A/N: So this actually came about because my friend asked me for a list of sad songs. Which, if we back up for a moment, is because I am oddly addicted to extremely sad music. One of my favorite things is a song that will rip my heart out and leave me in tears. So when I made the list for my friend, I thought that it would be interesting to do a series of song fics following each of the songs. So if you plan to follow this story to any length, be prepared for some tears. Oh and these are all one-shots, not connected. Not sure how often I'll be updating, but I'll try to make it as quick as possible :-)
UPDATE: Here's the new edit; fixed the dialogue :D
Clint stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him. A part of him expected to hear her calling after him, summoning him back, but in reality he knew that she would never do that. Anger burned in his veins as he slid into his truck, starting the engine and taking off with no particular destination in mind.
What gives her the right to treat me like that?
Red clouded his vision as he swung the truck around a corner. He could just barely make out a building at the end of the street but his eyes did manage to pick up the most important thing: the neon sign out front. He gunned down the road and skidded to a stop outside the bar, anger still driving his every move. He pushed through the swinging doors, filled with relief when he saw that the bar was completely deserted, save the bartender who was rubbing a ragged cloth over some dusty glasses.
Barton took a seat on a barstool, intent on getting drunk enough to forget his own name before the night was through. The old barkeep made his way over to where Clint was sitting.
"What'll it be?"
"The good stuff," Clint responded with his standard reply, a total knee-jerk reaction.
Tasha is going to hate me for doing this; actually, screw that I'm going to hate myself for this in the morning.
He looked up at the old man, expecting to see him drawing up a beer or pouring a whiskey, was startled to see that he was doing neither; in fact, the old man hadn't moved an inch since Clint had placed his order.
Clint focused his attention just the slightest bit. The man's blue eyes were slightly out of focus and a few tears were pooling just behind his eyelids. He looked back at Clint and shook his head.
"What?" Clint was annoyed; he just wanted his alcohol.
"We don't have that here."
"Just get me something damn-"
"You don't want a drink, son. You want memories. Summer days spent in a cabin by the lake, winter nights spent huddled by a fire. You want dinner in a fancy restaurant and a gold band on her finger. That's what you want, if you want the good stuff."
The old man calmly turned away, opening the mini-fridge behind the bar. He turned back around with a carton of milk in his hand. Clint was staring at him open-mouthed, shocked by the man's blunt statement. Finally, some sense returned to him and he shut his mouth and nodded at the milk.
"I'll have some of that."
Nodding, the man poured two glasses of the cold drink and for some reason, Clint found himself completely relaxed here. He set the glass down after a couple sips and looked off to the side behind the bartender. An old black and white photo was propped up on the countertop. A young woman smiled out of the frame, blond, bouffant hair and deep brown eyes. The bartender followed Clint's gaze.
"That's my wife," he said, "Haven't moved it since she got it taken, about a year after we got married."
Clint didn't say anything, but apparently he didn't need to; the old man just kept on talking in that same soft voice.
"The cancer got her about eight years back and I, well, I didn't make the best choices." The old man stared at the picture without seeing, his eyes a million years away. "I was a regular at this very bar for five years, drunk out of my mind most of that time. Three years ago , I got out of that because I knew that she wouldn't want me to be that. I had the memories of her, the time we spent touring the world, the way she looked holding our first child, how beautiful she was when the Lord finally called her home, all of that was mine." His eyes came back to Earth and he looked at Clint. "That's how I know what the good stuff is."
Barton stared at his milk, not quite sure what to do. He had meant to be a lot less sober than this by now, but obviously that plan had gone to the birds. He was getting a lot more out of this drink than he had bargained for. When he looked up to meet the bartender's eyes again he found them filled with a strong conviction. The man said,
"If I know anything, son, I know that your woman, she's sitting at home devastated with herself right now."
Clint looked doubtful. He couldn't picture a devastated Natasha. He was about to protest, but the old man stopped him with a look.
"When you walk through the door, you apologize. No questions asked. She'll apologize too, I'd wager. Then you two cry it out and you make sure you hold onto that, son. And the next time you decide to walk out the door, remember that. Because that's the good stuff."
