study_in_scarlet | Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

"As long as I still win every single wheelchait race against the other Sunday afternoon chess guys..."

The smile had a hard time staying on his lips. Now that Natasha had started mentioning it, it became even harder clearing his mind from stuff that he didn't want there anymore.

"It's okay."

He reached out for her hand under her pillow, holding it right there to keep them both warm. Still there was no way to prevent that hard shudder down his back, when he tried to drop this as quick and clean as possible.

"I've promised myself that this poor excuse of a tin God isn't worth even thinking about him. He won't have that triumph."

His hand was cold but she didn’t mind, she just squeezed it back.

“If only it was that easy,” she said. How many things had she promised herself weren’t worth thinking about since she couldn’t change them? How often did that keep her from thinking about them anyway? But she had said her piece, he knew that she was there for him when he needed her, that he could talk to her whenever he wanted, that she wanted him to open up to her whenever he was ready, and that was enough. “There’s no expiry date on that offer. Just keep it in mind.” If not tonight then maybe tomorrow, or next week, or month, or year. It didn’t matter; whenever he was ready then so was she.

“You did such a good job of warming me up earlier...” Shifting closer to him, she wound one arm around his back. “So now it’s my turn.” She would be content to just hold him through the rest of the night, to share her body heat and ward off the cold and the nightmares that only made it worse.

He could have answered with another witty remark but preferred to just pull her close, one hand still under the pillow, the other softly caught in her hair. It was worst in his hands and he didn't want her to freeze more than necessary.

The softness of her body close to his helped shut his eyes, breathe slowly through the quickest, easiest of meditation. To channel his thought on this one positive anchor inside, the way he had learned it from his first supervising officer back then.

In this case it was Natasha's beloved clear scent engulfing him, along with her warmth, the associations of their passionate game before tied to it until his body responded with the weak memory of arousal. Just a little quickening of his pulse really, and a deep, content sigh.

It was simply physically impossible to think of any torture bullshit with his partner's body pressed close to his.

"Maybe I should just start calling you every time this happens", he murmured, hand just softly tightening in her hair to caress the sensitive skin of her neck.

The clothes had been far too bulky for her to be comfortable sleeping in, and she knew she would have only woken up later too hot, but in removing them she had removed that protective layer, and it didn’t skip her notice that Clint was careful to not touch her skin with his cold hands. Forever thoughtful, that was Clint Barton, especially when it came to her.

She could feel him relaxing, hear his breathing becoming more even, so she pressed herself closer, sliding her hand up his back and tucking her head under his chin, her cheek laying against his chest.

She wasn’t sure if he was joking or being serious; the words were said so quietly it was impossible to tell, so she took them as the latter. Pausing only a moment to consider it she nodded against him. “Okay.” If that was what he needed then she would do it.

She didn't exactly sound enthusiastic, and for a moment he thought about forcing a chuckle, telling her, he wasn't planning on playing the obsessive boyfriend, giving her a call every other night because he couldn't stand being without her. But truth was, it touched his heart in a very special way how much she just wanted to be there for him, just like it was the other way round, and he didn't want to play that down.

So he just murmured a quiet "Thanks" into her hair, his voice on the edge of choked, and relaxed back against the bed so she could rest on top of him, the way they both seemed to enjoy it so much.
"I'll try not to be a pain. Though you do make a good therapist."
He stretched out a little, sighing with relief when he felt finally comfortable again.

His simple ‘thanks’ was just the right reply to her equally simple ‘okay’. It was really all that needed to be said. If he needed her she would be there, no questions asked, as she knew he would be for her if the situations were reversed, and while she might not sound enthusiastic she was sincere. She wanted to be the one he called when he needed help, or just someone to talk to, someone to keep him grounded. She wanted to be the one.

Moving with him when he rolled on his his back, Natasha settled herself on his chest and adjusted the blanket over her shoulders. “Funny, because most people probably think I need a therapist,” she said, nuzzling against him and placing a soft kiss at his throat. “I meant what I said, the offer is always open. Any time.”

"Well, I do like to think, that's my job."

When he felt like he wouldn't shock-freze her anymore, Clint caressed softly from her neck down, fingertips drawing the beautiful thin line of her back inch by inch before he rested his hand on her hip. Gently holding her against him, he took her other hand in his again, moving it against his chest. Softly, without any pressure, just to let her feel she was just as safe with him as he felt with her and could still back out anytime she needed more distance.

