Natasha didn’t dream, not really, or at least nothing that she could truly identify or remember. There were flashes; faces, colours, sounds, but nothing solid, nothing she could grasp. Memories, darkness, pain, pleasure. Somewhere amidst it all she subconsciously recognized Clint’s touch and everything seemed to settle, to clear.
In her dream she looked down to find him kissing her swollen belly, clearly many months into the pregnancy. His expression was one of complete infatuation and adoration. Already he loved this baby, this little being they had made together, against all odds. Would she love it too? Would she allow herself to love it, to care so much for something so fragile and helpless and dependent upon her?
He kissed her stomach again, and right then was when she felt that first stab of pain wrenching through her gut. She screamed and clutched her stomach, then she was falling, somehow slipping through Clint’s fingers as he tried to catch her...
Natasha woke with a start, her stomach churning, and she barely had time to roll over and grab the bucket she had had the foresight to put beside the bed before they’d gone out to supper last night.
no subject
In her dream she looked down to find him kissing her swollen belly, clearly many months into the pregnancy. His expression was one of complete infatuation and adoration. Already he loved this baby, this little being they had made together, against all odds. Would she love it too? Would she allow herself to love it, to care so much for something so fragile and helpless and dependent upon her?
He kissed her stomach again, and right then was when she felt that first stab of pain wrenching through her gut. She screamed and clutched her stomach, then she was falling, somehow slipping through Clint’s fingers as he tried to catch her...
Natasha woke with a start, her stomach churning, and she barely had time to roll over and grab the bucket she had had the foresight to put beside the bed before they’d gone out to supper last night.