study_in_scarlet | Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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.

"Much better than what the vet came up with."

Clint glanced in through the half open door, just finished with setting up their early lunch in time to hear Natasha's pondering. For the first time since yesterday that smile on his lips didn't feel completely forced.

So it seemed to work, Natasha at least was still bonding with their little ward and if that helped her pass the time, make the next weeks at least a little brighter, that was all he could ask for. Of course it would hurt too if something happened to little one, and saying good-bye in the end wouldn't be much easier, but these were at least things they were used to. Things that were out of their control. In the end they would be able to say, they had done what they could.

That was more than he could claim about that other catastrophe happening right now, the one they both ignored like it wouldn't touch them much more than a stray kitten making itself at home in their house.

He started to get used to suppress such bitter, cold thoughts already, he found with another, sad smile. That was their training, after all, and it wasn't like he had a choice anyway. Like he could change anything. Working himself up would make it only worse for Natasha.

It was so much easier watching her dry that little helpless animals on her arms and tell himself that they were as alright as could be.

"I've turned the air conditioning off. If we let her run around in the living room a little while we eat, she should be good to go soon."

Natasha started a little when Clint’s voice sounded from the doorway. She had been so distracted with her own contemplation that she hadn’t heard his approach. “Do I want to ask what they tried to call you?” she asked the kitten before looking up to meet Clint’s eyes. It was nice to see a real smile on his lips, even if it was only fleeting. She missed his smile already, how carefree he had been yesterday after so many months of near depression. Of course just when things were starting to look up, everything had to get messed up again.

Rubbing the towel gently over the furball, she looked back down at it again. “Did you hear that? You get to have the run of the place for a little while. You should be grateful. He doesn’t turn off the AC for just anyone.”

Carrying the cat back through to the living room, she paused at Clint’s side to lean her head against his shoulder and place a soft kiss on his arm. They were strong, and never stronger than when they were together. The would get through this.

It felt better, less forced when Natasha made a move of touching him, of getting close herself though they were still far from how they usually couldn't keep their hands off each other. Clint had an idea, it would take a while until they could get there again. So he indulged in every small moment they could steal in spite of the situation, like now, reaching up to gently run his fingers through Natasha's hair before she pulled away. Whenever she wanted and needed it, as usual.

It had been a good idea to give the kitten some freedom as it turned out. That way Clint had a good excuse to not touch his already small helping of salad because he was mostly busy taking care of Liho. This time there was no fruit on the sofa table, but that didn't keep little one from climbing its way up there and start tearing a TV magazine apart.

Clint saved what wasn't confetti yet and took yet another turn in being hissed at. He sighed. Now he was being a spoilsport too, great.

He tried hard to remember where he had last seen that toy Natasha had bought. Was there one in these bags he had brought today? Liho found a new target in the dresser, though. Clint had thought that she could impossible get up there, not as small and weak as she was, but he hadn't taken that chair in the corner nearby into consideration. Little one actually made it to climb up there and then set out to jump over to the next heightened surface. At first he grinned about it - and eyed the scene with a worried eye - but after two times of landing flat on the floor, she actually made that jump.

Which meant for him, he had to go save his car keys and phone next. There was also a plastic spoon on the dresser - where the hell did that come from? - that made an acceptable toy at least. Or was it? Maybe it was poisonous for cats or something if they chewed on it, and what if she broke the damn thing and hurt herself?

Finally he went back to the kitchen to search through these bags after all. He returned with a triumphant smile and a little ball with a small bell inside that rang when you rolled it, and two fur mouses. Professional kitty stuff, couldn't go anything wrong with that, right?

Only Liho apparently had already lost interest in playing but sat next to Natasha now and looked up at her with quiet, pleading whines, obviously smelling the food.

Carrying the little bundle out to the living room, Natasha crouched down and carefully unwrapped it, letting the kitten wander out on her own. Heading back to the kitchen, they managed to sit for about ten seconds before Clint was on his feet again and playing kitten wrangler.

From her seat at the table Natasha watched the chaos unfolding, an amused smile settling on her lips. It was adorable, how intent Clint was to keep Liho from destroying everything, and how equally determined Liho was to cause as much havoc as she could. She was a determined little thing, and even a few crashes couldn’t keep her from her goal, and soon it was Clint scurrying again to save his possessions which earned a laugh from Natasha.

