Touch an angel's wing (for broken_arrow)

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha knew that Clint would be dying in her arms in less than five minutes.

It was just so plain fucking stupid. This was the only thought, the only ruling emotion raging, while she pushed her way through to her partner, taking the last of their enemies out with a clear shot between the eyes. Scorching, maddening hate. They fucking should have known.

Working for S.H.I.E.L.D., you really didn’t need to be told first not to trust people like Charles Xavier. What in the blazes had the Avengers been thinking, answering an emergency call from Westchester?

Admittedly, the danger had been real enough. Enough for Bruce to Hulk out, resulting in now half of the Mutant School for the Gifted lying in ruins.

But no one had bothered to tell them that they had been merely a distraction, so the X-Men could get their children out of here.

At least that had worked. All of the the students had escaped before Clint and Natasha had ended up locked up in the cellars, outnumbered, looking into a dozen of rifle muzzles. It was a job, they had done it. No one to blame for that.

Except for this idiot of a partner Natasha had, who had run straight into a fucking bullet for her.

She would have had his balls for such inappropriate chivalry, if she wouldn’t have been out of her mind with worry, anger on people who were supposed to be their allies and shock.

It felt like half an eternity before she finally reached the corner, where Clint had crashed, half behind a huge supply cabinet. Probably the only reason why there was one and not a dozen bullets perforating his body now.

Not that it made a difference. Natasha had kind of known when she had seen him being hit… And she was absolutely certain even before her mindless haste nearly made her slip on the pool of blood on the floor.

The left pelvic artery wasn’t just grazed, it had all but exploded. No way to repair this, even under the best of circumstances. Natasha had been on enough battlefields and had grieved for enough comrades to understand that immediately.

Ironically enough, they were locked up in a fucking sick bay, but this was merely a storeroom, not an operating theatre.

And the others, including the only doctor they had in their team, were busy securing the house on the ground. They were cut off from this room not only with heavy steel shots but also through heavy noise in their radio frequencies.

For all of her training, Natasha could just as little find out how to eliminate that technical glitch in time, as she could program the fucking doors to open. Not when the only computer terminal in the room burned and smoked after several hits.

She couldn’t do anything.

A scream of rage escaped her lips, breaking the last of composure she had forcefully scrambled to defeat their enemies and check the situation, see if maybe she had been wrong, if there still was any hope… But there wasn’t.

And yet she tried. There was no way she couldn’t have tried at least.

Her hand trembling, she reached for a pile of sterile clothes on one of the preparation counters before she knelt down next to Clint. The thick liquid staining her uniform pants she ignored, as well as the nausea threatening to tighten her throat. Not now.

Freaking out, breaking things - probably including one or two of her own bones - screaming, that was for later. Right now she needed to be there for the man who had always done the same for her.

But she couldn’t fight tears when she carefully pushed away his hand that had lost all strength, from his side.

Her own arm didn’t fully obey her, a faint throbbing from her shoulder all the way down telling her, she probably had some kind of megalomaniac flesh wound of her own somewhere back there. Irrelevant.

Blinking rapidly, her breath harsh, hot in her throat, she tried to hold Clint’s fading sight when she pressed her hand tightly against the gushing streams of red on his lower body, digging in her fingertips and crooking them until she could at least slow the bleeding.

Five minutes had been a very optimistic guess.

”Clint…”

Comments

[broken_arrow]

For a while he just held her as she cried, feeling helpless to do anything else. Lying so close to her he was attuned to her body’s movements, so he knew when she was starting to pull herself together. He could feel the strain in her muscles lessening, could hear her sobs tapering off, but only when she loosened her hold on him did he allow himself to breathe. He knew there would be more moments like this, but they had gotten through this one and he was confident that they would get through all of them.

