study_in_scarlet | Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

Natasha watched him leave before approaching the desk. She held back some of the money, and while what bit she did offer helped, it was when she ended up vomiting in a nearby trashcan that the receptionist finally took her to a private room to wait for one of the doctors on the list she had presented.

Only a couple minutes passed before a rather perturbed doctor entered the room, but luckily years of training had taught Natasha how to read people and play on certain aspects of their personalities to get what she wanted. She amplified the fear she actually felt and fell into pitiful sobs, and by the time she had described her symptoms the doctor was more sympathetic and helpful than annoyed. He took blood and urine samples and promised to put a rush on all the tests since she was so far from home and so clearly distraught.

Once she was alone she used a few tissues to clean up and settled in for a long wait. Only then did she begin to regret her decision to do this alone. It would be nice to have Clint by her side, someone to talk to and try to distract her from everything, but she also knew it wouldn’t have helped. He would have tried to joke and make her laugh but she would have felt his nerves and fear the whole time and it would have only made things worse. It was better to do this alone, though at least thinking of Clint gave her something else to focus on. She wondered how he was doing at the vet, and how their little one was faring. There was a chance they had destroyed any trust the little creature had in them this morning, and that they might never see it again once they let it out of the cage, a thought that bothered her more than it probably should have. It was just a stray and it had only been a few days; she should not feel this attached to it so soon, but she was, and she knew Clint was too. She really hoped the draw of food at least was enough to keep the kitten coming back.

Time ticked by and she fidgeted, wishing she had brought a book to read but knowing she wouldn’t be able to concentrate enough to do so. She could have wandered the room and poked at the various items set about but she stayed perfectly still, absently rubbing her stomach and staring at the door.

After what felt like a lifetime it finally opened again and as soon as she saw the smile on the doctor’s face she knew; without him even saying anything she knew. Her hand over her stomach tightened.

She accepted the news with disbelief and tried to argue it before falling silent, falling numb. Drugs were purchased, further appointments made, and he even refused to let her pay for the appointment when she told him how high risk this was. There would be more, he would get his money in the long run, though Natasha could feel that it wasn’t about the money. Angelina had been right with her list, this doctor was one of the good ones.

By the time she exited the hospital she had fallen into a state of numbness that left her rather unreadable. Clint was waiting, as she knew he would be, and she climbed wordlessly into the passenger seat. Her first instinct was to ask him about his adventure but she knew that would be cruel, knew how worried he was.

“I’m fine,” she said, knowing the words would be of no comfort. “I’ll tell you about it when we get back to the house, okay?” She didn’t want to do it here, not in the parking lot, not in the car.

It wasn't okay, not at all, she wasn't okay. She was in shock, deep enough to paralyze her mind, and there weren't many things that could shake the Black Widow that much. With not telling him, she really told him enough.

It wasn't okay to just shut up and drive back as if nothing happened, no. He wanted to hear it from her, he wanted to know what and how the hell it had happened and even more important, what the hell they should be doing now.

But Natasha asked him to drive her home, so he started the car and shut up. Maybe he would have argued, would have insisted on her letting him know, if he hadn't been so goddamn afraid himself. Maybe he didn't even want to know.

For a while they drove in silence because he needed all his concentration to not wrap them around the next flower tray or down the serpentines. Also he didn't have an idea what the hell to say. So he spent the time dully translating the music from the radio in various languages in his head, to keep his thoughts away from that one scary subject. Or with telling himself to stop freaking out over nothing. Probably it was just like he had thought, Natasha just didn't cope with the heat, and they would have to leave much sooner than expected. That was what she didn't want to tell him, sure...

His own pale reflection in the back mirror let him know, he wasn't very successful with fooling himself. And Natasha didn't look much better. She looked... lost. Scared and alone. Wasn't there something he had told her earlier about being there for her? It wasn't fair to fall into brooding mode just because she needed a moment for herself to cope with everything. He had promised her.

His hand still felt too cold and heavy when he placed it on Natasha's thigh but he felt a little better when he could touch her, his anchor that always pulled him down when he threatened to float off into hurt and panic.

It didn't help find anything to say, though.

She knew she hadn’t assuaged his worries at all but she was grateful when he didn’t push her to talk. She wanted to wait until they were back in the comfort of the house that she had grown to love over the past few days, back where they could stay until they could talk it all out and come up with a solution. She didn’t want the distraction of driving nor the interruption of stopping somewhere to talk first. Thankfully Clint seemed to understand, or at least he bent to her wishes as he almost always did. Whatever the reason she didn’t care so long as it worked.

Staring out the window as they drove in silence, she tried to collect her thoughts, tried to figure out exactly what she would say to Clint when they got home. Would he be angry with her? It wasn’t carelessness; he had seen her file and he knew that this should be impossible. She had had no reason to take any precautions. Ultimately, though, it wasn’t telling him that would be the hard part, but what was to come afterwards. That was what she was dreading.

