still didn't know then? What if there would be only fear and pain through the next months?
And even if it did work out... Maybe they could somehow get this done, take time off like they had talked about it. And tell Fury to piss off if he didn't play along. If they needed help, Stark would probably be happy to build them a whole tower on their own, but...
That wasn't it. Clint was a train wreck but he had gotten that far in his life without crashing down over some bridge. He thought he could get Natasha and him through alone, even if they decided they wouldn't be alone anymore.
But he wasn't an idiot, at least not when he didn't decide to crash his body against a wall like today. He was very aware that a child needed more than money. It needed more than he was, it deserved more than he was. How was he supposed to help Natasha with this, when he had not an ounce of faith in himself?
Knowing this and thinking about how they would get rid of this were two completely different things, though. Just the thought made him want to puke his guts out at this point. How was he supposed to do, to watch this? This... this thing on that picture, it could be their baby. If it made it...
He winced a little when he leaned his head back to hold it under the spray but it helped, to clean his too hot, dazed head, his sticky hair, the old and new salt on his cheeks. Going in circles again, and it wouldn't stop, no matter how much time he spent in that damn shower. Natasha was crying, probably still, that thought finally got him to turn the shower off and awkwardly climb out of the tub to wrap a towel around his hips. He could help that at least. He was great as a shoulder to cry on.
"Hey."
He sat down next to her as carefully as he had climbed the stairs and made it mostly without grimacing. Only then he realized that he probably should have asked her if she wanted to eat or drink something. Oh well. Just the right punishment for his stupidity if he had to get up again.
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He felt like shit but that was better than feeling even worse on the inside, he found. At least he had something else to focus on now than circling always the same question in his head like a broken record. Natasha would ask him again, sooner or later, he knew that, and he knew he had to answer her. But what if he still didn't know then? What if there would be only fear and pain through the next months?
And even if it did work out... Maybe they could somehow get this done, take time off like they had talked about it. And tell Fury to piss off if he didn't play along. If they needed help, Stark would probably be happy to build them a whole tower on their own, but...
That wasn't it. Clint was a train wreck but he had gotten that far in his life without crashing down over some bridge. He thought he could get Natasha and him through alone, even if they decided they wouldn't be alone anymore.
But he wasn't an idiot, at least not when he didn't decide to crash his body against a wall like today. He was very aware that a child needed more than money. It needed more than he was, it deserved more than he was. How was he supposed to help Natasha with this, when he had not an ounce of faith in himself?
Knowing this and thinking about how they would get rid of this were two completely different things, though. Just the thought made him want to puke his guts out at this point. How was he supposed to do, to watch this? This... this thing on that picture, it could be their baby. If it made it...
He winced a little when he leaned his head back to hold it under the spray but it helped, to clean his too hot, dazed head, his sticky hair, the old and new salt on his cheeks. Going in circles again, and it wouldn't stop, no matter how much time he spent in that damn shower. Natasha was crying, probably still, that thought finally got him to turn the shower off and awkwardly climb out of the tub to wrap a towel around his hips. He could help that at least. He was great as a shoulder to cry on.
"Hey."
He sat down next to her as carefully as he had climbed the stairs and made it mostly without grimacing. Only then he realized that he probably should have asked her if she wanted to eat or drink something. Oh well. Just the right punishment for his stupidity if he had to get up again.
"You hungry?"