When she lifted her arm away from him he could have taken it as a sign that she wanted him to move, but he knew better he knew he was right where she wanted him. The feel of her fingers agains his wing he was not prepared for and he sucked in a breath and twitched involuntarily, but he didn’t pull away this time. It didn’t hurt, it just felt strange, an indescribable sensation. Her hand settled at his neck, though, and he lifted his head to look at her, a soft smile on his lips. “Hey, I just wanted to lay down. You just happened to be here, so...” he tried to joke, but his heart wasn’t exactly in it. He hated seeing her in pain, hated seeing her afraid, and hated to see her relive all the old memories that she would never fully forget.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Well, feel free to accidentally lay on top of me more often."

Though joining into the joking with him, Natasha's eyes still roaming his wings, half spread out and so much more relaxed looking than last night. Something had happened while she had been out, that had been good for him, at least that was kind of reassuring.

She had felt him startling and didn't touch him again, just rested her chin on his shoulder, so a few tips of his feathers tickled her skin, and quickly brushed her lips over one of them.

The initial fear of the unknown and awkwardness had long passed, last night and definitely in the last minutes. She wanted him to know how good it felt, that it was a part of him just like everything else, that she accepted and loved. Just because it was him. And aside from all the fancy things he would be able to do with these things, he had already found a way to give her comfort with them. That was just his way and it was one of the reasons, she loved him, no matter how square and difficult that thought still felt.

"They feel good, you know... Warm. And safe."

[broken_arrow]

The fact that she was able to joke back set Clint more at ease and he laid his head back down again, content to just be there with her, just breathe her in and feel her heart beat against his own and cover himself in all the reminders that she was okay. He could feel her breath soft against his feathers and barely repressed a shiver. It felt like every sensation within his wings was heightened, like he could feel every touch tingle all over his body. It was strange but not unpleasant. It was actually the exact opposite of unpleasant.

When she spoke his brow pinched together for a moment. He was getting more used to his new appendages, and Warren’s guidance, his very presence, had already helped a great deal, but it was something entirely different to hear Natasha speak of them. Her words were unexpected, and for a moment he didn’t have a reply. He saw how the wings could be functional, how they could give him a whole knew skill set once he learned to use them, but he certainly hadn’t thought of them as comforting. The fact that she honestly liked how they felt, that just letting one lay across her gave her comfort and made her feel safe... that meant something. It meant more than he knew how to express.

He could tell her about Warren, about how the mutant was going to help him deal with everything and learn to fly. He could tell her that he was getting more comfortable with them, that they didn’t hurt anymore. He could tell her that he was glad, that he wanted to protect her and make her feel better. He could tell her so many things, but when he opened his mouth what came out was “You can touch them. If you want.”

[russianchildatprayer]

Natasha had to pause for a moment, swallow another threatening surge of tears and hide her face in his shoulder. After Clint had been so afraid, nearly panicking all the time with even the lightest touch of his wings, she knew very well what this offer meant. And it was something she didn't deserve. She didn't deserve his trust after what she had done to him.

Still he gave it to her, and she could just try not to fail him again. Be with him now, where last time she hadn't, when he had run into a fucking bullet right in front of her eyes.

Only when her eyes had dried, she turned her head to look at him again, let him see her still weak, shy smile.

"Maybe it helps you get used to sensation. Just... tell me if something's wrong."

Don't let me hurt you again.

A rough line of ruffled short feathers had caught her attention a few seconds ago already, on the upper edge of the wing that laid half stretched on his side of the bed. She pressed her hand gently to his cheek first, down his neck, before she slowly started straightening these little strays, fingertips threading through most carefully.

[broken_arrow]

The silence set him on edge but he gave her all the time she needed to process his offer, settling against her neck as she clung to him, her face buried in his shoulder. Part of him wanted to take it back, but he knew she needed time just as much as he did, so he held his tongue and he held her and only when he felt her stir did he lift his head to look at her again. Her smile was both hopeful and heartbreaking.

“Okay,” he agreed with her words. Holding her gaze and his breath, he leaned his face into her fleeting touch, grateful for her gradual approach. He couldn’t see her hand, but she trailed it down his skin, creating a path he could follow so he was prepared when she finally reached his wing.