Looking over at him when she felt his hand rest on her leg, she covered it with her own and gave it a gentle squeeze. “How about the little one? Is she completely traumatized?” she asked, trying to settle both their nerves by breaking the silence between them.

"Well, at least she'll only hate me and not you for the rest of her life", Clint answered with a wry grin. "Seems like she can be bribed with fish treats though. We still need to bath her, but she's holding up okay."

He didn't mention the other stuff - the daily pill for a whole two weeks and that bathing as soon as possible thing - because right now he had other things to worry about. There was no telling if little one would be back to their house tomorrow after all that had happened in the morning, and though that thought hurt a little... Right now he just didn't have any emotional strength left to think about that.

"She'll be a little tipsy from the injection." Before they could fall silent again, he fortunately remembered another thing from that doctor's speech before that had passed his conscious mind at that point. "We should keep her in the house for a few hours."

One more complication he actually didn't want to deal with right now, but they had to talk about it now when they were already pulling in their street. In a few minutes there would be other stuff to worry about.

Although it was a joke, Natasha could tell that the thought bothered Clint. He had gotten painted the bad guy here, having to deal with it on his own instead of both of them sharing the blame. She hadn’t meant for it to be that way, hadn’t even considered the possibility; she had had other things on her mind.

“I’m sure she’ll get over it. You are awfully hard to hate,” she said, squeezing his hand again.

She wasn’t expecting the added distraction of caring for the kitten right away, but maybe it would be a good distraction, or maybe it would sleep for the next few hours while they dealt with their own issues first.

As if it is something that can be dealt with in a couple of hours.

“We can put a blanket in the bathtub for now,” Natasha suggested. It would get the kitten out of the cage, but not give her free range to roam around the house just yet. It would be a big enough space for one so tiny to rest in for an hour or two, surely.

She saw the house looming ahead and was somehow filled with both relief and trepidation. The four walls gave her comfort, but once inside there would be no hiding.

Natasha was trying to comfort him and he made sure to press her thigh softly in return but he couldn't bring himself to smile. The tension between them was unbearable though neither of them wanted it. He knew it was the better decision, that he wouldn't have wanted to be stuck in the middle of the city, feeling like his mind had been turned inside out. But he wouldn't exactly consider this drive the best of his life either.

He was more than relieved when he could finally park the car and get out in the quickly warming morning sun. The kitten hat withdrawn to the very end of the small basket when he got it out from the floor carefully, obviously afraid. He could feel another little part of his heart break, but he did his best to ignore it. On a scale from worrying about his partner being either sick or pregnant, a scared animal was still pretty low on the list right now.

"Can you please bring the bags from the trunk, Nat? The meds shouldn't stay in the heat."

He brought his passenger straight to the bathroom, just taking a blanket from the sofa with him on the way. Maybe the already familiar smell of both of them would help little one to feel a little better. He spread it in the bathtub before putting the basket in and opening it for the kitten to come out on its own, whenever she wanted to. For today he had earned himself enough scratches.

He thought about putting a few more of these treats in the tub, but he really wasn't sure he could live with this awful wait for even another second. So he ended up on the sofa instead, waiting for Natasha to join him. Waiting for the inevitable.

Clint practically leapt out of the car the moment they were parked and he’d killed the engine, and he moved to take care of their little passenger first. Natasha moved slower, more mechanically, do carry out the task he had given her. One more thing to focus on but none of it really mattered. In the end, whether silence or distraction, she still hadn’t come up with what to say.

Carrying the bags inside she didn’t even feel curious to look at them, she just set them on the kitchen counter and lingered a moment before making her way to the living room where Clint was already waiting. Had she been in another mood she might have joked about him having developed super speed, but as it was neither of them were in the mood for joking.

Taking a seat beside Clint, her body angled partially toward him, Natasha tried to come up with the right words, but the truth was that there weren’t any. She had made him wait long enough, and in this situation she felt that the bandaid approach was probably her best bet. One hand instinctively covering her stomach, she looked up to meet his eyes.

Just say it.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted out without preamble.

Saying it aloud made it feel all the more real.

Clint just stared at her for many long moments, not even sure if his expression really changed, if his eyes, his body were moving. He stared through her, through everything for a second, he couldn't quite feel his body and even less what was going on in his head. It wasn't surprise, that much he knew. Not after all but knowing it from the early morning on, and suspecting it longer than he wanted to admit even to himself.

Of course he had known. And that hole of ice cold fear in the middle of his body had been there all along. It just spread into every single cell now, paralyzing every thought, every muscle, every feeling. For a moment he wondered if he was back in the cold darkness of the P.E.G.A.S.U.S. lab with a crazy ass wannabe-God ripping his soul out of his body until nothing was left of him. The fear, the confusion, the panic, all of it just was too powerful for a moment to even let himself feel it, leave alone cope with it.

