Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Characters are property of Marvel and Warner Bros. The picture isn't even mine. If you review, even the reviews will belong to you!
IMPORTANT NOTE! For anyone who was reading We'll Always Have Budapest, the story has been deleted and published as one shots. I have a hard time focussing on one story and just didn't have enough time to keep up with the whole story. Each one is titled under the name of the movie as part of a "We'll Always Have Budapest" universe/arch. Thanks for your support.
"I have never regretted what I did. I regret things I didn't do." -Ingrid Bergman
They're actually in Casablanca when it happens, which Natasha supposes is the world's way of keeping itself entertained because it certainly doesn't make her laugh.
They are sitting in a bustling café. (It's even called Rick's Café, which she simply laughed about when she saw it, and then proceeded to take a picture of it because that is what the tourist she is supposed to be would do, and she is nothing if not a good actress.) Clint is looking at her from across the table as she recounts a tale about the natives of Casablanca in her exaggerated American accent, throwing in an excessive amount of "likes" and "ums". She is about to finish her story when the fire fight breaks out and SHIELD's greatest pair is forced to start working a little earlier than they had anticipated.
"Next time, you get to deal with the local authorities," Clint complains as he wraps with a bandage his upper arm in hopes of stopping some of the bleeding.
"You were doing just fine all by yourself," Natasha shoots back as she sits down beside him on the bed and helps him wrap his arm.
Clint rolls his eyes and winces as Natasha tightens the bandage, "Yes, but when you do it all you have to do is start acting faint and then all our problems are solved. And that saves us a lot of time."
"Not that much. You just like to see me act all weak. It boosts your ego," she says as she stands up and starts to walk away.
Clint turns around faster than Natasha knew he could and grabs her wrist, pulls her towards him, and makes her sit down next to him. "Is that all you think you mean to me?"
"What?" Natasha gasps as she jumps up, shocked by how quickly a casual conversation became a deep discussion. "What do you mean "all that I mean to you"? We're partners, Clint, that's all. That's all it can ever be."
"But, I thought, after Rio…"
"You thought wrong."
Clint slams the door on his way out and Natasha crumples on the bed, already in tears.
When Clint finally makes his way back to their small room at four in the morning, he finds Natasha sitting on the bed, curled into a ball, a blanket wrapped around herself, sobbing silently into the pillows. While Clint recognizes that he doesn't know everything there is to know about his partner, he does know when she just needs a hug, when no words are needed. So silently he sits down beside her, gathers her small body to his chest and holds her.
After Natasha cries until there are no more tears left to cry, she orients herself so that she can stay in Clint's arms while still being able to look him in the eyes. And almost like she's unsure how to start, she whispers, "Can I tell you a story?" Her partner nods and she proceeds. "It's about a girl who had just come to Prague from her home in Russia. In a deserted safe house, she met a man about whom she'd heard for the past four years of her life. A very great and courageous man. He opened up for her a whole beautiful world full of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she knew or ever became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshiped him... with a feeling she supposed was love.
"And then she really got to know this man, this wonderful man; not just as an ideal or a teacher, but as a human being, as someone who felt love and sorrow and fear. He was the most beautiful, wonderful person she had ever seen, because everything about him felt right. She wasn't scared of this man, he didn't hurt her or use her. He woke up when she had nightmares and rocked her until she fell asleep again. He knew just the words to say to make her laugh and what would help her when she was unsure of herself. He taught her new things and showed her that people could be kind.
"Then this girl, she made a terrible mistake and everything they had ever had, had ever known fell apart. It wasn't that she tried to kiss him or told him that she loved him. No, it was much worse than that. She denied what she felt. When he trusted her enough to let her know how he felt, she left him. She left him alone. She turned him away, Clint. He gave her everything, and she turned him away!" Natasha's tears return as she finishes her story, hoping that Clint will understand what she cannot come out and say directly to him.
And then she starts laughing. The hysterical type of laughter that makes Clint worry. Because what he doesn't know is that Natasha has just realized what she said. She wasn't laughing about how foolish she was to turn away the man she loved more than the whole world and then to tell him that she loved him in the form of a story like he was some child in need of a bedtime tale. No, she's laughing because she is in Casablanca declaring her love for Clint with a story. Who do I think I am? Ingrid Bergman? Natasha wonders.