Even so, the first touch made him shiver. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, his entire body remained stock still except for the slightest nod of his head to urge her to continue, to relay that he was okay, that nothing was wrong.

It felt strange, almost like when he used to keep his hair super short and people would rub it the wrong way. It wasn’t a bad sensation, almost tingly, and her touch was as gentle as imaginable.

[russianchildatprayer]

Clint felt as stiff as his bow string against her body, and any other time she would have stopped, but he didn't tell her to... And she still had the feeling, it helped him. That it had to be done. He had to get used to this, not only mentally, also new forged nerves and muscles had to learn how to react to stimulation.

Also, it really felt nice and it gave her something to do, tear her thoughts away from the place where there was only pain. She found a few more rough spots from seemingly a little training Clint had done with his wings and straightened them carefully as far as she could reach. Just the same way as before, not pulling in any way, just threading her fingertips through the layers until they came to rest smoothly again.

Finally she wrapped her arm carefully around his waist, fingertips touching barely the small stripe of skin that this strange looking shirt left free. Right above her hand the slightly bulged string of muscles of the base thread began, feathers playing all along her skin, which should have tickled and didn't. It was soft and alive. It was him.

"Might have to do your hair more often from now on."

She tried to joke, but her eyes stayed serious. He had to understand that she didn't shy away from this, that she would help him out any way she could, just like promised.

[broken_arrow]

Natasha knew him, she knew him better than anyone, so while his whole body was tense against her she still pressed on, knowing that this was what he needed. He had to get used to how it felt to be touched; how could he effectively function if any touch, or even a breeze that ruffled his feathers, made him flinch and threw him off? He also had to truly accept this new form, and no matter what anyone said, part of that came from the acceptance of others, particularly those he cared most about.

Eventually he started breathing again, and slowly that breathing evened out and the tension in his body drained away. The motion of Natasha’s fingers running through his feathers became soothing and he settled more easily against her. He kept up the eye contact, though, and she didn’t shy away.

When she finished and wrapped her arm around him instead he smiled softly at her. He felt much better than he had, but he still didn’t quite have it in him to laugh at her joke, so the smile would have to be enough. The important part, though, was that she wasn’t afraid or disgusted by what he had become, and she still wanted him around, no matter what.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Anytime."

He was close like this, too dangerously close, and Natasha had to tear her eyes away from his smile, his lips.

Clint had been very clear about the distance between them he needed right now. No matter how much she wanted to support him, not only with their partnership, their friendship, the trust between them, but with her whole self and emotions... That choice was his to make this time.

So she just pressed her lips against his temple for a short sweet moment and laid back down then, both to relax and not cling to him too tightly. She had to keep reminding herself how sensitive this new body of him still was.

The movement also reminded herself that she had spent the last hours on her back, and her own muscles began to protest against the onesided strain. She tried hard not to even flinch. It still felt ridiculous getting worked up about minor issues in the light of Clint's problems.

But flexing her legs just lightly to stretch out, had her feel the two tubes connected to her body, that she had nearly forgotten a few minutes. The next shudder was a much more painful one.

[broken_arrow]

With his eyes on hers he saw her gaze lower to his lips before turning quickly away. She kissed his temple before relaxing back against the pillow again, and he followed her lead, laying his head against her shoulder. There was something between them, something electric that he had felt in her look, but now was not the time to deal with it. Steve would probably argue, and maybe he was right, but Clint already had so much to deal with without complicating things further.

Closing his eyes he breathed her in and let her warmth lull him into a state of complete relaxation, or as complete as he could hope for considering the circumstances. It wasn’t to last, though, and he quickly raised his head again when he felt her whole body shudder against him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, clearly alarmed. Propping himself up on one arm, he searched her face for some clue. The pain was probably back, the the IVs were still in. Maybe the dose wasn’t high enough. He could only hope she would tell him; he was no doctor so guessing wouldn’t work.

[russianchildatprayer]

"It's fine..."

