study_in_scarlet | Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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.

"Not really hungry, thanks. Just getting lunch ready for the furball."

It was probably kind of hypocrite, asking her to eat and then not doing it himself, but he'd had his vitamins in the morning already. And he certainly had never felt less like eating.

Only when he had gotten the empty bowls from the garden and started chopping some chicken meat for little one, he remembered that cut from earlier on the back of his hand. By now it hurt like a bitch and turned into a aggressive red, but that was another thing he really had no patience for right now. Probably only the first of many if he wanted to do that bathing thing later. He hadn't planned on it, certainly not, not after what had happened, but Natasha had brought it up herself. And as much as he hated himself for it, keeping himself busy would at least hurt less than this dreadful silence.

He wasn't surprised at all to be greeted with a hiss when he neared the tub with the meat and the second bowl filled with milk. He obviously hadn't been forgiven yet. The furball stayed on the very other end of the tub when he sat on the bowls down. There she stayed while he sat on the tub edge, wary to go back to this too cold, to quiet room just yet.

But after a little while, hunger and thirst obviously won over her grudge and she started eating. They couldn't keep her in there forever of course, Mother nature would be calling soon enough, meaning, he better hurried up with that bath, so they could set little one out for the rest of the day. And hope she didn't find the next mud lake to roll in immediately.

Clint rubbed over his folded hands absent-minded, hardly realizing the dull throb in the right and watched their little guest without a sense of the time passing. He knew he should be checking on Natasha instead of the animal but he also knew just as well how much she hated to be coddled. They had quite a bit of that in their near future anyway, no need to drive her up the wall in the first hour already.

And what could he say to her? They had made up their minds and were facing a horrible situation. Not exactly a moment to celebrate and burst into song. It was just like before a really bad mission when they had often both retreated to find focus and balance prior to diving into a new pool of blood.

Only it wasn't a fucking mission, and everytime he tried to put it like that in his own head, he felt a little like starting to puke his guts out himself. He might be a master of lies if it came to delude himself and run from every bullshit in his life, but this wasn't about him. What he was doing right now was affecting another life, and not some stranger's or victim's or enemy's. How the fuck was he supposed to just live with that, dismiss it like nothing happened?

"I can't and I'm doing it anyway, that's what's going on", he told their little guest quietly who hardly turned an ear into his direction but went on enjoying her milk. "You know, I really don't know why you came here. I'm a fucking asshole and a coward."

While Clint went outside to retrieve the bowls Natasha filled the kettle and put it on to boil, choosing not to comment on his refusal of food. Cutting a slice of bread she didn’t pop it in the toaster yet, wanting to wait until her tea was steeping first.

More awkward silence followed as Clint prepared the food for the kitten and Natasha literally watched the kettle, waiting for the water to boil. It was as uncomfortable and painful as it sounds. Eventually he disappeared into the washroom with the food and she was left alone just waiting and watching and reminding herself to breathe.

Once her meager lunch was ready she sat back on the sofa and ate slowly and carefully. Her stomach felt more settled and she hoped the sickness had passed for the day. If only she could settle her mind and her heart as well.

Clint was gone a long time, and when by the time she finished eating and he hadn’t returned she slipped through to the bedroom and out on the balcony he had been so eager to show her that first day. She wished she could go back to that moment, back when things had been simpler. Even the beauty of the scenery didn’t seem able to touch her heart.

He could hear her moving around outside and was relieved when she seemed to try to eat something at least, but it wasn't until he heard her go outside that he finally moved. Hiding in here was even more fucking pathetic than being close to her and not knowing what to say. Shallow comfort was better than nothing, and right now she could use every comfort he could give her.

About that other thing, the battle he was having with himself... He could deal with that when all this was over. Or just lock it away like everything else in his life. Probably one more nightmare didn't really make a difference. Natasha had it much worse than him in that department too.

She was still looking lost standing on the balcony, but he could feel his own throat loosening up just a little bit. Maybe he couldn't be so depressed that the breeze of the ocean didn't at least lift a little weight off his shoulders. They were in a good place, together. They would get through this, somehow, they had to. They had gotten through everything together so far, right?

He was very careful when he wrapped his arms around her, not wanting to disturb her when her stomach had just stopped giving her a hard time. His lips on her shoulder were just as tender, only a shadow of a touch. At least he didn't feel like freezing inside out anymore under the bright sun. Maybe he could try and put himself together again and actually succeed this time.

"Tell me what you need, Nat. What you need me to do."

