Okay everyone, you can breathe easier now. Sort of. Here is chapter 29.
Time heals all wounds, Natasha thought. Or at least that's what they say in movies and TV shows.
The first week following the break-up had absolutely killed Natasha. Though her father had called in sick for her for that Monday, he wouldn't let her stay home any other days. She needed to attend school if she wanted to graduate.
She said absolutely nothing to Peggy, Jane, and Bruce, and she walked around like a zombie. Peggy, Jane, and Bruce could tell something was up, but they didn't dare ask for fear that something bad might become of it.
Natasha didn't do much that first week. She woke up, went to school, and came home. She had called off of work that week because she didn't want to be around people. She did her homework. She cooked herself dinner. She would take a shower, and then she'd go to bed. Then the whole cycle would start up again in the morning.
By the beginning of the second week following the break-up, she realized that what she was doing was unhealthy. She had become a shell of her former self, and she refused to act like that ridiculous Bella Swan chick from Twilight.
On the Monday of the second week after the break-up, Natasha began to talk to Peggy, Jane, and Bruce again. They had been really concerned for her the week before, and all Natasha would tell them was that she and Clint had broken up. She mentioned that she didn't want to go into detail and that she didn't want to talk about it, and with that, they dropped the subject.
Natasha immersed herself in more activities to stay occupied. As if her schoolwork wasn't enough, she picked up extra shifts at Sweet Creams, started going to the gym, and started to learn how to drive. Her dad had taken her to get her permit so that she could start learning to drive. When she turned 18 in November, she would be able to take her driving test immediately.
Mr. Romanoff had told Natasha he would let her use her mother's old car, the one he had gotten possession of in the divorce. The black Nissan Altima just sat in the driveway anyways. Mr. Romanoff rarely drove it because it reminded him too much of his ex-wife.
In the middle of October, Natasha was nominated for Homecoming Queen. She was wondering if it still had to do with her popularity after the Powderpuff game from last year. She was flattered that her classmates still thought highly of her, but she had no desire to win Homecoming Queen.
However, Natasha did win Homecoming Queen. She was shocked, and honestly didn't expect it. What she also didn't expect was for Bruce to be crowned Homecoming King. Bruce normally kept to himself, and he had a few friends but none that he would consider close. Apparently the entire school thought highly of him as well and he and Natasha were crowned Homecoming King and Queen.
At the end of October, Natasha scheduled an appointment for her driver's test to take place about a week after her 18th birthday. She was extremely nervous because she really wanted to pass the test and be granted her freedom. She wouldn't have to depend on others for rides to work or to school.
The day of Natasha's 18th birthday, Mr. Romanoff woke her up bright and early. Natasha wasn't pleased with being woken up so early and she was certainly surprised to see her father home. On a weekend nonetheless. As he ushered her out of bed, he wrapped a blindfold around her eyes and led her outside.
What came next, Natasha was not expecting. Her father pulled the blindfold off of her to show her the shiny midnight blue Camaro sitting in the driveway. Natasha was speechless, and she wasn't sure if it was okay to celebrate or not. Of all the cars he decided to get her, he got her a Camaro, a car she would be devastated over if she somehow wrecked it. Natasha assumed that this was Mr. Osborn's doing, but Mr. Romanoff shot that thought down. He admitted to planning this ever since he got custody of her and got the job at OSCORP. Mr. Romanoff said that she didn't deserve her mother's car and she deserved her own. Suddenly, Natasha couldn't wait to get her license in a week.
As nervous as she was, she passed her driver's test with flying colors. She almost made a major mistake with the parallel parking but she fixed her mistake immediately and hoped the instructor didn't notice. Apparently she didn't since Natasha passed and was granted the ability to be unleashed on the roads by herself.
In November, Natasha had signed up for the Powderpuff football team again in response to the encouragement from many of her classmates. Natasha hadn't planned on doing it because it would remind her too much of a certain someone, but she found that she didn't want to let her classmates down. Many of them said that they feared they wouldn't garner another victory without her so she signed up, and fortunately, led the senior class to a victory over the junior class.
