|Clint Barton (antivillain_) wrote in avengers_logs,|
@ 2018-07-30 10:27:00
|Entry tags:||-complete, -narrative, clint barton, natasha romanoff|
Who: Clint and Nat
What: Clint needs common sense knocked into him
When: Now, after this
Rating/Warnings: Yellow, for some language, imagery, and fisticuffs
Nat already knew the directions to Cint’s place. Or rather their place, since Nat took it upon herself to be his roommate. So far, Tony and Steve both said the same things. Clint wasn’t doing too good. He looked rough. And after their short chat and his confession, Nat knew just what to do to help her best-friend.
With the car parked and the keys in hand, Nat made her way inside the apartment. “Honey, I’m home” She called out with a smirk. She looked like hell, that much was certain. That spear was placed against the wall as her now blonde hair was brushed out her face. Steps lead her into the apartment as she looked around.
Taking in its surroundings as well as trying to see where Clint was.
Even though he was expecting her, even though he’d opted for the sober up a bit route, even though that was historically his line, for just a second, Clint very nearly said Laura?
But he wouldn’t actually mistake Nat’s voice for anyone’s. And would never confuse Nat and Laura in any universe. Especially not them. Precisely because they were the two most important… most…
He appeared in the doorway so she could see the coffee cup in his hand. Which he’d been about to set aside when he caught sight of the spear. Both his eyebrows reached for his hairline. Eyes flickered from spear to Nat. “There’s stuff I need to catch up on,” he said, stating the obvious.
Nat came to look at the spear when Clint did, and soon back to him and the coffee cup. A smirk played over her lips for the moment. “Tomorrow. Tonight, tonight we deal with you.” She said as she came step towards Clint, invading his space.
That smile creeping over her lips as she came to shove her best friend back with the help of her foot kicking at his chest.
He wanted to either get his ass kicked or fucked. So Nat went with fighting. It was easier for them.
The air went out of him with an Oomf— and he dropped the mug to make a grab at her foot, both his hands going for her ankle. She’d be too quick for that countermove but it gave him a chance to catch his balance and come up into a proper combat crouch.
The physical pain… was a relief. It was external. It was explicable. He knew what to do with that.
Right now, it was to throw a blow back at her—designed to be blocked. On his end, this was sparring. Not defense but consent.
In truth, Clint was one of the few people Nat would ever harm on purpose. They had too much history and a connection to one another that bordered as soulmates probably. But that was something neither of them ever talked about.
With both his hands clasped around her ankle, she smiled. “Miss me?” Oh she knew the answer to that. When his blow was aimed at her, she blocked and countered with her own.
“Come on. You can do better than that.” She teased as she stepped back for the moment. Her heart was racing. But that was because of the adrenaline coursing through her from Wakanda and seeing Clint like this.
She was right, he could… he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to fight her. He wanted her to… he didn’t even know.
So he did the next alternative. That wouldn’t be cold calculating precision but also wasn’t softballing around. He let out his fury.
“I don’t want to banter!” He struck out. “I don’t want to play.” Wild flings of energy and emotion, swinging at her—the one person, himself included, he knew, on all levels, could take it. “If you’re gonna hit me, hit me!”
Seeing the fire and rage in his eyes was all Nat needed to see. With each blow he gave, she countered some but not all. Still, he was on a rampage. When he screamed to hit him, she shrugged. Twisting her foot to the side to get a firmer stance.
Then she lunged at him, as she threw her own hits at him. Flashes of the battle from today flashed in her mind, and Nat grew angrier as she spun and side kicked at his sides.
“Stop pulling your fucking punches!” Is all she screamed out as her short blonde hair wiped side to side from how much force she was putting in her hits towards him. Nat loved Clint in her own way, so no matter what. The two would be fine so long as they had each other.
She had grace and agility on her side; he had more body mass and brute strength. As she whirled, he suddenly seized her in his arms, pinning her arms to her sides in the circle of his.
And then, before she could slip the trap and flip him over her shoulder or kick him in the head, he’d sunk both of them to their knees and was wracking with grief into her hair.