“She’s determined to keep you on your toes,” she said when he returned to the kitchen to search through the still unpacked bags. Taking a bite of the salad, she chewed slowly and watched him a moment before a quiet whining at her feet drew her attention. “Hungry again?” she asked, plucking a piece of tomato from the salad and holding it down for Liho. “You’ll be the fattest cat around here in a couple of weeks.”

"Nah, I think we have a long way to go to that yet. She can use the extra energy."

Clint watched the kitten diminish the fruit with impressive speed and saw another chance of getting rid of a part of his plate. When he held out a piece of tomato of his own, though, Liho turned away with head and tail high and went back to that chair to continue her jumping exercise.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Next time I walk you all the way to the vet on a leash."

Grumbling, Clint dropped these toys he had brought and rolled the little pink ball into Liho's direction. That at least seemed to work, the kitten began to chase it across the room gleefully and his possessions were save for the moment.

He plucked that tomato in his own mouth but hardly tasted anything really. Finally he ended up only drinking half a bottle of water and putting his plate in the fridge. He could always eat a few pieces in the morning to be fit enough for the drive.

It was true, the little kitten was malnourished and it would take a while to get her up to a normal size if they were to do it safely. “Did the vet say anything about feeding?” Natasha asked, pushing her own food around a little. The salad looked delicious but it tasted bland on her tongue, and not in the comforting way the toast had. “I assume we shouldn’t give her too much, too fast, or is that not an issue?”

If nothing else the addition of Liho gave them both something else to focus on, which was very welcome right now. Otherwise they would probably drive each other crazy tiptoeing around and trying not to scream. Watching the kitten chase the ball around was certainly entertaining and almost impossible to not smile at.

A few minutes more passed before Clint gave up the charade and put his own lunch in the fridge for later. Staring sadly down at her own plate Natasha tried to think of something to say, something to suggest they do to pass the long hours that were ticking away too slowly. "Do you want to take care of this while I clean up the bathroom?" was what she eventually settled on.

"Just a list of things she shouldn't have. If we stick with the meat and a little green stuff, we should be good, as long as it isn't pork."

Clint watched Natasha stare down on her plate about as enthusiastically as he had and sighed soundlessly. It wasn't fair lecturing her when he could hardly act rational himself.

"Don't force yourself, red. We can keep the stuff in the fridge and you get some when you feel ready. You know me, I'm just worried when you have nothing in your stomach."

He knew damn well that she hated it when he worried too much, and they were already close to that fine line again. Maybe it was better to be separate for a few minutes. They were tiptoeing right now, and that didn't help anyone. He had to be ready when she needed him, not waiting for it with panicked eyes and held out arms. It was sad when cleaning up the kitchen sounded like the highlight of the day.

"Sounds good. I'll let the furball out as soon as she needs a toilet break, and then tomorrow we'll see. Pretty sure she loves you, though, so I'm sure she'll be back."

He tried to smile, sound encouragingly, but God, he felt so tired already. The idea of spending the whole evening and night like this already made him want to punch something.

Natasha made a mental note of the okay foods to give the kitten, though she had the feeling that Clint was going to be the primary food giver in this family.

Family.

That’s what they were; that’s what the two of them were together, but now that was changing, it was all changing, and even without the baby how could they go back to how things were? How could he look at her afterwards?

Pushing those thoughts away, she got to her feet, leaving her plate for Clint to take care of. “I know,” she said softly. “The toast earlier helped, promise.” She didn’t needle him about the fact that he had barely even taken a mouthful, not wanting to argue right now. He was trying so hard for her but this was obviously eating him up inside. Another day or two and they would both be sick. Sick of food, sick of the injustice of it all... maybe even sick of each other. Needless to say she was a little grateful when he agreed to clean separate rooms, giving them a few minutes apart.

“She likes the food, if nothing else, so I’m sure she’ll be back as well,” Natasha replied, her own attempt at a smile only marginally better than Clint’s. Heading to the washroom she started with just wiping up all the mess before deciding that the tub needed a good scrubbing, then the shower, the toilet, the sink...

Clint had just finished taking care of the dishwasher and sorting out things in the fridge that couldn't be used anymore when Liho grew restless. At least the kitten had kind of good manners, starting to whine in time and stroll around the room as if searching for something, and Clint was quick enough to open the door for her so she could leave. A little cleaning up to not crawl up the wall was okay, but he definitely wasn't in the mood to scrub the living room carpet.

