I'm there as you break.

You are calm at first, I could hear those footsteps and tell that it was yours. I heard all the sounds you make as you take off your earpiece from your ear, the commlink, and setting it on the table. I can tell you are fresh from a solo mission by the way you smelled and the way you sat down. It was the tired posture, and I could hear it.

You talk to me. Quietly. Murmuring. Just beside my ears so I can just hear it. I hear you, Clint, I do.

You tell me about your mission, and how it goes. You tell me about the partner Fury tried to pair you up with. You tell me about how you rejected and went this mission alone.

You tell me how much you need me. You tell me to wake up, wake up, please wake up.

It hurts.

All of this.

You tell me, as you take in a deep breath. The next few lines you say are irregularly and unusually fast, your words spilling out all at once. You talk too fast for me to be able to hear you properly, and I zone out to your voice.

I hope you don't notice.

But you can't even tell if I'm asleep or not.

Your tone starts picking up in speed rapidly, and I snap wide awake. I hear tears at the edge of your voice, and my heart twists, clenches in pain.

I'm sorry.

You go silent. You take a shaky breath, so silent I had to listen so carefully to tell—You were crying.

I'm sorry.

I didn't want to make you cry.

IT was never what I wanted to do.

Never.

You sniff and I can tell there's something you try to say, but they're caught in your throat like the breath you try to take.

Clint, baby, I wish I could instruct you through this.

You tell me you really love me, and I tell you in return. You just can't hear me.

That's when you stand up.

I want so badly to tell you it's fine, it's all fine. That I love you, and that's all that matters.

But I can't. And it isn't.

You beg me to wake up and the only thing I want to do is to be able to open my eyes and stroke your cheek, wipe away the drops of tears I know are dripping down your cheek.

You push in your chair too hardly, and I see it coming.

"Natasha, I don't know what to do. This is useless—Why am I even talking?" You are crying.

Because I can hear you, Clint, and I need you. I need your voice, and need the sound of your footsteps approaching my room, I need the joy it brings over me. I need your presence.

"This is so useless…What am I even doing here…Why can't you just wake up?" You're still crying.

I want to, Clint, I really want to. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

"Why can't they fix you? Why can't they just fix you?" You're sobbing now. I hear you pick something up and thrash it against a wall in anger.

You have a few seconds before the nurses will start rushing in.

"Natasha, I don't get it. I love you, I really do. What do I need to do to get you to—Just wake up—And I just want to you to love me, and I know you do, it's just I really need you, Natasha. I really need you." You're not making sense with your words anymore.

"Mr. Barton?" A nurse pokes her head through the door. I can tell, now. When someone has their entire body in the room and when someone only has their head in a room, they make different sounds.

Trust me.

I know.

"Mr. Barton?" She asks again, but you're breaking down. You sit down on the chair beside my bed and you lean your head in. I hear your sobs stifled by your arm.

Clint, cry. It's okay.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

It's all my fault. You pain, Clint, all this pain.

It's all my fault. It's all me.

Clint, I love you. I love you being so close to me.

Your warm hand touches my skin, gripping it.

Clint, I haven't heard your voice close in such a long time. It feels so…good.

Clint, I just need you to know that I'm trying.

I am, I'm trying to wake up. For you, Clint, for you.

"Fury…Fury asked me to go on a mission. With a new partner—And, and the way he phrased it—He was so positive about you not coming back anymore, and—And, and Natasha, I just snapped. I'm sorry."

What are you sorry about?

"I just wish you were here, and I want to do everything together again. I miss shooting arrows with you holding a gun by my side. I miss having each other's backs. I don't trust anyone else, Natasha." You continue sobbing.

I know. I miss it too.

I just miss being able to talk to you.

I miss being able to feel you, being able to feel your skin and your scars.

I miss being able to protect you, to support you, physically and mentally.

I miss being there for you.

And I know you miss me too.

And I'm sorry.

But I know I can't get my message through to you.

Clint, I love you.

Please, I need you to know.

I love you.

And where ever I am, in whatever state, with whoever or even when you give up on me and plug the tubes out of me.

I'm still there.

And I still love you.