Well, just what she had been trying to avoid. Great work, Romanoff. Clint really shouldn't have to worry about her right now. But now he already did, and he wouldn't stop asking until she answered, so she better made it short.

"Just been in the same position for too long. I'll get used to it."

But that wasn't the whole truth and he would see it in her eyes. See, how hard she tried to keep her good hand away from her hips, her legs, even avoided looking there, though the cover hid everything anyway.

"I'll get used to it", she repeated, more quietly, turning her head away because she felt more and more ashamed for being so fucking weak.

A week of a few inconveniences, for God's sake, she just didn't have no fucking right to make this a drama. No matter how much just the slightest movements of her leg had her trembling, when it made her feel that one certain tube connected to her body, in a way she had never wanted to allow it again. It didn't help that she could feel it more inside too than she should, and she didn't need to ask Hank to know, she was bleeding from old scars.

This all was past, it shouldn't matter at all. It couldn't. Not with Clint being in so much trouble, needing her so much.

"I'm sorry, I... I'll be fine..."

[broken_arrow]

She was lying, that much was obvious, and not just because anyone who said that they were ‘fine’ were rarely that. He could see it in her eyes, in the twitches of her muscles, and thinking back to how distressed she had been about letting Hank put the catheter in her Clint was pretty sure he knew what was wrong. There had been complications, scar tissue, and she was clearly experiencing some discomfort along with the residual trauma from her past. He had to help her. Somehow.

“Hey, don’t be sorry,” he said, nuzzling in against her neck for a moment before extracting himself from her arm and pushing up on his knees. “How about a little massage, huh?” She would know he knew it wasn’t just that she hadn’t moved much, but he could play along anyway. It might help. “I can bend your legs, work those muscles a little...” He shifted down the bed as he spoke, pulling the sheet up from the bottom so that her legs were bared by it still draped across her middle to hide the tubes. “See if we can get some circulation moving again.” Grasping one foot lightly in his hands, he looked back to her face for permission to continue.

[russianchildatprayer]

He didn't ask, didn't need to ask, and she was more thankful than ever for that. She let him know with a small smile, still trembling around the edges, but she could already feel her control slip back into place.

When he moved the covers, there was another moment of going tense, of startling, and that was ridiculous too. Sooner or later she would have to look at it, get used to the look and the feeling. Ignoring it for a week wouldn't work.

But for now she was just glad that Clint understood her so well and obviously wasn't angry about her acting like a child about all this. She wanted to thank him, to touch him, pull him close and whisper into his ear how much it meant to her that he was still there for her. Bu0t moving was out of option right now.

So she just watched him, still with that unsure smile, and closed her eyes with a quiet sigh at the so well-known feeling of his touch. He felt warm, hot nearly. It was party a thing about his mutation, but she also hadn't really realized how cold especially her hands and feet had become from this strained, forced lying still thing.

She didn't want to be a burden for him, another thing to worry about, but there was no way to stop him, so she could as well play along.

And really, she had missed his touch too much to say no.

"That feels really nice", she mumbled, with half closed eyes, encouraging him to go on.

[broken_arrow]

The smile was faint but it was enough, and despite the momentary tension when Clint felt her relax again he began to slowly massage her foot. He worked every inch of her sole, and each individual toe, massaging and bending all the joints, and while he paid perfect attention to what he was doing, his eyes focused more on her face than on his task, looking for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

He saw none.

“That time when I was a kid and had two broken legs, I thought I was gonna go nuts being stuck in that bed for so long,” he said, moving up to her ankle at her quiet encouragement. It wasn’t a time in his life he liked to talk about, when the Swordsman had turned on him and left him for dead, but it was okay as long as he didn’t go into details. Natasha knew, he had told her quite a lot about his past in the beginning while trying to earn her trust, but he hadn’t really talked about it since. “I can sit around for hours on a job, just watching, but something like this? Nah. I’m antsy in five minutes.”

Sliding his hands higher to massage her calve, he looked up at her again when he reached her knee, silently asking if she was ready. To bend her knee it would bend her leg at her hip too, and he knew that was getting close to where she might not be ready to go yet.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Surprised you made that without going crazy", Natasha murmured, reaching out to caress his hand shortly.

