Warning: This has to do with rape/sexual abuse. No descriptions, but it's THERE. And I really don't want to cause pain to anyone.
...I've really wanted to write this for a long time.
Bury the Dead.
Too many times they had nearly died for each other. Too many times each one had come through for the other when it looked like it was the end of the line. First names became the norm, trust established, secrets shared. From tentative allies, to reluctant partners. From trusted partners, to trusted friends. From trusted friends to family. From family to everything. There was nothing between them now. They would lay down and die for each other. It was that simple. So when he finally asked her, he already knew. When he finally asked her, she was ready to tell. When he finally reached into the blackness inside her and helped her lift the weight to the surface, it wasn't a cold hard light that shined on it, but the soft warmth of his compassion. Not his pity, but his love. She could expose the darkness to him and it was still safe. He didn't scrutinize it, he didn't probe it and cause pain. He simply knew and that was enough.
It happened when he had returned from a mission, the thought fresh on his mind. The operation was supposed to be simple, and it was, but he hadn't expected to run into the the casualties of human trafficking in the midst of it. The people they'd been dealing with were even worse than SHIELD had known. Upon his return, haunted faces mingled in Clint's mind with Natasha's. He knew she'd known that pain and it burned him.
At first he intended to keep it to himself, not wanting to bring up something he always just assumed she had at least once been acquainted with, something he would never ask her about. But it was dogging his mind and Natasha could tell he was weighed down by something. He told her it it was nothing, just fatigue. Although she knew better, she let him be. It was not her usual custom to flush him out of hiding. That's what he did for her, but Clint just needed to be waited out. He would come eventually. He always did.
Natasha was perceptive on a level all her own and she knew Clint better than anyone. What weighed on him was dark she knew and, as a couple days of sensing it passed, she felt less certain that she wanted to know what it was. That was odd, because what subject would be too much for her?
It was in the evening when he came to her. Natasha was just drying the last of the dishes she'd used from dinner. Spaghetti. She never really learned to cook anything else, so it was good that she liked it so much.
She knew Clint was in the doorway behind her. He didn't make a sound. Never did, but she sensed his presence.
"...How many times?" He asked in a quiet tone.
Why he didn't preface the question was beyond him. How she instantly knew what he was asking was beyond her.
Natasha's body went rigid, her back still turned to him.
"Enough." was all she said.
She didn't need to look at him. He came closer and gently took her hand to let her know he was there, that he wasn't going. As soon as he was close enough she leaned into him. He'd brought the subject up. He would deal with the aftermath. That was ok because Clint was willing. She said nothing. The presence of the only friend she ever had was enough. The refuge of the only trust she'd ever shared was the only protection required.
Against his chest he could feel hers tighten, fighting whatever was desperate to escape her.
"I know" he said. "To be used and left to deal with it. I know" Instantly Clint regretted those words. Not the meager offering of solidarity, but the assumption. She had never dealt with it. Not in all her life. To her credit, and to his continuous amazement, she possessed an internal strength like no one else he'd ever come across. It was this strength that held the door closed on what others had done to her. Natasha never had to look at it, never had to to feel the consequences because she was strong enough to hold it back. Until now. One simple question from the one person who could ask it. Ever so slightly Clint felt her body begin shaking.
"I won't say don't cry." He spoke as quietly as he could. Her pain demanded that reverence. Natasha closed her eyes as a single tear slipped from under her lash. She was pushing the old old pain back, but with the door that held it compromised, it was fighting her hard.
Very quickly it became clear that he was sustaining all her weight so, slowly, not letting her go, he brought them both down to the floor. Pulling her as close as he possibly could, Clint hid her against him.
"I've got you."
The worst thing possible would have been if one of the others had come in at that moment. Clint prayed they wouldn't and was grateful they didn't. Natasha had broken down. Truly. Inside and outside. This was the first time he ever saw it happen and it had taken so little prompting. Over the years Clint had learned her rhythms, learned to read her. He had seen her devastated, afraid, defeated. They'd sat in silence, they'd held each other close, and wounded words moved between them, but this, a complete emotional and physical collapse, he had never seen.
It had been a year since Loki pressed that scepter to Clint's chest. A year since Clint Barton was pulled out of himself. A year ago the searing spiritual pain of knowing he'd been made a monster had hit him with full force. But he was ok now, though the scar remained. It was a long haul, but he made it out of the dark. Natasha had been a guide.
For her, however, it had been a lifetime. Compounded trauma and her whole life to let it ferment deep inside of her, and now here she was just a little girl again and it all just happened. She was an open wound and the blood was everywhere. Healing finally had a starting place. At least that's what Clint kept silently telling himself. He was sorry, but he didn't regret that this was happening. It had been too long. They both knew it. He did wish he could take it all away from her right then. He wished the sheer force of his feeling could blast clean the inside of her heart and give her a new beginning. But he couldn't. This was the best Clint could offer her.
Her silent tears pooled on his t-shirt. She didn't speak. She didn't move. All Natasha needed was what Clint was giving. The opposite of what had happened too many times. Gentleness. Giving and not taking. Love. His embrace communicated what she already knew. He would never use her, never take from her. Most of all, Natasha knew Clint would be there when the dust settled. He'd shattered the glass and he would pick up the pieces with her. Like she had done for him, he would take her forward and never leave her side.
I'd love to know what you thought.