study_in_scarlet | Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

He was groggy and off balance but he still remembered his promise from last night and that earned him another smile, no matter how faint. “Okay,” Natasha agreed, watching him wander out to the kitchen before making her way to the washroom again. A shower sounded pretty good, but not as good as brushing her teeth and getting rid of the lingering taste of sickness in her mouth, so she did that first and gargled with mouthwash – it wasn’t like she planned on breakfast this morning anyway – before mixing the water for a warm shower and stepping under the spray.

She could do this. Another couple of hours and the appointment would be over. The worst wouldn’t be, not by a long shot, but one step at a time.

Clint gave himself a quick wash-over in the kitchen and got dressed with the next best shirt and pants just like yesterday, while the coffee brewed. He downed the much too hot drink with grim determination and had the second mug already in his hand when he joined Natasha in the bathroom. Ice cold water on certain body parts had helped clear his head and the rest of drowsiness slowly had to surrender to his live safer. He actually thought of shortly reaching behind the shower curtain to let Natasha know he was there, suspecting she would be just as lost in her own thoughts as yesterday.

"You hanging in there, red?", he asked quietly, shoving the curtain aside just enough to sit down on the tub edge, and wait for her to sit down so he could take care of her hair.

She wouldn't be okay so he didn't ask her, if she was. And she obviously didn't feel good. He just needed to know if she was feeling stable enough for this difficult appointment today, for even getting there, with all the people around, the waiting, the heat. There was still also a possibility of letting a doctor come here even if that would prolong proceedings.

She cleaned herself methodically, more habitual than anything, and by the time Clint joined her she was just standing under the spray, letting it wash over her as if it could wash away all her worries.

Nodding in answer, she looked him over and smiled weakly. “You look much more awake,” she said. “I’ll try not to get you wet.”

Grabbing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner, she set them beside Clint before seating herself in the tub and finding the best position so he could wash her hair.

"Hey, I can do with a little more refreshment before we leave."

Clint got the shower head from the pole with just the same, faint smile, not dishonest, just not as enthusiastic as it used to be. It was true, he doubted he would get really awake until they had to face that appointment today, and touching her was never a punishment. Also, if she needed more help than just a pair of hands, he would climb into the tub with her immediately, clothes be damned.

They were running a little short on time so he couldn't treat her as much as he liked. But he made very sure, he didn't hurt her, keeping his hand out of her curls completely when he got them wet and trying not to pull on even the most tangled strands when he worked the shampoo in. It wasn't much better after the first go of conditioner so he did that one again. After rinsing it out for a second time, he finally could brush his fingers through her hair mostly without getting stopped.

"Better."

He bent down for a gentle kiss on her forehead and then her lips and frowned a little when he felt them too dry, too sensitive.

"You not hydrated enough, red. Want some tea? Or just water?"

Natasha loved it when Clint washed her hair. The feeling of his fingers massaging her scalp was relaxing, and while he didn’t take the time he normally would, his gentle touch was still exactly what she needed.

Closing her eyes while he worked, she concentrated on his touch, on the warm water cascading over her, on the gentle scent of the shampoo. By the time he had finished she was decidedly more relaxed than she had been.

Looking up at him once he’d wiped the water from her eyes, part of her wanted to point out that that coffee wasn’t a substitute for breakfast, so perhaps he wasn’t fed enough either, but she held her tongue. “Do you have any travel mugs?” She didn’t have time to nurse a cup of tea, but the hot liquid was always a comfort. Taking it with might be nice. A mug of tea and her bucket and she would be ready to go.

"I'll come up with something."

Clint handed her a towel before he left and quickly set up that tea, then he started searching his kitchen. He didn't exactly remember the content of every cupboard, but finally he found a big flask that should keep the stuff warm at least for a few hours. And the lid served perfectly as a mug. Some leftover from his sea trips, he was pretty sure.

Until the tea was ready, it was well time to go. In his sudden hurry he realized damn well that his hands weren't as steady as they should be, but his stomach still felt like a sealed vacuum. He couldn't remember the last time he had been hungry. He drank the last bit of coffee straight from the mug instead to save time, and left the kitchen with the flask and a new bottle of water under his arm, in case the tea wouldn't do the trick.

"Come on, red, let's get this done."

