Author's Note: Angsty Clintasha shizzle. Takes place after CA:TWS. Enjoy!
Natasha was alone. Not technically; the other Avengers were in the tower, but she was mostly alone. S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen, and all her good deeds had turned out to be bad. She had no idea if Clint was alive, or dead. The only person who could understand, other than Clint, was Steve. And Steve, along with Sam, was searching for Bucky. No one else could understand, not in the slightest. So she stood, in one of the many rooms of Stark Tower, staring into space. In the room, the whole wall was transparent glass. She stared at the stars and felt utterly alone.
Clint was a mess. S.H.I.E.L.D., along with everything else he had ever known or trusted, was in ruins. He had no clue whether or not Natasha or anyone was alive. Well, he knew Fury was still around, because he had explained to Clint what had happened back at the base. Clint had been on a mission with some other agents when four agents had pulled out guns and started shooting at the other agents. There was a lot of confusion and shooting, and only three agents, including Clint, had made it out alive. But finally he had found his way to Stark Tower, and he ran in. Tony, Thor, Bruce and Pepper were sitting on a couch, watching the news.
"Natasha, where is she?" he asked. Tony gestured up.
"She's on the 15th floor," Tony said. Clint rushed to the elevator, and slammed the 15th floor button. It had been months since he'd seen her, and even now she could still be crippled or blinded or something else terrible. It felt like forever, but the elevator finally got to the 15th floor, he ran out, panic flowing through him. She was there, staring out the window wall, her back to him. He couldn't see any obvious injuries, so that was a relief.
Natasha knew Clint was there. She had heard him come in, breathing heavily, and she could feel him scanning her for injuries. She didn't know what would happen if she turned to face him. It had been months, and she hadn't been sure if he had even been alive. She was afraid that if she looked at him, she'd burst into tears. She wasn't one to show a lot of emotion, but she didn't think she could hold it back. It was hard enough, hearing his breathing close behind her. Her breathing quickened even now, it would be torture to look at him. But she couldn't stay away forever. So she turned.
Clint took a sharp breath as Natasha turned to face him. She looked okay, he couldn't see any gashes or anything of the sort. Her hair was different—straightened. He wondered if she'd ever straightened her hair before. He could only remember her with curls or waves. She looked up at him with wide eyes. His knees were shaking, he could hardly breathe. Why wasn't she saying anything? And—Why wasn't he? But he didn't know what to say, if he should even say anything. He was at a loss for words, so he was glad that she spoke first.
"I thought you were dead," she said. Her voice was quiet and seemed exposed, vulnerable. She had stepped forward when she had said it, so now they were only inches apart. Touch me, he begged.
He was looking at her with longing, but she didn't know what he was longing for. Say something, she pleaded. He looked broken, but they all were, all the un-S.H.I.E.L.D. members. He hadn't said a word, and he didn't seem as if he was going to. Is he mute? She didn't think so, but she didn't know what traumas he had been through. All she wanted was for him to talk to her, and hold her, and she would hold him, and they would hold together each other's pieces.
"Nat," he said. She couldn't tell whether it was a question or a statement, one word wasn't much to go by. "Nat," he said again, this time more urgently. He was breathing too fast, she could tell.
Touch me, please, oh please just touch me. Just touch me so I think that everything is fine, even when it's not. Touch me so I can pretend that we were never apart. Touch me so that I can forget the pain, touch me to make me feel human again. He couldn't even breathe right anymore, he couldn't think straight. He wanted to tell her, to tell her that he couldn't feel the way he used to, and to tell her that all he wanted, all he needed, was her touch. Just her hand on his shoulder, or her smooth fingers brushing his cheek, or she could wrap her arms around him and they could fall apart together. But she only stood there.
Why wasn't he saying anything, why wasn't he telling her that everything was fine now that they were together? He just started at her with panic in his eyes and fear in his breath. She couldn't do anything but stare, what was she supposed to do? She felt like falling. She wanted to throw herself off a building just to feel the fall. She desperately wanted to fall into his arms and fall into his heart and fall against his lips and fall into him. She wanted to fall through him, to keep falling and falling between the warmth of his arms. But she couldn't bring herself to move.
She just kept looking at him, and she was much too far away. He was done with the distance, he didn't want even a centimeter of space between them anymore. He couldn't keep going on like this, it was so hard to stare through the space. So he placed his hand on her shoulder. She was so warm. Her warmth flowed up his arm and filled his body. He embraced the warmth, but it was gone all too soon.
His hand was suddenly on her shoulder, and she couldn't stop the gasp from escaping her lips. His hand was shaking, but it was warm and it was close and it was him. She felt herself grow a little, she felt a couple of pieces go back together, because everything would be okay if he was here. One hand was hardly enough contact, so she slipped into his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and she could feel everything coming together, like their souls were now reunited.
She was hugging him, she was. His arms enfolded her small but strong body, and he sighed into the embrace. He breathed into her hair and smelled her rose perfume and he was at home at last, finally he had found his home.
They were hugging and it was almost enough, but not quite. She brushed her lips against his, and he opened his mouth and she opened hers and it was the most beautiful thing. He tasted like beer and fear and too much time apart. He moaned a little, and she couldn't help stop herself from moaning back.
It felt like heaven, like all the stars aligned. Her lips were like angels and her breath was the air one needed to live. The moans escaped his body before he could stop them, but it was okay, because she moaned too. His hands circled her body, and grasped lightly at her hair. Her hands held his face, pulling him so close that he couldn't feel anything between them. But they needed oxygen eventually, so she pulled away and they both gasped for air. But as soon as they had got what they needed their lips once again found each other, and the kisses filled all the lost months. She was his home, and he hers, and they were together- The spider and the bird.