Only when his eyes started to ache, he remembered how to blink again, and a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding burned in his throat. With the pain the world fell back into place and he felt some more where his nails had dug down hard in his opposite arms, but at least he didn't feel completely zombified anymore, completely numb by something overthrowing him helplessly. He had sworn to never be that helpless anymore in his life, to never lose control that way again, and he certainly couldn't do it now when Natasha needed him more than ever.

But he couldn't stop his still too cold feeling hands from shaking when he reached out for her and pulled her in his arms, coax her to bury her face against his shoulder so she didn't need to watch him, as he was still at a loss of what to say. Or what to feel.

None of the too strong, too powerful emotions inside could really break through that ice of terrified disbelief covering his mind. And maybe it was better that way. Maybe he shouldn't allow himself to feel. He would have to be strong for Natasha now. Stay by her side in every step of the only way of dealing with this, that her body would allow. At least as far as he knew.

He was pretty sure, if he even allowed himself to think of the other possibility, that maybe this news wouldn't just mean pain and loss, then the panic would take over. Then he would probably already be out of the door to run for a few hours until he would collapse under the noon sun.

He didn't want to ask, didn't want to know, but he had to. He had to be with her, stay with her through this. He could just hope they were lucky with this part of the story. The last thing he wanted Natasha to go through was some legal crap before she could go through a painful enough experience to solve this problem.

"How long?"

The silence was heavy, painful, but Natasha couldn’t bring herself to break it. She had to let him digest what she said, had to give him time to deal with it and form his own reaction. She couldn’t risk influencing that reaction, couldn’t make him feel he had to comfort her or lie to her to make her feel better. It was her body, but this was still very much a part of him too.

What was he thinking? She wished she could read him, but all she could see was shock and fear, two very understandable reactions. This was never supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to be possible, so they had never really talked about it beyond both of them agreeing that they didn’t want children.

That should settle it right there, the next step; that should make it easy. Neither of them wanted a family, and it was highly unlikely she would carry to term as it was, so why would she try? Yet somehow the thought of an abortion made her stomach flop. She thought of Rose, of that tiny person that had not lived long enough to take her first breath. She had wanted that baby then, had wanted her so bad, but that was a long time ago and Natasha was a different person now.

Why was he still not saying anything? She wasn’t sick, she wasn’t dying, she was merely pregnant, and that could be easily fixed as well, but Clint looked anything but relieved. She wanted to say his name but the word caught in her throat and she couldn’t breathe, so when he finally pulled her into his shaky embrace her breath came out in a painful gasp. She slipped her arms around his back and held him tightly as she buried her face against his shoulder, glad for the break from his gaze.

“Five weeks,” she answered, turning her head so her voice wouldn’t be muffled against him. “Must have been when I returned from Alaska.” They had had one of those heated reunions that lasted all night and involved many different positions. “I’m sorry, Clint,” she suddenly burst out. “I thought we were safe, I swear. You read my file, you know.”

"Don't."

His voice was too harsh, too rough when he stopped her, and he hugged her closer apologetically for a moment, but he couldn't help it. He could hardly sort out what was going on in his own head, leave alone strive for control and sensitivity as much as usual.

"We both couldn't know."

And it wasn't just her. He had been through more torture sessions in his life than he cared to remember, and there were certain body parts, especially female torturers went for gleefully every single fucking time. He wasn't infertile by any means. But he had spoken to enough doctors after waking up with a feeling like someone had sat his whole lower body on fire, to long dismiss the idea of getting his cords cut, like he had thought about it some years ago. With both their compromised ability to reproduce combined, there had been simply no need for that anymore.

In short, they had beaten the chances of the lottery, and if that wasn't a scary thought, he had never had one.

No use pondering about that now. He could make his appointment to finally take care of that problem after Natasha had been through the emotional disaster that was upon her, upon both of them. He had only one job to do right now, and that was keeping help her through everything. While locking away whatever was waiting under that thickening layer of ice inside completely. This wasn't about him.

Her answer, at least, was half of a relief. No legal bullshit then, and they even had a few weeks left to prepare for everything, whether here or at home, whatever she preferred. It wasn't like they could just go on and enjoy their holiday anymore anyway. One step after the other, and every of them centered around her and her well-being. He couldn't allow himself to get too emotionally involved in this, not even a second.

He didn't want to get up, let go off her for even a second, but he was damn well aware that she had less than nothing in her stomach, and that wasn't exactly a good basis for crucial decisions.

"Back in a second."

He pressed a short kiss to her temple, hoping that the touch wouldn't feel half as cold and numb to her as it did to him, with his skin still crawling, freezing with shock, and quickly went to the kitchen to get a bottle of water, a few grapes and an apple. The plate clattered too loud, too shrill against the counter, betraying his trembling hands, and when he cut the apple in four halves, he earned himself another cut. There was no pain, no noise from his lips, just an unnerved rolling of his eyes.

Get your fucking shit together, Barton.