"You take care of yourself, furball", he shouted quietly when Lino bolted outside without giving him another glance. The ignorance still hurt a little, but it was mainly for Natasha that he hoped little one would be well and back soon. If she had even one less thing to smile about... He had no idea how to handle that. He didn't even know how to fucking get through this evening.

He hated himself for feeling so relieved when he could her rummage in the bathroom. If activity helped her best right now, he certainly wouldn't interfere. He ignored that ugly, mean laugh in the back of his head, telling him, his cowardice reached an impressive new level. If he forced himself around her when neither of them had anything to say, what good would that do?

That left him withe considerable job of finding something to do himself, though. Remembering that annoying scene during diner he tried to put away all loose objects lying around for next time, when Liho would be here, which mostly meant stuffing them in the already overstuffed living room cabinet. That took about five minutes and he was left standing in the middle of the room again.

He dreaded sitting down on the sofa or worse, in the bed room, because it would just make him feel this unnatural silence and coldness even more. So he went to the other rooms and continued putting stuff in drawers and cabinets, not even knowing what for since he definitely didn't plan to let the cat live in here, leave alone in all rooms. But what else was he supposed to do?

Only when he walked over a hatch right before the kitchen for like the hundredth time, he remembered, that house had a cellar too, though hardly used. He didn't have enough stuff to need the space, and if he was in Italy, he definitely preferred spending his time in the sun. Usually. When his partner and him didn't happen to have the deepest crisis they had ever had.

But he had been down there a few times, when he had been on that long stay during his Italy mission, as he vaguely remembered, and that memory gave him the final live-saving idea. He got his equipment from the dresser bottom drawer and left the hatch wide open when he went down the stairs, to let Natasha know where he was.

He tried not to grimace when an ocean of moldy air welcomed him, but it wasn't as bad as he had thought. Apparently Angelina had cleaned down here too though he hadn't even asked her to. He dully wondered what she had thought when she had spotted the shooting range, save for a small fitness station the only furniture down here. Maybe she knew and suspected far more about him than he knew.

He was far too tired of everything to give further thought to that. He rather used the advantages and pulled himself the perfectly clean footstool out from under the tiny working table. Tinkering with the newest arrowhead he had brought from New York was as good as anything to pass the time. There wasn't much to do left and he got more done than in the whole last month in fact. He kept his focus forcefully at the task at hand and used it to push everything else away from his conscious mind, and he hadn't been able to do that in quite a time. It was sad enough that a catastrophe had to happen first before he could find back that concentration.

It didn't last long. As soon as the model was ready to test and he got his bow out of its transport case, he could already feel his mind drifting again. How long he had been busy? He could just hope that Natasha would call for him if she needed anything. And at the same time he doubted, she would, not on this evening, and that thought brought back all anger, all helplessness at once.

Gritting his teeth, he took his stance at the range, determined to blow all that crap he couldn't change right back out of his head where it belonged, at least for another hour or so. The first shot barely hit the edge of the target on the other side of the room. The second ricocheted from the wall and fell to the floor with a metallic, shrill thud.

Clint could feel his hands start to shake when he went back to get that fucking arrow for the third time from a place where it had no business. More anger, frustration, uncertainty, all this bullshit that had no place in his training haunted him like he was holding a bow for the first time in his life.

So far for his glorious idea of distracting himself. He hadn't felt that fucking lost all evening.

Natasha didn’t know how much time had passed, but she scrubbed almost every surface in the bathroom until it was sparkling clean and she was damn near exhausted. She was overdoing it, she knew that, but what else could she do? Her only hope was that she could wear herself out enough to call an early night and maybe sleep most of it straight through. If not, the idea of spending the whole evening with Clint, both of them ignoring the elephant in the room, or, even worse, talking about it... she couldn’t do that, not tonight. She just had to make it to tomorrow, and after that...

Just get to tomorrow first.

Putting away all the cleaning supplies she thought of drawing a bath and sinking under the water until it grew cold, but the guilt was gnawing at her, refusing to let her seclude herself entirely. It would be easier if this was her problem alone, but she couldn’t shut Clint out, he was hurting just as much as she was; more, probably, because he let himself feel it, something she hadn’t quite done yet. She was forever teetering on the edge and trying to hold herself there, because if she fell she wasn’t sure she could handle it.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, she made herself leave the washroom only to find the house empty and silent. She had vaguely heard the door earlier as Clint had let Liho out, but Clint himself...