"I'm just a simple carnie and all, so I can't give any of these intellectual speeches they feed you in these mental eveluations."

He grimaced shortly, violently pushed aside the new unpleasant memory. Not about him now.

"But I'm the guy who will always be there when you need it. That works both ways."

His hands were still slightly cool but they felt good against her skin and Natasha let out a content sigh.

Why had she been so scared of this for so long? For as much as she’d tried to deny it a good part of her resistance had been fear. Everyone she had ever loved she had lost, so it had seemed better to never love again. Love was a weakness that could be used against her, it made people act irrationally and that was something she had never been able to afford. After Alexei she had sworn she would never love again, that there was no place for such emotion in her life. Then Clint had come along and changed that, had changed her, had changed everything. Love didn’t have to be a weakness, and right now she felt strong, whole.

Pressing her hand to his chest, just over his heart, she didn’t comment on the minute reaction to his own words, letting him push them aside. She knew how difficult the mental evaluations were, she had been through her fair share when he had first brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D., and she knew they weren’t something she ever wanted to discuss either.

Raising her head so she could meet his eyes in the darkness, for a long moment she just studied him. “I know you will,” she said softly. He always had been, right from the start. There had been setbacks in the beginning but he had never given up on her, and while part of his stubbornness might have been to save face for his decision to spare her, she felt that he also truly believed in her, truly believed he had made the right choice.

Kissing him softly, gently, on the lips, when she leaned back again it was with the faintest hint of a smile on her lips. “I really do love you, Clint Barton.”

His arms around her tightened for a long moment, a silent, thankful acknowledgment and an answer he didn't need to give her. Not the whole time, not when she knew it, had known it for years.

He focused and anchored his mind on that beautiful smile of hers, the way she looked at him now, tonight, sometimes when she had thought he would not see, before today. And from now on more often hopefully.
Things were alright, he just had to hold on to that security.

She was here, with him, he had not hurt her when he had been asked to. These things were over, if there was anything he thankfully took with him from these fucking evaluation bullshit and therapy appointments, it was that. The people with S.H.I.E.L.D. still didn't really trust him but Natasha did, and that was he needed most to move on.
New York... was over and he sure as hell wouldn't be silly enough to get himself into another situations like this ever again.

She would be safe with him. Nothing to worry about.

But when he closed his eyes, trying to relax his still stiff muscles, he was faced with the ghostly image of a cruel smile right before his eyes, the faint blue glowing around it threatening to ice cold radiate through his body again, and he sighed, frustrated. It wasn't fear of the future still weighing on his mind, it was the past that just wouldn't fucking shut up.

"Think I'll just stay awake for a while longer."

Of course he didn’t need to say it, she didn’t have even the slightest doubt that he loved her, but she realised it would have been nice to hear it. Was that how he felt every time she hadn’t replied in kind when he’d said it? No, it was different for him, because until tonight she wasn’t certain he had known at all how deeply her feelings for him ran. He had needed to hear it, and she was glad to have finally gained the courage to say it. They would not be one of those couples who said it every day or at the end of every conversation until the words lost all meaning. They knew, they both knew now, and that was enough.

When Clint closed his eyes, Natasha settled her head on his shoulder and did the same, but she could feel the tension in his body and his frustrated sigh had her looking at him again. Did he go through this every night when she wasn’t here? Or was tonight just particularly bad?

Placing a soft kiss against his jaw, she trailed kisses down his neck before settling at the hollow of his throat, just above the seam of his sweater. “Need me to wear you out a little more?” she purred against his skin. If he didn’t want to talk about it she could always offer comfort and distraction through other means.

"Like you don't know what that sound does to me."
He laughed quietly and bent down for a long kiss, still chaste, tongue just brushing her still slightly swollen lower lip. That wouldn't the only place sore after their encounter before. He found his heart battling with that immediate heat rising inside, from both her touch and just that certain sound in her voice, from her breath against his skin.

Gently, he brushed her hair from her face, trying to show her with his smile and the slight flush of his cheeks, how much he appreciated her offer. Great, this would be awkward again. Why couldn't he just try and be happy for one fucking weekend?