Natasha heard him approaching and willed herself not to tense up. She didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know what would happen next? Another stilted discussion about food? An impersonal update on the kitten? Then his arms wrapped around her from behind and she found herself sagging back against him, relaxing into the embrace.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She didn’t know what she needed, didn’t know what he could do for her. “But this is good.” Just being in his arms helped, and she wrapped her own over his, holding them around her as she laid her head back on his shoulder.

"That's good. This I can do."

Clint smiled a little, but it felt exhausting. Again... better than nothing. And well, it was true. He wouldn't let her out of his arms for even a second until all this was over and longer, if that was what helped her. This spot right under the brightest sun of the day maybe wasn't the best place for it, though, not when she had been feeling so sick in the morning. But he didn't want to rob her off that peace and calmness of the sight either...

"Hang in a second."

He pressed his lips to her shoulder and stepped back inside to hurry over to the dresser where he had already scattered his things all around, just like at home. One of the most important items of living in these parts he had placed right on top, fortunately. He also brought a big towel since that old deck chair on his balcony had seen a few too seasons to be very inviting.

Stepping behind Natasha again, he gently placed his baseball cap on her head and arranged her tangled curls out of her face before he pulled her in his arms again.

"We can just sit here for a while if you want", he murmured against her shoulder, nodding down on that towel he had placed on the chair. "You know, not talk or anything... Just... just sit and wait."

Wait for what? For tomorrow, obviously, but maybe until one of them finally had the courage to speak up, if that would happen at all.

Natasha didn’t protest when he moved away, didn’t turn to watch what he was doing. She knew he would be back; he always came back.

It was warm out on the balcony in the sun, much to warm to still be wearing his sweater but she didn’t want to take it off, not until it was necessary.

When he came back and plunked his baseball cap on her head she couldn’t help but laugh a little in spite of everything as she tilted her head back to peer at him from under the brim. Then she was in his arms again, the one place she felt safe and warm.

She nodded at the suggestion, though sitting and ‘waiting’ sounded pretty awful, even if she got to sit with him. “You could pick a book to read to me as well,” she said quietly, pulling out of his arms to take a seat on the towel.

"Gotta go through your bag for that", Clint warned her with half a grin. "I promise not to steal anything."

That actually sounded like a pretty good idea. Natasha had enjoyed that book from the beach very much, he could tell from the way she had read it to him. It was only fair to return the favor now. And if talking horses and magical woods helped get her mind off things... Even better.

When he got back from collecting the book he also had a fresh, cold bottle of water with him and placed it next to the deck chair before settling behind her, leaning back in the chair. Softly, without any pressure he wrapped one arm around her again, motioning her to lean back against him she wanted to and flipped that book open to where Natasha had stopped last time.

"Just stop me if it gets too hot or something, okay?"

He pressed his face softly against her neck again, seeking out that same spot where his sweater bared just a small part of her shoulder with his lips, but pulled it back in place then. It was too hot. But if she felt still sick or more comfortable like this, the hell he would ask her to loose that piece of clothing. And on the upside, she wouldn't catch a sunburn.

Clint seemed pleased with the suggestion, and Natasha was glad for the distraction. The words would give her something else to focus on, to think about.

It wasn’t long before he returned with the book and took his seat behind her. Settling back in his arms, she threaded her fingers through his and rested her head against his shoulder. Fixing her eyes somewhere out on the ocean, she listened to the soft litany of his voice and while she was definitely interested in the story, she still found her mind wandering.

What kind of father would he be? She suspected he would be the best kind, and nothing like his own. He would tuck his children in and read them bedtime stories in a soft voice that lulled them to sleep. He would kiss them good night whenever he was home to do so, and fix them breakfast in the mornings, making sure they got enough fruit. He would be everything his own father wasn’t, if given the chance.

It was a little hot for Clint too, especially with talking all the time, and soon he ended up drinking from that bottle himself. But he held it out for Natasha everytime he reached for it first. With side-eyes looks he could live right now, if it meant she stayed hydrated at least.

In one of these small breaks, rolling a sip of water in his mouth, he allowed himself to watch her for a moment as much as it was possible from the angle. Now that he had kind of caught his basic balance back, he could do that again. He had to. He had to watch her and watch out for her in this upcoming time, the absent look on her face showed him that clearly. She wouldn't be able to do it herself, not as much as usual.

Maybe that was the perfect job for partners who had fucked up. At least it would stop him from drowning in self-pity.