Smiling sadly at the comparison she had just made between her and a woman in a movie made decades earlier, Natasha inquires, continuing her charade that she is some blond in love with a man named Rick, "A ruble for your thoughts."
Clint didn't look up at her, instead leaving his eyes trained on the ground. "In America they'd bring only a penny, and, huh, I guess that's about all they're worth."
"Well, I'm willing to be overcharged. Tell me." Natasha replies, placing her hand under Clint's chin and gently raising his head, until his eyes meet hers.
"Well, I was wondering..." He says nervously, barely able to hold Natasha's gaze, only managing because she is forcing him to.
With a gentle smile, "Yes?"
"Why I'm so lucky. Why I should find you waiting for me to come along," Clint says, leaving the undertone of his question up to Natasha to discover. Couldn't she see that even though she had denied his love for her, had openly claimed that she loved another man, in the form of a story no less, that meeting her, getting to know the woman he called Nat, that having that experience made him the luckiest man on Earth?
"Why there is no other man in my life?" Natasha says, putting her hand on his arm.
"Uh-huh."
"That's easy: there isn't one," Natasha proclaims, leaving no room for doubt.
Standing up, and moving away from the woman whose face shows the hope that so often appears before heartbreak, "That's not your line. Please don't lie. This is where you say that there was a man, a man whom you loved more than anything else in the world, but he died. Then you say that we'll always have Paris or Prague or Budapest or wherever and that you love me, but it's no good because this man that you love wasn't actually dead and it would kill you to leave him. Go ahead! Say it!" Clint is standing now, shouting at Natasha who has scooted backwards so that she is pressed against the backboard of the bed, tears staining her cheeks, gasping for breaths, her face pale.
She has never seen Clint lose his temper like this, and certainly never with her. She hadn't thought it possible. It is in a moment of pure fear for the well-being of her heart and sanity because she knows that if she loses Clint there will be nothing left, that Natasha makes a move to run out of the room. All the Russian can feel is press of all her emotions, threatening to drown her. I can't do this. I can't be the fearless Black Widow. I can't be Natasha. Not without Clint. So, because she doesn't know how to be truly brave without Clint (it takes a very different type of bravery to kill someone for money than it does to be kind and good), she tries to leave. Tries to run away and leave behind all the love that she feels for her partner.
Clint catches her wrist before she can touch the doorknob.
It feels as if the whole world is spinning on and has left the two agents behind as Clint smashes his lips to Natasha's.
It's not a kind, gentle, warm kiss. It is one that speaks of anger, of years lost because the other believes that their feelings will never be reciprocated. Truthfully, it is not even a kiss. It's two people saying all the things they never meant to say to each other. It is all the hateful thoughts. All the times they doubted each other. It is every word, moment, thought that has ever or will ever break hearts.
What passes between Natasha and Clint that night in Casablanca is not sweet or gentle. It leaves them both in tears, in separate rooms. They don't speak for the rest of the mission, or for two weeks after. What passes between the two partners is the lost opportunity of a lifetime. Sitting in her room the day after, Natasha figures it makes sense. She pretended to be Ingrid Bergman, she got Ingrid Bergman's heartbreak. After all, Casablanca isn't a happy movie. No one comes out of it better off, happier than they were before. In the end, it's just a group of people who came hoping to find love and freedom and left slaves to their own heartbreak. Why would we be any different? Natasha cries herself to sleep that night.
Author's Note- Ie. This is a combination of two of my favorite things: Clintasha and Ingrid Bergman. If you haven't seen Casablanca, I highly suggest that you do. It's a great movie. And for those of you wondering, you will find out what happened in Rio. The first paragraph of Natasha's "story" is based on one of Ingrid Bergman's lines and part of the exchange afterward starting at "A ruble for your thoughts" and ending at "Uh huh" is a conversation between between her character, Ilsa and Humphrey Bogart's, Rick. Thank you for reading my story and I would love it if you would review.
Have a great day,
-When In Doubt, Smile