He sucked on his forefinger absent-minded when he returned and placed the plate on the table, without another of these nerve-wrecking noises this time, and sat back down with Natasha. The break hadn't done anything to straighten his thoughts, but he hadn't really expected it. It wasn't like he could plan much right now, anyway. It was her decision, whatever was to happen next.

He just nodded at the plate and the bottle shortly, not wanting to push her and tried to think of his next words, again without much success. He couldn't just let her do all the talking, and whatever they were bringing up in this conversation now... It was inevitable it would hurt, for any of them. The least he could do was not drag this out with uncomfortable silence.

"How do we do this, Nat? I mean... You... Your body can't have it, right?"

He didn't expect any answer but a confirmation, not after what he knew about her file, about her past. Maybe he just still didn't want to allow himself thinking of another option. It was too fucking terrifying.

His tone was harsh but it was what she needed. Of course he didn’t blame her, he knew she didn’t want this any more than he did, and had she known there was even a possibility they would have been more careful. She was being silly, yet when he held her closer she gladly accepted it. Holding him close she tried to think of something further to say, but what could she say at this point? It was something neither of them had expected, and something they had to think logically about and discuss. It would probably be better to go home now and deal with it in the medical system she knew, but the flight would be horrendous, she would be sick the entire time, and what if they wanted identification? She didn’t want anyone else to know, didn’t want to have to talk about it.

Only reluctantly did Natasha let him go, and while a part of her thought it better to be out of his stiff embrace that lacked all the usual warmth and comfort, she instantly felt cold and alone without it. Wrapping his sweater tighter around herself, she drew her feet up on to the sofa and wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them to her chest. She listened to him in the kitchen, every bang of a plate and chop of the knife going through her and making her wince.

Why couldn’t they be normal? Normal couples would be happy about the news, and there were some that would give almost anything for the chance that Natasha was throwing away, but it wasn’t that simple because her and Clint weren’t normal. They were anything but.

Natasha watched him return, her stomach twisting at the sight of the food, but she did accept the bottle of water and took a small sip, barely enough to wet her throat. Putting the cap back on she let it dangle from her fingers before turning her head sharply to look at him at his question.

Was he… was he looking for another option? If she said yes, would he want to keep it? Would he grow to hate her if she didn’t try? If she did? “No,” she answered, and as far as she knew it was the truth. There would be complications, and eventually she would lose the baby, just like last time. Her body would never carry it to term.

But then she hadn’t thought herself able to even conceive again either. “It would be best to get this over with as soon as possible.” Before either of them had time to start doubting the decision.

((Stealth email reply from work. Hopefully formatting isnt' all messed up))

[nope, everything working fine. My poor feels :(]

**********

There was something in the way she looked at him when she answered, in her too fast, too determined voice. Clint knew, he shouldn't allow himself to realize and even less think about it. Not when she clearly didn't want to. Of what use would it be, starting to theorize now? Even if things weren't being quite so certain, now that she would have the right doctors around her helping her, and science far more development than when she had had her first child... In the end it would cause her just more pain if it didn't work out. And the hell he would do anything to be the reason for that.

"I'll get on the phone for you if you want, see if we can an appointment for a check up tomorrow."

He knew there were at least one or two gynecologists on that list Angelina had given him. He just hadn't been able to talk her out of the idea of a possible pregnancy- ironic enough, now that he thought about it. One of them would have to legalize the... the operation, from what he vaguely remembered. He'd been the shoulder to cry on for a former field partner whose girlfriend had gotten pregnant some years ago, and he didn't think, things would be much different in another civilized country nowadays.

They would have to get through this appointment and a loadshit of uncomfortable questions and then... Then they would get this done. Together. Get rid of the problem before it could even become one...

Something pulsated hard and painful in his stomach at his own thoughts and his tightly clutched hands in his lap began to tremble again. This wasn't a goddamn problem, this wasn't some unfortunate medical condition that Natasha had to heal from. This...

A painful hot breath gasp from his throat, from the strain of putting that train of thought right back where it belonged, far out of reach. He buried his face in his hands, elbows propped heavily on his knees, and pressed one thumb and forefinger forcefully against his closed eyes until it hurt. Just a moment to keep himself together, that was all. He was fine, he had to be, for her.

He felt his shoulder tremble, the strain in his hardly tensed legs, and clung on to all these sensations with his life while he recited every single paragraph of S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols he had ever remembered in his head. One by one, in four or five different languages in his head and back. Just to keep himself away from breaking under that lurking, dangerous realization what it was they were talking about here.

No choice, no way out, no use it wasting any of his energy on it. Not when Natasha needed that energy so much more right now.

But no matter how loudly he screamed stupid numbers and stiff phrases at himself in his head, his own voice couldn't be loud enough to drown that one doubtful, reproachful little whisper in the very back of his mind.

But what if there was a way?

Clint was quick to agree, to offer to get the ball rolling as soon as possible, but Natasha could detect a note of hesitation there. She ignored it. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the offer.

