widows_kiss | Appointments Post

[She is changed when he comes back, one of his t-shirts draped over slim shoulders, a warm robe wrapped overtop and tied at the waist. Curled up on the couch, her arms wrapped about her knees, she is staring off into nothing when his knock draws her back and she calls him in, attempting a wry smile for his benefit.]

I get a knock this time? You really must be worried.

[He enters, bottle in hand, and crosses over the room to sit down next to her, shoulders touching. It's a weak joke, but he'd rather hear that than much else.]

That such a bad thing? Besides, I'm not the one who sneaks into people's apartments and just waits for them to show up.

You've done it on occasion. When you stay awake long enough.

[She's come home to find him passed out on her couch or on her bed and one time on the floor. The banter draws a wan smile to her lips as she nudges his shoulder, but she remains curled up, her legs wrapped protectively about her knees, as if she can't get warm.]

You worry too much.

Your apartment is nicer than mine. And the furniture is more comfortable.

[Mainly because despite owning an apartment, he still mostly lived out of a bag and his apartment barely looked any different to when he'd started living there.

He just looks at her for a moment, the way she's sitting, and that tells him enough.]

It's nice to have people to worry about.

It's all part of my clever ploy.

[Her tone is slightly wry as she rests her chin atop her knees, all too still. One shoulder lifts, halfhearted, at his comment.]

Sometimes it is, yes. Although usually that is my job.

What, to get me to take over your couch permanently?

[He tilted his head slightly and moves closer so that their shoulders are just touching.]

Which means that when the tables are turned, it means something's gone really wrong. What happened?

You get into less trouble there.

[It's said matter-of-factly, but his question has her falling silent again, trying to decide how to explain. What to explain. If she even could, or should. Finally, choosing her words with care, she answers softly.]

I encountered a ghost today. Someone from my past.

We get into better trouble together.

[He doesn't try to force the issue, or push her to speak before she feels ready. He's patient when it comes to important things.]

Your past. You mean...?

[He doesn't really need to elaborate. Before SHIELD, before being a mercenary and spy because he can't imagine a mere having causing such a reaction in her.]

I'm not sure 'better' is the right word for it.

Yes. Before. [She nods in confirmation, knowing what he was asking without him needing to voice it. Then again, there is very little he doesn't know about her life after she came to SHIELD. They experienced it all together. She hesitates, then continues.]

Someone... important.

Certainly more fun when we get into trouble together.

[He'd survived on his own for a long time. He liked having someone to watch his back and be his partner.

He raises an eyebrow when she says that. There's something about the way she says it...]

Someone good. Otherwise you'd be angry. Or cold.

[She has to give him that one.] Well, for us, usually. Coulson might disagree with you there.

[Her gaze drops, because again, 'good' is relative. And she's feeling too shaken to be angry or cold. Or the cold she feels is a much different sort than what she might normally show. An ache that made it hurt to breathe, if she let it. But it was still... something]

Possibly the only thing good to ever come out of Before.

Edited 2012-12-06 23:35 (UTC)

We keep him entertained and it keeps the junior agents off his back.

[This has him more worried than he cares to let on. She's so rarely shaken, so rarely lets anything touch her like this.]

It didn't go well, did it? They didn't recognise you, or their... feelings have changed.

Until the complaint forms start piling up on his desk.

[She gives a dry laugh, humorless, her arms tightening faintly, just barely noticeable, and she shoots a sharp smile at the floor.]

Something like that. You did warn me that they messed with time here. Especially since you don't remember the invasion. Maybe I should have expected it, but I didn't expect quite that much of a gap.

[She falls silent a moment, still, but when she speaks again, her voice is soft, holding a faint note of wistful regret.]

He didn't recognize me, no. But that's because he's never met me. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time.

Edited 2012-12-06 23:48 (UTC)

We risk our lives. Coulson fills out forms. Seems like a fair division of labour.

[She looks fragile, even though he knows it's an illusion. Even on her worst day, she's a match for him.

He licks his lips, not sure how to respond to that. The whole situation is fucked up. He can't imagine how he'd feel if Natasha had been brought here from before ever meeting him.]

Christ, I'm sorry sweetheart. I... what do you need me to do?

That's just because you'd prefer the life-risking to filling out paperwork, you crazy idiot.

[She laughs and ducks her head before giving him a lopsided smile, her eyes shadows]

What's to be done? We'll just continue on as we have been. I can't... [She hesitates again, then shakes her head, fingers curling against her knees.]

I don't think I can tell him. I'm not sure I want to. No one should know what lies ahead for them, and in this case especially...

It just came as such a shock. He looked so different. So much... happier. Innocent. I can't... There's nothing I can do, Clint.

Right, and you'd be perfectly happy playing desk jockey in HQ.

[The stable life does not suit them one bit. They'd both go crazy.

He leans forward, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.]

Can you keep going knowing that he doesn't remember? Are you gonna be able to interact with him knowing it?

[Because honestly, if it would help her, he'd figure out some way of making it right.]

[Her smile holds a hint more humor this time] Coulson would shoot us himself before an hour was out.

[She can't help it, his touch makes her ache and her breath hitches, her eyes sliding closed. She knows what that question means, what lengths he'd go to for her, even without her asking him. he understands, even without her voicing anything.]

He's happy, Clint. I won't be the one that breaks that in him. Not without a very desperate reason.

[That makes it -him- all the more precious, somehow, no matter how painful or bittersweet the rest of it is.]

He wouldn't. He loves us too much. He might taze us though. Repeatedly.

[He leaned forward, resting their foreheads together, letting out a slow breath.]

I'm sorry, Tasha. I really am.

Or you, at least.

[She lets herself lean against him, her shoulders slumping slightly as her arms finally uncurl from around her knees, letting her feet drop to the floor. She feels tired and spent, from far more than just the day's endeavors. Her eyes are shadowed but she manages to give him a small smile. Genuine. Because he, at least, is something she can smile about, as bruised as she feels otherwise.]

I know you are. It will be fine. It may even be good.

[That's better. He smiles back, as warm as he ever is because it's her, and they may be battered and bruised, but he knows that they'll catch each other, no matter what.]

But it feels like a knife to the gut all the same.

Is that all? Oh, that's easy then.

[Her lips quirk and she gives a soft laugh, ducking her head.]

Enough of this feelings crap, Barton. Didn't you bring me alcohol?

[It's an obvious change of subjects, but she doesn't want to brood, doesn't want to dwell, doesn't want to get mired down in the possibilities and implications. Not tonight.

Tonight, maybe she can just focus on the fact that James is alive. Maybe more alive than she's ever known him. Maybe... maybe that can be enough.]

[He lets go of her when she laughs, the tension in him easing a little, but he doesn't pull away just yet.

The change dof subjects makes him smirk, recognising it for what it is, but they're past the point where pushing is going to get anywhere. He holds out the bottle of vodka to her.]

Don't say I never give you anything, Romanoff. It's even the good stuff so you can't give me disapproving looks.

At this point it could be swill and I don't think I'd care.

[Her tone is wry as opens the bottle and doesn't bother getting up to fetch a glass. They don't need one, they've shared bottles before. She doesn't hesitate in taking a deep draw from it, feeling the alcohol burn the back of her throat.]

Oh well, give it back then. I'll go get you a crappy one and keep that.

[He lets her take it though, grinning when she takes a drink, and follows suit when she passes it back over.]

Not on your life.

[She lets him take a drink before stealing it back, taking another sip and letting her head fall back against the back of the sofa with a quiet sigh.]

Thank you, Clint.

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