"Don't want to hurt you", he finally mumbled. "I mean... We've been in quite a wrestle on that sofa before, and..."
He paused, blushing even a little more.
"I mean, it's not like... Like I don't want to. Being so close to you... is just wonderful."
His arm tightened a little around her waist again, slipping little lower, fingertips brushing over her bare butt, the backside of her thigh. Whom was he kidding? This was something that made him happy. He just didn't like to sound like a shallow sex junkey or give her the feeling, she had to serve as a distraction.

So he went on explaining himself, no matter how silly it might sound.

"When we do that, especially when you're over me, when I can look at you and be inside you... Just that, just feeling you and seeing... Then I know, things are alright. That you trust me and enjoy being with me... that you're happy. I want you to make you happy, Tash', because you deserve it and because I'm happy with you. Guess that's why I'm such a mother hen about all this. I..."

That's where he paused again because it was the hardest part, because he had sworn himself not to tell her, not tonight. But the way the evening was going he would be awaking later anyway, trembling violently in the sheets, and there was no way she would miss it. He could as well tell her now.

"I still dream about hurting you. It's like that nightmare he gave me doesn't want to go away."

His voice broke with the last words and he leaned his head back against the pillow with tightly shut eyes, trying to chase that horrifying image of blood off.

She didn’t try to deepen the kiss, not yet, just letting him set the pace. Leaning into his touch when he brushed her hair back, Natasha’s smile widened when she noticed the blush in his cheeks. Clint Barton, with all his confidence and filthy talk when he’d had his face buried between her legs earlier, was now blushing like a schoolboy when it came to talking about everything they had done earlier. It was beyond adorable.

She was still very tender in more places than one from before, but she didn’t regret a second of it, not a single second. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her, that he would do everything in his power to prevent her ever being hurt by anything, and that was part of what made her so willing to push her envelope for him. Because he would never ask it of her, because he would be content with whatever she gave him, no matter how little. It was because he asked so little of her that she wanted to give him everything.

For now, though, she gave him her silence and let him get off his chest everything he felt he had to say. She wanted to interrupt, to fill the silence when he paused and tell him how happy he did make her, how she didn’t deserve him but wanted him all the same, how she wanted to make him happy too, but she held her tongue, letting him finish. When he did the sheer emotion on his face and in his words hurt her heart. Even now, no matter how much time had passed, she wanted to kill Loki for everything he had done to Clint. She wanted to tear out that manipulative tongue of his, gouge out his commanding eyes, break every bone in his body until so that he could feel what it was like to have no control.

“I wish I knew how to take it all away,” she admitted quietly, burying her face against his neck again. She hated feeling so helpless, so completely at a loss of what to do the guide Clint through this. “I can only say with full confidence that I know you’ll never hurt me.” She kissed his neck softly, her hand sliding up from his chest to his shoulder. “I do trust you, more than I’ve ever trusted anyone, and you do make me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”

"You're helping already, Nat, better than anyone else could."

With her face pressed so closely against his skin, his breath warming where the shivers had started again, Clint had another thing to focus on, leave that dark place his thoughts had once more settled in.

She was there, still, maybe he should just stop trying to be afraid that she wouldn't. She hadn't ever been scared off by this whole mess, why should she now?

"You haven't run from me like everyone else close to me did, though maybe you would have been right to. I mean, I do mess up a lot of things. I've never tried to pretend, all the shit that ever happened to me was not at least partially my fault. And P.E.G.A.S.U.S. was just one of them. I should have... don't know. 've been faster. I wasn't in the greatest of shapes."

He shrugged tiredly, just rubbing his eyes shortly to tear his mind away from these useless self-reproaches before he started stroking Natasha's back again, turned his head to press his too cool lips against her temple. That wasn't the point now.

"But you've always been there, in spite of everything I fucked up. It's part of the reason I love you so much, you know. I just need to find a way to forget these visions, the bastard planted into me."

It hurt to hear him talk so, to hear him put so much of what happened on himself and try to shrug it off like it was a done deal. Natasha shook her head against him but didn’t raise it to look at him. He seemed to find it easier to talk when he didn’t have to meet her eyes.

“You need to stop blaming yourself for everything,” she said. “He’s a god. No matter how fast you were he still would have been faster and stronger. There’s nothing you could have done.”

What if he had been faster? What if he had resisted? No matter how hard this whole situation was on him Natasha was selfishly glad Loki had taken him because the alternative just wasn’t something she even wanted to think about. Loki had brainwashed a few people that day, but the others he had simply killed without mercy.

