"That's really all I need to know then", he answered, just the slightest quiver in his voice.
No, he certainly didn't plan to ever be in a fight like before New York with her again. Even he couldn't be silly enough to get himself into such a situation twice. But it was good to know that she was ready to do what was necessary, always, if it should come to it. If there were still days when he couldn't trust himself, he could always trust her to do the right thing. Like a right measured jab in the ribs before he could hurt her unwillingly in a nightmare.
Their activities before and the heavy talk had worn him out more than he had thought, as it turned out. He could feel his mind go blank just seconds after he had closed his eyes, the final relaxation settling in with Natasha snuggling close to him and his fears cast away for the moment. This time he didn't fight it.
********
It turned out he had worried more than necessary. It was one of the suckers that made his nights miserable since New York, like expected, but none that mad him a danger to his bed partner. It was indeed the cold one.
He didn't fight anyone in that particular one. He stood perfectly still with his arms high, leaning against the wall of a store room, and waited. The metal vibrated under his ice cold hands with the familiar noise of the quinjet engine he had installed in this plane. Nothing but a spare time ego activity. Very useful though, if you had to get a bunch of soldiers from the US overseas unseen and as quick as possible.
The co-pilot had picked up quickly enough on his instructions, when Clint had been called away from the cockpit to see the Master. But he could still feel every single uneasy bump of turbulences, a loveless hand wielding a sensitive wheel with the disinterest of a paid soldier.
It was something to concentrate on, if nothing else. Counting the miles they were going and the routes they were changing to fly under official radars, while his body froze from the inside. More and more, with every assault, every touch and especially every hissed word. It didn't help trying to hide his thoughts. The light spread from the deadly alien steel pressed neatly against his throat to keep his head immobile, filling every last part of his conscience that was still willing and able to fight. The voice of winter kept on whispering to him, sweet, promising and eternal. His body numbed along with his mind, unable to feel what he would on the next day swallow away with pills, channeled and missiled into that one remaining emotion of hate. Revenge.
Soon he would not be a slave any longer, the voice promised. Soon he would have what he had always wanted. Claim what was his, no longer afraid of any consequences.
And while he sank to the floor, rolling into his side with his teeth chattering violently... The taste of sickness and blood in his mouth, from his tongue that he couldn't remember to have bitten... He found it was true. It was so much easier not to feel.
Only the salt blinding his vision just as much as the familiar blue glow, remained of his resistance.
He found himself still tensed up tightly on his sight when the blue finally disappeared, unable to move more than pulling the blanket even tighter around his shoulders. Jesus fucking Christ, for the next generator failure he would install a goddamn wood stove in his living room.
"Nat?"
He heard his own tired whisper before he could stop himself and called himself weak and ridiculous at once. If she was asleep, resting, he should be rather glad than giving that whole discussion from before a sequel, before even sunrise. Maybe he just needed to know she was there, as long as he was shaking too hard to even turn around.
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No, he certainly didn't plan to ever be in a fight like before New York with her again. Even he couldn't be silly enough to get himself into such a situation twice.
But it was good to know that she was ready to do what was necessary, always, if it should come to it. If there were still days when he couldn't trust himself, he could always trust her to do the right thing.
Like a right measured jab in the ribs before he could hurt her unwillingly in a nightmare.
Their activities before and the heavy talk had worn him out more than he had thought, as it turned out. He could feel his mind go blank just seconds after he had closed his eyes, the final relaxation settling in with Natasha snuggling close to him and his fears cast away for the moment. This time he didn't fight it.
********
It turned out he had worried more than necessary. It was one of the suckers that made his nights miserable since New York, like expected, but none that mad him a danger to his bed partner. It was indeed the cold one.
He didn't fight anyone in that particular one. He stood perfectly still with his arms high, leaning against the wall of a store room, and waited. The metal vibrated under his ice cold hands with the familiar noise of the quinjet engine he had installed in this plane. Nothing but a spare time ego activity. Very useful though, if you had to get a bunch of soldiers from the US overseas unseen and as quick as possible.
The co-pilot had picked up quickly enough on his instructions, when Clint had been called away from the cockpit to see the Master. But he could still feel every single uneasy bump of turbulences, a loveless hand wielding a sensitive wheel with the disinterest of a paid soldier.
It was something to concentrate on, if nothing else. Counting the miles they were going and the routes they were changing to fly under official radars, while his body froze from the inside. More and more, with every assault, every touch and especially every hissed word.
It didn't help trying to hide his thoughts. The light spread from the deadly alien steel pressed neatly against his throat to keep his head immobile, filling every last part of his conscience that was still willing and able to fight. The voice of winter kept on whispering to him, sweet, promising and eternal.
His body numbed along with his mind, unable to feel what he would on the next day swallow away with pills, channeled and missiled into that one remaining emotion of hate. Revenge.
Soon he would not be a slave any longer, the voice promised. Soon he would have what he had always wanted. Claim what was his, no longer afraid of any consequences.
And while he sank to the floor, rolling into his side with his teeth chattering violently... The taste of sickness and blood in his mouth, from his tongue that he couldn't remember to have bitten... He found it was true. It was so much easier not to feel.
Only the salt blinding his vision just as much as the familiar blue glow, remained of his resistance.
He found himself still tensed up tightly on his sight when the blue finally disappeared, unable to move more than pulling the blanket even tighter around his shoulders. Jesus fucking Christ, for the next generator failure he would install a goddamn wood stove in his living room.
"Nat?"
He heard his own tired whisper before he could stop himself and called himself weak and ridiculous at once. If she was asleep, resting, he should be rather glad than giving that whole discussion from before a sequel, before even sunrise.
Maybe he just needed to know she was there, as long as he was shaking too hard to even turn around.