Touch
She didn't really need that much; a simple touch on the shoulder, a pat on the back, fingers tracing down her arm. A contrast to the harsh touches she gave out; a kick to the midsection, a chop to the neck, a fist to the face. A delicate balance maintained, now a balance shattered.
Disclaimer: The Avengers and any related characters belong to Marvel.
She knew how much touch had effected her life. She knew from the harshness of the bat to her sides and those rough kicks to her head. She knew from the feeling that shook the body when the neck cracked or when the life slowly slipped from a person. For a while it was only harsh touches and she dealt with it.
I'm strong you know, she says, I don't need any babying from you or any other person in this facility. He merely chuckles a bit, taking her hand again and holding it with his.
There's a balance you have to maintain, his quiet voice murmurs as he traces the veins on her hand. Harsh with gentle, painful with healing.
She realizes how much she misses his simple touches once he's gone. It's different from when he's on a mission, it's different that she didn't know if he was ever going to come back.
She curled up in her bed, her body craving the touch on the other side of the spectrum. She didn't need much; a gentle touch on the shoulder, a pat on the back, a light trace on her arm from his fingers. He didn't need to talk and she didn't need to talk, everything conveyed through those loose nerve endings.
As much as she hated to admit it, she was going crazy without those touches. Funny how she could deal with punched until the very air slipped from her lungs but the loss of a simple touch could throw her delicate mental balance out of order. She found herself wrapping her arms around herself; fingers brushing over her shoulders and squeezing her own sides.
Every time she saw the security feeds, all she could think of was how to get her touches back. Those touches that were accompanied by a simple statement of her name. She hated it, she hated how vulnerable she was without them. Even as she interviewed Loki, she knew that he could see it. He could see how much she had undone without him.
He mocked her with that knowledge, taking her gentle touches and twisting them into brutal grips. Even as she took intel from him, her balance had shattered and her insides churned with the first beginnings of fear. She wouldn't allow it. Clint with his gentle touches -her gentle touches, gone.
She cannot describe the joy and the fear in her heart when she sees him again. But now his touches were as cold as the cool blue in his eyes. She couldn't hear his quiet voice, she couldn't see the calm calculation in his eyes, only cold blue. It infuriated her, a voice from within demanded him back. Give him back to me, it screamed, this isn't him.
So she touches and touches. Hard touches and strikes, delivered with all her strength. She could only hope that those could bring him back. Crack that cool shell and bring him back. As she sinks her fist into his chest and he sends his leg into her side, she can only hope that everything will balance out. Her harsh touches to his gentle touches. She cracks her head into his head, breathing heavy with action. She can only hope that everything balanced out.
When he wakes up, she can tell that he's back. As he looks around, body covered with her harsh touches, she realizes that it's her turn.
Her harsh touches, his gentle touches.
His painful touches, her healing touches.
There's a balance you have to maintain, harsh with gentle; painful with healing.