Drying herself off while Clint searched the kitchen, Natasha combed out her hair and left it down, figuring the warm air would dry it. She put on a little make-up, more out of routine and the desire for normalcy than anything, and dressed in a pair of linen trousers and a blouse. It was likely to be another hot day, but somehow shorts or a skirt just weren’t appealing today. She wanted to feel less exposed for as long as she could before the potentially invasive appointment.

At Clint’s call she tried to ignore how her stomach churned anew but grabbed the bucket and headed back out to the kitchen. “Just in case,” she said with a smile that did nothing to hide her nerves. Let’s get this done, she repeated in her head. She really hoped the wouldn’t have to wait long once they made it to the office.

The drive was another welcome distraction. Unfortunately it didn't last very long.

It was only on the short way from the parking lot to the door that this heavy emptiness in Clint's stomach suddenly turned into a sharp pain. This was it, from here on they couldn't run anymore. They would get their judgment, unbiased, professional and thorough, and then they would have to confirm their decision from yesterday and... He wasn't ready to think about that just yet.

Once it was their turn in the row, it went quickly, he just had to tell the woman the doctor's name and she seemed to know. Natasha and him were sent to the woman's hospital track with some kind of formal paper, and once there they were straight advised to a examination room. The nurse let them know that the doctor would be with them shortly, which was at least better than sitting out there with all these other people, more than one pregnant woman among them. But it also meant, they had no idea, how long they would be waiting.

Clint sat down on the only chair with a sigh since he figured, Natasha would be taking the stretcher anyway, and stared at his hands, more uncomfortable than ever.

"So, um... Do you want me to wait outside?"

Everything seemed to happen in a blur, and by the time they were secluded in their own examining room Natasha felt sick and dizzy and jittery as hell. She wanted to bolt, to run out of this place and never look back, but she made herself sit on the white paper covered table and tucked her hands between her knees to keep them from shaking.

She considered Clint’s question, really considered it. She had wanted to be alone yesterday, had needed the time to process everything without him, or so she had thought. She hadn’t really processed anything, though, and of what gain had it really been? Looking at him now, she could see how completely miserable he was, and shutting him out now would only drive a wedge between them, and that was the last thing she wanted.

“No,” she answered after a long moment. “I want you to stay.” It would be easier if he was here to hear everything for himself instead of her having to relay any information, and even during the examination it would be a comfort to have him standing by for support. Besides, this was affecting him just as much as her, and it would be cruel and unfair to treat him as if he didn’t matter. It was her body, but this wasn’t all about her. “Please.”

The way she said this one last word made his heart clench and brought the tightness in his throat back. This quiet, vulnerable tone... She was feeling just as bad as he was, of course she was. She was the one who would have to go through all this. He could merely watch and pretend to know how horrible it was for her, when really he probably couldn't even imagine it.

He wasn't sure, he would be even able to stand seeing her in all that pain, both physically and mentally. He had hated it in the past when a mission went downhill, and this time it was so much worse. He was responsible for this situation by a big part. And no matter how often he tried to hold on to that mindset, this still wasn't a fucking mission. This thing they had loaded onto their shoulder all by themselves. His partner, his strong beautiful untouchable Natasha was suddenly put in such an ordinary, compromised, weak position. Just seeing her sit in this sterile, cold room filled with sharp instruments and smelling of meds and desperation, broke his heart.

But instead of sending him away, try to get everything alone as it was her way, she didn't take his offer of some more privacy. Even while that pain of seeing her like this still choked him, there was also a small, comforting flame of warmth spreading in his chest. She trusted him with this, though without him she wouldn't even be here... That was how close they had become. And he certainly wouldn't let that go to waste.

Without thinking about it, he got up to sit down next to Natasha instead. Now at least she didn't look that lost and alone on that damn stretcher anymore. She would never be alone as long as he could help it. His arm slipped around her waist, his hand resting on her thigh instead of her belly to not irritate her stomach again, and his lips touched her temple just fleetingly.

"Not going anywhere, red."

All of her instincts told her to do this alone, to send him away and deal with it by herself. If he was here for it he would know everything, and there would be no massaging the information to fit what she wanted. If he wasn’t there she could tell him anything afterwards and he would believe her. The fact that she didn’t take that option even when he offered it spoke of how important he had become to her and how much she trusted him.