Shifting again so she was barely on the bed at all, most of her body instead draping over his, she breathed deeply, inhaling the comforting scent she had memorized long ago. This time he said it, said again that he loved her, and it was amazing how such words would have scared her a while ago but that were welcome now. “We’ll work on them together. We’ll make some new dreams and memories to replace them with.”

Of course there were other methods, more invasive ones, but she was the last person to even suggest anything like that.

"That sounds really good."

Clint lowered his head to bury his face into her hair, let the faint sweet smell left of her shampoo sink into his senses along with the warmth of her body engulfing him. Every of his muscles seemed to melt from this half frozen state before into her touch. His arms gently pressed her to his chest while he caressed up and down the smooth skin of her legs with his, sighing deeply.

It helped, with every minute more, he could feel his mind relax into her as much as his body. And if there maybe were one or two drops of salt getting caught in her curls from his cheek, he didn't need to fear her frowning upon it.

This was just what he needed, how he needed her when time and place was right for them spending it together. To feel, how close they were and how trustful she submitted herself into his arms, no matter how many people he had killed with them.

Her body felt relaxed like it never happened when they were on the clock, steeled muscles giving in to his touch of her back, her waist. So different from their games before, no matter how satisfying they had been, and not just because he had his clothes on this time.

This was just... feeling. Taking her in with every sense, her body moving so smooth and calm against his, her beloved smell, the perfect silhouette of her beautiful body draped over his. Just her, for him, the way he belonged to her just as much. Maybe they could indeed make a whole new bunch of memories with unforgettable nights like this.

There was just one thing, one moment she wouldn't be able to get out of his head, no matter how much they tried to replace the violence in his head with reality. This night, these few hours of horror in a plane to Germany, he had to keep for himself. It wouldn't change anything except for putting another burden on her when she already carried so many of his. Some things couldn't be undone.

Clint could just try overshadow them in his head, hold on to what he still had, what had never had happened, no matter how badly that bastard Asgardian had wanted it. Natasha was still here, with him, and he meant to enjoy every single minute that he could have with her.

"Think I'm okay", he murmured quietly, unwilling to let go off her for even a second. But she would like it better to not have rough fabric against her skin the whole night. "Let me just get out of this damn sweater so you have a proper pillow, hm?"

For a long while they were silent while Clint centered himself using her touch, her warmth, her scent as his touchstone. Even though his clothes she thought she could feel him warming up, feel the tension leaving his body. She snuggled closer when he held her, kept her face pressed against his neck and just breathed against his skin, placing the occasional featherlight kiss against his pulse for good measure.

Home, that was what this felt like. Natasha thought people had it all wrong when they called a house or a town their home. She could live anywhere in the world, could live in one place for decades, but it would never be home. Here, in Clint’s arm’s... this was home. This was where she belonged.

When he finally spoke again Natasha nodded. She couldn’t help but feel a sort of sense of satisfaction and triumph that she could calm him with her presence, that she could fight off his demons just by being there.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to move,” she said, but her hand had already slid down his body and slipped under the hem of the sweater, pushing it up a little. Really, she was the one who really had to move, and she was perfectly to help him remove the article of clothing without him barely having to move at all.

"I see what you're doing there."
He chuckled quietly, the half-hearted sound driving away more off the melancholy. It was followed by a not so half-hearted sigh, when he arched his back just a bit so the sweater could slide upwards and just Natasha's soft, warm fingertips met his skin.
"Think we can make this teamwork?"
He pushed her hair carefully out of her face to kiss her forehead, her cheek. Slowly, he made his way down to her lips where he just stopped, pressing his mouth down on hers gently, with the softest caress of his lower lip against hers where it was still sensitive. His hand on her waist moving her just a little closer to his body, he arched his back off the mattress again so she could continue.

The chuckle wasn’t exactly genuine but Natasha would take what she could get at this point. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said with faux innocence, sliding her hand around to push at one side of the sweater. It wasn’t as easy using only one hand, but she had carried out much more difficult tasks one handed, this was hardly a challenge.

“Isn’t that what we do best?” she said, raising her head to smile at him. It was the truth, really; they were at their best when they were together and they did their best work as a team, no matter what it was.

