Disclaimer: I own nothing except the crazy and wonerful ideas that sprout from my head
A/N: So, I have so many ideas for this pairing, and I can't keep them in my head. So this we be a series of one-shots featuring Clint adn Natasha, as well as some apperences from others. Not all necessarily connected to each other. I am taking promts, so just review or PM me and I will use some I like. They will all be 100-1000 words. Please review, I love to hear what you think.
Enjoy :)
Falling Apart
She had always wondered which person she would be in a situation like this, they one that holds it together, or the one that falls apart.
She always figured that maybe she would be the earlier one, she thinks of herself as strong. She hates to cry, she is good at controlling her emotions if needed. She is a master assassin. She could do it. She can do it.
A stray tear runs down her wet cheeks as she laughs bitterly.
Yeah, fat , chance.
Because, here she is at Clint's funeral, breaking. She is breaking. She is truly and utterly falling apart.
They ask her to right a eulogy, and of course she says yes, it's Clint, he would have spoken at her funeral, so she will speak at his.
The paper that holds her scripted goodbye to him is being crushed in her hands, tears staining the lines and causing ink to run. She grips it tightly to keep for shaking, and takes a deep uneven breath to calm herself. She is breaking.
She can't let then see her weak, she can't show them, she will tell them.
"Clint was wonderful." she continues without the paper, she has it memorized. "He is wonderful, and I say this in present tense because he will never be a was, he is an is, ad always will be, at least to me." she corrects herself.
"I loved, love, him," she admits, "and it is taking all my strength and most of my sanity to keep myself from jumping into that grave after him."
She sighs, "He would be laughing at me right now, probably is where ever he's at, 'The famous Black Widow, weak? Breaking down? Unacceptable, right, wipe those tears away, Nat, can't have anyone thinking you are weak, it'll all be okay'" she mocks him, not caring that she is making a fool of herself at the same time she is mocking the dead.
"Ours wasn't a beautiful love story, it was far from it, though it is truly heartbreakingly tragic. I wish he were here, I miss his smile, his laugh, him." she whispers, painfully exhaling. "Yes, he would have defiantly made fun of me now, and he would have paid for it."
"I-" she says, but her chuckle breaks off into a sob, "I can't." and she runs off the stage and out of the room. She runs and doesn't stop until her lungs are burning with the pray for oxygen.
He's dead, gosh she can't believe he is dead.
She always thought that when something like this were to happen, she would be able to hold it together.
But no, she is falling apart.