Leaning into him she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes a moment. She wanted him to know the whole truth, and to be there for her through it all with eyes wide open. Their relationship was built on honesty, and over the years they had developed such a strong trust and she would never do anything to break that.

In the end he was her lover, her partner and her best friend, and whatever happened today they would deal with it as they dealt best with things: together.

Just as she was starting to relax against him the door opened and the doctor entered. It was time.

Clint was still trying to come up with something to say when the door opened, without success, but maybe that wasn't necessary right now. Natasha knew, he was there for her and accepted it, that was all he had to offer right now.

And maybe help her through that difficult first conversation. Or send that doctor back where he came from if he turned out to be a moron after all. He had seemed okay on the phone, but Clint didn't exactly trust his instincts right now.

His first impression was looking behind the guy who entered to see if there was someone else behind him. Maybe the real doctor had just his intern to collect some date? That scrawny guy with the coke bottle glasses didn't look older than 18 and definitely couldn't be older than 25. But there were two or three titles on his badge and the name was the right one as Clint could see when the man neared.

Confused, he looked up to meet the guy's gaze and promptly he was welcomed with a knowing grin. He had to fight not to blush immediately. Obviously he wasn't the first one to be surprised at the unusual sight of someone so young that successful in such a prestigious sector.

"Tomasini. Thank you two for calling me."

The guy didn't bother with all these titles when he introduced himself and offered a quick but honest, warm handshake. Clint's reservations quickly faded as he returned the favor and gave the man Natasha's and his names for good measure.

Still he felt the already familiar cold grip on his throat again when the guy took his seat, astraddle against the low back rest, and fidgeted with the file he had brought, doubtlessly Natasha's data from yesterday. He didn't want to hear, didn't want to talk about it. Though he knew it was perfectly stupid and childish to procrastinate this shit, he couldn't stop his mouth from talking, as it happened so often.

"You don't look very Italian."

It was true, though. The guy was unusually pale, a hint of sunburn vanished under the collar of his perfectly neat and white but crooked worn coat. Not exactly the bare chested, bronze skinned gigolo you expected to meet on an Island like this.

He had that typical amused, friendly and slightly condescending grin though Clint had gotten so used to while living here.
"Well, neither do you."
For a moment they glared at each other with that very wry grin. Then the guy chuckled, short enough to keep the very serious situation just that but not make it any more dramatic than necessary either. It wasn't, not yet, no reason to make it even harder for themselves.
"You're right though, my family's roots are in South Tyrol. Probably more German and Austrian blood than anything in here."
He shortly knocked against his chest and went beck to read the file then, or at least pretend to.
"That a problem?"

"Of course not."
Great, now Clint was blushing. God, he should just keep his mouth shut.
"I just was..."

"You're nervous and uncomfortable. Understandable but uncalled-for. We're only here to scribble down the facts today."
The doctor gave him a last, rather fleeting smile but turned his attention to Natasha then.
"I should start by saying that you're further along than my colleague told you yesterday. There's still time", he added quickly before even a spark of worry could bloom in Clint's heart. "But we still should get moving. If you're ready..."

He nodded shortly at the room-divider in the corner, right next to the waiting examination chair, where she could undress discreetly.

Natasha didn’t often get nervous but when she was she tended to go silent, the exact opposite of Clint’s reaction. He tried to fill the silence, tried to make conversation, and as usual just ended up putting his foot in his mouth. She would have laughed had she the ability to do so right now.

While Clint conversed with the doctor Natasha took that moment to study him. The young age didn’t bother her considering how young she had been when she had started her own training. Age really didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things; it was all about skill, knowledge, practice and, in the case of doctors, beside manners. So far it seemed like Tomasini had that last one, at least.

When his attention turned to her Natasha met his eyes unflinchingly until he stated that she was further along than originally diagnosed. He quickly amended, further but not too far, but she could already feel her stomach tightening, could already feel that fear settling.

Giving Clint’s knee a gentle squeeze she got to her feet again and disappeared behind the partition. Why had she chosen a shirt with buttons? Her fingers shook as she struggled with the offending fasteners until she was finally free; thankfully the pants were drawstrings and much easier. breathe. Just breathe, she reminded herself as she pulled on the hospital gown . Taking another moment to compose herself she stepped back out to join the two men.

