He heard her cry out. Nothing continuous, nothing hysterical, just one pained cry. Dropping the weapons he'd been cleaning, he stepped quickly into the hall. Clint slipped into Natasha's room and the light from the hall followed him all the way to her bed. It lit up her face which was etched with pain, and revealed the sheets balled tightly in her fists.
He sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her. No surprises.
"Tasha. Wake up."
She heard him. Her eyes opened, but she didn't move.
Clint leaned over her. Their eyes connected.
"I'm here." He said to her.
This is how she woke from a nightmare that truly terrified her. Perfectly still, wide eyed and waiting. Was it really over? If she lay still enough, perhaps it wouldn't find her again.
"Tasha." He repeated, just to reiterate what was real.
Wherever she'd been a moment before was now gone away. The snows and twilight of the Russia she once knew faded back into memory as his low voice filled her ears. The crushing grasp of the Hulk slipped away as his calloused fingers gently wrapped around her palm. She looked into his warm eyes that tore apart the image of blue, and icy fear. His quiet presence overshadowed the horror of hatred, that hadn't belonged to him, pulling, stabbing her.
She said nothing to him and he spoke no more. Nothing more was required. Clint pulled her from her terror. He'd done it before. He would do it every time he was able. She knew that.
Natasha closed her eyes. His hand remained clutched in hers as she held it against her heart. Her thumb rubbed softly back and forth across Clint's.
He was there.
Oh! I love their trust so much!
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