Hello! Woo third chapter today! A little smaller, but angsty as fuck because I'm tired and cranky today. Please leave a comment if you enjoyed any of the chapters today!
CRY
Natasha Romanoff hadn't cried often in all her years on this Earth.
She didn't like crying, it was messy and loud and generally uncalled for.
It had been a year since she'd joined Shield and Clint was still trying to teach her that emotions were not a burden.
They'd been riding the high of a successful mission as they got back to Shield hq. One minute they'd been laughing and joking and the next a weight had settled on Natasha's chest and her throat was constricting.
She exhaled shakily and as soon as the jet touched down, she skipped medical and rushed to her room.
Clint had been hit on the head so he had no such look ditching medical, unable to follow her.
She crashed through the door and slammed it behind her, sliding down the wood and burying her face in her hands.
Stupid, stupid girl.
You just completed a kick ass mission, you won and you're upset about it?
You're an idiot, Natalia, why can't you just be happy about something for once in your life?
Tears threatened to overwhelm her and she pushed herself up, moving to the little fridge in the corner.
She poured a generous three fingers of whiskey into a glass and sat on the bottom of her bed.
She drained the glass, the liquid burning her insides as she swallowed.
Why can't you be happy? Why can't you ever just be happy?
Groaning, she rubbed her eyes and pressed hard enough to see stars.
A manic laugh twisted in her throat and she stubbornly pushed back the tears pricking her eyes.
She glared at the wall, gritting her teeth until the intense feeling at the back of her eyes had died down.
She poured herself another glass, draining it quickly before she decided to get changed.
Once in pyjamas, her own, and stubbornly not in any of the clothes Clint left over, she took the bottle, forgoing the glass, and crawled into bed.
When Clint finally turned up, knocking once and entering using the key code they both had, she was suitably drunk, blaring some sort of Russian heavy metal music.
The archer stepped in, raising an eyebrow and grabbing a clean glass off the side.
He silently padded over, shedding his Shield outfit and in just his boxers, sat beside Natasha, on top of the covers.
The redhead said nothing, tipping her head back to drink more whiskey straight from the bottle.
Clint reached over and turned the blaring music down to suitable levels, taking the bottle from her and pouring his own generous glass.
"Should you be drinking with your head injured?" Natasha finally spoke, the slightest slur to her words.
"Medical cleared me." He shrugged, taking a sip of the golden liquid.
Natasha rolled her eyes and the pair sat with only the music for a good ten minutes.
"What's going on, Tash?" Clint asked quietly.
The redhead shrugged, staring down at the bottle.
"Nothing."
"Really? Cause you're playing your angry music and drinking a bottle to yourself."
"I just..." She inhaled and maybe it was the alcohol or maybe she was sick of hiding her feelings, she talked to him.
"I'm sad. All the fucking time. Always sad. Christmas? Still sad. Good mission? Still fucking sad." She mumbled, shaking her head. "Always just so fucking sad."
"Well I'm no shrink but Tash, you've been through a lot." He shrugged, taking a sip as he thought carefully about his next words.
"Depression is a bitch. It makes everything...worse. Bad things are catastrophic, good things are just...okay, neutral." He said quietly.
"I'm never neutral. I'm always...down, upset, not happy."
"Never?" He asked softly.
"Okay. Maybe I'm exaggerating." She grumbled. "I do feel happiness. Sometimes. But...but when I should feel happy. Like now, I'm just sad." She mumbled, her voice thick and her eyes wet.
She was drunk and upset and she was trying to stop the tears again but...
"It's okay to cry, Natasha." Clint whispered and then he was enveloping her in a hug.
"Being sad is okay. But Nat...being sad all the time isn't good for you. Promise me you'll go see the therapist?" He asked softly, her body shuddering as she nodded, desperately held out on crying.
"It's okay." He soothed, "It's okay to cry."
She couldn't hold it in, and soon she was sobbing, crying desperately into his chest. She took loud, gulping breaths, quivering as she wept.
He held her through it, murmuring softly to her. "Crying is good sometimes. Therapeutic. Holding it in is bad for you, it's okay, I've got you."
It took a good half hour for Natasha to cry herself out, falling asleep against his chest with her face still wet and her nose running over his bare chest.
He didn't care.
He would always hold her if she wanted. Would always be there to remind her it was okay to cry.
He wouldn't 'fix' her, wouldn't try to.
She would help herself.
Save herself.
But he would always be there to help her help herself.
Always.