They started with the 'uncomfortable' part as the guy liked to call it when Natasha returned, more vulnerable than ever looking in that thin white gown. Part of Clint wanted to join her when the doc moved over to that chair, hold her hand or something, but that would have been really awkward. The situation was shitty as it was. So he stayed on that stretcher and mostly stared at his hands while the doc did his work and scribbled down a few things from time to time.

Only when Tomasini sent Natasha back, telling her, she could put on her pants and bra, he looked up, hesitating. Not sure if he was ready to see what was on the man's face after that first check.

The guy looked one shade even paler than before, and a frown had settled on his face, but Clint very well knew that didn't have to mean anything. He knew Natasha's file better than some S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors, the scars that were left from years of torture... The scars that were the reason why she had been told, she couldn't conceive again. The guy should at least understand part of that story now. Natasha obviously wouldn't have told that other doctor yesterday.

Part of him wanted to ask right away, but that wouldn't have been fair as long as Natasha wasn't in the room. Also, they weren't done yet.

And most importantly, he still wasn't sure, he even wanted to hear the answer. He had thought, the wait yesterday had been bad, but sitting around here now, not being able to do anything, not even hold Natasha close, while their fate was written down on these damn pages over there... It was probably only thanks to decades of archery patience and focus that he hadn't started running through the room yet. On his lower arms, there were faint red marks from his own nails though, and a few times he had to keep himself from tearing that damn paper cover on the stretcher to pieces.

He was relieved and even more terrified when the doc politely told him to move his ass so they could do the ultrasound next. That part he had been even more afraid of. He didn't know if he could bring himself to look at that damn monitor. And he didn't know if he could make himself look away. Watching that damn thing, seeing... seeing this was definitely the most stupid idea of the century, but he didn't trust his self control even the slightest bit.

Which was why he was very glad when the doctor made sure to turn the monitor away from both of them, after Natasha had laid down. After a moment of stupid standing around, not knowing where to put his hands, Clint just knelt down on the front end of the stretcher and reached for Natasha's hand.

"Nearly done", he murmured and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. He wasn't surprised at all to find it tremble and too cold and made it his job to warm it softly between his gently caressing hands while his gaze was sternly fixed on her face.

Natasha had always hated this part of her annual S.H.I.E.L.D. physicals more than any other. She had had things done to her in her past, methods of torture and conditioning she had learned to endure, and while it had left her nearly unflinching to anything that could be done to her she was not fond of letting anyone touch her that she didn’t trust.

This doctor was clearly alarmed by what he saw, though he did a very good job of hiding it and remaining professional. Her doctors at S.H.I.E.L.D. knew her history, or at least the parts of it she had been willing to share, but this poor man was completely unprepared. She answered what questions she felt comfortable doing so, the questions that would not incriminate them in any way as something other than the vacationing couple they were pretending to be. He didn’t completely buy it, she could tell, but he didn’t push her either. Ultimately the origins of her scarring weren’t as important as their effects.

Needless to say, when the physical exam was over Natasha was glad to retreat back behind the partition and regain some of her protective layers. Her hands shook harder now as she tied the drawstrings on her pants but she breathed through it.

Returning to the others, shirt in hand, she climbed back onto the stretcher and laid down, making herself as comfortable as she could. A wave of relief washed over her when Tomasini turned the monitor away so she couldn’t see it, something she hadn’t let herself think about yet. On that screen would be an image, and image she couldn’t even predict not knowing exactly how far along she was. Maybe it would just be a blob like on television where the doctor describes a humanoid shape that looks nothing like they’re pointing out. Maybe it would look like nothing. Or maybe she would see the shape, see the beginnings of what it was becoming.

Shuddering at the cold gel that was administered to her stomach before the doctor started pushing the probe around, Natasha was grateful when Clint took her hand, the touch gentle and soothing. Looking up to meet his eyes she tried to focus on his face, tried not to let her gaze stray to the doctor’s expression. She could read so much in it if she looked, also part of her training, but she wasn’t ready, not yet.

