arches | ➵ for widowing ● let's use this chance to turn things around

➵ for widowing ● let's use this chance to turn things around

_{( For all that they had come together, for all that they are a team, with the battle won there is not much left to hold them together. Stark is going to go back to his own life, picking up the pieces of his broken tower. Rogers’ pieces are more complex, involving a whole life splintered by seventy years of slumber. It won’t be so easy for him to recover. Banner, trying to knit together his separate selves, probably won’t be seen for a while. And who knows when the circumstances will be severe enough for Thor to reappear on earth? For all intents and purposes, the Avengers are scattered to the wind like so many fall leaves.

But two of them stay together.

As much as Clint says he doesn’t need a babysitter, he’s grateful for Natasha’s presence. It’s a SHIELD safe-house, off the grid and off the record, so that even Director Fury can’t pinpoint them. There, they can shed the titles of “agent” and “hero,” can forgo the codenames and just be. And for a man so recently unmade, that’s a fine luxury. And also a fine burden.

It’s early the next morning. He’s seated at the kitchen table, his hand curled around a mug of coffee that he’s not really drinking. His eyes aren’t focused, looking past the blank walls and seeing something else entirely. He doesn’t like having this time to think. He knows their names, now. He shouldn’t have looked it up, shouldn’t have gone near a computer with access to SHIELD’s database. But he did, and now he sits there quietly and contemplates.

Thinking has never been a good idea for Clint Barton. )}

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[ while clint is sitting at the table staring past what's in front of him, natasha is preparing her own coffee and something for the two of them to eat. it's nothing much, she's not particularly hungry and she doubts that he is either, if his practically untouched coffee is anything to go by, but she suspects they're going to need the energy even if they're not doing anything physically taxing.

glances are occasionally cast in his direction over her shoulder, and she doesn't like what she's seeing. she already knows that he looked up the casualty list and causes of death, has pieced together what must have been his handiwork, and she's not pleased but can't exactly fault him for it. as much as she doesn't want him to punish himself, it's almost worse not knowing; not being able to atone for what you've done because you can't remember who you've done it to or refuse to acknowledge it.

so she's not angry, but she's worried, and when she comes to join him at the table with her coffee and the food it's with some deliberate noise to break him out of his trance. she claims the seat closest to him, in his line of sight, and locks eyes with him as she takes her first sip and waits. ]

_{( There’s always been an acknowledgement between them, of things they’ve done and would forever have to live with. She’s told him enough about herself over the years, and he’s figured out even more, that he knows that there’s no one else on earth—or elsewhere, he thinks wryly, bringing to mind Thor and not his brother—who could understand this. But even then, he can’t just say it.

So instead he reaches over, and grabs something off the plate and pops it into his mouth, making a show of smacking his lips and scarfing it down. It’s a pretty useless distraction, and he knows he’s going to have to answer to those eyes eventually. But he’ll prolong that for a while yet. )}

Taking a stab at being a housewife? I gotta admit, I’ve never thought of you playing this role.

[ her shoulders rise slightly as she takes another swallow. ]

It's not a common one for me.

[ but it is one she's played before. ]

But I'm not playing anything. We have to eat at some point, I figured now was as good a time as any.

[ he's making a show so she does the same, reaching for something and eating a few bites slowly as she watches him. she's not expecting anything right away, they wouldn't have had to come here at all if it were going to be that easy, but springing this conversation on him isn't going to get her anywhere. he'll get angry, shut down and cut her off only to have what's inside come spewing back forth at the worst possible moment, and that's just what she's trying to avoid. ]

We don't have to eat. We could just starve.

_{( But that seems like a painful and overlong way to commit suicide, and Clint doesn't have the patience or will for it. He reaches over for another bite, but it's less of a show and more mechanical, now. He barely even tastes what he's eating. But after that's done his he pauses, runs one hand over his face, and then finally looks her straight in the eye.

There are many things he likes about Natasha. How similar they are, and yet how she can keep him grounded when no one else can. She's a master of duplicity, but he knows that, in crucial moments, she'd never lie to him. It's a strange kind of trust that has built up between them, a connection he doesn't have to anyone else. )}

I always thought I struck a pretty good balance, y'know? Between what needed to be done and what shouldn't be done.

