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. (hourglasss) wrote in snapthread,

"No. No, it's not bad at all," she rushed to assure him, the words spilling out so quickly that she barely paused for breath between. As though she was afraid if she waited too long to reply, it would somehow make it disappear, that the look would go away like it had never happened at all. "I don't want you to stop. I know it isn't new to you. I just meant - it's new for me."

That was what made it the strangest thing of all. Some other world, some other Natasha was extremely familiar with this look on Clint's face. Familiar with this Clint being open and willing and offering something beyond friendship, if she wanted to take it. That Natasha probably had her own problems, her own hangups and complications - it wasn't fair to judge what she knew nothing about, and Natasha had never been overly given to judgement in the first place.

Especially considering that in her own life, she'd done an excellent job of getting in the way of her own happiness more than one time herself.

She capped the current bottle of polish, nudged it over to the side in the neat little line she'd made of all the rest. The James of it all, that was something she should broach, wasn't it? She very much also wanted to spend time with James, in a way that made her feel something almost like guilt, even if it wasn't, quite, and it should have been. She had lied about nothing: it was the truth, that she loved Clint. It was the truth, that she had thought about what would happen if James had ever remembered her. Over the course of a life, there was room in a heart for more than one person to matter this much.

Generally, you just didn't expect to end up up in a place where both of your biggest what ifs seemed - not uninterested in wondering about the 'what if' with you.

"I didn't expect to be somewhere there were - possibilities, suddenly." It was on her, wasn't it? When he was looking that way and sounding that helpless, like there was a chance he was holding onto his own restraint - it was on her to make it clear this was no trespass, and so she moved closer to him, pretense of doing his nails abandoned. Knees bumping together, her shoulder tucked against his, and she trailed her fingers up along his arm, lightly. Carefully, like mapping out a path. "I just. I don't think I remember how to want something I can touch."