They should probably tell Fury, let S.H.I.E.L.D. handle it in their proper medical facilities with all their state of the art equipment, but she didn’t want them to know, at least not until her annual physical, but even then any physical signs of the procedure would probably be hard to discern from those left by previous traumas. No, they could take care of it here, maybe even within a few days, and then she could recover before even going back.

And ruin one more location in the world for him. There aren’t that many left.

Why here? Why now? They had been so happy, had been making some real breakthroughs that she thought they could take back with them, some changes that would make their lives better and only strengthen their relationship, but now…

Startled by the sudden noise of distress, she looked over at Clint again as he buried his face in his hands. No, please no, she silently begged him. She could be strong if he was strong, if they could look at this clinically and leave their emotions out of it. It was a mistake, something that should never have happened, and they would be righting that mistake. She should never have been able to conceive in the first place, that was true, but carrying the baby to term would take a miracle. And why was she even considering it? They had both agreed that they didn’t want children. Clint didn’t want to be a father, and Natasha… it had always been a moot point, so why waste time thinking about it?

She saw his shoulders tremble and she was torn between comforting him and pulling up a cold exterior. Fortunately the former won out. “We’ll get through this,” she said softly, laying her hand on his shoulder and rubbing it gently. “I’m otherwise healthy so there should be no further issues.” She knew that wasn’t the problem, though, but it was the one she could easily reassure him of.

It shouldn't hurt so much, but it did. The awkward way she was touching him, how they were both dancing around the subject as if that would change anything. Change what they were about to do.

They were holding up a facade for each other, barely, and weren't they long beyond that? Clint wasn't stupid enough to believe Natasha's distanced behavior for even a second. If he let her swallow it all down, bury it under just another layer inside, it would eat her up just as much as the rest of her past. Another nightmare to wake up to screaming and crying. He didn't want to be the reason for her crying, not if he could help it.

So he reached for her hand with his own still trembling instead of just standing up to get his phone, and pressed his too dry lips against it, holding it there. When he finally lowered his other hand from his lids, it was dry, but the remaining burn in his eyes let him know it wouldn't be for long. Even if he wanted, he couldn't play this role all the way through for her.

He needed to know and to work through what was happening, not push it away like it didn't really matter. He did that with most of his life, and that was what had left him a train wreck in the first place. He couldn't do this with Natasha. They needed to face this like one of their missions, head first, no matter how much it would cost.

"I need to know, Nat. I need... I have to be sure."

His voice came out strangled, colored by that ongoing fight he had with himself, about something that wasn't even a possibility. As far as they knew. Before he could even think about exploring or not if that knowledge maybe was outdated, he had to be certain about her mindset.

"Do you want this baby?"

Finally, with the last words he made it to look at her again, no matter how much it hurt, and though he had never been exactly a poet, this one most important question he chose very carefully. He didn't want to hear about if she could have it or not. And they had talked about wanting kids or not before. But not under these circumstances. Not when a comfortable why-even-think-about-it suddenly turned into a very real possibility.

When he took her hand, Natasha didn’t know whether she wanted to snatch it away or squeeze his fingers comfortingly. She was confused and lost and while a part of her knew that the only way they were going to get through this was to talk about it and support each other, that instinct to hide, to put on a strong mask and do what needed to be done, was fighting for dominance.

Then he looked at her and she knew she was in trouble.

The sheer emotion in his eyes, the unshed tears waiting to be released... how could she lie to him when he was being so honest with her? Didn’t they say that there would be no more lies? She wanted to run, to do anything to prevent the words she knew were coming; if he didn’t ask she wouldn’t have to lie.

“Clint, please,” she pleaded, her voice barely a whisper, but he was already asking and it was too late.

His eyes froze her in place and for a moment she could only stare back at him before finally finding her voice. “I can’t.” Pulling her hand back and wrapping her arms around her legs again she shook her head. This time she didn’t mean physically, there was so much more to it, and he deserved an explanation. He deserved the truth, and if they were going to make this work then she had to be honest with him, otherwise whatever happened it would tear them apart.

“I can’t,” she said again, forcing herself to look at him. “If I let myself want it, and I lose it...”

It happened to other women every day. Some women suffered multiple miscarriages before finally getting the baby they wanted, but Natasha wasn’t sure she was strong enough for that. She had spent over a decade believing it wasn’t possible, and to let herself hope now, to let herself want... “It’s just easier this way.” Easier to not try, to not take that risk. But when had she ever taken the easier route before?

"If that's what you want, that's what we'll do."

Clint reached for her hand again, just holding it on her leg where she hugged herself, making it very clear with not only his words that he wouldn't leave her alone in this, not one second. And that it was her choice, whatever happened.

He could live with the uncertain pondering about what ifs, especially after all these years with the comfortable reassurance that he never would be a father. That he would never be even given the chance to fuck someone else's life up as his own father had. He had long accepted that and if Natasha didn't want that risk of a risky pregnancy, it was more of a relief than anything else.

