widows_kiss | Appointments Post

[He's slept better since Coulson and Tasha arrived, that's for sure. Having that stability, it helps.

But better doesn't necessarily mean well, and it doesn't mean always. Coulson is in the hospital, hacking up a lung and his imagination is far too good at equating that with what he learnt about what had happened while he'd been under Loki's control..

It's a trickle of ice down his spine, blue fire and chilling clarity and You have heart.

It's his hands on the sceptre, his hands driving it into Coulson's body, Fury, Natasha...]

[She hadn't bothered going back to her room once they'd returned to the apartment, curling up instead with Clint on his bed. it wasn't as if they didn't do this every now and then, when one of them needed comfort or companionship. And after Coulson... well, she suspected they were both needing a little of each.

Still, her presence alone tonight doesn't seem to be enough to stave off his bad dreams and she comes awake in the dark, knowing he hasn't made a noise, but that he's distressed all the same. For a moment, she freezes, tensing automatically for danger, but quickly realizing the room itself holds no threat. Then she's turning, careful not to jolt him, startle him too badly, her hand on his arm.]

Clint. Wake up. You're dreaming.

[He starts awake, breathing heavily and eyes wide in the darkness, but she's a familiar enough presence that he doesn't immediately go on the offensive. It takes a couple of moments for him to be aware enough to recognise her, and there's the quick flicker of his gae around the room, checking for a threat that isn't there.]

Natasha?

[She shifts beside him, just enough to let him see her in the moonlight, to reassure him. A hand reaches out, fingers cool against his damp brow, steady.]

It's me. I'm here. It's just a bad dream, Clint.

[Something inside him relaxes when he sees her and he closes his eyes, turning into the touch.]

Yeah. Yeah, just a dream.

Did I wake you?

[She settles down beside him once more, stretched out at his side, her cheek pillowed on the curve of her arm. Her other hand slides down to rest on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. It is still too rapid, but evening out. She hums noncommittally at his question.]

I'm easy to wake. It's alright.

[He lets out a soft sigh, rubbing his hand across his face tiredly. He should have expected this to happen after seeing Coulson in the hospital.]

Time is it?

[Probably too early to get up, even for him.]

Dunno.

[She murmurs it softly, her voice hushed, her thumb tracing absent shapes against the fabric of his shirt.]

Late. Early. No time that we need to be getting up just yet.

[He stretches, trying to get comfortable again after the unpleasant awakening.]</small. I'm not gonna sleep again for a while so if you want, I'll go take the spare room.

No need. [She shifts her head enough so that she can peer up at him, studying his face in the dark.]

Need to talk?

It's nothing new. Not really. Blue fire and Loki and people dying. Everyone dying by my hand. I mean, this time it was the sceptre, not my bow but... Should have expected it.

Because of Coulson.

[She reaches up and catches his hand, giving it a squeeze, knowing the guilt he carried, even though it wasn't truly his. Logic didn't always factor into this, no matter how much you reminded yourself.]

Yeah. [It's obvious and she'd know even if it wasn't. He squeezes her hand in return, thumb running over her knuckles.]

Dredged up a few bad memories the other night too. Probably didn't help.

The ball? Or have I missed something?

[Something else, anyway. She hadn't thought she'd been so distracted, her attention elsewhere, but Coulson's condition had her wondering if he'd just been exceptionally good at hiding or if she'd just been exceptionally oblivious.]

I went out with Adele the other night. I owed her an explanation for some things. Give her the story instead of having her try to make guesses.

There was a lot of vodka.

[He gives a small laugh at the memory. It had ended on a good note at least.]

I can imagine that took quite a bit of vodka, yes.

[Her voice is quiet as she watches him, all too still at his side.]

Did it help at the time?

A bottle between us.

[He shrugs, because he wasn't sure it had helped but... it had been necessary.]

Better than her hearing it from Loki.

It helped. I keep waiting for the past to stop having a hold over me, but maybe that's just wishful thinking.

Sounds familiar.

[She wrinkles her nose.]

Ah, yes. I suspect he has a bit of a different recounting of things than you might.

[She let her hand drift, her fingers sliding up to card lightly through his hair] Time heals some wounds, yes. Maybe even most. But the past has a habit of popping back up when we least expect it.

Can think of worse hobbies than sharing booze with gorgeous women.

[He grimaces at the thought.]

He knows everything about me, Tasha.

[He tilts his head to encourage that, the soothing gesture making him feel better. When he speaks next, it's quiet, but he knows that she can hear.]

Like James Buchanan Barnes, hm?

[She chuckles and tugs on a lock of hair at the first part, but grows solemn once more at the second. It's a fear she knows - the man knows far too much about her for her own comfort as well, but that's another matter entirely.

That doesn't mean he understands you, Clint.

[Her fingers had continued to brush against his hair, continuing the motion, but his question has her going all-too-still, because she knows she could lie, but its already too late.

She utters a single word in Russian, the meaning clear. She should have known he'd pick up on something sooner or later.]

[The tug gets a smile from him, and he moves so that he's leaning against her, head resting against her hip.]

There's never been that much to understand.

[The stillness from her just confirms it, what he'd suspected since he first saw them together.]

James Barnes died the same year Steve was frozen. And you're treating him like you've been friends and partners for years. You know him like you know me.

You underestimate yourself as ever, маленький ястреб.

[It was an endearment used rarely, and only ever for him, a hint to her rare mood. When he shifted, her fingers resumed their absent motion, stroking through his hair.]

Things are not always what they seem.

[The endearment catches him off guard, a softer smile appearing on his face, fond and grateful all at once.]

You're the one who makes me believe that.

[She could have bolted. That she's staying and talking is a good sign.]

That's kind of a given with us.

He's the on who didn't recognise you, isn't he? Which means... [His eyes widen slightly at the implications.]

He didn't die.

Well someone has to remind you.

[She almost curses again then, because she'd suspected that's what he'd been implying in the first place, without her inadvertently giving even more away. She claps a hand over his mouth with a sudden urgency.]

That is not information you should have, Clint. Or should spread.

[It's true, isn't it? The hand over his mouth, her urgency, it's all true. James Barnes didn't die when he fell from that train like the reports said. And if Natasha knew him, he can probably make a guess as to some of it. Natasha's past is a deep dark place and he knows that even he doesn't know most of it.]

No-one else would have picked up on it. And I'm not planning on rushing off to tell him. Or Steve. But... Who is he, Natasha? Who is he going to become that he'd throw you so badly?

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