Summary: Natasha is trying to get a hold of Clint after a heavy night of drinking in a dirty payphone. Will he pick up? R&R
Coupling: Clint/Natasha
Rating: T
Hey guys, it's Mugi! I kind of sort of based this fic off of the chorus of Payphone by Maroon 5. There might be some spelling/grammar problem since I didn't revise or edit it, so make sure to tell me nicely in a review if you can.
Natasha slid down the plexiglass of the phone booth, shaky breaths puffing from her rosy mouth. She held the phone to her ear, listening to it ring and ring and ring…he didn't pick up. A strangled, drunken sob erupted from her mouth and she fumbled for change in her pocket to shove into the machine so she could redial.
Natasha punched the number in from her sitting position on the dirty booth's floor drunkenly, she knew it by heart. She felt a wave of nausea hit her in the face and choked back gag, let the phone ring again.
"Shit, pick up the fucking phone…" Natasha was sweating, an unhealthy glow to her skin. She repeated the cycle of calling and letting it ring until she was down to her last fifty cents. 'Please, please pick up…' Natasha prayed to herself sloppily, her eyes becoming teary.
Ring
Ring
Ring
…beep.
"Guh…uh, hello?" a raspy, tired voice crackled into her ears, and she sighed with relief.
"C…Clint? It's," Natasha suppressed another gag, "it's me, Natasha." Her words were so slurred and quiet, so weak.
"Natasha? Wait, 'Tasha, what's wrong?" Clint's voice sounded so loud and worried, Natasha could've cried with relief.
"Clint…I fucked up. I…I'm really sick, I n-need," she almost couldn't stop the alcohol tinted bile from rising up her throat this time and coughed, "I need you to come get…get me." Natasha let her head thump against the plexiglass wall behind her and murmured to herself in Russian.
"'Tasha, don't worry, I'll be right there…where are you right now?" She hear Clint presumably, from what she heard, stand up and stumble around his room.
"I'm at that one dive bar, Blue whatever-the-fuck-it-was," Natasha mumbled angrily, "near the shawarma place?"
"Yeah, I know what you're talking about, just stay there and I'll come get you," Clint's voice was surprisingly gentle, yet still gruff.
"Okay…I'll see you then…" Natasha whispered, suddenly tired.
"Listen, Natasha," Clint said before she hung up, "don't do this again, okay?"
I was worried about you.
"Whatever, just hurry your ass up."
I know, I'm sorry.
Natasha hung up the phone and leaned back, allowing herself to nod off knowing Clint would be there soon.
End of chapter one, sorry about how short it is! Chapter 2 is up next, remember to R&R~