study_in_scarlet | Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

“All in good time,” Natasha replied before disappearing into the bedroom. She knew Clint was worried about her, that he could tell she was feeling off. She would have to try harder to hide it, and get some rest to kick whatever it was. Stress of the past few days, jetlag, change in diet; whatever it was it would pass, and she refused to let it get the better of her. A little relaxation tonight and she should be much better tomorrow.

Unpacking her things, it was tempting to put on one of the sexy little numbers she had packed just to tease Clint, but their teasing rarely stayed at just that, and she didn’t really have the energy for another round right now, so she placed them all carefully in the top drawer of the dresser, along with her more sensible underwear.

Music made the unpacking go quicker, but Natasha stopped for a moment when she realised it wasn’t just the CD playing that she was hearing. Leaving her task for the moment, she slipped out to the washroom to grab the dresses she had hung there before pausing in the doorway to the livingroom where Clint was unpacking.

Whatever he thought of his own voice, Natasha was always impressed on the rare occasions she had heard him sing. There was something about his voice that made her heart beat faster and her stomach flip like some teenage girl at a concert for some boyband or another.

For a long moment she just watched and listened, overly pleased with the knowledge that he was feeling carefree and content enough to let himself go.

Clint had heard Natasha pass by to the bathroom but thought, she was already busy back in the bedroom when he suddenly spotted her from the corner of his eyes, just about to close the now empty suitcase and throw it in the next corner. Eros Ramazotti and him had just come to the mutual agreement that Clint could do a pretty passable harmony part for his greatest hit, complete with a sexy swinging of his hips and a candle bearer substituting for a mic. For a moment he nearly choked on his own words... But Natasha at least didn't look she had come to throw something blunt at his head to make him shut up.

And really, she had caught him in more embarrassing situations.

The candle holder was placed back as discreetly as possible, with a rueful grin. But because they had just reached the bridge which happened to be his favorite part of the song, he just kept on going, pressing his hand to his chest like a bad extra in a cheap Shakespeare piece to make her laugh.

Natasha had definitely been enjoying the show, but when Clint caught sight of her the expression on his face was priceless an it took everything she had to hold back a laugh. Somehow she managed just a smirk, one eyebrow raising as if questioning his next move. She expected him to turn off the music and stutter out some sort of excuse, so when he actually played up his part instead, acting like the goofball only she knew he could be, she couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore.

She loved that he was willing to make a fool of himself for her, that he didn’t always have to be the tough guy, the macho man, like so many other men she knew. So many men were afraid of looking silly and got easily embarrassed, but Clint just rolled with it. She definitely counted it as one of his attractive qualities.

When Natasha laughed, it was hard not to join, so the last chorus wasn't all that professional anymore - not that it had been to begin with - but Clint held on to his part until the bitter end, even going down on one knee for his one-woman-audience in the end.

He might not really mind making a fool of himself for her (as far as some people were concerned, that could be his second name anyway, not that he minded), but his cheeks were decidedly too red for a little workout of his vocal cords when he finally got up again. Apparently, grog in the middle of the day wasn't good for his filters.

But Natasha was giggling and one day he would tell her how adorable that was, even if it would bring him a bruise or two. Still grinning, he passed her by to heave his luggage on the top of the cabinet in the bedroom and do the same for her. Sometimes a few inches of height more made life so much easier.

"Anything I can still help you with? Except for a encore?"

The whole performance became silly, with Clint admirably trying to finish despite trying not to laugh the whole time, and at the end Natasha draped the dresses over one arm and gave him a round of applause. He looked so embarrassed that she couldn’t help but feel a little bit herself for him, but it was still a memory she was happy to have.

Following him back into the bedroom, she hung the dresses up in the closet and stowed the last few items she’d had laid out on the bed away in in the dresser while he took care of the empty luggage.

“I think that will last me for a while,” she replied, looking around the room to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything before giving a satisfied nod. “You look like you could use some water, though.”

"True. I'm getting old. Should have seen me in my youth, giving whole concerts for the sofa and the floor lamp while working on my weapons. Two hours without breaking a sweat."