Now my balance is all screwed over.

Edited 2012-05-06 16:04 (UTC)

[ she sets down her coffee mug at the first statement, giving him a look that could be considered a glare to those who don't know her as well. it softens when he makes the show of eating and her mouth presses into a line. the words sounded a little too quiet for the statement to be a joke, and even if it were one, she doesn't like the timing.

he finally looks back at her and she's silent as he speaks. she knows the feeling, knows how it feels to have what you've done stick with you. she knows that it doesn't make things better to forget, but letting guilt consume you doesn't do any good, either. you find a way to accept it and deal, find a way to atone in ways that make sense to you even if they don't to anyone else, or you start to lose your mind.

she refuses to let him do that to himself. ]

It'll even out again. Eventually.

_{( He regrets saying that, if only a little bit. Death is a coward's way out, and if he didn't have courage he would have died a long time ago. But that still leaves the nagging question: how am I ever going to make up for this? Yes, saving New York City from alien invasion may have helped, but it's not as if something on that scale is going to happen every day.

He drops his gaze, again, and stares down at the table, instead. In another moment he finds himself leaning his head in his hands, elbows against the surface, arms obscuring his face from view. )}

How?

It's not like I'm going to be reporting for duty any time soon, Tasha. I don't think I can stomach it.

[ she doesn't move to touch him yet, though the sudden urge to attempt comfort is there. she just watches him, quiet for a moment as she carefully considers her words. ]

I didn't say it would be happening immediately.

[ and now she does touch him, reaching out to place a delicate hand on his shoulder. the touch is feather-light, but there, present enough for him to shrug it away or lean towards it, whatever he decides. ]

And I don't know how. How is something you need to figure out.

I need it to.

_{( His voice is still muffled, as he doesn't move when she touches him. But that touch keeps him anchored, and he's sure she knows that. He doesn't mind relying on her, but he also needs to find a way to work through this so he can stand on his own. But for the moment, he stays curled inward like that, allowing himself to savor her touch like it's all that matters.

After a moment, he speaks again, still muffled but less forlorn. )}

It's like I need to figure out who I am, all over again. I thought I was done with that when I stopped being a teenager.

It can't. That's not how it works.

[ something that she's sure he knows, and so she doesn't say anything else for a little while, but moves her hand from his shoulder to his cheek. she's quiet for another moment after he speaks again, shaking her head slightly even though he can't see it. ]

I don't think that ever really stops.

[ she might have thought it did, before all this. before magic and monsters and war on an intergalactic scale was brought into their world, before he and selvig were compromised. but now she knows there's so much out there that you can't prepare for, no matter how much training you go through. you can be brave about facing these things, but you can't ever be truly ready for some of them. ]

_{( She never lies to him, not when it is important. So he knows the truth of her words, and wants to deny how much despair they fill him with. He can't imagine feeling like this every day for the rest of his life.

After a moment, he shifts so that his arms so that he can cover her hand in his, holding it over his cheek. The other arm drops to his side as he sighs heavily. )}

Who am I, Natasha?

[ she reaches to run her fingertips over his temple as his other arm drops, keeping her opposite hand where he's holding it. ]

You're Clint. What happened doesn't change who you are. What will is if you let this bury you.

_{( He looks up at her and holds her gaze, but doesn't otherwise move. )}

It did, though. I can't just... go back to all that. Not the same way.

Things don't have to go back to normal. [ she doesn't add that they probably won't; she doesn't think she has to. ] You just need to find a way to deal with them that won't end up destroying you. It doesn't matter how you do it.

So, if I just want to stay here for three months, that'd be okay? _{( It isn't what he's actually planning--he knows he'd get bored much too quickly--but he still asks the question, waits for her to tell him no. )}

[ her eyebrow simply raises. ]

Why three?

Because I think I'm owed about three years of leave, but that seems excessive.

[ this sounds more like him than he has since they arrived, which sets her mind a little more at ease. her mouth crooks slightly upward and the hand not in his grip drifts from his temple down to rest atop his knee. ]

Let's take it a week at a time.

[ three months is also excessive, but she's not about to say something that contradicts a statement she's only just made, and she doubts he was serious about it anyway. ]

➵ for widowing ● let's use this chance to turn things around

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