As she looked around the room she heard movement and followed it to a previously unnoticed hatch in the floor. Stepping down the stairs the first thing she noticed was the smell and it made her stomach turn. The second thing she noticed was Clint in his archer’s stance, bow drawn, arrow nocked. She smiled at the sight - of course he would have a hidden range set up here - but the smile faded quickly. It was all wrong, he was too tense, his body slightly shaking. Then she saw something she very rarely ever saw.

He missed.

Hoping that he hadn’t heard her approach, she backed up the stairs and retraced her steps before moving forward again, making sure to make a little more noise this time so he would for sure hear her coming. “Clint?” she called softly as she stepped onto the first stair.

"Hey."

Great. Just great. That last shot had still been a catastrophe, but Clint had just felt himself slowly slipping into zen mode - or at least force his way into it - when the silence was broken. Since he still didn't find anything to say, he decided to go on with his training anyway. Natasha would tell him if she wanted to do anything else than watch him embarrass himself.

Probably not the best mindset to get his shit together, admittedly. He mostly was good at shooting because he hadn't done anything else since he had been a kid. He knew he could do it, that there were only a few people in the world - if anything - who were on his skill level with a bow.

Right now he wasn't any of that, though, and maybe he was just too tired after a day of pretending to fool himself even more. It was still there, underneath his skin, in the twitching muscles of life long training, just waiting to be used, that certain emptiness and focus in his head he needed for his weapon. But it slipped from his grasp like a wet snake whenever his eyes rested on the target.

Well, at least the arrow hit the target again this time. Or actually it cut straight through the thin wooden edge, then clonked against one the solid metal hangers that fastened the whole thing to the wall. Then it fell, with a too loud, crunching noise that let Clint know that there went his work of the late afternoon.

"Gets you thinking, doesn't it?", he said flatly as he set his bow aside before he could damage even more, and went to get the broken gear. "Probably really better that we call this whole thing off before it starts. I mean, look at me. How am I supposed to protect a family? I'm a fucking wreck, Nat."

The hardly held in aggression exploded finally when he touched that damn arrow head he had just ruined. He stared at it as if he had never seen one before and hurled it against the rough concrete of the nearest wall then. Well, that felt surprisingly good. Kicking against the wood boarding of the target felt even better, mostly because it hurt and even pain was better than feeling nothing or just anger right now. So he did it again, and then a little more. What good was any of this shit anyway, when now he couldn't even do the only thing he had been capable of?

He acknowledged her presence but kept training, so Natasha sat down in the middle of the staircase to watch him. She usually loved watching him train; she had never met anyone else even close to as adept with the bow and arrow, and it was a thing of beauty to watch such skill at work. He made it look effortless and moved with such grace that she could get lost just watching his serene face and the dance of muscles under his skin.

But not today.

She winced visibly at the miss and the awful sound it made that signaled a ruined arrowhead, but that was nothing compared to the words that followed. She knew he was upset and finally letting it out, knew he was talking about the baby, but there was a part of her that wondered if he meant them as well. Maybe it was all too much, and if he couldn’t look at her the same after this then could they really stay together?

She wanted to ask him, could taste the question on her tongue, but suddenly he exploded, all the pain and anger coming out violently, and she could only watch him, helplessly. What could she say or do to make any of this better? How could she make him understand? She felt her heart aching, felt herself teetering on that edge again. She couldn’t fall, she just couldn’t, but she couldn’t leave him to fall on his own either. But she could give him a way out if he wanted it.

“You don’t have to do this, Clint,” she said after he had stopped kicking things. Getting to her feet she descended the stairs and stood at the bottom, her arms wrapped instinctively around her stomach. “I can take care of it on my own. You can stay here, or go home, and I’ll find you when it’s over.” It was a genuine offer; if it was too much for him she could do it herself, she could be strong for the both of them. If he didn’t want to be involved he didn’t have to, and then when they saw each other again they could figure out whether it was better to ‘call the whole thing off’.

