Not Alone
It was the shaking that scared him. The way she seemed unable to control her own body. Clint had never seen her out of control, never seen her cry or lash out. Sure, they'd fought before, but she'd always held it together. Always seemed to know exactly how to handle the situation. He was the one who often had to tell himself to calm down or to take a walk outside before dealing with whatever issue they were trying to solve. But this…he had never seen Natasha like this. It was alarming how the blood contrasted against her pale skin. It covered her face in lines that he knew would heal into scars. Her hands were shaking too, and he wondered if she knew that she was still holding the gun. Her grip on it hadn't loosened since she'd pulled the trigger.
He waited as long as he could stand it and then he slowly made his way over to her. He crouched down so that he could look her in the eye and try to reassure her that everything was alright. But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the body. He was determined not to pay much attention to it for fear that his dinner would make a reappearance. Instead he put his hand against the side of her face that wasn't bleeding and moved his thumb in slow circles against her cheek. Her eyes slowly moved up to meet his. When he had first met her it was her eyes that had pulled him in. Even then she had been cautious and guarded. But her eyes were the one thing she couldn't hide. They were bright and alive, full of hope. The hope that one day she would finally start living the life that she wanted. Now that hope was gone and it scared him more than the shaking.
"Nat…" he started to say, the words catching in his throat. He tried to clear it and prayed the right words would come.
"Baby…baby let go of the gun."
Her expression didn't change when her eyes flickered down to the weapon in her hand. He couldn't tell if she was surprised to see that she was still holding it. He closed his hand over hers and slowly lifted her fingers off one by one. He took the gun and set it on the floor beside him. The barrel was empty anyway. He turned back to find her looking at him, tears running down her face. Choking back a sob of his own, he pulled her into his arms. He rested a hand on the back of her head as she buried her face against his chest. His limbs screamed in protest when he tightened his grip but he didn't care. He felt a need to reassure himself that Natasha was there. That she was alive. Sobs racked her body and his to the point where he couldn't tell if the tears were hers or his own. The body and the gun were forgotten. The cold floor and the creaking walls were forgotten. There was only them. There was only her. He didn't know how long they stood there before he pulled back just enough to see her face. Her lips trembled and her cheek was starting to swell from the cuts.
"Don't…don't you ever scare me like that again, you understand me?" The words came out like a whisper but he knew she could hear him. Her eyes filled with more tears that mixed in with the blood on her cheek.
"I'm so sorry." she whispered.
He pressed both hands against either side of her face and held her gaze. "The only thing you have to apologize for is for thinking you had to do this on your own."