There it was. The breaking point. Most people who didn't know Nat, thought her to just be this cold killer. But those who knew her, knew her personally. They knew that wasn't entirely true. So, when Clint broke, she pulled her arms from his tight hold.
Her arms coming around her best friend as she held the man close to her. Letting him grief for the family he lost, finally. Her hand came to the back of his head and the other around his back. Holding him as tight as she could.
Nat didn't say anything. But she knew being here for him was all Clint needed.
Somewhere in the gasping sobs there might have been names. Laura. Lila. Cooper. Nat… Mostly it was just outpour. Breath, voice, salt, water, organs, bones, blood, everything came out until he’d sunk limply against her, eyes closed into her shoulder, just breathing.
“I’m so tired, Tash,” he muttered.
Nat sighed heavily. She envied Clint because he had the one thing, Nat would never be able to have. A family, a family that Clint opened up to her and allowed her to be part of.
Hearing he was tired, Nat could relate. She could barely remember the last time she actually slept a whole night. He was tired. She was tired. They were all tired. Slowly she brought her arms under his and as she pulled up to a stand, she pulled him up with her.
“Let's get you cleaned off. And then you can rest.” Or rest as much as he could. Which she knows wouldn't be much. But rest assure Nat would be there each time he woke up.
He let himself be lifted
like a child like a mannequin, though he held his own weight on his feet.
“Stay with me?” he murmured, not able to have pride or worry about being appropriate. Last time he’d asked, it had been to prevent freezing to death; and they’d fallen asleep back-to-back, in turns, on a few stakeouts. This was different… but if she was willing, he didn’t want to sleep alone.
Nat gave him a simple nod. “You couldn't get rid of me if you tried.” she said with a faint smile as she lead him to the room. “Go wash your face and rest. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise.” she assured him as she motioned towards the bathroom.
Nat herself exhaled deeply. She was tired. But right now her focus was Clint. He came first. Her frame leaned against the door frame as she watched him closely.
“Tomorrow we're getting you fresh coffee.” She informed him as she knew drinking wasn't going to fix anything. And he needed to face this sober, because they had bigger things to prep for. And she needed him sober for it.
He went so far as to shower—army-fast, ninety seconds tops. He emerged rubbing his hair with a towel wearing a fresh pair of Stark Industries-issue sweatpants and t-shirt. He was starting to feel the gaping heaviness in his gut, the black hole ulcer, where his family should have been. …Which, in a way, was getting part of them back. This isn't nearly enough.
It wouldn’t stay this mild. This was still shock. He knew that. Or denial, dissociation… he’d lived without them half his life. Maybe it should stay that way. Maybe he could be that Clint long enough, or at least in the company of others, to do something productive, keep it from really happening… it did really happen…
…he couldn’t think any more. He tossed the towel back through the open bathroom door and collapsed onto the bed. Wondering if Nat was going to lay down beside him or not, but, now that he was feeling a little more inside his own head, grateful for the deft way she’d left her answer ambiguous: she owed him nothing and could do as she was most comfortable. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
Seeing him drop on the mattress the way he did only confirmed how tired he was. Once his eyes were closed, Nat moved off into the shower after grabbing extra clothes for herself. The shower wasn't as fast as his. No, Nat took her time.
Letting the dirt and blood wash off. Her own thoughts flashed of everything that had happened, and her fist balled up angrily. Thanos had won there. But she wasn't going to let it happen a second time. Finally when she was completely clean, minus the visible bruises along her frame, she dressed in some sweats and a tank top.
Seeing Clint resting had her nodding her head, as she shifted to take a seat on the bed. Her back to the wall as she exhaled deeply. “I'm here, Clint. Go to sleep.”
He’d half drifted off listening to the water of her shower, letting it wash all other thoughts from his mind. But her presence took it deeper, and his head sank properly into the pillow as it hadn’t before, eyes closing all the way.
The last thing before he fell completely was to move his hand, slightly, for his fingertips to brush hers. And tap out in their para-Morse code: Thank you.