But her answer still wasn't definite. And while it was enough for him to hold on to it, to make up his mind, because he didn't want her to get hurt... It was her who really needed to be sure. Her body, her loss she had already gone through once, and her decision to not put this onto herself once more. Still all this... didn't mean, she didn't want to. That was not what she had said.

"I just would hate to see you do something you regret later, Nat. I'll be with you every step of the way, okay? No matter what you do."

He leaned down to press his lips against her hand again, his cheek, close his eyes for another few moments and try to let her nearness, her touch calm the storm inside, the way she always could so easily. This time it didn't work.

"I'll go make these calls. Will you be okay for a while? I can go next door if you want. Just... Stay with me, please."

And goddamnit if his voice wasn't already starting to tremble again. He only meant for her to not run outside in the worst heat with her body already not being well, without him knowing where he could find her. Or maybe he meant something more. Right now he just knew that his heart broke everytime he looked at her and had to see her so crushed, and that he hated to leave her alone for even a second.

Want. He kept using that word. Want. Was that what she wanted? She didn’t know. She didn’t know what she wanted, but it felt like the best option. No, it sounded like the best option. She didn’t know how it felt either.

“Thank you,” was all she managed to say. What else could she say right now? Would she regret this decision? Every day of her life. Would she regret not terminating the pregnancy? When she lost the baby then yes, every day of her life.

If, a traitorous voice whispered in her head. If she lost the baby. The chance was slim that she wouldn’t, but then it’s very existence at this point should have been impossible too. Maybe it was... what, meant to be? No, she didn’t believe in destiny. She believed in choice, in making her own path, her own life.

But what if this is the wrong choice?

She made no reaction to Clint’s touch, but nodded her head at his words. “You can stay. I’m just going to check on the cat,” she finally said. She knew he was worried, though, and she couldn’t leave it like that, it wasn’t fair to him. Unfolding herself from her scrunched up position, she placed her hand on one side of his face and softly pressed her lips to the other. “I'm with you."

Her touch, her kiss, it all was just as numb and cold as he still felt himself. He didn't want her to leave. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, cry on her shoulder for a bit, to kiss her and tell her that everything would be alright.

But he couldn't tell her, he didn't know that and she didn't want to hear it. So he let her go and waited for long, heavy seconds in silence before he finally got up to get his phone from the dresser. It felt like a ton of weights pulled him down and made every step a drag. It didn't help telling himself that it was just a silly appointment, that the doctor would only search her and tell them exactly how things looked.

It wasn't just that, and they would know, every second from now until that checkup would be done. He would know. And though Natasha had his full and unquestioned support in her decisions... Though it was madness even considering the other way, for a shitload of reasons... It hurt and he didn't even fucking know why.

He didn't need to know why, couldn't care, he just had to so his job, as usual, and that thought finally helped. He would do his job like the good little soldier he was and try to forget about all the casualties on the way. That was what was expected of him, right? Now and always.

It became a lot easier after he had fallen into sniper mode. The third call was the right one, the guy on the other end of the line sounded like he knew what he was saying and doing. And though the man with the North Italian accent wasn't opposed at all to a little extra cash for working as fast and discreet as possible, he sounded genuinely interested, capable and compassionate with his questions. Everything would be ready when they would arrive, and that was all Clint could do for now.

He left his phone on the dresser where he had plugged it because it had been completely dead but turned all sound and vibration off, ignoring the indicated missed calls and messages on the display completely. He couldn't care fucking less about what Fury or anyone else could want from him right now.

The calmness and distance lasted until he reached the sofa again and more fell onto it than sitting down. With Natasha next door and not even an electronic voice to talk to anymore, suddenly it was much too quiet. All the words exchanged, requests filed and assurances made, it all came back in a rush before he knew.

Yes, they had thought about it well, no it wasn't pretty but necessary, the mother's body couldn't handle it, they didn't want her endangered or get false hopes up, please see that we get this done as quickly as possible...

It crashed down on him like an ice cold waterfall before he could made an attempt of stopping it. There was no stopping it, no matter how tightly his body curled into a ball, no matter how hard he pressed his face into the next best pillow and tried to get back to meditating, to reciting, to anything that would keep his mind fucking quiet.

It turned out, the sounds of his own dry, forcefully stifled sobs into the pillows wasn't much better.

Taking the bottle of water with her, Natasha slipped into the washroom and closed the door behind her. After using the toilet she washed her hands and splashed water on her face before the soft mewling sounds coming from the tub drew her over.

“Hello little one,” she said quietly, kneeling on the floor beside the tub. The kitten was sitting in the middle of the blanket looking dozy and pitiful. “Having a rough day?” It laid its ears back and cried a little louder at the sight and sound of her. “Me too.”

