Natasha tried, she really did. Mostly because Clint needed sleep just as much as she did to heal, and she didn't want to keep him from it. For a while it worked, his warm, strong presence engulfing her subconsciousness and leaving her more relaxed than in months. Even when she turned away from him sometime instinctively after he had fallen asleep, not wanting to hurt him in her sleep.
She slept the way she had always done it lately, curled in a tight ball under the cover to keep her temperature at least tolerable and with her hand under her pillow, though she had left her gun in the living room. It took her a while to drift away since she had denied herself painkillers today, knowing they would only make the dreams worse, but finally her body and mind came to rest.
So deep in fact that she felt disorientated when she came around in the very early morning, because her body reminded her of too much coffee for driving the day before. For a moment she didn't have the slightest idea where she was and why her gun wasn't where it belonged.
Her body went tense immediately, her hands hard fists when she turned her head to see who was in bed with her. If she had to act right away or had time to reach for the nearest blunt object to secure her exit. These weren't times to fucking fall asleep next to a mark, damnit...
Something between a sigh and a nervous chuckle came from her lips when she recognized Clint's familiar features, his well-known muscular frame all tangled up in the sheets. And here she had been thinking, she had left paranoia behind for good a few years after leaving the KGB. She left a feather light kiss on his shoulder, to not wake him, as if to apologize for even a second of puzzled, murderous thoughts and sauntered to the bathroom then.
Her reflection still confused her when she washed her hands, pondering if going back to sleep was worth the trouble. The rings in the size of Saturn rings under her bloodshot eyes weren't any more attractive than the faint hint of red in her hairline beginning to show. Right. No reason to worry about waking up next to the wrong man or woman. Right now she wouldn't even be able to seduce a mark after hours in a Hollywood make up trailer. Not that there was any reason left for such a job anyway.
She decided to blame the goose bumps all over her body on the fact that the fire had gone out rather than starting to think about her current situation, and hurried out to get it back going. One of Clint's sweaters was draped in a sofa corner so at least she wasn't freezing that much. She sat on the large fur in front of the fireplace while she worked, with her legs pulled to her side, and escaped in the lingering tiredness on her mind.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2014-05-05 06:45 am (UTC)She slept the way she had always done it lately, curled in a tight ball under the cover to keep her temperature at least tolerable and with her hand under her pillow, though she had left her gun in the living room. It took her a while to drift away since she had denied herself painkillers today, knowing they would only make the dreams worse, but finally her body and mind came to rest.
So deep in fact that she felt disorientated when she came around in the very early morning, because her body reminded her of too much coffee for driving the day before. For a moment she didn't have the slightest idea where she was and why her gun wasn't where it belonged.
Her body went tense immediately, her hands hard fists when she turned her head to see who was in bed with her. If she had to act right away or had time to reach for the nearest blunt object to secure her exit. These weren't times to fucking fall asleep next to a mark, damnit...
Something between a sigh and a nervous chuckle came from her lips when she recognized Clint's familiar features, his well-known muscular frame all tangled up in the sheets. And here she had been thinking, she had left paranoia behind for good a few years after leaving the KGB. She left a feather light kiss on his shoulder, to not wake him, as if to apologize for even a second of puzzled, murderous thoughts and sauntered to the bathroom then.
Her reflection still confused her when she washed her hands, pondering if going back to sleep was worth the trouble. The rings in the size of Saturn rings under her bloodshot eyes weren't any more attractive than the faint hint of red in her hairline beginning to show. Right. No reason to worry about waking up next to the wrong man or woman. Right now she wouldn't even be able to seduce a mark after hours in a Hollywood make up trailer. Not that there was any reason left for such a job anyway.
She decided to blame the goose bumps all over her body on the fact that the fire had gone out rather than starting to think about her current situation, and hurried out to get it back going. One of Clint's sweaters was draped in a sofa corner so at least she wasn't freezing that much. She sat on the large fur in front of the fireplace while she worked, with her legs pulled to her side, and escaped in the lingering tiredness on her mind.