Just letting everyone know, this chapter has a little bit to deal with religion, and I'm sorry if it offends anyone!
Clint didn't know where he was. Everything was hazy and dark, and the silence was deafening. He pulled himself up from the ground, struggling to breathe. He didn't understand why his chest hurt so much, and when he tried to look closer, he found himself dressed in a black tux, with a blood red tie. His shoes were a shiny black, glistening on the wooden floor.
Suddenly, he heard the sounds of light flickering on above him. A few seconds later, the large room he was standing in was lit up in a dim, golden light.
He was standing in a ballroom, larger than any room he had seen before. It seemed to go on forever, stretching into infinity. The ceiling was glass, showing the white stars twinkling in the inky black sky.
Feeling the beginnings of panic, Clint stumbled to his feet. He didn't know where he was, or what had happened, and that wasn't good. Deciding it would be better if he was out of sight, or somewhere high, he began looking for a rope or curtain that he could climb or hide behind. There was nothing, only the room stretching forever on end.
Music began playing somewhere in the distance, Lost by Micheal Buble. Clint sprinted towards the noise, his feet echoing through the hall as he ran.
Clint screeched to a halt as he saw a figure come into view.
She was tall and slender, with muscular arms visible due to the sleeveless and low cut dress she was wearing. It was a simple, black, mermaid dress with a sweet heart neckline that showed off the silver arrow necklace she had clasped around her neck.
Thick, red, curls twirled around her shoulders, reaching her lower back. Her emerald green eyes were sharp, outlined with a thick, black ink. Her lips were a light pink, matching her cheeks as her usual pale face reddened when she set her careful eyes upon him.
"Tasha?"
"Clint!"
She rushed to him, wrapping her strong arms around him. He hugged her back, inhaling her sweet scent, a calmness spreading through him.
"Nat, what's going on? Where are we?"
Natasha looked around, studying the area.
"I, I'm not sure. I don't know what's going on. Do you remember anything that's happened? Because I keep drawing up a blank."
"No, I don't remember anything. Good music though."
Natasha let out a laugh, knowing Clint loved Micheal Buble's voice.
"Well, there doesn't seem to be a threat, so, you want to dance?"
Again, Natasha laughed, her nose wrinkling with happiness. Clint's stomach swooped, and he was confused. He'd never felt that before.
"I would be honored."
As Lostfinished, the song switched to Put Your Head On My Shoulder. Clint slipped his hand onto Natasha's lower waist, and her hand slid to Clint's back. Natasha interlocked her fingers with Clint's, and they began to sway in time with the music.
As they danced, Natasha leaned into Clint's chest, and his stomach wiggled again. What was going on?
"Clint, I... I love you."
Clint stopped dancing, and looked into Natasha's sea green eyes. He was dumbfounded. He'd loved her for a while, but he never thought she felt the same.
"I'm sorry Clint. I'm so sorry. Clint. It's just... I love you."
Clint was confused. Why was she sorry?
'Because you didn't respond to her you idiot.'
Oh. That's why.
"Natasha, I love you too."
Her eyes lit up, happiness etched all over her face.
The sound of a gunshot echoed through the air, but it was distant, sounding like it did in his dreams.
Clint suddenly fell down in pain. He gasped, pulling at his chest.
Blood was staining his white undershirt, matching his tie. He looked around for Natasha, and found her on the floor crying. He tried to get to her, but he couldn't move.
"Oh Clint. Clint, why?"
"NATASHA!" he screamed, but she acted as though she didn't hear him. She was fading, the edges of her image blurring into the black background. What was going on?
He struggled against the invisible force that was holding him still, desperately wanting to get to her, to hold her, to tell her it was going to be alright.
"I'm sorry Clint. I'm so sorry. Clint. I love you."
Hold On rang in the background, and Clint's heart broke. He loved her, and she loved him, but he would die before they could be together.
"Tasha, please. I love you." He felt her come closer to him, and saw her blurred face above him.
"I'm sorry Clint. I'm so sorry. Clint. I love you."
She leaned down, and kissed him. When she came back up, blood was smeared on her arms and face.
Everything faded to black, leaving Clint wondering if this was what death was like. A single, drawn out siren noise rang in the distance, drowning out Micheal Buble's wonderful music.
.
.
.
The silence of death was comforting. It was peaceful, and calm. Clint had never felt so tranquil. He was floating, where, he didn't know, but he was free. Free of pain and misery. But free of Natasha.
His heart ached for her, but he knew she would be okay. She would move on from him, he hoped. She couldn't just throw away her life because of him. He didn't want that for her. He just wanted her to be happy.
"She would be happy with you."
Cursing his conscience, he mentally slapped himself.
"Shut up, okay? Tasha will be fine without me."
"Will she?"
"Yes, she will. Nat is strong. Stronger than I could ever hope to be."
"That's what you think."
"Alright, shut the hell up you stupid conscience. I would like to live my death in peace."
"Clint, what if I'm not your conscience? What if you're not dead?"
"Brain, that's not funny. I'm dead. You and I both don't believe in God, so don't start now just because you're afraid of where we're going. Besides, even if there was a God, he wouldn't take me in because of all the wrong I've done. Killing people doesn't exactly get you in the good books."
"You don't get judged based on what you've done. It's what's on the inside, Clint. And right now, Natasha is breaking. inside. She needs you Clint. You can't leave her."
"I don't really have a choice, brain."
"There's always a choice."
Clint heard a sudden rushing noise, like waves, or a waterfall.
"What's going on?"
"Protect Natasha with your life, Clint, and I might just be inclined to 'Put you in the good books' as you said earlier. You two have something special, and who am I to tear that apart? Be good to her Clint."
"Wait, who are you?"
The rushing noise fell away, replaced by the steady beeping noise of a heart monitor.
.
.
.
Clint cracked open his eyes, blinded by the whiteness of the room. A red blur came into view, and he smiled.
"Tasha?"
He heard a shaky intake of breath, and then heard Natasha begin to cry.
"Clint!"