Cupping her hand, she poured a little water in and lowered it into the tub. She smiled when the kitten stumbled forward for a drink, but there was a distinct sadness in her eyes that didn’t fade. “You’ll get through it. You’re strong.”

When the water was gone she turned her hand to pet the furball but her movement was too quick and the kitten still disoriented from the medication and it struck out, drawing blood from the back of her hand. Snatching her hand out of reach, Natasha tried to block out the image, the cat and the blood; tried to forget the dream from the other night, the dream of memories. She hadn’t wanted another pet, not after what had happened to the last one... what she had done to the last one, and now...

Breathe. Just breathe.

Pushing up from the floor, she ignored the kitten’s cries this time and walked back over to the sink to wash off the bit of blood and clean the scratch like she’d told Clint to do earlier that day. She could hear his voice in the other room, just a faint murmur through the walls separating them, but she knew there were more than just these physical walls now. All the progress they had made they had been closer than ever, and now this. Drying off her hands, she placed them over her stomach. It wasn’t anything yet, just a clump of cells. There were no eyes, no nose, no hands, no bones. It was nothing, not human, not alive.

“I can’t,” she whispered again, before a very different sound in the quiet house drew her attention. Silently opening the door, she moved back toward the living room, her bare feet making no sound. What she found made her heart break. He tried so hard to be strong for her, to do whatever she thought she needed, to put himself second, and she had let him, had told herself it was okay. He didn’t want this child, he had told her he never wanted to be a father, but saying that when the option wasn’t there and meaning it when it was were two different things. When they talked about it before it had been hypothetical, and it had been easy to give up the chance, but now that it was a possibility and she was taking the chance from him it was entirely different.

Moving to the side of the sofa, she once again knelt on the floor, her arm going around his back to rub soothing circles that she knew would offer no real comfort.

It was a pretty good indicator for his mental state that he hadn't heard her coming, not even felt her presence near until she touched him. There could be a fucking assassin in the same room right now, and he would only know when he had a bullet in his skull.

Her caress made him jump, and for an awfully long irrational moment he felt like pushing her away. Not because he didn't want her close - he needed her more than anything right now - but because he didn't want her to see him like that. He couldn't let her. He couldn't be so fucking vulnerable right now, not when she needed him.

But pushing her away would have hurt her too, given her the feeling she had done something wrong when neither of them had. So he reached for her hand without turning around and held it close to his chest, concentrating of the feeling of her soft, tender skin under his fingertips. The faint throb of her pulse to attach his thoughts to, let them be carried away from that one place that held only hurt and blame, carried by the only tide of wanting - needing - to be strong for her. He couldn't allow himself to break now. He just couldn't.

It could have been seconds or minutes before his breathing finally evened and the steel hard tensed muscles of his back gave in a little. His throat and his eyes still burned from held back tears and he knew he looked like smoking weed all night long, but at least the air didn't feel like he was suffocating anymore.

"Salvatore Tomasi."

The name came from his lips before he realized he was about to talk. Right. He had to give her the only information she would want and need right now, before he could turn to her. It was so much easier facing the weathered dark back rest of the sofa when talking about this.

"Sounds like a good guy. He'll be waiting for us at 9 am tomorrow."

Considering the trend of the last days, that would be about the time when he would have collected Natasha from the bathroom floor, make her drink a few sips and driven her to the hospital, hopefully without killing them both on the way.

Natasha immediately stilled her hand when Clint jumped at the touch. She had been quiet, deadly silent, but he should have still known she was there. He hadn’t.

She expected him to close up, to sit up and try to hide his emotions, to shy away from her touch, so she was grateful when he took her hand instead. They couldn’t shut each other out, they had to be there for one another, even if only in body, in shallow touches and hollow words.

For a long moment silence reigned and neither of them moved, like a portrait of grief painted on a tattered canvas, so when Clint finally spoke it was Natasha’s turn to flinch. 9am, less than 24 hours from now.

Just a consultation, she reminded herself. It would feel invasive, he would have to thoroughly examine her, but the procedure would be another few days yet, at least. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or upset at that thought. Part of her just wanted to get it over and done with right now while another part, a smaller part, wanted to put it off.

Without a word Natasha climbed onto the couch behind Clint, molding her body along the curve he created, pressing herself against his back. She didn’t know if such a touch would be welcome right now but she had to try.

Burying her face against the back of his neck she tried to concentrate on her breathing, on his warmth, but she couldn’t ignore the nagging voice that was getting louder in her head. Yesterday he hadn’t wanted to be a father, but now faced with this, with the reality that he could be, she realised she hadn’t offered him the same courtesy that he had. She hadn’t asked him if he wanted the baby.

She still couldn’t find the words to do so. She wasn’t sure what she would do if he said yes. It was easier not knowing.

She was there, holding him, crawling into his space, before he had the chance to finally turn around, and he hated himself for being far too relieved. He was a fucking coward. He couldn't deal with the hurt on her face. He couldn't deal with her reaction when she understood how lost he really felt suddenly.