That thick knot in his throat already threatened to return, so he took another sip and went back to reading, though he caught himself hardly paying attention to the story. The witch was screaming at that unicorn or something, they had it about something like lost youth and innocence. Jesus. His patience with fairy tales didn't reach very far since a few hours.

He was kind of relieved when inside the house the protesting screams of their visitor started again. The sun had cooled and settled down a bit over the ocean, so they had obviously spent some time here though he could hardly recall it. Which probably meant a mess from their furball - good thing it was just the tub - that bath waiting and lunchtime soon.

He still searched for any sign of hunger in his stomach in vain, but when he stood up after putting Natasha's bookmarklet back in and pressing his lips to her clearly sun heated skin once more, he realized he had been sitting for a while in too high temperatures himself. He had to rest on the balcony door for a moment, shake the dizziness from his head. When he reached for that bottle again, he found it empty this time.

"I need to take care of her. Do you want to stay here? Need more water or something?"

Somewhere in the back of her mind Natasha heard the story, but it wasn’t really registering, wasn’t doing anything to distract her now lift her mood. The book was beautifully written, but it had a sadness about it, a melancholy, that made it apparent this was no longer the book they should be reading. Something happier and funny, or maybe a mystery to solve; those would be better options. Maybe after this session she would switch it out for next time.

She took the water whenever Clint offered, taking small sips so as not to overdo it, but while he enjoyed the heat much more than her, he seemed to also be minding it much more at the moment as well. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel it, it just seemed so unimportant.

Eventually the cries of their tiny ward drew their attention, and it was probably a welcome distraction. “I’ll come in,” she replied, getting carefully to her feet as well. She had to close her eyes a moment and grip the back of the chair, but the dizziness passed and she joined him at the door. “I can fix a salad.” Food still wasn’t her top priority right now, but it had begun to register that while she hadn’t eaten much due to feeling ill, Clint just hadn’t eaten much, period. She couldn’t let him neglect himself like that, not because of her. “Unless you think you’ll need help?”

"Make it small. I'm still not hungry, to be honest. Not like I can't afford losing an ounce or two."

Clint gave her a wry smile before packing up bottle and book and heading back inside. It was a relief to be in a air-conditioned room after that afternoon outside, admittedly.

He thought about Natasha's other offer for a moment and hesitated. It would probably be easier to get that bath done together, but he didn't like the idea that she could get herself all scratched up. Not as long as their guest was that dirty and still on anthelmintics. It didn't make a difference, as a hard voice inside let him know very helpfully, even it was dangerous for the... for her condition. They were about to do something about that anyway.

He still didn't want to see her any more injured today than she already was in more than one sense.

"I think it's better if I'm the scapegoat. Then she'll have you to trust left at least. I'll call you before I bleed out from my wrists, promise."

Again that wry, short smile that felt so heavy and exhausting on the corner of his mouth. God, how much he hated this mood already.

There was another good reason for not taking Natasha with him, he sound as soon as he had gotten that kitten bath stuff from the still waiting bags in the kitchen and opened the bathroom door. And closed it behind him very quickly. How could something so tiny leave so much stench? Fortunately there had been a drain, and he had everything to clean up the rest of the mess in the bathroom. Including these gloves that Angelina usually used to clean the house. Maybe he wouldn't end up all scratched up after all.

The furball eyed him warily from the other side of the tub when he took care of the mess and threw the dirty blanket in the washing machine. A good chance to put all the other stuff from the laundry basket in as well and start the machine while he was at it.

Then he couldn't procrastinate any longer. With a heavy sigh, he lifted the little animal on his arms and let in a shallow, lukewarm bath then while he tried to keep the restless, fighting thing close to his body without hurting it. It turned out, kitten claws were sharp enough to poke through a shirt. Oh, this was going to be fun.

"I hate this as much as you will, you know", he finally sighed when the bath was ready.

He somehow had a feeling, that wasn't much comfort for his little guest. About 10 minutes later the bathroom was... well, pretty wet everywhere, his arms looked like he had wrestled with two mountain lions at once, and the kitten trembled utterly defeated in his arms when he wrapped her in a big towel.

The day just kept on getting better.

"Promise, you'll be rid of me soon", he sighed. "Just need to dry you up before I let you out. They'll think you're a rat and eat you if you go out there like that."

“I’ve never met a man so concerned with his wait,” she teased halfheartedly before following him inside. The instant cold made her shiver but it would fade fast enough, and she had other things to distract her. While she was glad that Clint was being honest with her, she was also worried about him... about them. Many other couples went through similar situations and came out stronger, but not under these circumstances. Many of them fell apart as well.