Natasha was doing just fine. Everything was somewhat normal. The big gaping hole in her heart still hurt, but that's why she kept herself busy, to distract herself from the pain.
It wasn't until Thanksgiving break when she'd seen him for the first time since that weekend when he came home. It was only briefly, and she wasn't even sure if he had seen her. She had been driving to work, and the only route to work required her to pass by his house. She'd passed by and she caught a glimpse of him getting into his car. His back was turned towards the road, so there was probably no chance that he saw her, but deep down, she'd hoped he did.
She pushed that thought out of her head so she wouldn't reopen that wound. She didn't see him at all for the rest of the Thanksgiving break, and she didn't expect to. She had hurt him, and she had hurt herself in the process, so there was no way either one of them was ready to talk.
November melted into December and the temperatures in the daytime began to drop significantly as the days grew closer to Christmas. The town had received their first snowfall of the season in mid-December and the students were granted a snow day. As much as Natasha enjoyed the day off since it let her get the remainder of her college applications done, she didn't like the thought of having to go to school an extra day in the summer, therefore, pushing back graduation even further.
It was about a week after the snow day – two days before Christmas Eve – and all the snow had melted when Natasha was driving home from work late at night. Her boss had asked her if she would close the café and Natasha graciously said that she would. She immediately regretted it. When she walked out of the café, a light snow had begun to fall and she got nervous because she had never driven in the snow. She was thankful it wasn't sticking to the roads yet, but she still drove several miles per hour under the speed limit.
When she pulled into her driveway, the car's headlights illuminated her front porch and a strange figure slumped over, seated on her steps. When the headlights hit them, they looked up and Natasha's heart caught in her throat. She wasn't ready for this. Not yet, at least.
She cut the engine and grabbed her bag from the passenger seat. The snow that had stuck to her driveway crunched underneath her feet as she made her way to her front porch to confront Clint. As she drew nearer, she noticed the bottle that was dangling from his fingertips. When she approached him, she caught the stench of alcohol and then noticed that the bottle, a bottle of Jack Daniels, was a little less than half full.
"Hey," he slurred and then burst into a fit of giggles.
"Hey yourself?" Natasha said uneasily.
"I jus'…I jus' wanted to come here an' say hi," he slurred.
"Okay?" she said.
God Clint, she thought. What the hell happened to you?
"I haven' seen you since September," he slurred. "I thought it was time we saw each other."
"Yer prolly wondering wha's wrong with me," he slurred.
"You're drunk. That's what's wrong with you," she snapped.
He shook his head. "No," he said. "I haven' moved on from you so I started to drink. A lot."
"I can see that," she said.
"Nope, not jus' tonigh'. All the time," he slurred, and then burst into a fit of giggles again.
"So you're essentially an alcoholic? Real smart Barton," she said, folding her arms across her chest.
"Ding ding ding! You win a prize!" he exclaimed.
"Oh really? What do I win?" she said. If she played along, maybe this would make this a lot easier.
"This bottle!" he said, handing her the bottle of Jack Daniels. She took the bottle from him and she hoped he wouldn't ask for it back. If she had it in her possession, it would mean he wouldn't drink anymore. She examined the bottle and shook it to slosh around the remainder of the liquid in the glass container.
"Hmm, Tennessee Honey whiskey. That stuff's not too bad actually," she said shrugging her shoulders.
"Yeah," he said, sitting back down on her porch steps. "Are you happy to see me?"
A wide grin spread across his face and it almost ripped her heart in half. He may be drunk, but good God, that smile was still incredibly adorable.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm happy to see you Clint," she said, and she meant it.
He burst into another fit of giggles and she sat down on the porch steps next to him, taking a swig of whiskey from the bottle. She felt the liquid burn her throat as it went down; it had been a while since she drank.
"You know wha' Nat," Clint said, pointing a finger at her as he began to sway to the side. At this point, she was just glad he was sitting down.
"What Clint?" she asked.
He was silent for a second and then he belched incredibly loud that the noise echoed throughout the air.
"Real classy Barton," she said. He had started to sway back and forth and she was starting to shiver. Her jacket wasn't heavy enough to keep her warm for this long.
"Hey, umm, what do you say we go inside?" she suggested.