He had no right to feel this way. She was the one suffering most from this story. He was just the idiot who had gotten her pregnant, and probably only because he had been too fucking lazy to check on his fertility levels lately. Now it was her who had to live with the consequences, after she had already gone through this years ago. Somehow it was easier hating himself for that than dealing with the uncertainty. Dealing with the doubt, the question what could have been.

It would have been easier if she had been pissed with him.

But she wasn't, she was right there, pressing her body into his as if nothing had happened, and he could already feel that new built desperate wall inside crumble.

Why? What fucking difference did it make for him what she had decided? He was a weak sentimental idiot, that was all. He should be holding her now, not the other way round instead of leaning back into her embrace, keep her hand close to his face as if his lips on her skin could make any kind of difference.

And still he didn't had it in him to even turn his head.

"I don't know what's wrong with me."

His voice still sounded like he had smoked a whole package in one go, but he had to tell her, had to make her understand, somehow.

"I know what's the right thing to do and what you want, Nat, really, I..."

His hand clutched hers a little tighter and he pressed his face back into the pillows with another helpless little sob. It certainly didn't get better thinking about it. He needed to get his mind off things, that was what he had to fucking do, before he could drag her down even more.

"I feel like someone pulled the floor from under my feet."

The truth of the matter was that she was just as much of a coward. It was easy to hold him like this, to comfort him when she couldn’t see his eyes red from crying, see the heartbreak in his expression. If she had to face him like this she wasn’t sure she could continue to hold herself together.

His breath was warm against her skin but it did nothing to banish the coldness that had settled over her, permeating from within. She still felt numb, and while it wasn’t a good feeling it was a necessary one if she was to get through this and do what needed to be done.

It was all almost undone by the absolute devastation in his voice.

She wanted to cry with him for what they were losing, wanted to yell at him for letting it affect him so bad, for trying to get her to feel it. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, but she still couldn’t say with certainty that it was what she wanted.

There is always a choice. Clint taught you that.

“I know,” she said quietly, lifting her head to place a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck. “It can be just as hard to lose what you don’t have sometimes.”

But they weren’t losing it, they weren’t losing anything. She was giving it up before there was even a chance of losing it. It’s better this way, she told herself, but better for whom?

Empty. Dull. Both their words and their touches. Two strangers dancing around a delicate subject without daring to shame the devil.

This wasn't right. Clint wanted to turn to her and wrap his arms around her. He couldn't let her bottle this up, he knew that, but now that he had gathered maybe enough composure to at least try, she had him successfully trapped with her body, and it was probably not coincident. She wanted to fall apart just as little as he did.

So what was the alternative? Living side by side like two strangers for... What had that been back then in his team partner's case, a week? He was already going nuts after half an hour. They couldn't do that, they had to try to be there for each other at least. He had promised her. He couldn't leave her alone with this...

But he didn't move and he didn't ask her to make room for him to roll on his back. He stayed immobile, let the uncomfortable heat and lack of fresh air from his cramped position dull his senses, counted her breaths, the beating of her heart and waited without knowing what for.

It was the increasing noise from the bathroom that finally broke his lethargy. Little one was awake enough to protest again.

"She'll be hungry."

He ran a tired hand through his sweat spiked hair and moved just softly, letting Natasha know, he had to get up, whether he wanted it or not. They couldn't lay around here all day, not with that certain responsibility they had loaded on their shoulders a few days ago. Maybe he should be glad, there was a guest present who needed his attention. At least that way the silence wouldn't hurt any longer.

And the furball wasn't be the only one who needed nutrition. Natasha would make a face again if he continued to coddle her, but it was really the least he could do right now, make sure she wasn't starving herself.

"Do me a favor, red? Try get some down grapes at least?"

It felt like a long time that they laid together in silence, but it was an unusually uncomfortable silence for them. Normally they could spend hours together without speaking a word and it felt like the most natural thing in the world, but not today. Maybe not ever again.

She held him a little tighter at the thought, already mourning the loss of the close bond they had developed. It was still there, of course, but the strain this situation put on it was not one that would be easily fixed.

Eventually the cries from the bathroom became too much to bear and Clint stirred in her arms. It was only with great reluctance that she moved her arm from around him and sat up on the edge of the sofa, her hands absently rubbing her knees. “Let me know when you’re ready to bathe her. I’ll help,” she said, reaching for the plate and plucking a grape off of the stem. As much as she wanted to protest she knew she needed to eat. If there was no food in her stomach it wouldn’t stop her body from trying to vomit anyway, so it was better to have something to bring up than nothing at all. Popping the grape into her mouth she cringed slightly at the sweetness. It was delicious, full of flavour, and exactly the opposite of what she should be eating. Bland foods were easier to keep down, so she pushed up to her feet, ignoring the dizzy spell that washed over her as she did so. “Do you want some toast or anything?” She didn’t ask if he wanted tea, knowing he was much more of a coffee person.

Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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