One of the best things of having Natasha as your partner was that she never pushed, never made him uncomfortable with things he didn't want to face at that moment, even if she didn't like it. Just one of the reasons why there was no one else whose company he enjoyed so much. Clint made sure to caress her arm shortly before he went back, letting her see that thankfulness, but hurried to get to the kitchen then. They were about to leave for another afternoon of fun, and he definitely didn't want to be the one stalling that.
His stomach nearly pulled one of these stunts that Natasha had to go through every morning recently when he peeled that orange. He forced himself to get down all of the slices anyway while he hacked the peel into tiny little pieces with the knife, just to give his hands something to do. He wasn't lying when he told Natasha, he wasn't hungry. His appetite was still caught somewhere between facing that they would be losing a child soon they hadn't even planned, and the new loop that they were actually planning it now.
He knew shit about psychology - the basic stuff you needed for all that spy shit only, really - but he supposed, his subconsciousness was trying to do some cleansing here. Which he was okay with, basically, as long as he didn't faint in the middle of the street.
He definitely wasn't okay with the fact that it seemed determined to dig out old ghosts for elimination as well. As if he didn't have enough of these yet, without dreaming of crying, disowned babies and dead cats every night.
Not disowned, Barton, don't be cute. Much too easy trackable. Hail to DNA databases. Disposed, erased. Still think, this is a good idea? Go back to your mission. You're looking for innocence in the wrong place here.
Clint cursed and drew his hand back quickly before the tip of the knife had done more than pierce a little through one of his callouses. He sucked the faint trail of blood away absent minded, tasting salt and left over juice, and got rid both of knife and the peels with a sigh. For escaping from his work for a while, he had an awful lot of inner conversations with Hill lately. Maybe he should call her about this bullshit after all, another footnote to his medical file or not. Monologising to his own cracked up mind became tedious and frustrating.
Well, at least he was awake enough now, even to remember these bottle of waters Natasha had asked for.
"I guess you better drive, if you feel up to it", he mumbled apologetically when he finally locked the door behind them.
no subject
His stomach nearly pulled one of these stunts that Natasha had to go through every morning recently when he peeled that orange. He forced himself to get down all of the slices anyway while he hacked the peel into tiny little pieces with the knife, just to give his hands something to do. He wasn't lying when he told Natasha, he wasn't hungry. His appetite was still caught somewhere between facing that they would be losing a child soon they hadn't even planned, and the new loop that they were actually planning it now.
He knew shit about psychology - the basic stuff you needed for all that spy shit only, really - but he supposed, his subconsciousness was trying to do some cleansing here. Which he was okay with, basically, as long as he didn't faint in the middle of the street.
He definitely wasn't okay with the fact that it seemed determined to dig out old ghosts for elimination as well. As if he didn't have enough of these yet, without dreaming of crying, disowned babies and dead cats every night.
Not disowned, Barton, don't be cute. Much too easy trackable. Hail to DNA databases. Disposed, erased. Still think, this is a good idea? Go back to your mission. You're looking for innocence in the wrong place here.
Clint cursed and drew his hand back quickly before the tip of the knife had done more than pierce a little through one of his callouses. He sucked the faint trail of blood away absent minded, tasting salt and left over juice, and got rid both of knife and the peels with a sigh. For escaping from his work for a while, he had an awful lot of inner conversations with Hill lately. Maybe he should call her about this bullshit after all, another footnote to his medical file or not. Monologising to his own cracked up mind became tedious and frustrating.
Well, at least he was awake enough now, even to remember these bottle of waters Natasha had asked for.
"I guess you better drive, if you feel up to it", he mumbled apologetically when he finally locked the door behind them.