The problem with being a superhero, and being able to save people's friends and family from death on a daily basis, is that you always think you will be able to save your own friends and family. This was a fact Clint had had to face as he watched Pietro Maximoff collapse in front of him, torso littered with bullets. He tried not to blame himself for Pietro's death, but there was always a twisting part of his gut that said I should have saved him.
The problem with being a superhero, and being able to save people's friends and family from death on a daily basis, is that you always think you will be able to save your own friends and family. This was a fact Natasha had had to face as she watched Bruce Banner fly the Avenger's Jet into the sea around Sokovia. She tried not to blame herself for Bruce's death, but there was always a twisting part of her gut that said I should have stopped him.
The problem with being a superhero, and being able to save people's friends and family from death on a daily basis, is that you always think you will be able to save your own friends and family. This was a fact Clint had had to face as he watched his wife being wheeled the operating theater. He tried not to blame himself for Lauras's death, but there was always a twisting part of his gut that said I should have saved her.
But Clint was a superhero, not a surgeon. So Laura's death was one he forgave himself for.
Natasha helped him around the home. She was great with the kids, even baby Petra. He tried to forget that the baby was why Laura died.
He pulled up every bit of the house, knocked it down and built it again.
"I'm a retired man," he would insist. "This is what retired men do."
She would laugh and tell him he was too young to be retired.
"You get old up here," he tapped his head, "there's only so much of the world you can see."
"Says who?"
"Oi I'm the man of the house around here! Don't I get a say?"
He loved the way she threw her head back laughing when he joked. Her eyes shone like they had forgotten everything else.
He didn't know they taught cooking in assassin school, but Nat was a fantastic chef. She could cook anything and everything. She could bake too- muffins and macaroons and meringue. God, did they taste good. She would help the kids decorate their own cupcakes and they would eat them for pudding at the weekends. He swore he was putting on weight. He told her as much, so she would laugh again. He loved the way she threw her head back laughing when he joked. His heart shone like it had forgotten everything else.
She helped him tuck the kids in, and clear up the lounge. Night would draw in, and the two would sit on a sofa in the warm glow. Clint liked to think he could make good hot chocolate. Nat was very good at making fires. Between the two of them, the world seemed a little lighter.
They had a lot to talk about, the two of them. Since Loki, they had drifted apart, and boy did they have tales to tell. Nat had been busy, wrapped up with Steve's quest to bring back his wartime boyfriend and Tony's subsequent tantrum. Clint had been… rebuilding his house.
It was in one of those long, happy evenings that Clint first noticed it. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but he knew it might be something to do with the shape of her lips. Or the delicate way her hands moved. Or the scraggy bits of hair that escaped her bun. Or the dark way she pronounced her 'l's, like a little bit of Russian accent escaped when she let her guard down. Or the way she threw her head back laughing when he joked.
Whatever it was, it made him want to kiss her.
He couldn't kiss her. But he liked to stare at her mouth and pretend he could. Pretend he could hold her hands, pretend could tuck the scraggy bits of hair behind her ears, pretend he could hear her pronounce the dark 'l' in 'Clint' whispered into his ear. Pretend he could make her laugh again and again.
Weeks later, they sat drinking hot chocolate, wrapped in a blanked and devouring jam tarts. In the firelight, it was very hard not to think about kissing her. He was probably staring at her lips too hard, because her hand went to her mouth.
"Do I have a cream moustache?"
"No... No!" Clint backtracked quickly.
"Then why are you staring at my mouth?"
"It's… it's just… a very… pretty mouth."
He wanted her to laugh, but she blushed. Her eyes shone. He wondered if he liked that more. He felt very close to her, sharing the blanket.
A long moment passed.
"You think you can save everyone" he said suddenly. "But you can't. There will always be people that die and there will always be things you could have done better."
"Is this about Laura?" They didn't talk about Laura. It seemed like ages ago since she was in his life.
"No. This is about Pietro and Bruce and Sokovia and New York."
"We can always take more measures." She meant to soothe him but it didn't work.
"But there will always be people who die," he insisted. "We have to accept that. We have to accept that we saved the majority and move on."
"I wish we had SHEILD back... or… something that can help us save more"
"I do too. Of course I do. I just think we shouldn't be held responsible for the people we couldn't save. If we hadn't intervened, Ultron would have killed so many more."
Nat fidgeted a little. "I suppose you're right. Still…"
They sat in silence again. Clint stared into the fire and tried not to think about Natasha's mouth.
"Clint," God, the way her 'l' dipped was toxic.
"I… think you have a pretty mouth, too."
He hadn't realized how close they really were, with the blanket draped over their shoulders. She put her mug down. Her hand went to his grizzly cheek. He felt like he was burning up. She leaned forwards and kissed him, very softly. She was a very good kisser.
He leaned into her and put one hand on her back, running his hands up and down the navy wool of her jumper. He kissed her cheek and then her ear and then her neck. He felt like he buzzed with happiness.
"Clint" she said suddenly.
"What is it?"
She threw back her head and laughed.
"You don't know how long I have wanted this."
His heart shone like it had forgotten everything else.
The problem with being a superhero, and being able to save people's friends and family from death on a daily basis, is that you always think you will be able to save your own friends and family. This was a fact Clint had had to face as he watched Pietro collapse in front of him, as he watched his wife being wheeled into the operating theater. The trick, Clint thought, is to fall in love with someone who can save themselves. He was quite certain Natasha was that kind of woman.