It wasn't a time he liked to think back to and she would never ask. If there was someone who knew about ghosts that should stay in their graves, it was her.

Seeing him act so carefully, like he always did, always waiting for her permission, gave her the needed serenity to nod lightly, press his hand to show him, it was okay. It was him touching her. She could live with him touching her, even in this crippled physical state.

And it helped, really, her feet didn't feel that cold anymore and the annoying tickling in her muscles stopped. She just had to concentrate on feeling and not anything else coming up in her head by moving further.

"You can do magic with your hands, you know."

[broken_arrow]

“Well, I never said I wasn’t crazy,” Clint replied with a grin, pausing for a moment when she touched his hand. Only when she squeezed his hand lightly to show her consent did he continue.

Rubbing her knee lightly, he slipped his hand behind it and slowly lifted up. With one hand on her calve, he slid the other beneath the sheet to rest just below her hip as he carefully bent her leg.

“So I’ve been told,” he said, gently caressing her thigh while watching her expression again. Not that he needed to; if she felt any discomfort he would feel it beneath his hands. “Okay?” he asked anyway, just to be sure. The other leg would be worse, the side where the tubes ran, but so far so good.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Okay", Natasha repeated quietly, her eyes never leaving his.

She didn't want to watch - she wasn't sure if she was ready for seeing it - but the comforting touch of Clint's well-known rough hands helped better than any word of comfort, any memory of dull therapy sessions or meditations could. She just had to keep looking at him, know, he was there, doing nothing else but helping her. Maybe with this security seeping into her subconsciousness, she would sleep better tonight.

And there was something else smoldering carefully under all these layers of comfort, insecurity, shame, pain. Memory of the rare good kind she could place. Nights when she had already learned once to understand that Clint's touch was nothing to be afraid of. When it had been his tenderness once already leading her out of her nightmares.

Again it was barely, just by biting her tongue, that she kept herself from telling him. She had promised him to wait.

But God, she wished she had realized earlier how much she missed him.

[broken_arrow]

He carefully massaged her thigh, kneading her soft flesh and hard muscle beneath his fingers, and when he stretched her leg upwards, pointing her toes toward the ceiling, he had to make an extra effort to keep his eyes on her. The sheet stayed in place to keep Natasha from seeing anything she wasn’t ready for, but from Clint’s angle he could see more than he had considered when he’d started this, and with his hands near to places he hadn’t touched in a very long time...

His hands lingered on her upper thigh a moment before he shook himself and carefully lowered her leg back to the bed. Now was not the time to let his mind wander, not while she was injured and vulnerable, and not while he was... whatever the hell he was.

“Okay, let’s do the other one,” he said, more to himself than to her. Shifting a little closer so he could reach her other leg easier, he followed the exact same routine, though concentrating a little more and being even more careful, making sure that even the sheet wouldn’t move against the tubes and aggravate them.

“You did great,” he praised her when he finished, running his hand down her leg as he laid it flat again before reaching for the sheet to cover her up again.

[russianchildatprayer]

"Thanks to you", Natasha answered after a moment of trying to get her voice under control.

When she opened her eyes, they showed little sign of the struggle of the last minutes, and her smile was genuine. Carefully, only guiding and not forcing him with her hand on his neck, she pulled Clint back down against her for another of these sweet small kisses on his temple.

"I missed this."

It just slipped from her lips, she really hadn't wanted to tell him. Well, she had been quiet. He could always pretend, he hadn't heard.

[broken_arrow]

He knew it was hard for her, but she had been brave and had made it through without incident, and when she smiled at him and he could clearly seem that she was okay then it was finally time for him to relax. “Yeah, well, can’t let you get all stiff and cramped up from laying around all day,” he said with a shrug. “You don’t complain like I do, but you’d just huff and roll your eyes and that’s just as bad.”

