A/N: I am SO sorry I had this edited and ready to go (wow I feel like I apologize in every author's note and now I feel like I've written this before too?) and then the motherboard of my computer died and I was so upset and had to wait four days for a new computer but now I have one and my data was transferable so here you go! Thank you so much for favorites and follows and reviews. They're always appreciated! :-)
Chloe finds out before Clint has a chance to tell her. She's putting his jacket away, slipping her hands into the pockets when her fingers come into contact with the red lace underwear that Natasha'd given him at Lucia. Anger boils within her, her cheeks flushing and she stalks into the kitchen, her footsteps sharp and heavy. Chloe finds Clint's phone on the counter because he's downstairs in the gym and he never brings it with him. It's not difficult to figure out who the girl is.
Her red, curly locks shine and her eyes are bright, lashes long, lips luscious. She's sent him a picture and Clint wouldn't have been so careless with his phone had he realized Chloe knew his password.
A devious glint flashes through her eyes as she replies to the text, asking where Natasha is.
The sharp click of heels as they grind against the linoleum hallway floor grates Natasha's ears and jars her from her reading. She's sitting on a bench, half an hour early to her next class. As she lifts her chin to see what's causing the offending noise, her view is blocked by a wooly cream sweater. She lifts her eyes to a heart-shaped face and narrowed, brown eyes framed by lanky, brunette hair. Natasha's not stupid—this must be Chloe.
"You're the slut my boyfriend is fucking." It's a statement, not a question.
Natasha would've gone at this in a calmer manner, but she realizes now that this won't be pretty. Her eyes flash and her walls are up.
"Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call myself a 'slut,' but we are 'fucking,' as you so nicely phrased it. The term seems rather harsh though, don't you think?" Her lips curl up into a saccharine grin, her tone friendly, but neither reach her eyes.
It doesn't come as much of a surprise when Natasha feels the sting of Chloe's palm meeting her cheek. The skin flushes red and there's a sharp pain as her nails catch the delicate flesh, leaving several long cuts along Natasha's cheekbone.
The scorching hatred and rage that glint in Natasha's eyes are enough to make Chloe flinch and she takes a step backwards, afraid of a retaliation.
The tone with which Natasha speaks next is steely and cold, cutting more sharply than Chloe's nails.
"Do you feel better now? Has it solved your problems? Now, why don't you go figure out your relationship issues with the man you're in the relationship with."
Chloe is a spineless woman, Natasha can see. As she hurriedly walks away, not looking back to see the look of disgust that the redhead burns into her back, Natasha understands Clint's actions. Had the two had better communication and paid more attention to the relationship between them that clearly wasn't functioning properly, maybe they could have worked things out. But Chloe felt she owned Clint and she'd clung to him so tightly, her claws penetrating deep, that she hadn't realized when she'd finally shredded him, so weary and thin. Natasha will take care of him—fix him.
She splashes water across her still smarting cheek, hissing at the sting of the gashes, and then heads to class, her anger volatile.
Clint is excited because he's never done this before and he'd always wanted to, so very badly, but Chloe had never been the fun, spontaneous type.
He catches her outside her last class, wrapping his fingers around her wrist as she exits the door ad tugging. Her red curls swirl around her shoulders as she looks to see who has grabbed her.
Normally Clint is greeted with a dazzling smile that makes his heart swell, but today Natasha looks tired and the look she bestows upon him is wary. His brow furrows at the swelling in her left cheek, the cuts that mar her skin.
Clint pulls her into a classroom, locking the door behind him and pushing her down to sit on a desk. While she doesn't resist his actions, she is neither accepting and Clint runs his fingers around the affected area of her face.
"Are you alr—"
"I'm fine, Clint," she replies sharply, her voice acrid.
"I got a visit from Chloe today. She's a lovely girl. I can see why you've been with her for so long." Natasha turns her face away from him, her cheek sliding from his grasp.
Clint doesn't know what to say and the guilt and shame he feels is so overwhelming. The words seem to come all at once, bubbling up and clogging his throat and he can't remove the blockage. So he kisses her instead, tries to convey his apologies with soft lips and gentle caresses, but Natasha won't take it. She pushes him away, nostrils flaring and she looks at him, her eyes cutting, foreboding.