They were staring at each other like two people drowning and only holding themselves above the surface with the power of their gaze. If it hadn't been so sad, Clint would have laughed, because it was so much not like them. They had seen things that could make people lose their mind, had done things that other people got life-sentences for, and here they were unable to look at a fucking monitor. Suddenly it was so hard even thinking about taking a life.

Only when that hard clench in his stomach returned, he realized that it was the first time he actually allowed that thought. Immediately all rationality and protective walls inside wanted to spring into action, reminding him that this was completely different, this was no life, not yet. This was all completely legal and they would only cut short what would happen anyway...

But knowing this and seeing from the corner of his eyes how the doctor searched Natasha's belly with that damn sensor and knowing what was there, was something completely different. This all... was different, this was them, not just another tragic story they could leave behind and try to atone for later. This was... His eyes fluttered close for a moment, for a second he thought that he would lose it right here and there.

Then the sensor was turned off with a quiet electronic sound, the doctor handed Natasha a few paper towels, and that had been that. Thank the heavens. Clint just hoped very much, Tomasini wouldn't have the silly idea of giving them that picture he had printed from the monitor over there. Probably he would have run outside screaming then.

He waited until Natasha was fully clothed again and had sat up, then he took his place next to her again and wrapped his arm around her, took her hand firmly in his while they waited.

It didn't take long this time.

"Alright, let's talk formalities first."
Tomasini took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes for a moment after he had filed all that paperwork and that photo, fortunately without turning it in their direction. Without these horrible glasses, the guy looked younger than ever.
"We've already talked about the legal time period on the phone. That one I can't trick, even if I wanted to. I can give you an appointment in exactly a week, that's the earliest possibility. You put your signature on this paper and I'll be here when you are."
He shortly tapped his fingertips against the file but made no move to take out any kind of form yet.
"I just think you should be fully aware of the situation before. I don't know your full medical history, Miss, and I'm not sure I want to. In any case it makes it difficult for you to conceive, but it's not impossible. A tubal pregnancy would have been very likable, but it hasn't happened. The fetus is fully healthy and growing at a normal rate for what seems to be a 10 weeks old. Now that conception is complete, neither your nor the fetus' health are more endangered than with other pregnancies. Unless there's something you haven't told me yet. If you want to, I suggest you do it now. Or we just sign that form and you come back in a week."

The whole procedure felt agonizingly slow, though in reality it probably only took a couple of minutes, but when the doctor turned the monitor off Natasha was filled with both relief and regret. Part of her didn’t think she could handle seeing whatever had been on that screen, while another part wished she would have looked for reasons she couldn’t quite grasp. No good could have come of it, yet part of her felt she should have looked, just once, that she should have seen it before it was gone and she never got another chance.

Shaking off these thoughts she wiped off her stomach and pushed herself up to sit. She somehow managed to steady herself in the face of company and button her shirt without issue, and for a long moment there was only silence as Tomasini organized his notes and Clint reclaimed his seat beside Natasha.

When he spoke she stopped breathing.

Everything looked normal. She was ten weeks along and everything looked normal. Ten weeks, more than two months, but everything looked normal. Difficult to conceive but not impossible, and not everything looked normal. Now that she had conceived there was no more danger than with other pregnancies, normal pregnancies. This could be a normal pregnancy.

She couldn’t process it. She had spent more than a decade believing she would never again conceive, and even if it somehow happened she could never carry to term. More than a decade believing her body would reject it. More than a decade... and that wasn’t something she would get over quickly nor easily. “I was told...” she started, her voice sounding faraway, shocked. “I had a miscarriage, a long time ago, and I was told I’d never carry to term.” She could never carry the baby, it would always die, so they had ‘fixed’ her, fixed her so she couldn’t conceive either. That’s what they had said.

They said a lot of things.

She felt ill again, lightheaded, and this time it was Clint she couldn’t bring herself to look at so she kept her eyes fixed on the doctor and tried to understand.

If Natasha hadn't been there... If he hadn't held her hand and felt it go even colder or heard her voice, that cut-off from the world, empty, too quiet tone that was usually reserved for nightmares and level 10 disaster missions... Clint would already have been out of the room. His body was taut like a bowstring, tensing with every word of their doctor's mouth more. His own skin was mingling with unnatural cold, his throat had turned into a needle eye. The one - the only - thought flashing through his completely blank mind was to run.

