It's Almost the Same as Love

by Bryn Elizabeth

Random Clintasha drabbles, pre-, during, and post-movie. He is the only thing she can depend on. She is his soft place to land.

"How many?" he asks quietly.

"It doesn't matter, Clint."

"Tasha, you know that it does."

She sighs. "I didn't count." She didn't count because she knew he would ask, and she doesn't want him to know. Ever.

"What did I do to you?"

She shakes her head. "You can't tell, not with what happened out there…" She trails off as he ignores her, lifting her shirt to inspect.

"Christ, Nat, that's my boot print!" He runs his fingers over the vividly purple bruise before angrily seizing the bedside lamp and throwing it at the wall. He slouches over, elbows on his knees, head in his hands.