She accepted his explanation as to why he didn’t need help, though she didn’t like it. She didn’t like the idea of him doing all the dirty jobs so the kitten ended up afraid of him, it really wasn’t fair. She had the feeling that it wasn’t entirely that, though; maybe he just needed some time alone, so she nodded slowly and headed to the kitchen.

Preparing food was a good way to occupy the time. She tore lettuce, chopped vegetables and fruit, and mixed up the dressing, moving efficiently and mechanically through each task. She heard various noises from the bathroom as she worked but didn’t go check them out. It wasn’t until she had finished and she heard only silence that she finally headed for the washroom.

Clint was as drenched as the kitten and the room was soaked, and despite everything she was feeling the she couldn’t help but smile. “I’m not certain which of you won this battle, but it certainly looks hard fought.”

"Still breathing, so I'd call it a tie."

This time his grin looked really miserable. He had settled down on the tub edge with the hot wet bundle of fur and towel in his arms to try get some rest and calmness at least in his own body, but it didn't work.

He felt tense, on the edge, and couldn't even tell why. Jesus, he had been through slightly worse stuff than dealing with an unwilling animal.

And still it made him feel like shit to have that small helpless creature shake in his hands like was the incarnation of the devil. Even through the towel he could feel its heart beat much too fast, and that small whine the kitten let out when it spotted Natasha finally did it. In this vulnerable, upset condition they couldn't let her outside. She'd be probably running in a car, and he certainly wasn't the one to calm her down.

"Think you can do that, red? She's seen enough of me for today, I'm afraid. I'll get the table ready in the meantime."

Natasha didn’t like that look on his face, didn’t like seeing him look so downtrodden and beaten, and any mirth she felt at the situation vanished.

Stepping forward at his request, she held her hands out to accept the precious little bundle, but as Clint placed it in her waiting arms her body froze and she looked stricken. It’s just a kitten. Get ahold of yourself, she mentally berated herself as she adjusted the bundle in her arms. “It’s okay, little one,” she soothed, scratching the kitten between the ears with one finger. “Now that you’re all clean maybe he won’t mind as much if you sneak inside...”

Clint froze when Natasha did, calling himself an idiot for not considering, she couldn't do this right now. And why? Just because he was a silly sob and couldn't handle dealing with a kitten after a fucking long day? That was not exactly what concern and help looked like.

He was ready to take the animal back and tell her it was okay, that he would be out with her in a few minutes, but then she relaxed, and his shoulders sagged back down. If she could at least have the kitten around her still, just a little thing to make her smile, that already was a big deal right now.

And maybe not only for that reason he wasn't opposed to her hardly hidden request. That battle was long lost anyway.

"I'll build a cat flap in the door tomorrow or something. Pretty sure that girl in the shop put one in the bag. If the furball even wants to come back that is. Guess we'll see tomorrow."

He reached out absent-minded, for Natasha's hand or the kitten, he wasn't really sure, but withdrew immediately when the kitten hissed and startled. Well, as if he hadn't expected that. Probably better if he didn't bond with that little devil anyway. As it had turned out recently, his record of fucking things up was indeed legendary.

"I'll get that salad ready."

He quickly washed the worst of blood from the scratches off his arms and turned to leave for the kitchen, a little faster than necessary maybe.

Natasha looked up at Clint apologetically when the kitten hissed at him. He put on a good show but she knew it was eating him up inside that the little thing was scared of him now, and she couldn’t help but feel guilty for not sharing that blame.

“She’ll come around,” she said, hoping it was true. Clint might have to do some sucking up, and if he was the primary food provider then that would likely help. They would figure it out. They always did.

Once she was alone again she looked down at the pitiful creature in her arms, all wrapped up in the towel. “Such a big mess for such a little thing,” she said, glancing around the bathroom again. “He’s only trying to help you, you know, but you’re making him believe that maybe black cats really are unlucky.” The kitten mewled and blinked up at her. “Perhaps we should call you Lucky.” She swore the tongue stuck out at her. “The opposite? Unlucky doesn’t sound quite right.” She started running antonyms over in her head, then similar words, but was having difficulty coming up with a good term for the little problem in her arms. She switched to different languages and legends until one struck her. “Misfortune. Liho.”

All the while, somewhere in the back of her mind she was screaming not to name it. There was no going back after that.

Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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