In all honesty Clint had mostly stopped because kicking against wood and metal didn't get him very far. He was already searching for the next thing to break, with his hands shoved down his pockets, still trembling hard, and his vision blinded by blood-red shades of wrath.

He had nearly forgotten that Natasha was there before she spoke up, but that tone in her voice - uneasy, shocked, nearly scared - and the way she hugged herself... It was like a bottle of ice water emptied on his head, long before he even really realized what she just had said. He had done that, he made her feel like that... Not a surprise she wanted him to leave.

Had she really just said, she wanted him to leave?

"What?"

His voice suddenly sounded very quiet, helpless and choked. That short anger fit already faded, drowned by the much more powerful, dreadful feeling of fear and self-loathing. So that was how great he helped her, she rather wanted him away from her than deal with him any longer. There couldn't be any better motivation to get his shit together immediately.

He made a beeline for her while he was still trying to come up with something to say and finally gave up on it, just pulled her in his arms instead. He held her tighter to his chest than all day, with his too hot face pressed against her shoulder. That way he could at least pretend to himself, it was sweat on his cheek, not the sudden desperation taking hold of him.

"You think I would do that, Nat? Leave you alone with this?"

He forced himself to let go off her enough to look at her, sick of hiding suddenly. She would know he was hurt, just like her, no matter if he showed her or not, so whom was he trying to fool?

"I'm not running, okay? I'm a catastrophe and a coward and a mess, but I'm not running from you, ever."

It wasn’t that she wanted him to leave, but if dealing with this head on hurt him this bad then maybe it would be easier for the both of them to spend some time apart and deal with it separately. Easier, maybe, but would it be better? If they didn’t deal with it together, how would they make it through the aftermath?

For the first time in a very long time she wanted to back away from him when he approached so quickly, unsure of what he intended to do, but when he pulled her into his arms and held her so damn tight she felt all her walls crumbling around her, everything she had been trying to keep suppressed bubbling to the surface.

She didn’t answer his question, just slid her arms around him and hugged him back, clinging to him like a lifeline. She didn’t want to do this alone, she wanted him by her side, but if it was too much for him then she would do whatever it took. She didn’t need him, she didn’t need anyone, she never had, but she wanted him, wanted him more than anything.

When he forced her to look at him she could see her own feelings mirrored back at her and that first hint of vulnerability became clear in her eyes. She tried so hard to hide it, to remain strong, but face with such pain and misery it was hard to keep her own to herself.

“But… will you hate me?” she asked, her voice sounding almost childlike as she voiced the fear that had settled so deep in her heart, the one that scared her more than the rest. “After this, after I do this…”

"Not you, Nat. We do this. We decided this."

That look on her face hurt so much more than all the fears and doubt Clint had fought all day. Of course this was a catastrophe, the worst that ever could have happened and no one had said, it would be easy. It would be haunting them... just like so many other things they had done. And they had gone through all of those together and made it through, because they had always been there for each other. They would do the same with this crisis, for both their sanity, before one of them would break beyond repair.

He let go off her with one arm to cup her face with his still cold, trembling hand, push that baseball cap she was still wearing out of her face to make her look at him. That she even considered he was able of hating her, hurt, but it wasn't like he knew where it was coming from. Natasha had never had anyone to stick through everything going on in her life with her. No family, no one she had let close enough to her for it.

Except for him. Even if he had felt the wish, he would never have left her alone with this. He wouldn't be one of these assholes to vanish when it became difficult.

That still didn't make any of this easy, though. If he wanted her to believe him, he had to be honest with her. He couldn't go on pretending this didn't touch him to the core, not after that scene that had just happened. He still didn't know fucking why, since the idea of having a kid still scared the shit out of him, but that was how he felt and he couldn't change it. It didn't help lying about that.

"We'll probably end up hating ourselves a little", he finally said, after long seconds of just caressing her cheek and letting her see all these hurtful emotions on his face. "But Nat... Why should I hate you? We've made this mess, both of us. It's our decision whether we give this a shot. We're doing what we both can live best with. That doesn't change the way I feel about you, ever. I love you, Nat, not what your body can or can't do."

He kept saying ‘we’. We decided this, but had they really? He had asked her what she wanted and she had told him her decision. I can’t, I need but what about Clint?