Clint let out a snort when he crashed on the sofa and emptied half of his glass in one go. With his legs comfortably stretched there was still enough room for Natasha to occupy the slightly shorter square part. The last thing he wanted to do was smothering her, though he certainly wouldn't mind if she wanted to cuddle by his side instead. The music was still on, but he had tuned it down to a soft background noise, very helpful to relax when he closed his eyes for a few seconds.

Something poked into his back under a pile of pillows, deeply enough stuck between cushions and arm rest to even have slipped Angelina's sharp sight. Mildly confused, Clint dug out a book that he couldn't place. Until he remembered that he had been through a short horror phase once. Usually he got enough horror in his everyday life to avoid that kind of stuff... Well, mostly. Natasha would surely confirm that an embarrassing part of his movie collection consisted of that stuff. And now he remembered that this guy, King, had kept him company pretty well during a few boring sleepless nights. And yes, it was undeniably his, the dog ear in the middle of the book proved it.

"Yep, I've been the perfect bachelor", he commented, dropping the pretty weathered looking book on the table.

“Such talent wasted on inanimate objects,” Natasha replied, shaking her head in mock sadness. “And now you just spend your energy in less solitary ways.”

Maybe he couldn’t sing for two hours straight anymore, but he certainly had enough stamina to keep her satisfied every night. And day. Sometimes both, and multiple times.

Back in the living room Natasha reclaimed her own water and took a long drink, eyeing Clint curiously as he shifted around before coming up with a well worn book from between the sofa cushions.

“So I see,” she said, rounding the coffee table and setting her glass back down before taking a seat on the sofa. “And now here I am, cramping your style.” Pulling his feet onto her lap, she snatched up the book and flipped idly through it to the page he had left marked, her eyes skimming over the words.

"Bit creepy", Clint warned her, leaning back with a most comfortable sigh. Yep, perfect to relax for a few hours. "Something about two old people not sleeping and seeing little bald doctors who cut people's life string or something. Oh, and they see everyone's aura and read their feelings in them. Awkward stuff, but if you haven't slept for five minutes in a row for a week or so, you actually believe that you can see anything."

He covered his eyes with arm and tried to recall how that whole encounter back then had ended. He remembered having to leave pretty quickly, give Turi the keys for the boat, telling him that he had no use for it anymore, then a chopper had picked him up right outside the city... And during one of these endless medical sessions lately, one whitecoat had remarked something about a scar on his back, located right in a blind angle so he hardly ever saw himself. Probably was a souvenir from these days.

But the details were pretty blurry. Had another agent taken over for him? Or had he taken care of all of these skunks? Guys that even the Mafia had wanted to see dead after they had found out they had been infiltrated? Maybe one of his victims had sent a brother, mother, fiancée on a revenge trip, wouldn't have been the first time...

His head started to throb from too digging too deep into this. He should just look up the file once they were back home, if he still wanted to then. Actually he kept record of his past missions pretty well, often looking up faces, details, strategies for training or research matters, but that one apparently had always slipped his mind, just like it did now, winding away like an eel before he could really touch it.

Maybe some things were better not remembered.

Natasha didn’t really like the sound of the story Clint was describing. She had faced enough real life horrors that reading about them or watching them were never her idea of a good time. A zombie or slasher film here and there she could handle, but any of these creepy psychological ones weren’t for her.

Setting the book aside, she slouched down in the seat slightly so she could rest her head on the back of the sofa, her hands idly rubbing Clint’s feet. Maybe she could find a few worn paperbacks at the market tomorrow. They they could lay around on the beach or in bed and wile away the minutes by reading aloud to each other. It was a childish idea, but she liked the simplicity of the image. A fantasy book, a good old-fashioned detective story, or maybe something in the romance genre for some fun.

Glancing over at Clint, his face half covered by his arm, Natasha studied the rise and fall of his chest for a moment before the frown on his lips drew her gaze. Slipping out from under his feet she crawled up beside him, squeezing in between him and the back of the couch, though winding up laying more on him than anything.

Clint heard Natasha put the book down without much surprise and wondered if he should tell her about his trail of thoughts, about how he seemed to remember so little about his actual mission in this country save for not sleeping much, but preferred to drop it then. Not a day for much talking about such stuff.

