Warning: Could be triggering for some.
An Immortal Love
The arrow, so elegantly pressed against the structuring of the bow, was then released as it flew through the air with such precision. It embedded itself into the mannequin with little more than a muted thud.
Clint let his bow fall to the ground with a clatter, his emotions getting the better of him. There was anger, fear, longing and loss hidden somewhere deep within him. He knew no other way to rid himself of these conflicting emotions, other than to keep doing what he was known best for. Shoot arrows.
"It feels better, doesn't it?" The Hawk hadn't heard anyone else join him in the training facility and he didn't have the strength to turn his head to see who it was. "Fighting. Preoccupying yourself with something you know you can't fail at. It stops you from feeling. It makes you immune to your emotions. That's why you've not left this room for three whole days, is it not, Agent Barton?"
A comforting hand came down on his back. Combined with the sorrow he'd not been able to rid himself of, he felt like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. In the split second that he'd decided it was too much, he fell to the floor on his knees.
He couldn't take it. A whole month had passed and nothing had seemed to ease. There was too much pain and all of it seemed so devastatingly real. A gaping wound had been left somewhere in his heart and no amount of time would be able to heal it.
"Clint."
Barton tilted his head ever so slightly, just enough to see that it was Steve beside him, offering the comfort he knew he needed but didn't want.
"I know how it feels...I wish I could –"
"No!" The shout echoed throughout the room, like an angry threat. "You know nothing." Clint's breathing was heavy, short and shallow. "You don't know what it's like. You don't know what it's like at all."
XXX
I thought I saw you in the streets the other day. The light of the sun shimmered against the red of your hair. It wasn't you, though. Of course it wasn't. It's like you're haunting me; your presence still lingers. It's as if you don't want to leave. Well, I don't want you to leave. I never wanted you gone. And now that you are... I miss you more than you can imagine. My dreams are no longer submerged by the faces of those who I have killed...not anymore. It's your face that haunts my dreams now. I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone, but it feels like I'm lying to myself. I'm so tired of trying...trying to heal when even the thought is useless. I miss you.
XXX
The graveyard was the picture of solitude. Beautiful, but shrouded in a veil of seclusion. Clint approached the headstone with an obvious cautiousness, as though the dead would emerge from the ground. He carefully sat himself before the grave, staring intently at the headstone, as if willing her back to life.
"Hello, Tasha." The words were little more than a whisper. "I miss you." The sadness broke out of his voice and into a wry smile. "So much... Ah, I best not cry." A laugh jumped out of his throat, broken – much like his heart. "Tears are for the weak, as you would say. Listen, it's three days until the day that marks the first time we met. We were fighting. Do you remember? I...I was sent to kill you, but I let you live. Ironic, huh? I chose to keep you alive and yet... you were taken away from us anyway. I always thought of it as a sort of...anniversary...I hope you don't mind. And I have something for you – for both of us. It'll be a surprise...just know that, from the day I met you and forevermore, you've always had a part of me...there's always been a part of me that's been yours. And no matter where I go, or where I end up, you'll still have all of me."
XXX
That night, he began to write the letters. Sweet, short and to the point. So many "sorry"s were scrawled onto paper in the dark hours of the night. The words he wrote spoke of an undying love, which had caused him more pain than anything else he'd ever encountered. He was human; Clint knew what he was doing and the consequences it would bear. But he'd thought that through. He'd decided: on the day that marked Clint and Natasha's first meeting, it would be done.
XXX
I think they suspect something. Whether it's just paranoia or fear of being stopped, I think someone knows. Stark and Rogers ask questions incessantly, Fury has hardly assigned me any missions as of late and Agent Hill is always checking up on me. I just... I want to be with you, Natasha. Forever. No one can stop me. Not even life. Even in death, I'll still love you. Our love is immortal.
XXX
No one knew what would happen that night, no one knew that at 0:00 a.m. Clint Barton was to take his life. He'd been planning it since the day after Natasha had died. He couldn't live without her. He never could have lived without her.
A knife was ready for his wrists, pills ready for his mind and a sedative to slowly ease him into death. It was his decision and his alone.
XXX
There was nothing but a heavenly white on the other side. It was calm, peaceful – a world to which the dead go, but one lacking in death. It was an infinite land of harmony. No killing, no nothing.
"Clint?"
He turned around, seeing her for the first time in months. A smile climbed his face as hers took on an expression of realisation.
"Clint! It's you!" She shouted joyously, running into his arms, safe from harm.
He looked down at her, cherishing her more in that moment than he had in his entire life. "Yes, it's me." He whispered breathlessly. Finally holding the woman he loved in his arms once more.