He was so damn supportive, almost to a fault, and Natasha wanted to bury her face in his chest and hold him tightly and let him sooth it all away, but it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that they had to go through this in the first place, but it also wasn’t fair what she was doing to him. Maybe she had been pushing him away as doing it alone would be easier as she wouldn’t have to see what it was doing to him.

Shivering at his touch she made herself meet his eyes when prompted, made herself face all the hurt he was feeling; made herself recognize that this wasn’t just about her. He was opening himself up for her, dropping that mask and letting her see the true depth of his pain. He wanted to be strong for her just as badly as she did, but all the lying would only hurt them worse in the end. She could live with regret, had for most of her life, but this was different. They had to walk into it with both eyes open, knowing full well how each other felt about all of it.

When he had finished speaking Natasha shook her head. “Our decision, but I never really gave you a choice,” she said, her voice cracking faintly. She had to ask, had to know; he deserved that, deserved everything. “Clint... what do you want? If it was your decision to make, and yours alone?”

"I don't know, Nat. I really don't."

And there it was, the question he had run from all day. It was a little less horrible than he had expected, now that he had already shown Natasha how bad he really felt. But he still couldn't put it in words, why.

He took that silly cap carefully off her, to feel her closer, at least try get some of the usual tenderness and carefulness between them back, after they had worked each other up so much unwillingly during the day. He rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes to allow himself really ponder about this one question for the first time.

Immediately that tightness in his throat, the pain in his stomach returned, but this time he fought it back and rather concentrated on telling Natasha what she needed to hear. If they wanted to do this together, they had to be on the same side, equally sure about how to handle this. Or it would come between them eventually, and he was not gonna let that happen.

"I can just tell you what I don't want. I don't want this blood on my hands, but as far as we know, this will happen either way, so I guess it's best to cut this whole thing short. It's easier for both of us. Easier for you, I hope. Because I don't want you to get destroyed by this, Nat. That's what most important to me. That you're safe and happy."

He faltered then, because that wasn't all and she would see now that they were so close. See that restlessness in his eyes, the unwillingness to make this decision just yet. He had no problem let her make it, but that was not what she asked of him.

"Dunno, maybe I'll feel better after that checkup tomorrow, when we speak to that doctor. I just want to know how high the risk really is. If we take it then or not... That's up to you, Nat. I've told you, I'm with you, whatever you do."

The answer maybe wasn’t what she wanted to hear but it was honest and it was expected. It was a big decision, one they had never expected to face, so of course it wasn’t so easy to make.

Leaning into his touch, Natasha clenched the back of his shirt in her fists and closed her eyes. He was still here, he was still with her, and no matter what happened he would be by her side.

She had thought he was done talking, that they would be stuck in limbo again with neither of them knowing what to say nor how to say it, but thankfully he knew they couldn’t carry on that way, and he knew that she needed more than an “I don’t know”.

He was still unsure, that much was obvious, and while he spoke of them making this decision together, it seemed quite clear that he would bow to her wishes in the end. If she felt it was too risky, if she felt there was no possibility she would carry to term, then he would stand by her as she terminated the pregnancy before she could miscarry, whether he wanted to or not.

That wasn’t the full truth, though and what he followed up with made her body freeze. He wanted to know how high the risk really was before deciding, meaning that he didn’t believe her that it was impossible. But no, it wasn’t quite that. At first it had been the doctors in the Red Room that had told her that her body was a ruin and would never birth a live child, so they had supposedly fixed it so she would never conceive again. Clearly that was a lie. Then it had been S.H.I.E.L.D. who had confirmed the diagnosis, but what it that was another lie? And even if they weren’t lying, maybe they saw what they expected to see. Maybe...

Taking a shuddering breath she nodded against him. “Okay,” she said, not elaborating. If he wanted to wait to decide then they would wait. If he wanted to hear it from a doctor directly that it was too risky to even try, then that was what they would do. And if her diagnosis didn’t turn out how she expected... no, she couldn’t let herself think that yet.

Clint already opened his mouth to tell her again that it was her decision only when she froze in his arms. But then the discussion would either start again or they would be just where they had been in the afternoon, trying not to hurt each other and still doing so.

Maybe he needed to be egoistic about this part. He needed to know, to be sure. It wouldn't change his decision if it didn't effect hers, but he had to face this with both eyes open. He had run too often in his life and fallen flat on his face too often for that. If he wanted to support Natasha, he needed to stay in balance himself, somehow.