He wanted to run and forget this had ever happened. Pretend that he had not been so stupid in that phone call yesterday and asked. He should have told that greenhorn just to do the checkup and arrange an appointment and not ask any questions, no matter how much money it would have cost. Why had he asked? Knowing, fully knowing that it could only bring so much more helplessness and fear? It was exactly and nothing what he had wanted to hear. It was exactly what would make it the hardest for Natasha, to have that child, to have the chance and then, again...

His panicking thoughts, fluttering through his head like a bunch of scared squirrels, came to an abrupt halt. Natasha... She was the one who had to carry this burden. She was the one who had to make that decision...

And it was clear by her completely lost tone that she couldn't, not here, not now. She wasn't even really here right now. Not in a way that allowed any serious discussion. He couldn't let her make any decisions right now, she would only regret it later if it was the wrong one. He had to handle this, somehow...

This... Was he still trying to run from it, after the doctor had said it in their faces? This wasn't a thing, it was a healthy human being, a fetus, a baby, his...

A surprisingly strong hand on his forearm shook him back to reality and he realized, without much surprise, he hadn't been breathing. Tomasini just eyes him critically for a moment when he drew back air in his lungs, not looking surprised at all, just a little worried. Then he took his seat again and started waiting again until any of them could come up with something say.

Clint found, he liked the guy, as far as he could grab any kind of feeling at all right now. He couldn't have dealt with questions right now. He could hardly comprehend what was going on himself, and he still had to get Natasha home somehow. They would have to talk about it, alone, about...

Before the next panic attack could kick him, he forced himself to take another deep breath and at least gargle out a few words. He just wanted out of here right now.

"Um, I don't think we..."

"Obviously not."
Tomasini already scribbled something more down as if he had just waited for the call and handed Clint a paper that he took with numb fingers.
"You can still sign the form before the appointment. Means a lot more paperwork for me, but we can do that. There's two dates."
He nodded down onto that sheet because Clint stared like it like he had forgot how to read Arabic numerals.
"In case you want more time to decide. You'll pretend I never said that but I've noted the conception date a week later than it probably was. A week, frankly, makes not much, medical difference and you have more time. After three months, the worst of a normal pregnancy risk is over. Maybe you want to wait that long. If not, I'll be here next week."

"Thanks, doc."

Clint's lips felt just as numb as his hand. That... that was good, right? At least he didn't have to worry now what Natasha would want to do. Maybe he was putting way too much thought in this and she already had decided... He should just ask her if she wanted to leave or just lead her outside, but if he tried to drive them home now, he would wrap them around the next flashlight pole.

So he waited for her to speak, no matter how afraid he suddenly was what she would say.

Natasha barely registered Clint’s hand still holding hers, barely noticed the exchange between him and the doctor. It was too much to take in at once, too much to digest after years or believing it was all impossible. She had never let herself wonder if she wanted children because it had never been a possibility; it had barely crossed her mind to even consider it. She had shoved it to the back, buried it deep with the body of the child that had never lived. All thoughts of a family had died that day, and now she didn’t know what to feel. What is one supposed to feel when the impossible is suddenly possible?

She listened to what the doctor said but didn’t really hear it. He spoke of appointments, of fudging numbers to give them more time. Three months. That was only two weeks away. Two weeks and the worse risk would be over.

The worst of a normal pregnancy.

“I just want to make certain I’m clear,” she said after a long moment. Her voice had lost that hollow tone, and something else had taken it’s place. She now sounded calm, deadly calm, and suddenly all business. “What you’re saying is that I was wrongly informed, that it was only the conception that was difficult, and now that that is done there would be no difference between this pregnancy and anyone else’s? You are saying that it is not even high risk?”

Natasha's sudden change of voice had Clint startle, wince inside, because it was so not what he had expected. For a moment he was sure that she would tear that sheet in his hands and tell the doctor not to be an idiot. Of course they would be here next week because everything else was madness.

And why not? She had told him, she didn't - couldn't - want the child and now... Now... The hand not holding hers had started that death grip around his elbow again, and faintly he realized he was drawing blood. A good sensation. A real sensation, something that was actually there, unlike his own mind that was floating somewhere under the ceiling.