Even as he spoke he moved, letting her guide him back down to lay at her side again. Closing his eyes when she kissed him, he was just settling down when her words hit him.

She missed this? Missed what, exactly? The easy banter? Even with everything they’d gone through that had never gone away. His touch? They still took care of each other after missions, but it was usually efficient and clinical, nothing like this. Missed holding him? That was such a rarity itself he wasn’t sure it counted.

Things change, though, and after yesterday a whole lot more had changed than just Clint’s body structure.

“Just getting to lay around for a few days instead of constantly working?” he finally said, going the safe route and instantly mentally kicking himself for it.

[russianchildatprayer]

It would have been so easy to answer with a joke. Easier for her, definitely, wasn't this always her MO? Dodging out in the last second before things could get too emotional?

Maybe right now Clint wouldn't really mind if she did. Discussions like they had so often endangered their partnership in the past, that was really the last thing he needed now.

And it wasn't like he wasn't used to it, right? She had always backed out when topics got too dangerous, when the air between them could be cut with a knife and suddenly they both had problems looking the other in the eye.

They didn't need to talk if he didn't want to, but Natasha had enough of running. If she started like that again, she couldn't expect him to take her feelings seriously.

"You... I miss you."

She kept her hand softly on his cheek to hold his gaze but didn't make any more move to touch him. Words was the only thing she could use this time.

"Being touched by you. Feel safe in your arms. Touching you. I've kept on telling myself that when it happend, when it would be one of us clocking out..."

She had to pause for just a breath- that memory of how close that fear had been to become reality, was too fresh.

"I thought that living without you would be so much easier when we let all that between us die. It just didn't."

[broken_arrow]

Clint expected her to take the joke and run with it, and a large part of him wanted her to do just that. His talk with Warren had helped tremendously, but he was still feeling rather fragile and lost, not sure where he fit in, and delving into anything too emotionally heavy right now probably wasn’t the best idea. Those conversations had never worked out well in the past.

He expected her to brush it off, he wanted her too, but there was also a small part of him that wanted something else entirely, the part of him that he tried to hide away and ignore but that never truly went away. There was a part of him that always hoped that enough time had passed and enough things had changed that the conversation might work out differently this time and that Natasha might be willing to give him a chance. It never did, though, and she never was.

He expected her to go back on her words, so when she said it again and proceeded to clarify he was at a loss of how to react. She was saying all the things he had wanted to hear for years and he couldn’t talk, couldn’t form a response. His tongue felt thick, his mouth dry, and he wanted so badly to look away from her eyes before he fell into them and drowned, but he couldn’t break the gaze.

Back in the lab, with his body and mind still screaming in pain, she had told him she loved him. Just a moment of weakness, he had tried to tell himself. She was emotional, she was hurt, she was feeling guilty; there were so many reasons she could have said the words then, and it didn’t necessarily mean that she meant them. Now, though? Why would she bring all this up now if she didn’t mean it? Why would she persist in telling him if she didn’t want him to know.

“Tasha, I don’t...” he tried to get out but the words died off. He didn’t know if he was ready for this, didn’t know how to react or what to say, didn’t know if he even wanted to hear it.

He also didn’t know if he wanted her to stop. “Please...” but whether it was a plea for her to keep going or to stop now even he wasn’t sure.

[russianchildatprayer]

"I know."

She let her fingertips softly trail off his cheek, down to his shoulder and finally lowered her arm back to the bed, to give it some rest... and Clint the chance to turn away if he wanted to. She had gotten it off her chest, that was all she could ask for right now.

If anything, he looked even more unsettled than before, so she obviously once more had not found the right words. Somehow she needed to get in his head that she was not trying to force anything on or from him... just the opposite. That she wanted to give him something to hold on to. And if she wanted to be that anchor, it needed to be her, in her feelings and in her mindset, who needed to be and act certain, not him.

"You don't need to do or say anything before you... I just... I'm here, okay? No excuses anymore for me. If we're in this, we're going... official or whatever people call this sort of thing. You've always been for me exactly what I needed. Now it's my turn."

