After weeks of little sleep, with Natasha curled up warm and comforting against him Clint slept like the dead. He didn’t wake when she pulled away, nor when the bed shifted as she got up and left the room. It wasn’t until the dim light of morning, made even dimmer by the dense forest that surrounded them, filtered in through the window that he slowly stirred. The first thing he noticed was that he felt better rested than he had in weeks.
The second was that he was alone.
It had been a dream. Fatigue, fear, pain, confusion; it had all mixed together to create this wonderful fantasy. But it had felt so real...
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Clint looked at the other side of the bed where the covers were rumpled and thrown back. Pushing himself up on his elbows he winced at the pain in his side, but it helped to clear his mind. The extra blanket was on the bed, and his injuries were freshly bandaged and not by his hand. It was real, it did happen; Natasha had been here last night. And now she was gone.
Somehow that was even worse.
What if that was it? He should have let her talk, should have let her get all the guilt and fear off of her chest, but he had brushed it off and gone to sleep instead. In the morning light she must had decided it was all a mistake, that she was better off without him slowing her down.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Clint sat there a moment rubbing his face with his hands and trying to force down the rising panic and devastation that was threatening to overtake him. He just... he had to keep going. He could figure this out, he just had to take it one step at a time. He just had to get up, go to the washroom, splash some water on his face, and try not to look at the sofa, try not to remember how it felt to hold her close, to kiss her, the elation when she had shown him that necklace. He could do this. He would figure it out.
Getting to his feet, he grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders before limping out to the washroom. He had only made it about two feet out of the bedroom, though, when he stopped in his tracks. Natasha sat in front of the fireplace, trying to light a fire and clad in one of his oversized sweatshirts.
His heart stopped just as his feet had. She hadn’t left. It wasn’t a dream, and she was still here.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2014-05-06 09:47 pm (UTC)The second was that he was alone.
It had been a dream. Fatigue, fear, pain, confusion; it had all mixed together to create this wonderful fantasy. But it had felt so real...
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Clint looked at the other side of the bed where the covers were rumpled and thrown back. Pushing himself up on his elbows he winced at the pain in his side, but it helped to clear his mind. The extra blanket was on the bed, and his injuries were freshly bandaged and not by his hand. It was real, it did happen; Natasha had been here last night. And now she was gone.
Somehow that was even worse.
What if that was it? He should have let her talk, should have let her get all the guilt and fear off of her chest, but he had brushed it off and gone to sleep instead. In the morning light she must had decided it was all a mistake, that she was better off without him slowing her down.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Clint sat there a moment rubbing his face with his hands and trying to force down the rising panic and devastation that was threatening to overtake him. He just... he had to keep going. He could figure this out, he just had to take it one step at a time. He just had to get up, go to the washroom, splash some water on his face, and try not to look at the sofa, try not to remember how it felt to hold her close, to kiss her, the elation when she had shown him that necklace. He could do this. He would figure it out.
Getting to his feet, he grabbed the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders before limping out to the washroom. He had only made it about two feet out of the bedroom, though, when he stopped in his tracks. Natasha sat in front of the fireplace, trying to light a fire and clad in one of his oversized sweatshirts.
His heart stopped just as his feet had. She hadn’t left. It wasn’t a dream, and she was still here.