Closing her eyes at his gentle kisses, if she were a lesser woman she might have melted right there. Her lip was still a bit sore where she had bit it earlier and she had hardly given it much rest since. She had hardly noticed, but she did notice the care Clint took with her anyhow.

When he arched his back again she pushed the sweater up to just under his arms, as far as she could get it before he’d have to let her go for a moment.

"Well, I see, we still have it in us."

Very reluctantly, Clint took his hands off her to get the piece of clothing out of the way and fell back onto the mattress, relieved. Smiling up at Natasha, he reached out for her face, thumb brushing over her cheek and down to her neck. Much better though he probably would lose these pants also somewhere in the course of the night. Just to wake up with the feel of her body nude against his, the reminders of the evening before playing among them and just the security, that it was her, her warmth, her silhouette pressed into his, every detail of her body he knew so well. No ghost.

His hand on her back started wandering again, lightly tracing every line, every curve of her torso, the sensitive backside of her arm, the small hollow right over her butt, until it came to rest there, just that little much on the teasing side with his fingers half sprawled over her round cheek.

Returning his smile, Natasha brushed a soft kiss against his lips before settling down against him again and letting out a deep sigh. His skin was warm against hers, and much more comfortable than the heavy sweatshirt. “Mm, much better,” she muttered, pressing her lips right over his heart.

She had barely settled back down again when his hand started wandering as if it were her who had just been unclothed. She had always loved the contrast of how gently he touched her with those rough and calloused fingertips, and she let her eyes close again, just relishing in the feel of his touch.

“I thought we were going to try sleeping,” she said in a teasing tone. Trailing kisses across his chest, her tongue darted out to just flick across his nipple before she lifted her head to look at him with raised eyebrows.

"We are", Clint claimed, innocently drawing his hand back just to her waist as if nothing had happened. Though he didn't need to look to see that small shiver sprawling out just where her she had teased him back.
In spite of wearing himself out before, he was pretty sure he'd be back in the game in five minutes if he wanted to, but Natasha definitely needed some rest after being there for him so much.

"Still not going to hurt you", he murmured into her hair. "Speaking of it... If you feel like I'm going to lash out or something... You kick my ass, okay? I'm okay, really... Just might be an uneasy night."

Natasha could have easily been ready to go again as well, though not for anything quite as thorough and heavy as before. She could certainly go for a quickie but when Clint retracted his hand and played innocent she did little more than give him a “yeah, right” look before settling her head back on his chest again.

She wasn’t sure why he felt the need to keep reiterating that he wouldn’t hurt her, except for the demons lurking in his head being worse tonight. He hadn’t hurt her before, and while she might not be up for that particular kind of fun again any time soon, that didn’t mean she didn’t want to do it again sometime. She also knew he would never push, and that it would be in her own time.

This was about more than that, though, and he was still clearly worried about the nightmare that were likely to come. “I never have any problem kicking your ass,” she said, her hand sliding up over his chest again to reclaim its place over his heart.

"That's really all I need to know then", he answered, just the slightest quiver in his voice.

No, he certainly didn't plan to ever be in a fight like before New York with her again. Even he couldn't be silly enough to get himself into such a situation twice.
But it was good to know that she was ready to do what was necessary, always, if it should come to it. If there were still days when he couldn't trust himself, he could always trust her to do the right thing.
Like a right measured jab in the ribs before he could hurt her unwillingly in a nightmare.

Their activities before and the heavy talk had worn him out more than he had thought, as it turned out. He could feel his mind go blank just seconds after he had closed his eyes, the final relaxation settling in with Natasha snuggling close to him and his fears cast away for the moment. This time he didn't fight it.

********

It turned out he had worried more than necessary. It was one of the suckers that made his nights miserable since New York, like expected, but none that mad him a danger to his bed partner. It was indeed the cold one.

He didn't fight anyone in that particular one. He stood perfectly still with his arms high, leaning against the wall of a store room, and waited. The metal vibrated under his ice cold hands with the familiar noise of the quinjet engine he had installed in this plane. Nothing but a spare time ego activity. Very useful though, if you had to get a bunch of soldiers from the US overseas unseen and as quick as possible.

The co-pilot had picked up quickly enough on his instructions, when Clint had been called away from the cockpit to see the Master. But he could still feel every single uneasy bump of turbulences, a loveless hand wielding a sensitive wheel with the disinterest of a paid soldier.