She didn't say it. She asked, again, and he didn't know why. Part of him wanted to scream at her to stop, stop acting like this was suddenly a thing. They had decided that it couldn't be, right? No need to even think about it because...

But that wasn't true, he had wanted to go sure. And now he couldn't seem to remember why. That one word kept on repeating itself in his head - fetus, the fetus, it was alright, the baby was alright - but he couldn't really make any sense of it. A baby? When had they started about having a baby? And why didn't he stop it at once?

He probably should be glad Natasha had taken over the talking. Right now he couldn't even remember how to ask for a cab in Italian.

"I can see how your doctors came to that conclusion", Tomasini meanwhile answered, in a casual tone as if he wasn't talking about one of the worst things in Natasha's life.
Of course he didn't know, for him they were just a normal couple and Clint already admired the man. If he was surprised that they were not dancing and laughing, now that they knew they had been wrong about certain things, he didn't show.
"The internal scarring is severe. You've got some pretty active swimmers there, Mister."

You should have seen my vitals two years ago, Clint thought dully. But not even the guilt, the anger about his own laziness to check on such stuff, couldn't make it through that choking cloud of panic growing by the second.

"But scarring like that seldom reaches the uterus. Your organs are intact, and your blood results I have here show no abnormality at all. I don't see a reason why your body should reject the baby if it hasn't so far. No one can guarantee you a whole safe journey, woman like you who have gone through this know this more than anyone. But if you ever had the wish... Now is the time to think about it."

The doctor was good, she had to give him that. When Natasha’s demeanour changed he didn’t even flinch, he just gave her the facts in a normal, factual tone unhindered by her questions nor what he had seen during the examination. He didn’t ask what had happened to her, didn’t ask about the extent of her trauma. Calm, cool, and completely professional. She liked him.

This raised more questions than not, and not even just about the pregnancy. The Red Room had tried to make her sterile and had nearly succeeded, but they had not made her body the wasteland they had assumed, or had that been a lie? Not surprising coming from them. What was surprising was S.H.I.E.L.D. Had they lied? Or had they simply never checked her that thoroughly? If they believed her never able to conceive then what did it matter if she could carry a child or not?

Brushing these thoughts away she finally squeezed Clint’s hand before pulling her own free. “Thank you, doctor, for seeing us so quickly,” she said, extending her hand for him to shake. “Clint, let’s go.”

Getting to her feet and ignoring that dizziness again, she purposefully left her empty tea mug behind as she led him from the room. Once outside she conveniently remembered and asked Clint to go clear everything up at the front desk while she grabbed it. It wasn’t long before she rejoined him.

They were shaking hands, it obviously was time to go. So Clint did the same and said good-bye, one of the few Italian phrases he could remember right now.

Natasha still had that resolute, no-bullshit-tone and he was very thankful for that. Orders were good. He was great at orders.

He followed her with his hand clutched around that damn sheet, counted the tiles of the floor and hardly looked up when Natasha vanished after another order. Right. Formalities. Organizing stuff. He could do that too. That was what they had come for, right? Getting their appointment and all.

Everything else that had happened... was kind of lost in a confused haze and the grim determination to keep it together. To not run outside and then keep running, up the hills or maybe a few miles away, to Mount Etna... That actually sounded pretty nice. Just running until he couldn't breathe anymore and his head would shut up, and if he was lucky, he blacked out and fell into that damn volcano.

It was a nice fantasy but Natasha had told him to do the checkout, so he handed the paper stuff to the nurse who neared him, seemingly informed of everything. He got two more sheets back, a little more formal and colorful looking, and then a whole other pile of forms for Natasha to read. The woman talked and talked and he had no idea what she was saying. It probably had something to do with what they should and shouldn't do before that appointment, but his ability to translate had completely shut down for the day.

He rather kept on staring on the floor while he nodded and gave a monotone "Si, signora" from time to time and wondered if it was impolite to ask the chick to call him a cab, because that was the only help they needed right now. But she kept on talking and he stared pass her to the door, trying to make out if there were maybe cabs on the parking lot.