"Okay Tasha!" he slurred, and then stood up, tripping over his own feet as he stumbled up the steps. Natasha followed him, pulling her keys out of her bag, and sliding it into the lock. She turned the key and unlocked the door, turning the door knob to grant them access into her house. Clint stumbled inside and Natasha followed, flipping the switch on by the door to turn on the lights. Clint flinched at the sudden brightness and swayed from side to side.
"I don't feel so good," he said, and then vomited all over the hardwood floor.
"Oh you mother fucker," Natasha muttered. She placed the bottle of whiskey on the table by the door and shed her bag and jacket, setting them on the arm chair in the corner. When she turned around, she saw Clint swaying from side to side again, but this time, a little more violently. That's when she saw him lose his footing and head straight for the floor. Natasha rushed over and grabbed him under the arms before he could hit the floor.
She knew he weighed a lot. Guys always did but she still wasn't prepared to carry all of his weight.
"Okay, hey Clint, you've got to cooperate with me now, okay?" she said, slinging his arm across her shoulders so she could bear his weight.
"Sure," he slurred, trying to regain his balance.
"We're going to go to my bedroom okay? You remember where that is?" she asked. He nodded his head – or at least she thought he did – and they started walking towards the bedroom, or in Clint's case, stumbling.
It took a couple minutes but they finally made it to her bedroom. She gently lowered Clint down on the bed and pulled his shoes off, tossing them into the corner of the room. She pulled his legs up onto her bed and covered him up with the spare blankets she kept at the foot of the bed.
She thought he was completely passed out until she was about to leave the room to clean up the mess when he grabbed her hand. The gesture had startled her but she still turned to look at Clint. His eyes were still closed but she knew he was still conscious.
"Nat?" he asked.
"Yeah?" she asked nervously.
"Will you stay here?" he asked.
"I will Clint. I need to go clean up the mess first, okay?"
His head lolled to the side and she watched as his breathing slowed to a steady pace. When she knew he was somewhat safe and still alive, she made her way out to the kitchen to grab supplies to clean up his drunken mess.
As she grabbed the cleaning supplies from under the sink, she felt a smile spread across her face. It seemed ridiculous to be smiling in a situation like this but she realized that in the morning, she would have Clint back. They probably wouldn't be back together, she knew that for sure, but he would be back to normal and maybe they could talk. Just because he was drunk didn't mean that what he said wasn't true.
The break-up had been so hard on him that he had turned to drinking to cope with the pain. This sudden realization had hit Natasha squarely in the chest. The guilt had hit her like a freight train barreling uncontrollably down the tracks. She was the reason he was like this right now. She had caused this. As she made her way into the living room to clean up the mess, she realized that she had to make this right, and she was going to do everything possible to put the pieces of the puzzle of their relationship back together.
But first, to clean up the vomit.
When Clint awoke the next morning, he had a splitting headache and his mouth was dry. He didn't want to open his eyes to face the daylight. He groaned and shoved a pillow on top of his head.
That's when Clint caught a whiff of the scent on the pillow. That scent was so familiar but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. He lifted his head and peeked out from underneath the pillow to get a good look at his surroundings.
What the fuck? He thought. What the hell am I doing in Natasha's bedroom?
That's when it all came flooding back to him. When his parents had left to go out to dinner with some friends, Clint had raided their liquor cabinet and began to drink. By the time half of the bottle was gone, Clint didn't remember anything. He didn't even remember how he got here.
Oh God, he thought. Please don't tell me I drove.
He hadn't driven to Natasha's house. In his drunken state, he still had some common sense to realize that walking was smarter than driving. And so he walked to Natasha's house, and when he realized she wasn't home, he waited on her porch until she came home.
When she did come home, he remembered that he had mentioned how he had turned to drinking to cope with the break-up. For Clint, it didn't matter what kind of alcohol. If it took away the pain, he drank it.
He had hoped Natasha would never find out because knowing her as well as he did, she would surely blame herself. He would have never admitted this to her sober and he had made Steve, Thor, Peggy, and Jane promise they wouldn't tell Natasha. Unfortunately, the cat was out of the bag and it was all because he slipped up.