So he stayed silent and wrapped both arms around her again when she nodded, cradled her close against his body and stayed like this with his lips pressed gently against her forehead, nothing else. Just letting her feel he was there, now and in whatever would come up next, like promised. He didn't ask her to go upstairs or if she wanted to head for bed - he had a feeling it had to be evening by now - he said nothing at all. At least this time the silence didn't hurt as much.

She felt small and vulnerable in his arms this evening, and that hurt too. But that's what partners were for, right? He had to be the strong part on such evenings and provide whatever she needed.

He didn’t say anything more, just pulled her back into his arms, and Natasha thought that maybe they would be okay. He was willing to be there for her, to do whatever she ultimately thought was best, so she had to be willing to do the same. She had to be willing to consider other options, and to not let her fear make the decision for her. This doctor would be able to give her a completely unbiased opinion, unlike those in the past, and that could be worth everything.

For what felt like a long time they just stood like that in silence before she finally stirred in his arms. Leaning back she looked up to him, trying to convey with that look just how grateful she was for him, how much she loved and appreciated him. Stepping up on her tip toes she placed a brief kiss on his lips before finally releasing the death grip she had had on his shirt.

“I’m going to get a bath. You can join me if you want,” she said. It was an offer if he wanted to, if he wanted the close comfort, but not a request if he would rather continue his training or do his own thing. “But afterwards we are both going to eat something.”

"Sounds very good."

After that long afternoon in the sun and especially that little anger fit from just now - that already began to feel like a strange distant dream in his head - Clint felt sweaty and uncomfortable. Relaxing a bit in warm water, holding Natasha whenever she needed it, waiting for enough tiredness to sleep to kick... Better than anything else they could have come up with, really.

He didn't comment on the eating part because he was pretty sure, he wouldn't get down more than one or two bites again, but he didn't want to upset her. So he just smiled shortly and lead the way upstairs, leaving his gear where it was. He could take care of that tomorrow or something. Fidgeting around with his weapons had never seemed so unimportant to him. Especially when it looked like he couldn't handle them anymore anyway.

He pushed that new uneasy worry away like he had done it with most of his feelings through the day, shook it off like a nasty insect. No time to worry about his own trifles right now.

He left it to Natasha to prepare the bath because he wasn't sure how her stomach was doing and what kind of smells she could handle. Sitting on the tub edge with his hands folded in his lap, he watched her as he could feel at least one of the desired goals of the evening already kicking in... He suddenly felt incredibly tired.

She knew he was still reluctant to eat anything, and honestly she felt the same, but she knew they had to. She would likely wake up sick in the morning again, and with little to bring up it would be even more unpleasant. As for Clint, he wasn’t doing himself any favours either, and the last thing either of them needed was him getting lightheaded while driving into town. For now she let it go, though, deciding to press the issue later, after a relaxing bath. Maybe it would help.

Once they were in the spotless bathroom Natasha drew a warm bath, opting out of any scented products. She’d had enough with the cleaning supplies, so a mild soap was all she planned on using this time. Gathering towels and cloths to set within reach, she stripped off the sweaty clothes and tossed them toward the washer. Somehow they had fallen into the routine of Clint being the one to take care of washing the laundry so she thought little of it as she stepped into the tub. Settling back against the side, she held her hand out to Clint to join her. She knew he wasn’t in the mood to really let his hands wander right now, but she really didn’t want him touching her stomach right now either; she just wanted to wrap her arms around him and settle her face against his shoulder so hopefully he would accept the reversed positions this time.

Clint had not expected Natasha to want too much touch at all, so he was pleasantly surprised when she invited him to her instead of retreating to the other side of the tub. With the exhaustion growing, he had just come as far as peeling his shirt off so far, but now he hurried a little more, adding the rest of his clothes to the pile she had built already.

The water had the perfect temperature and he found himself sighing a bit, a hint of relaxation emerging when he sat down between Natasha's legs and leaned back against her carefully. She seemed far better than in the morning and he could just hope, she would tell him if he got too heavy or something. He nuzzled his cheek against her shoulder when he sank deeper under the surface and rested his hand on her knee soothingly.

"You know, sooner or later we'll grow fins if we keep on being in the water so much", he murmured, just a shadow of his usual humor, but you got points for trying, right?

Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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