What she did there with her hands felt nice, and he felt himself relax a little. She was careful enough not to tickle, too, which was even more nice because he was pretty sure, he'd never hear the end of it if she found out just how ticklish he could be.

Then she was there, around him, over him, as if she had sensed his mind already starting to these damn dark places again, and he wrapped his arms around her thankfully, burying his face in her hair. She smelled faintly of salt and spice, sensations that soon enough revived the memories of the last hours that were so much better than long gone and forgotten stuff. He made sure, she was resting comfortably against him before he closed his eyes again and nestled back against the pillows, suddenly feeling tired.

"I keep on talking about myself today", he murmured. "You got a happy story for me, red? Something nice you've seen on one of your travels?"

When Clint wrapped his arms around her Natasha settled against him, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes with a content sigh. Her body fit along his so perfectly, and his steady heartbeat under her ear gave a comforting rhythm that seemed to compliment the soft music still playing in the background.

She thought about his question and ran possibilities over in her mind. She tried to recall some pleasant missions, but what she discovered was that all of her best memories involved Clint. Her favourite missions, what little downtime she had between them... in all the best ones he was always there. Well, almost.

“One time I was in Paris, before you caught up with me,” she began. “I had just met with a client and was supposed to be on my way to Greece, but I decided to catch a late flight. I found somewhere to sit near Notre Dame and there was an American couple taking pictures. One would take a picture of the other in front of the cathedral, then they would switch until the man approached me and asked in horrible French with a lot of gesturing with his camera if I would take a picture of the two of them. So I did, and no sooner had I handed them back their camera when three Chinese girls asked the same.” Turning her face in to bury against Clint’s chest, she took a deep breath and snuggled closer. “It was something so simple, but it made them all so happy. I ended up spending the rest of the afternoon there watching the people and taking photographs. I even offered to take them myself a time or two.”

"I'm sure, you take perfect pictures."

Clint pulled Natasha's hand to his lips without opening his eyes and left a kiss on every of her knuckles. He was always very thankful for her sharing her past with him, even if it was such a random seeming occasion. For her, for them, it wasn't. He knew how hard it was for her to feel and accept happiness, still, and back then, before her life had taking a turn for the better, it doubtlessly had been even harder. Such little glimpses into a life full of harmless smiles had probably made things a little easier from time to time, and that made the story special.

"You have the calmest hands of all the people I know. Well, except for me, of course."

He grinned, fully expecting a well-deserved jab in the ribs for the little teasing, but soon got serious again.

"And you definitely know a perfect moment when it comes up. Maybe we should take a few photos while we're here. You know. Just for us. To remember."

“I’m not sure. For all I know I was cropping off heads or missing the cathedral in the background, but I enjoyed it nonetheless,” she said. It had been a glimpse into the lives of normal, happy people, something she had had little understanding of at the time. Her time with Alexei had been the closest she had come, but they hadn’t been the smiling picture type. That day she had seen couples, friends and families, all just enjoying each other and trying to see as many tourist traps as possible, all completely ignorant of the horrible things in the world around them. She was one of those horrible things, and she had captured their souls for them on film before catching a plane and assassinating a rather prominent political figure in Greece. She had slipped him some slow acting poison and was safely in Poland before his body was discovered in his bed the next morning.

She didn’t say any of this, though, and she didn’t need to. Clint knew who she was, he knew the things she had done, and they didn’t matter to him. He knew why this particular memory was important to her, and she knew it meant something to him that she told him the story.

Smiling against his chest when he started kissing her fingers, she chuckled at his words but couldn’t get the expected jab to the ribs in in her current position, so instead she poked him in the leg with her big toe. When he mentioned taking photographs of them she lifted her head so she could look at him. “I don’t need a photograph to remember,” she said before smiling warmly. “But I would like that.”

Maybe they could find someone else willing to take her role and snap a few pictures of them together.

Clint yelped at that little attack of her sharp, strong toe and caught her foot quickly between his legs, holding her there just as playfully.

"Remind me to take that SIM card out of my phone later, then we can use the camera. Don't think I can stand up right now."