He rolled over onto his back and turned his head to the side. That's when he noticed the tall glass of water and the two aspirin pills that were on the bedside table. He slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position and took the two pills, washing them down with a swig of water.
As soon as he felt the pills slowly take effect, he realized that he was going to have to face Natasha. He could hear her banging around in the kitchen so he knew that she was still in the house. He swung his legs over the side of her bed and his feet connected not with the familiar hardwood flooring, but soft blankets. He looked down and saw a makeshift bed that he assumed Natasha had slept on last night.
He felt himself sway to the side but he steadied himself by gripping the edge of the bedside table. He grabbed the door handle and turned it, letting the door swing open. He stumbled out into the living room and could smell the aroma of pancakes and maple syrup coming from the kitchen.
He dragged his feet towards the kitchen and when he entered, he saw Natasha toiling over the stove. She must have felt his presence because she turned around and flashed him a small smile.
"Hey," she said, putting one hand on her hip and the other on the edge of the counter.
"Hey," he grumbled, leaning up against the wall.
"How are you feeling?" she asked.
"Like a bus ran over my head," he said, "but I'll survive."
"You should feel like shit," she said, and then grabbed for a bottle on the counter. It was the bottle of whiskey he had been drinking last night. When he caught a glimpse of how much was left in the bottle, he buried his face in his hands.
"You hit the bottle pretty hard last night," she said, shaking the bottle.
"Yeah, sorry," Clint mumbled, his face still in his hands. He lifted his head and looked at Natasha.
"I'll just, umm, go home now," he mumbled, and then started to turn to leave.
"You're not going home," Natasha ordered.
"Yeah, I am. My parents are probably really pissed off at me."
"No, they're not. They know you're with me. I called them to let them know."
When Clint gave her a panicked look, she continued.
"Don't worry, I didn't tell them about your drunken adventures," she said and then turned back to the stove.
"I've still got to go. You probably…you probably don't want me here," Clint said.
Natasha turned back around and Clint could see the anger in her eyes.
"You're not leaving because one, I can't drive in the snow, and two, we need to talk," Natasha said, folding her arms across her chest.
"Huh? What?" Clint asked in confusion.
"We. Need. To. Talk," she said, letting each word stand by itself.
"Okay fine, so talk," he said, making his way to her kitchen table.
As he sat down, he saw Natasha out of the corner of his eye make her way to the kitchen table as well and sit down across from him.
"Why do you drink Clint?" she asked, putting her hands in her lap and sitting up straight.
Clint shrugged.
"You drink because of me, don't you?" she asked.
Clint hesitated but eventually nodded. He could almost feel the emotional wound being open up again.
"It has to stop Clint," she ordered.
"I can't," he said. "I won't be able to stop. Not unless I get you back, but it doesn't seem like that's going to happen anytime soon."
"Would you just pay attention because I'm actually trying to make it happen," she demanded.
When Clint looked up at her, she could see that the rims of his eyes were red. Whether it was from his hangover or he was crying she wasn't sure. Either way, it killed her to see the pain in his eyes.
"You wanted this to be over," he said, his voice cracking.
"No Clint," she said firmly. "I didn't want to keep holding you back. I didn't want you to keep throwing your life away for me."
"And what's so bad about that?" he asked coldly.
Natasha had to admit that she had no idea how to answer that. What exactly was so bad about him throwing his life away for her? He went to school, he got good grades, and he studied hard. He had a couple friends that she knew of, and he seemed to genuinely enjoy Penn State. So what exactly had been so bad about him coming home every weekend for her? What exactly was so bad about him wanting to try to see her as much as possible?
"I-I don't know," she said, looking down at her hands in her lap.
"What was so bad about that Natasha?" he asked more firmly this time. "I want to know then maybe I can move on. I want to know the logic behind this."
Natasha didn't answer and kept her eyes trained on her hands in her lap. She really didn't have any logical reasoning behind the break up other than she didn't want to hold him back. Maybe it seemed logical at the time, but it had come out of nowhere.
"There wasn't really any logic behind it," she whispered.
"What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," he said sarcastically.