Instead his gaze fell on a young couple entering through the big glass doors, accompanied by some first aiders. The young woman sat in a wheelchair and hugged a grotesque huge belly, looking more unnerved than anything. Her just as young boyfriend didn't stop talking for even a second, emphasizing every word with the typical Italian restless hand gestures. Of course his girl had worn sun protection, did they think he was an idiot? Why were they asking stupid questions instead of checking on her? And why had it taken them half an hour to arrive? Couldn't they see, she was pregnant?

The paramedics looked like they would throw the guy out every second and the people in the waiting hall wrinkled their noses at the disturbance. But the girl caught Clint's stare before he could look away to not act like a creep. To his surprise, the girl smiled, just a little to not upset her guy even more, and cradled her belly as if to signalize, everything was okay.

Clint had an idea, he looked even worse than he felt if even completely strangers could tell just by his face. The couple seemed nice. They looked happy. Wasn't that what it was supposed to be, something good and nice and joyful? Why did he feel like someone was ripping his heart out then?

He vaguely registered Natasha next to him and supposed they were ready to go. The nurse had given up getting anything into his head anyway. He tilted his head aside and meet Natasha's eyes fleetingly, waiting for the next order.

The folded up paper felt like it was burning a hole in her pocket as she walked the halls, but once she was with Clint again she had something else to focus on.

He looked terrible, somehow pale despite the sun he had gotten yesterday, completely lost and confused and more than a little terrified. She noticed the couple he had been watching, the very pregnant woman looking rather happy despite everything, her arm wrapped around her large belly.

Not letting her gaze linger, Natasha slipped her hand into Clint’s and interlaced their fingers. “Is there a park nearby? Or somewhere we can sit?”

She was pretty sure he was in no condition to drive right now, nor would he be too keen on her doing so. Besides, the idea of that uncomfortable drive home, no matter how short, was almost unbearable. If they could find somewhere to sit that was either open enough that there wouldn’t be anyone else too close, or secluded enough that they could pretend they were alone then maybe they could at least get the worst of the conversation over with before they went home.

Talk? Clint wasn't sure he wanted to talk about anything right now. He wasn't even sure he could. Then again, he didn't have an idea what he wanted to do, except for maybe empty a bottle of whiskey until he was too far gone to think.

That option obviously wasn't in the books so he did what he could best and followed Natasha's lead again, just nodding shortly and leading her outside. He had no real idea where he was going, actually. But there were little viewpoints everywhere in this city thanks to its location, so being alone shouldn't be too hard.

He kept his gaze mostly locked to the floor while they were walking because suddenly he seemed to spot a damn baby stroller or a pregnant woman everywhere he was looking, and he still wasn't that far from just starting to run. Fortunately it was just a two minutes walk to a well in the shadow of the main street, with a good view on the ocean. Similar to the one they had been sitting on on their first morning here. Which right now seemed to be an eternity away.

Clint fell down on the low stone wall like someone had paralyzed his legs and continued staring at the floor then. Natasha probably expected him to say something, but that big mouth of his for once had gone to mute. And really, what was there for him to say? It wasn't different than before. This all still was her decision. He shouldn't even be bothered by what was possible or not.

Yep. That would be best. He would just let her talk and nod and then buy them a cab home and get his ugly ass drunk for the rest of the day. The plan had a few flaws, admittedly, but he was Clint Barton after all. People didn't expect anything but disaster from him.

Natasha was glad to be free of the hospital, so sterile and stifling, and while the fresh air and warm sun should have revived her, but tagging along with the solemn Clint was more than a little unnerving. He wouldn’t talk to her, wouldn’t even look at her, and Natasha was getting tempted to just put the talk off and tell him she needed some time alone. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, a little time apart to think about this whole thing and try to decide what they truly felt, independent of one another. She kept the idea to herself but didn’t write it off yet.

She let go of his hand when he threw himself down dramatically on the wall and continued to avoid looking at her. Yes, she did want him to say something, but it became very clear that he wasn’t planning on it. She pursed her lips in irritation before taking the seat next to him.

“We can’t have this child,” she stated bluntly, keeping her eyes locked on Clint to read every reaction, no matter how minute. “Look at our jobs, look at who we are and what we do. Look at all the things we have done. A child would be a weakness enemies can exploit, and what life could we possibly give it? It would never work.”

The tone of her voice slipped at the end, though, indicating that there was very much a “but...” coming.

Dancing in the Dark (for farmboyhawk)

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