[broken_arrow]

When she seemed to let it drop, Clint breathed out a heavy sigh caught somewhere between relief and disappointment. He didn’t know what he wanted; how could he when he wasn’t sure who he was anymore? How much would this physical transformation change who he was?

She gave him space, but while he didn’t settle down against her again he also didn’t move away. Lying on his stomach and partially propped up on his elbows, he studied Natasha’s face and was once again surprised when she didn’t leave it at that. Whatever she was feeling, she clearly needed to speak her mind and get it off of her chest, and to be honest it did leave him feeling unsettled, though it took him another moment to realise why.

“Official?” he repeated. Did she mean no more hiding? No more pretending there was nothing between them? Was she talking not only about giving them a real chance, but about making it public as well? It was her last words, though, that finally made it easy to identify that sinking feeling in his stomach. It was her turn. He had always been there for her, but now it was her turn. “You don’t owe me anything, Nat,” Clint said, lowering his gaze and shaking his head. “If this is some kinda guilt thing I don’t blame you, alright? You did everything you could to save me.” He raised his eyes back to her face. “I’da done the same thing. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

[russianchildatprayer]

For a moment, anger threatened to swell in her, disappointment and frustration that there just never seemed to be the right language for this sort of thing for her... and that Clint didn't know her better than make such an assumption.

Then she remembered, he couldn't know better. How should he? She had never told him. This was really all on her, on the many years she had let him down. Regretting that, drowning in self-pity now would only waste time that she wanted to spend so much better.

The short scowl replaced by a sad smile, she turned to him as much as possible, ignoring the faint burning inside and outside from the tubes this time. If she couldn't make him understand now, in such a moment of vulnerability and honesty... Maybe she would never achieve that.

"I owe you a lot of things, starting with my life, my soul and my emotions. That started on the day we met. If I wanted to pay off dues or guilt, I'd have come much earlier, you know. Do you think me as someone choosing a cage? Lock myself in with you because I feel I have to? You realize, I don't have any real experience with these sort of things, but even I know, that's not how it works. All I'm trying to tell you is that I love you. I always did."

At least these words came easier, without trying to search desperately for the right explanation from her lips, and that nervous heat in her stomach fell away when she could bring herself to look in Clint's eyes again, showing him, how sincere she was.

"All I do owe you, is no longer being afraid of living this feeling. Our time is too short for that."

It was the second time in this short conversation that she had to go back in mind to what had caused all this, and as hard as she tried, this time she couldn't swallow away the tears at once.

[broken_arrow]

The scowl was not a good omen, and Clint tried to prepare himself for a verbal beat down, but as quickly as it had appeared it faded, and while her smile was sad her eyes were determined. Whatever she had to say was important, and she wouldn’t be misunderstood again.

It was tempting to shrink away, to run away, but for better or worse he had to hear this, and he was pretty sure he couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

He opened his mouth to protest at first, that same old protest about her debts, but she spoke with such confidence and strength that he couldn’t interrupt.

Then she said it.

There was no denying it this time, not explaining it off as fear or guilt or a million other overwhelming emotions. It was in her eyes when she met his gaze again, nothing but pure honesty. She loved him, really loved him, and not only was she willing to admit it but she was ready to do something about it as well.

Clint’s heart was pounding so hard he swore Natasha could hear it, and he had to remind himself to breathe. They had been through tough scrapes and bad injuries before, but nothing like he had suffered here. He had been essentially dead; for a heartbeat or two she actually had lost him, and that was enough to make her realise that they couldn’t keep going as they were. Life was too short.

When the tears started he could only shake his head at her. He wanted to tell her so much, wanted to tell her everything he had been bottling up for years, but his chest was tight and there was a lump in his throat that seemed to prevent him from speaking, so he did the only thing he could. Shifting his weight to one arm he cupped her cheek with his other hand and stared into her eyes just a moment longer before leaning in to press his lips to hers, hoping to pour everything he couldn’t say into that one kiss.