Clint Barton found himself lying awake and remembering a quote from a bad CG sci-fi movie: "The dream is always the same." He just wished it didn't ring quite so true with him. The dream of her blood, his tears and a fear so strong he could taste it haunted his every sleeping hour. While he could blame a lot of recent issues on Loki, the nightmares had started long before the demigod ever came to Earth. The trickster had only reinforced the archer's terror that his dreams could become reality all too easily.
Rolling over to face Natasha's side of the bed, the sniper reached out and gently brushed a lock of hair away from her face. He could see the exhaustion in her peaceful features; Fury had run his top agent ragged for the past several weeks and it had started to take its toll. As he watched, her facial muscles twitched and she stirred without waking, revealing to him that her dreams had started. Clint had to resist the urge to move closer and kiss her. He knew that even the slightest touch to her skin would have her awake and pulling the knife from beneath her pillow before he could stop her.
"снайпер," the Russian murmured in her native tongue. Memories of his dream seized Clint and he almost pulled the redhead against his chest anyway. He contemplated that the pain from her blade would solidify reality as well as let him hold her close. He wanted, needed, her to chase the fear away from his heart. To remind him that the dream wasn't real and he hadn't carried out orders he now considered unthinkable. At the time, they had simply been orders to eliminate a potential global threat, but time made him look at it differently.
Clint Barton had almost willingly killed the woman he loved before he even knew her.
He always remembered how the cold had made his fingers stiff. The Cathedral of the Resurrection had thrown shadows so dark and deep he had difficulty picking out his target's crimson hair as she crouched against a tower. He had the shot and had started to loose the arrow, but the arctic temperatures made his fingers slow to respond. They had only just started to move when she looked up. Her eyes, so beautiful, so haunted, froze him in an instant.
If not for the icy conditions he would have killed her that day. He never forgot how close he came to taking her life. He had almost snuffed out the light of the woman who had redeemed him with his own hands. The archer often woke in the night terrified that he had followed Nick Fury's orders and his time with the assassin was nothing more than a dream.
"Clint?" Natasha's voice, quiet and groggy, startled him out of his thoughts. The spy slid closer to fit against his chest and placed a gentle kiss on the scar marring his collarbone.
He hugged her tightly and murmured into her hair: "I didn't mean to wake you."
The redhead barely moved as she shook her head. "You didn't. I'm cold."
Clint pulled the blankets up around their shoulders and gave into his earlier urge to kiss her. He knew that when Natasha woke up cold, she had dreamt of St. Petersburg as well.
She kissed the line of his jaw, her teeth just barely scrapping his skin. In response, the archer let his hands glide over her body as he moved to whisper words in her ear that he would never say aloud. The spy breathed his name and any resolve he had to simply let her go back to sleep vanished.
Quiet sighs and soft moans never escaped the warm confines of their nest. In the darkness, he worshipped her scarred body, the pinnacle of perfection in his keen eyes. Cradled in his strong arms, she clung to him. The deep chill the dreams left behind in both of them disappeared somewhere between her whimpered cries and his shuddered groan. As he settled heavily on her heaving chest, Clint knew he had found peace, if only for a moment, with the woman he had saved.
Waking at the first light of dawn coming through the floor to ceiling windows, Clint carefully slipped out of bed without disturbing Natasha. He stretched as he made his way into the bathroom to grab a shower and found he felt rested for the first time in a week. After falling back asleep with his deadly angel still cuddled close, the archer had slept the dreamless sleep assassins only hoped to experience.
Finishing up shaving, he heard his phone beep. Rubbing his face dry, Barton stepped back into the bedroom to check the device. Smiling at the text from Fury, he turned off the cell. Crossing back across the room, he tossed the towel around his waist towards the bathroom and cut off Natasha's alarm before kneeling on the bed.
The spy groaned as Clint tried to gently ease the blankets away from her. "We have the day off," he murmured softly, "let me back in."
He didn't know if she actually woke enough to fully comprehend his words or not, but she relinquished her death grip on the sheets. She shifted to one side and the archer slid back into his usual place. He pressed against her, kissed her hair, and happily drifted back to sleep.
A/N: O.M.G. Thank you all so much for the 12k hits! You all are so awesome! I'm so sorry it took two weeks to update, but I promise I've been working on stories, just haven't had time to type. For everyone's patience there are two chapters this week! Thanks so much for my OtherHalf for doing his thing and proofing for me and seventhheaven.K4LAFIN4 and everfaraway for the reviews! Ya'll are the best! The quote is from Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within and while I enjoyed it when it first came out, the more I watched it, the more I realized it really was a bad movie LOL. In all my fandoms, I always have to write the moment when the characters find peace. For me, that is all we can hope for, simply finding peace in ourselves and in our lives.