It was something to concentrate on, if nothing else. Counting the miles they were going and the routes they were changing to fly under official radars, while his body froze from the inside. More and more, with every assault, every touch and especially every hissed word.
It didn't help trying to hide his thoughts. The light spread from the deadly alien steel pressed neatly against his throat to keep his head immobile, filling every last part of his conscience that was still willing and able to fight. The voice of winter kept on whispering to him, sweet, promising and eternal.
His body numbed along with his mind, unable to feel what he would on the next day swallow away with pills, channeled and missiled into that one remaining emotion of hate. Revenge.

Soon he would not be a slave any longer, the voice promised. Soon he would have what he had always wanted. Claim what was his, no longer afraid of any consequences.

And while he sank to the floor, rolling into his side with his teeth chattering violently... The taste of sickness and blood in his mouth, from his tongue that he couldn't remember to have bitten... He found it was true. It was so much easier not to feel.

Only the salt blinding his vision just as much as the familiar blue glow, remained of his resistance.

He found himself still tensed up tightly on his sight when the blue finally disappeared, unable to move more than pulling the blanket even tighter around his shoulders. Jesus fucking Christ, for the next generator failure he would install a goddamn wood stove in his living room.

"Nat?"

He heard his own tired whisper before he could stop himself and called himself weak and ridiculous at once. If she was asleep, resting, he should be rather glad than giving that whole discussion from before a sequel, before even sunrise.
Maybe he just needed to know she was there, as long as he was shaking too hard to even turn around.

At some point in the middle of the night they had rolled away from each other. Neither of them was used to sleeping with another person, not like this, and they had reverted to their usual positions when they shared a bed on missions: back to back. Survival instinct was hard to ignore, no matter how safe they were.

Natasha slept rather dreamlessly, and what hints of nightmares that did creep in where quickly forgotten when Clint’s voice saying her name suddenly drew her from her slumber. For a moment she was disoriented, her hand reaching under her pillow for a gun that wasn’t there as her eyes shot open and searched for the doorway. She saw nothing, and before she could panic about her missing gun her brain caught up with reality. She was in Clint’s apartment, Clint’s bed, and if she rolled over she would find him lying there with her.

Taking a deep breath to settle her mind, alarm quickly set in when she felt the best shaking slightly, like the mattress itself was trembling. Rolling over, she was met with the sight of Clint’s back and could see him shivering, even in the darkness. “I’m right here,” she assured him, moving close again and wrapping her arm around him from behind.

It was embarrassing, really, how much he held on to these comforting arms at once, tightly clenching his teeth to shake off his sub-consciousness' escapades.

At least he didn't have to worry about making Natasha freeze again. The coldness was only inside, merely a phantom syndrome but nothing less real in its effects.
Only when Natasha's presence all around him reminded him that everything had ended well, the shaking wore off. He pressed his lips against her hands, holding them close over his chest until his heart stopped racing.

"Thor said, it's about where he comes from", he murmured when he didn't feel like his words would come out as a scream or a sob anymore.

It wasn't so much about what had happened, though Clint could very well do without ever being touched by a cosmic scepter again, thank you very much. It was the lessons drilled into him that still freaked him out. Drilled, branded into his body and into his brain, with every of these feather light touches that had left his muscles sore, as if he had taken a ride on good ol' sparky afterwards.
And then the sickness, flowing through him every time there had been that relentless hand around his throat, making him feel like his air ways were frozen dead.

He wasn't sure why he told her, but it was easier once he had started. If he absolutely had to ruin the weekend for them - at least the nights - he at least wanted her to know why.

"When that asshole lays as much as a finger on you, it's like standing naked on North Pole. And that scepter does the same to your brain. There's nothing else left."

He trembled again, his shoulders tensing up painfully with the sound of every of these cruel, sweetly whispered words still much too present on his mind.

"Nothing but what he tells you. He's had some pretty creative ideas about the two of us. After I told him everything about you, that is."

A choked, angry sob spoke of the hate that after all these months he still couldn't turn away from himself. That one little part of him would always wonder how he could have prevented all this, and at night it tended to grow.

Strangely it felt easier when he had gotten it off his chest. This all was about trust, hadn't he thought that so often last evening? Hiding anything from Natasha only shook that foundation between them. He had already endangered it enough with his goddamn silliness in this past battle.

"I can't help it, Tash'. I feel... dirty, like that Bastard left his stench on my brain."

Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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