There I'll Be
She shifts restlessly in her sleep, her brow creased in concern as I watch her in the soft light emitted by the bedside lamp. As quietly as I can, I lift the covers and slip between the sheets beside her, absorbing the weight of her body as I pull her into my arms. Natasha quietens immediately, the touch of my skin and the warmth that it brings, enough to shake her from the dreams that plague her in the early hours of the morning. Settling onto the pillows, I tuck her close into my side so that her head rests on my shoulder and her hand lies on my chest.
After weeks of starting out on the floor of her bedroom, I have finally abandoned any pretence of sleeping anywhere but at her side. She's too fragile right now to sleep alone, not that she'll ever let people see it. Plagued by nightmares of her time in captivity, and scarred by whatever torture she had experienced during those lost days, she hasn't been able to sleep through the night since she got back. At first I would stay nearby and soothe her back to sleep before returning to my sleeping bag but she needs more than words if she's going to heal fully, she needs contact and she needs someone she trusts entirely not to hurt her.
Just by being here I'm breaking several protocols and a bunch of rules about fraternisation between agents. I've already been warned that rumours could damage our standing within the organisation. I don't much care for propriety; if she wants me here, then here I will be. After all that she has survived, and all that we've been through together, where else can I be but by her side when she needs me? I'll do whatever I can to give her any comfort she can take from me. People might not understand the nature of this thing between us, but I find that I don't care. Just as I don't care about the consequences of my actions even though I can foresee them.
Unlike many of our colleagues, I have been at the mercy of another. They mean well of course but none of them can relate the way that I can. I too have sat restrained and bleeding with the knowledge that my continued existence rests solely in the hands of another being. I have had to live with the results of my lost days, dark days, when I was under the control of a man who brought pain and death to people I knew and loved. It is my own experiences that qualify me to be there for Natasha in this darkest of times. I've been at her side since the night after she was released from medical, when she called me and all she could do was brokenly sob my name into the handset. Survivors comprehend one another without the need for words and words do not come easily when she is asked to talk about what happened to her.
"Clint?" she stirs at my side, voice no more than a sleepy whisper. Her eyes don't even open now as if she knows me by touch and scent alone. I stroke her hair gently until she settles into my side again, something fierce and protective stirring in me to see her so vulnerable and acknowledging the weight of the trust that she places in me. I am her protector in these moments when she cannot protect herself and I will be at her side until she tells me to leave. Somewhere along the way what I feel for the woman at my side has changed and she now represents everything that is worth fighting for. For her I would bear the weight of the world because I want her to survive this ordeal and return to the beautiful and vivacious woman I have always known.
I know that what is unfolding here is dangerous for both of us but I'm powerless to stop it. These waves of heavy handed instinct are coming more frequently as I spend more time in her company. I'm not a fool, I know what they represent.
"Shh, I'm right here," I reassure her, smoothing her hair one final time. "Just sleep."