He yawned a little more and louder than necessary, but there was actually an important core to that remark... He wasn't in any mood at all right now to be available. Natasha would have to report to headquarters a few times and if someone really needed them, they would find them. Hell, Stark could be here in half an hour if some alien bullshit happened again. But unless that happened, he really saw no reason to answer to anyone right now.

"You know what time it is?"

He nuzzled her hair aside softly with his nose until his lips found her forehead and then laid back into the cushion with closed eyes again, but much more relaxed than before. His hand rested gently on her waist, light enough for her to get up anytime she needed more space.

"Time for a siesta. Just wake me up if I'm snoring too loud or something."

Natasha giggled when Clint pinned her foot between his legs, before she settled back against his chest and closed her eyes once more.

“You definitely can’t stand up right now,” she clarified, because she was comfortable and there was no way she was letting him up. She caught the importance behind his statement but didn’t comment on it. Natasha had her own ways of contacting headquarters at the designated times, and otherwise as far as S.H.I.E.L.D. was concerned the two of them were off the grid. Deep cover, no contact.

Clint’s yawn was far from inconspicuous, he might as well have just said ‘hint hint!’ along with it, but when he asked what time it was Natasha actually thought he wanted an answer. She wasn’t wearing a watch, and couldn’t see a clock without moving. Before she could try to answer, though, Clint answered himself and she grinned against him.

“All countries should adopt a mandatory siesta,” she said. She could definitely get used to this, and even with the sun laying brightly in the room she dropped off rather quickly into a peaceful nap.

...you help us, signore? ...sick, she needs..
...sending you there alone. ...no mission for Strike Team Delta. ...risk of emotional compromise...
...off the grid. Targets unclear. Minor involvement strongly assumed.
...help us, right? ...come to save us...
...very quiet now. ...make sure your little sister won't be crying, sweetheart.
She's not my sister, signore. I'm her mother.
...targets acquired. Report and confirm. ...wrap this up tonight...
Are you taking us home now?

For several long minutes, Clint was sure that what he heard was still the crying of a baby in his dream... Nothing that he could remember save for a few confusing scraps of conversation... But that high-pitched whining just wouldn't stop, even when he came around enough to feel the comforting presence of his partner still close around him, the soft smell of her hair in his nose, her arm around him.

Actually it didn't exactly sound like a human noise. More like one of these night concerts of his not-so-favorite furry neighbors. But it was just getting dark outside... And why was this single meowing so loud?

It also sounded faintly familiar.
Oh, great.

"You owe me for this, red", he murmured, still half asleep, when he finally couldn't stand the noise anymore and got up, carefully not to disturb Natasha in her rest.

He really had no idea what made him bring a bowl and the milk bottle instead of a gun when he slouched to the front door - except maybe Natasha's little smile earlier in the day - but it had been a good instinct. Indeed, it was that persistent little devil with the pitch black fur sitting on his door step again. screaming heartbreakingly this time. Apparently no squirrels or rats to catch lately. Little one looked even thinner and more pathetic than yesterday.

"One time, furball."

Still grumbling and blinking from sleep crusty eyes, Clint filled the bowl, shielding the half open door with his body before the unwanted visitor would try to get inside next. He dropped it in a corner of the porch between two flower trays so the other stray cats wouldn't spot it immediately. Probably only a matter of time anyway until word got around in the neighborhood and they would have the whole garden full of visitors.

Well, a good motivation for finally building that fence.

"Just this once", Clint reminded the kitten again, but little one was already very busy with his diner and didn't even look up.

Rolling his eyes, he made his way back inside, fully prepared to be teased and poked about going soft for the whole evening.

Edited 2014-03-24 08:24 (UTC)

When Natasha was alone she slept with her back to the wall, or flat on her back, with her face toward the door, and usually with a weapon handy. It was habit, something ingrained in her so many years ago, and one that wasn’t easy to get over. With Clint it was different, she was able to relax and rest easily knowing she had his senses as well as hers on alert. She loved sleeping practically on top of him, curled against his side, or with one of them spooning the other, no matter how much it went against her usual mindset, and over the years she hadn’t gotten lax, per se, but slightly more comfortable with her life. Still, it was with Clint that she slept her best. Sometimes there were still nightmares, but they weren’t nearly as bad nor as frequent with him.

