Wish list? :
I had never seen her like this before. Her hair was dripping wet and she had a weird look on her face. A mix of fear and concern. Her slim body trying to squeeze through the metal barriers restraining her from doing anything. I had no control over my body at the time and felt nothing. Inside and out. Actually, that's a lie. I felt numb. Incredibly numb. They tried drowning her in front of me and I had never felt more horror in my entire life. And that's saying a lot. They were getting ready to plunge her head right back into the shallow basin of water…
And then I wake up.
This happens every night. No vacation whatsoever; just constant, utter horror. There's no explaining the overwhelming feeling of waking up and searching for her everywhere just to make sure your insanity isn't actual reality. I feel the empty space on the bed next to me where she should be. This can't be happening. Next thing I know I'm speeding down the stairs until a familiar silhouette brings me back to life. Thank god.
"Tasha…?"
She spun around quickly making me jump a little.
"Clint! Jesus…don't ever do that to me ever again."
I held in a smirk. "Sorry. I thought you were sleeping but the bed was empty."
"It wasn't empty if you were in it." She took a sip of what seemed to be orange juice.
"You know what I mean."
"Well how on earth am I supposed to sleep when you're thrashing around like that?"
"I'm not…even…"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"Yeah, sorry." I scratched the back of my neck uncomfortably.
"Don't be. I just need you to get better soon. Now go to bed it's three in the morning…"
"…but I don't want to."
"Clint."
"Natasha."
The corners of her mouth almost twitched into a smile.
"Come on, we have a big day tomorrow."
We walked back upstairs together and got into bed. For some reason she kissed my forehead before lying down and it made me feel right for a little while. Then, right before she fell asleep, I told her. I told her everything. From the nightmares, to the crazy daylight thoughts that were driving me crazy, to the books I never understood. I even told her about the paintings that ''said so much by saying so little'' that I never managed to catch the meaning to whenever we went to the museum. All of those stupid little things that made me feel dumb. Those things that made me feel so powerless and little. Yet they were nothing compared to the dangers and monstrosities we were meant to fight all day. I never understood that. Ever. And it still managed to scare the crap out of me.
"…Nat?"
"Yeah?"
"Please say something."
"…do you have a wish list Clint?"
"A what?"
"A wish list. Kind of like a bucket list but with things you'd never expect yourself to do even during the darkest hour."
"um…no."
"Well that's your first problem."
Not very many people understood Natasha. She was deep in that dark way that only came out when she genuinely cared. All of those things I never understood were nothing compared to this. The paintings, the books, the nightmares, the pop songs; everything. Because now I understand that the reason why everything seemed to be complicated was because of myself. I don't WANT to understand them. What I want to understand is Tasha. I want to be able to read her like the palm of my own hand.
But I can't. I never will. Because as much as I try to understand her, she will always have a wall built up, waiting for me to bump into.
But that's okay. Because now, I have a wish list.
Natasha.