"There wasn't any logic," she said, angrily.
"Yeah, so I don't understand what the problem was," he said, leaning back in his chair.
"I was holding you back," she said, her voice cracking. She could feel the tears starting to well up in her eyes.
"I don't understand that Natasha. If you were holding me back, it would pretty much mean I wasn't willing to make it work, that I wanted to go on and do better things. I wanted a college experience but I also wanted you, and I still do."
That last part hit Natasha squarely in the chest like a ton of bricks. She knew he'd always want her but the fact that after all this time he didn't harbor any resentment against her. Well, at least, not that she knew of. He still wanted her even after she had broken his heart.
She started to feel the tears spill over but quickly brushed them away with a swipe of her hand. Clint had seen her cry before, but even though he knew that the break-up had to have affected her greatly, she didn't want him to see how much.
"I know you do Clint," she said with a shaky voice, "and I would still love to make this work…"
"But?" he asked. "There's always a but."
"Yes, there's always a but. I didn't want to be holding you back, and I felt like our long distance relationship was hardly long distance with you promising to be home practically every weekend. There's nothing wrong with that, but it has to get exhausting after a while."
"So what? That's my choice," Clint said, folding his arms across his chest.
"Fine. If you want to shoot down every argument I have by being a dick, that's fine with me, but understand me Clint. I hurt myself when I ended it. You're not the only one still suffering."
Silence prevailed and they stayed like that for a couple of minutes. In the silence, Natasha got to thinking. Maybe they could make this work, but going back to the way they were wasn't going to happen. Things couldn't be the same, at least not for a while, but they could most certainly pick up the pieces and put them back together as much as possible.
"What if we started all over?" she asked.
"What, like I ask you out on a first date or something?" he asked nostalgically.
"Kind of," she agreed, but with a shrug of her shoulders. "I was thinking more along the lines of the very beginning."
The very beginning? Clint thought. What the hell is she talking about?
"Wait, are you talking about being just friends right now?" Clint asked, and Natasha nodded her head in hesitation.
"No! No, Natasha, I can't be just friends with you!" he yelled as he got up from his chair at the kitchen table.
"Why not? We've done it before," Natasha said calmly, still seated at the table.
"Because of all that we've been through, all that we've done together. We were romantically involved for over two years! You seriously think we can go back to being friends after all of that?"
"We can try. We won't know unless we try, and then from there, we rebuild. I think it could work," she deadpanned.
Clint tried to object, spitting out several different unfinished thoughts before he gave up and sat back down at the table across from Natasha. He rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands.
"We can do this Clint," Natasha said, reaching across the table and gingerly placing a hand on his arm. Clint nearly flinched at her touch but he relaxed. If he was going to try this ridiculous plan of hers, he was going to have to relax.
"Okay fine," he said, raising his head up from his hands and looking up at Natasha. "Fine, we'll try this, but I swear to God it's going to kill me every single day."
"Oh stop being such a baby," she said. "And as your best friend, can I be totally honest with you?"
Clint looked at her in confusion, but nodded his head anyways.
"You smell. Really bad," Natasha confessed. She tried to say it without emotion, but had a hard time concealing the smile that she felt creeping across her face.
At first, Clint didn't say anything at all but then he cracked a smile.
"I need a shower, don't I?" he asked.
"You also need to wash all of my bedding and blankets. They probably reek too. You pretty much owe me one because you puked all over my living room floor last night," she teased.
"I'm not cleaning your damn bedding Romanoff," he joked.
They sat at the kitchen table for over an hour, hurling insults at one another. As he continued making fun of her – from the smell of alcohol on her bedding to the fact that he couldn't believe the state thought she was responsible enough to be unleashed on the roads by herself – Clint found that maybe it was possible to be friends with her again. If this worked, it could blossom into a relationship again. When? There was no telling, but Clint was just glad she was back in his life again.
I told you it would be fixed, I never said they would get back together, so I'm sorry if that was misleading. I did say that they have a happy ending so interpret that as you want.
As always, thank you for adding this to your favorites, signing up for alerts, and reviewing. Let me know what you think about Clint's drunken mishap and their reconciliation!
