DISCLAIMER: Marvel characters do not belong to me.
There was a knock on the door.
Nothing. Silence.
The second knock came.
From inside the apartment came the sound of footsteps approaching the door.
When he opened, the first thing Natasha noticed were the bags under his eyes, then the shadow of a beard growing for the last couple of days; the pain in his eyes and the smell of bourbon.
She stepped inside and inspected Clint from head to toe. 'You gotta change, Clint, we can't be late'. There was a look they shared, from a brief moment that shared their pain. She felt it too.
He went into to the kitchen, followed by her and grabbed a glass. She left her purse, black as her dress on the counter and followed him back to the table where his half empty glass rested. 'Want a drink?' he asked, serving both glasses with the amber liquor she had smelled on him.
'No' was her answer, followed by an 'I think you've had enough'. She rested a hand on his forearm. He closed his eyes and held her hand in place with his own.
'Tasha… I can't.' His jaw clenched.
'I know… He was my friend too' she said, that last part barely loud enough for him to hear. 'But don't you dare blame yourself for it, Clint. Do you hear me?'
He stared at her in awe. Natasha knew him to the core and it would never seize to amaze him just how well she could read him. He knew she was right. He wanted to believe she was right, but the weight of Phil's death was on his shoulders. He felt guilty. He knew it hadn't been his direct action that had ended their handler's life, but if it hadn't been for him…
He looked at Natasha and saw something in her eye that he wasn't expecting. Tears. Her eyes were watery and that broke him. He had hurt her too. He had made himself untrustworthy and an enemy to her while on Loki's spell and that killed him to no extend. But in addition, because he had been fighting her and because he had been out at the time of Phil's demise, he had added the responsibility of breaking those news to him to Natasha's shoulder. Natasha, who had also lost Coulson just as much as he had, and Clint knew was one of the very few people she trusted. So he felt twice as bad looking at her teary eyes.
He closed his own for a minute. He was overwhelmed by feelings. He sank his fingers in her red curls, pulling her close for a much needed hug.
'Tasha…' Clint couldn't manage a different word that wasn't her name. She held him tight, needing him as much as he needed her and finally, when they broke contact, she planted a kiss on his cheek. He smiled a little. 'Go. Get a shower. I'll try to find a suit in that closet of yours'
He laughed this time. 'Do I have time? Isn't it late already?' he frowned and stared at the clock in his kitchen. She smirked at put a palm to his face.
'How did you…?' Clint said, surprised that it was still early to leave. They didn't have more than 20 minutes to the cemetery and he bet they'd make it in 10 if she was the one driving. It was still 50 minutes early.
She disappeared into his room while he went to the bathroom and turned the shower on. 'I know you, Clint' she said loud enough for him to hear while she searched for a black suit for him to wear. 'Yeah, I know. You'll never stop surprising me, though'. She smiled at that. Good. She liked that she could surprise him.
She found a suit and left it carefully on the bed. She went back to the kitchen and put the bourbon away, along with both glasses. She opened the fridge to find it almost empty and something in her stomach sank a little.
It hadn't been until the day after the Battle of New York that Coulson's death had really hit home. They both felt it and Natasha mourned her handler, and one of the few people she could call a friend, on her own silent way. She didn't talk about it. In fact, she hadn't aknowleadge his passing until Clint opened the door. Clint had the same kindness in his eyes Phil did. Then it had hit her again.
Clint, on the other hand, had been replacing sleep for drinks for the last two days, playing every moment since Loki in his head over and over again. He had tried sleeping once and the nightmares had woken him. He felt guilty and weak and he didn't want Nat to know that, though he needed her desperately.
She found bread on the fridge and made some toasts. Clint needed to eat something. She knew it wasn't easy to get him drunk so he needed food in his system. He showered and shaved and changed and immediately felt better, partly because of the shower, partly because of Natasha's presence there.
They had spoken over the phone but hadn't seen each other in two days, him being hiding in his own place drinking his pain away and fighting nightmares and her sinking in paperwork to keep her mind off everything that had happened.
'Want some toast?' she asked, not bothering to turn around when he entered the kitchen. His answer, anything but subtle, was to stand behind her grabbing the food in question as she was making it.
There was something really domestic about that situation that Clint secretly loved. No, he didn't love the situation, he realized, he loved her. But then sadness invaded him again; feeling good about the only woman in his life because his handler was dead and what about his woman?
'Did anyone call Audrey?' he asked
'The cellist?' Clint nodded. 'Fury called her personally.' It was all she said.
Natasha felt bad about feeling so good around Clint. They were mourning a friend who had loved and had parted this world without the chance to say goodbye to his love. That thought put something in perspective for the redhead. If it had been her…
She stared at Clint's eyes, looking for something, some kind of sign… If it had been her, she'd need him to know.
Something inside her shifted, a wall came down in her heart as she pressed her lips against his, telling him everything she couldn't say with words.
I'm thinking about continuing this an actually take them to Phil's funeral... Opinions?