Feeling as if he had just been punched in the face, Barton drained the last of his milk and set the glass down. Thank God for this old man, because he would never have forgiven himself if he went back to the alcohol. He had promised himself that he would never go back to what he was before S.H.I.E.L.D.
More importantly, he had promised her and he knew that he had to go try and fix whatever mess they had made.
Clint met the old man's eyes one last time, opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat. He tried to convey his gratitude through his eyes and he supposed that he succeeded because the old bartender nodded.
"Go on, kid." Barton jerked his head awkwardly and turned from the counter, all but running back to his truck.
When he burst through the door of their apartment, Barton honestly didn't know what he was going to find. He expected everything, from no Natasha at all, to Natasha attacking him the moment he walked in. When no attack happened he stepped further into the room and looked around. Her things were still here, so she wasn't gone.
Cautiously, he took a few steps toward a door that was semi-closed. He pushed it open and found what he was looking for.
Natasha was loosely curled on the bed, wrapped in one of Clint's old hoodies, a bottle of vodka in her hand. Clint let out the softest sigh of relief.
She didn't leave me. I am the luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive.
"Tasha?"
She rolled over at the sound of his voice and her eyes widened when she saw him standing there. In less than a second she was on her feet and flying over to him and now he could see the tears that were pouring down her cheeks.
"Oh God, Clint, I'm so sorry, I-"
He stopped her apologies by pulling her into a hug and muffling her voice by pressing her face into his shoulder. He buried his own face in her red hair and breathed in her scent, vanilla and cinnamon and just a hint of lavender from her shampoo. They broke apart and he looked down into the emerald depths of her eyes.
"I'm sorry too, Tasha," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, keeping their eyes locked. He felt tears prick his eyes and he made no move to stop them.
Hell, if she could cry in front of him, he could do the same.
"I thought-"
"Shhhh…" Clint silenced Natasha, not letting her voice her fears aloud, "It doesn't matter. I…nothing happened and we're both alright. We're going to be just fine."
Natasha stared back into Clint's stormy gray eyes and he was overwhelmed with the trust and love that he had never expected to see reflected in her gaze. As he softly pressed a kiss to her lips he sent a silent thank you to the old man in the empty bar, wiping glasses and saving lives.
Because this really is the good stuff.
Well, me and my lady had our first big fight
So I drove around until I saw the neon lights
At a corner bar and it just seemed right
So I pulled up
Not a soul around but the old barkeep
Down at the end and lookin' half asleep
And he walked up and and said, "What'll it be?"
I said, "The good stuff"
He didn't reach around for the whiskey
He didn't pour me a beer
His blue eyes kinda went misty
He said, "You can't find that here"
"'Cause it's the first long kiss on a second date
Momma's all worried when you get home late
And droppin' the ring in the spagetti plate
'Cause your hands are shakin' so much
And it's the way that she looks with the rice in her hair
Eating burnt suppers the whole first year
And askin' for seconds to keep her from tearin' up
Yeah, man, that's the good stuff."
He grabbed a carton of milk and he poured a glass
And I smiled and said, "I'll have some of that"
We sat there and talked as an hour passed
Like old friends
I saw a black and white picture and it caught my stare
It was a pretty girl with bouffant hair
He said, "That's my Bonnie
Taken 'bout a year after we were wed"
He said, "I spent five years in the bar
When the cancer took her from me
But I've been sober three years now
'Cause the one thing stronger than the whiskey"
"Was the sight of her holdin our baby girl
The way she adored that string of pearls
I gave her the day that our youngest boy, Earl
Married his high school love
And it's a new t-shirt saying, "I'm a Grandpa"
Being right there as our time got small
And holding her hand when the good Lord called her up
Yeah, man, that's the good stuff"
He said, "When you get home, she'll start to cry
When she says 'I'm sorry', say, 'So am I'
And look into those eyes so deep in love
And drink it up,
'cause that's the good stuff
That's the good stuff"