"Natasha, I—shit. Natasha, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never wanted to hurt you and I take full responsibility for Chloe's actions. It's just—fuck, I just—I love you." The words slip off his tongue before he can catch them, but he knows it's okay when Natasha's eyes soften, but her brows are still furrowed.
"You can't just say that and expect me to forgive you," she sighs.
"I know, Nat, I know. But it's true, I do. I love you so much and it wasn't until the other day that I realized, laying in your bed and staring at you across the sheets. I realized that's what I want to do every morning and I'm sorry I was too stupid not to realize sooner."
"Stop, please stop," Natasha says, her voice cracking into a giggle.
Hurt flashes across Clint's face at her words and she holds her hands up, palms facing him, trying to reassure him.
"Oh my god, Clint, I wasn't laughing at you. I'm sorry! You don't have to go on, is all I meant."
She takes his hands in hers as she lowers her voice, "I understand."
She pulls him closer, "You don't have to say anymore because I know."
She squeezes his hips between her thighs and leans towards him, "Anyways, I don't want you going all soft on me."
Their lips brush and Clint promises to take care of everything. To take care of her.
They use their bodies as apologies and as expressions of love—their lips promising, tongues soothing, teeth claiming, hands conquering.
When Clint returns home to find Chloe playing the doting housewife, he sits her down and tells her how it is. He's in love with Natasha and he's selling the apartment.
If he thought Chloe was overbearing before, now she's got her claws sunk deep and she's trying to hold on as best she can but Clint's finally resisting, finally doing something and he slips from her grasp. Desperation seeps through her pores and Clint finds it incredibly unattractive. He wishes she would stop.
"Clint," she wails, clutching at his hands, but he pulls them away before she can make contact, "You can't do this to me!"
"We've been together for four years and suddenly you're in love with some tramp?" she demands, stomping her heels against the floor.
"What happened to us? I thought you loved me. I still love you!" Her lips turn down into a frown but it's so petulant, Clint doesn't feel much guilt.
He scoffs. "You're kidding me. Chloe, what we have hasn't constituted a relationship in about two years. Our conversations are so bland and we haven't even had sex in nine months. You go around acting like our relationship is still perfect when there isn't even really one."
She ignores what he says, her eyes narrowing as she leans forward.
"So you're just using her for sex then?"
Clint doesn't stand for violence against women, but boy would he love to grab Chloe by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.
"You literally just disregarded everything I said but the part about sex. You say you love me and I don't doubt that you care about me, but how can you say you love someone when you haven't noticed their pain for the past two years?"
The room is quiet as Chloe glares daggers into the wooden flooring beneath her feet. Clint sighs, stepping forward to rest a hand on her elbow.
"Look, I really like Natasha and I'd appreciate it if you kept your hands to yourself and stayed away from her. I'm selling the apartment and speaking with an agent tomorrow."
Anger burns red hot in Chloe's cheeks and she yanks her arm away from Clint's hand.
"And where do you expect me to stay?" she snarls, and the sudden change in Chloe's demeanor startles Clint, although he doesn't let it show.
"I booked you a room at the Ritz for two weeks. That should be enough time for you to arrange more permanent living arrangements."
The tension is palpable and yet Clint feels like this is the easiest thing he's done in a while.
His shoes squeak noisily against the waxed flooring as he turns towards the door.
"Goodbye, Chloe," he says over his shoulder. His face lacks all emotion and it frightens her to realize how little she means to him. She's not done with him.
"You're an asshole, Clint!" she shouts from the couch, hands gripping her knees to keep from throwing something.
"You're never going to be as happy with her as you were with me, and she's basically a child, seriously, Clint? You're disgusting." Her teeth are bared and the sneer she sends him only serves to substantiate his decision.
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, the door halfway open.
"Yet she's the one with claw marks in her cheek."
The door closes behind Clint with a soft click, blocking out anything else Chloe has to say, and for the first time in years, he breathes.