Title: Family
Characters: Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, Thor Odinson, Maria Hill, Pepper Potts, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, etc.
Pairings: Natasha Romanoff/Steve Rogers (eventual relationship), Natasha Romanoff/Bruce Banner (past relationship), Natasha Romanoff/Clint Barton (friendship)
Rating: Teen+
Natasha Romanoff was lounging in her oversized armchair, feet kicked up over the edge. The large window had its blinds partially drawn, letting in natural light to her otherwise dark room. Early morning oranges and yellows filtered in, giving her more than enough light to page through her book comfortably.
She had been living in the Avengers Tower for about three months, give-or-take. She was one of the last ones to filter into the mix, the rest of the initiative having been there for almost a year already. Bruce had been the first to take up Stark on his generous offer, the wide variety of labs and research facilities sealing his decision. Next had been Rogers after he had managed to sell his mother's old home in Brooklyn. Clint had used the medical facilities after a particularly rough mission and had quietly moved in during the process of recovery. Thor made his presence known after vising Jane, usually, and had a semi-permanent room in the upper levels for convenience when he was pulled away from Asgard.
Truth be told it was a comfortable set-up. JARVIS was integrated into every aspect of the tower for convenience and safety purposes. The safe guards and privacy protocols were much tighter than she had anticipated, though she had put in a few suggestions to Stark, which he was surprisingly receptive to. Overall it was a smart move, to live with the others. At least, that's what she kept telling herself despite her constant doubts and worries.
She heard the steps before anything else. Light footed, moving with a purpose, a slight favor towards the left foot; Clint. She glanced at the clock on the other side of her bed, 05:30 a.m. He was up a little earlier than usual, prefering to roll out of bed at six to the scent of pre-made coffee that was in the common area. She went back to her book, allowing him the chance to start whatever conversation he wanted.
"You need to relax."
Clint is standing in the doorframe, a shadowed sillhouette against the bright light threatening to flood into her private living quarters from the hall. His arms are crossed against his chest, the ever-present wrinkle between his eyes just a little bit more prominent than usual, causing him to look his age for once. He's wearing his faded college sweatshirt and a pair of old sweatpants, a tell-tale sign that he was planning on going down to the gym in the lower levels of the tower. His expression in neutral but the squared shoulders and firmly planted feet tell her all that she needs to know about how this conversation is about to unfold.
Not one to shy away from a challenge, Natasha sighs softly, giving him a pointed look through heavy lashes. She sets down her half-read book on the end table, "Tales of Siberia" momentarily forgotten. Her legs uncross slowly, making a show of it as she shifts just enough to be facing him completely, giving him her full attention. Elbows rest on her knees as she lowers her chin onto folded hands, flashing him a deadly smile. "Do I not look relaxed? I thought reading was suppose to be very relaxing."
It's Clint's turn to sigh as he runs an uncertain hand through his hair. "Of course you look relaxed, Nat. But give me more credit than that." His gravely tone isn't angry or condescending but there's a bite of impatience behind his words. He looks her over slowly as he coninues, "Mid-priced, off brand jeans and a patterened v-neck top. No belt but a conservative bracelet and necklace pair, probably picked up from a nearby street vendor. It's not your regular combat uniform, but it's not your prefered clothing style either." Natasha's eyebrow raises slightly, but otherwise her face remains stoic as he continues. "It's the stock furniture Stark outfitted the rooms with, but you shifted pieces around to give it a 'personal touch' without replacing or swapping out anything. You have a few books laying around, books that you've read front-to-back more times than I can count. There's a hand-knit blanket thrown at the edge of your bed but you've never actually used it for more than decoration. When you do leave your room it boils down to polite, brief interactions between the others but never lingering more than what is absolutely necessary for social convention." Clint finally steps through the doorframe and into her room, dropping his arms to his sides as he shrugs his shoulders at her. "You're treating this new living arrangment like a mission. You look relaxed, but you aren't. Not really."
Her only tell is the slight, ever so slight downturn at the corner of her lips. She remains silent, taking in his words slowly. He's right and they both know it.
He doesn't break eye contact as he walks over to her and drops down into a crouch, rocking on the balls of his feet, resting a steady hand on her arm. His hands are rough and calloused but his touch is always gentle when it comes to her. "Missions are familiar and family is a foreign concept for you. It kind of is for me too, but I'm willing to give it a shot. Who knows?" He cracks a smile that causes her eyebrows to knit together in a moment of confusion. "Maybe these people are so damn dysfuncitonal that we might just fit in here."
He's rewarded with a snort and small smile as she pauses, relaxing into an honest moment as her head dips down to rest her forehead against his. She closes her eyes, fighting against herself to flee from such a raw moment. "I don't know how to trust myself around them." The words are quiet, as if she's afraid of her own mouth betraying her. He smells like oak and coffee. She smells like spices and gunpowder. They find it comforting, even if it's never spoken aloud.
"Nat." She opens her eyes, meeting his. "You aren't a monster. You weren't then, either, for the record." She rolls her eyes but he shakes his head, dismissing her. "You've come a long way from who you were and you're still learning who you want to be. I think opening up might help you find that person a little faster. They're good people, more or less."
"Stark?" She challenges playfully, pulling away as a smirk graces her lips. Her mask is slowly sliding back into place and he's okay with that. He understands.
"Some less than more." He banters back as he stands back up with a loud groan, shaking out his legs. "Apparently I need to stretch more in the mornings." He mutters, rubbing at his knees.
Natasha laughs as she pushes herself out of her chair, picking the book back up before tossing it in the trash near her desk. "I've read it fifty-six times, for the record. It doesn't get any better, either." Clint is heading out her door now, seemingly satisfied with how their talk went. His steps were lighter, his shoulders loose. "Clint." He turned back around to face her. "I can't promise anything, but I'll think about it." She tells him in her best form of noncomittal. It was better than what she usually left him with.
He was smiling as he made his way down to the gym.