She had no idea how long she had slept, but by the time she awoke when Clint shifted out from under her the light through the window was quickly fading. His mumbled words had reached her ears but they hadn’t settled in yet, and by the time she realised he wasn’t just going to the restroom he was already at the front door.

Rolling onto her stomach, she peered over the arm of the sofa, her sleep confusion quickly vanishing as she watched him. The pitiful sounding mewling was indeed the same kitten from earlier, and instead of shooing it away as expected, Clint actually set a bowl of milk out for the hungry creature.

Natasha thought she loved him even more in that moment, if that was possible.

Even as kept the cat outside and claimed it was only once she could see his resolve weakening, and by the time he made his way back to her she simply looked at him silently, her amused expression doing all the talking.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Come on, say it."

Clint could feel her smile in his back without looking, when he carried the bottle back to the fridge. There were a few fruit leftovers from the morning that he brought back with him and put down on the sofa table, in case Natasha would still be hungry. He squeezed his body back on the sofa, gently maneuvering her head on his thighs when he sat down, and touched that grin on her lips softly with a fingertip. For that look on her face he'd do much more than spend a few bucks on a little milk and maybe a little meat extra here and there.

"Did I wake you in my sleep?"

His mind was still half caught up in these creepy children voices from the short rest. He wasn't keen on remembering where that shit came from at all and he really hoped, he hadn't been talking in his sleep. Whatever it was, it wasn't something he wanted to burden Natasha with.

“Say what?” Natasha replied, innocently. “That I am surprised you met him at the door with food instead of a broom? That is if he was lucky.” She knew Clint could use worse than a broom to get rid of any unwanted pests, but she didn’t think he wasn’t truly capable of it.

She rolled back on her side so he could lay down with her again, but he had different ideas this time, and it only took her a moment to settle back down again, effectively using his lap as a pillow. Adjusting her skirt, which was horribly wrinkled at this point, she folder her hands on her stomach, her smile softening when touched her lips.

“No, not until you got up to feed our little friend.” She wasn’t quite yet ready to let that go. “Bad dreams?” Just because he hadn’t been vocal in his sleep didn’t mean the dreams hadn’t been bad.

"Oh, so it's a he now, huh?"

Clint pretended to pout for a moment but couldn't keep it up long. That game he had already lost anyway.

"Dreams like that are something like a given these days." He shrugged a little, trying to play it down.

And really, it shouldn't matter. You signed up for nightmares when you started working for S.H.I.E.L.D.. It had been a really nice day so far and he didn't want to burden Natasha with being a constant melancholic deadweight.

"Guess that talk we had about kids brought a few things up. My mind's pretty primitive like that. Poke in with a stick a few times and all kind of associated stuff comes up."

“Well, I’m not certain. I didn’t exactly take the time to check,” Natasha replied, giving Clint a light poke in the stomach for his pouty face. “Would you prefer I continue to use ‘it’? Or perhaps we could name it...”

She had no intentions of adopting the kitten and giving it a name, no matter how adorable and soft and hungry the little thing was, really, especially since Clint clearly didn’t like having it around and only put up with it for her, but it was still fun to tease him.

Taking his hand when he spoke of his dreams, she kissed his fingers gently to let him know she understood. Family, children, the future; these were all things every couple had to eventually discuss if they wanted to continue their relationship, but that didn’t make it any easier. She always thought they were on the same page, and their talk earlier seemed to confirm it, but there were always those lingering doubts. Clint did so much for her just to make her happy, just to be with her, and she could never be truly sure that this wasn’t another of those cases. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Clint decided not to comment on that cat thing any longer. Or he would have that thing inside the house sooner than he could say fleas and dirt.

"Just fragments."

He ran his fingertip over her lips again, softly, thankfully that she didn't insist on digging deeper into this than he was ready to reveal. Not that he even could have. That blurry cloud over this specific memory was still there and he still was in no mood to shoo it away.

"As I said, that mission in this country back then wasn't always easy. I can't really remember much, but you know the drill. Always gets dirty when civilians are involved. Must have been some kids among them. Really couldn't tell you what was going on, but I don't like how it made me feel."

There were only emotions he could really recall from that dream, and none of them were good. Mostly it was the unrestrained, hot burning aggression he remembered that still made him shiver.

"Just confirms my reservation, to be honest. I don't think I could be a good father, even if I wanted to try. You know... Some things are heritable."

This time the shiver was too strong to hide when realer, clearer memories about 35 years older threatened to leave their graves.

"Just thinking that I could end up like my old man makes me want to cut all wires down there immediately."

Natasha knew what it was to be haunted by memories that she couldn’t fully grasp. Some were fragments, some were complete implants and not her memories at all, and none of it was easy to deal with. She never really thought about anyone from S.H.I.E.L.D. suffering from the same thing, and she felt her heart go out to Clint.

“Sometimes you don’t need to remember to know it was bad,” she said.

It was always the worst when children were involved. She had been still a child herself when she had first killed, but the blood of children on her hands hadn’t stopped as she’d gotten older. They were always the best incentives, the best statements. Kill a man, it may get noticed; kill a child and the world listened.

Some days the things she had done turned her stomach, but she couldn’t dwell on it or she would be lost. She had to keep moving forward. She could never take back what she had done, but she could try to make sure there were fewer people out there doing the same sort of thing.

“Well, at least with me you don’t have to go that far,” she said, turning her head toward him to place a kiss on his stomach through his shirt. In many ways it was a relief knowing that Clint didn’t want children, as she would hate to think he wanted them but gave it up because she couldn’t have them. In other ways it was sad. She hated his father, hated what the man had done to him and all the trauma that had been left. She knew in her heart that it wasn’t true, that Clint could never be like that, she just knew it, and it saddened her to think that he believed so strongly that he could.

Rolling onto her side, she slipped one arm around between his back and the sofa and buried her face in his stomach. “You are a good man, Clint Barton. One of the best I’ve ever known. Don’t you ever forget that.”

The hand that came to rest on Natasha's neck, playing with her curls, was trembling and just on this side of too cold, despite the warm temperatures in the house. It meant much to Clint that she believed in him like that. And for her, with her, in their partnership, he had always tried to be just that. Good. Fighting for the good thing.

But here he was, Clint Barton, King of bad decisions, failure and delusion, and if there was one thing he definitely was not, it was a hero type. No matter how much he had wanted that as a kid.

"Not exactly what other people use to call me."

It was frightening, how much sadness, resignation and bitterness there really was in his voice. You could only tell yourself so long, it didn't matter what people thought of you. When you got beaten up by fellow agents in a fucking Helicarrier elevator for being responsible for some friend's death, that kind of shifted perspectives.

But this was S.H.I.E.L.D. and S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't here. Here, right now, only what Natasha thought of him should count. She had come here with him, not all these smart people with the white coats who tried to treat his brain back into full battle mode.

"Most things I've done right, I've done with you, you know. You always make me want to be better than my genes."

She could feel his hand shaking, hear the bitterness and sadness in his voice, and she wished there was a way she could take it all away. She wished she could turn back time or pluck out the bad memories; something, anything to make him believe in himself again.

“Other people are wrong,” she said, resolutely. She could have said that she didn’t care what other people thought, but saying that made it seem like there was some truth to what they said, and she would never believe that. She didn’t care what they thought, but she also thought they were wrong.

Pushing herself up, she maneuvered herself around and slung one knee over his to straddle his lap. Bringing her hands up to either side of his face, she held him firmly there and met his eyes in an intense gaze.

“Maybe genes have some impact, but mostly people use them as excuses when they fail,” she said. “You are better than that, Clint. Everything you’ve done, everything you’ve worked for and become. You are so much better than he ever even had potential to be, and you will never be him. You are too good, right here,” she moved one hand down to cover his heart once she was sure he wouldn’t look away. “Right where it matters. That is who you are. You are good, kind, compassionate. You take a chance on people, you help people, and I know you would do anything for me.” There was emotions creeping into her voice now that she didn’t even try to conceal. He needed to hear them, and maybe she needed to let them out. “You know I don’t love easily, you know I could not fall for just anyone, but I love you and you are everything to me.”

Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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