The calico cat seemed to approve of the cat bed, or at least of Clint, Natasha thought, as she watched the cat trill at him from it. Clint was sitting on the floor next to the bed, petting the cat she she settled into her new throne tucked into the lower shelf of the nightstand. "She likes it," Natasha commented.
"Yeah, she seems to." He looked up at Natasha. "She's having these kittens soon."
"How do you -" Natasha cut her own question off. "Right. Farmboy. Forget I asked."
"Have you ever seen a newborn kitten, Nat?"
"Can't say that I have."
"I'm looking forward to sharing it with you. They're so tiny and precious," Clint said. It was the first time he'd referred to the future since he'd arrived, and Natasha was afraid to point it out to him lest it break the spell the cat and her impending kittens had woven over him. "Just be careful. She'll probably try to have them somewhere she perceives as safe, and we'll have to make sure it actually is."
"Kim, get down! No! No! Kim!" Clint's thrashing woke Natasha up. He was still yelling, and she heard something about Peterson as well before she managed to pin him to the mattress so that he couldn't hit or kick her anymore.
She kept her voice low and even as she recited a litany of reassurances."Clint, it's not real. It's a nightmare. Wake up, Clint. It's okay. It's Natasha. I'm here."
He came to, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head in a way that reminded her of their conversation in the helicarrier after shed' freed him from Loki's control. Finally, he whispered, "Tasha?" He was the only one she permitted to call her that.
"That's right. It's Natasha. Are you going to kick me if I let you up?"
"Shit, I'm sorry I did that, Nat. No, I'm awake," he assured her, and she rolled off of him. "It was just a bad dream." He rolled over to face her.
"Yeah, that much was obvious. You want to talk about it?" She watched as he closed his eyes and bit his lip, his face broadcasting emotional pain. She remained silent, watching him use deep breathing to recenter himself. This was progress.
Clint reached over and grabbed her hand before he spoke. "Peterson was Hydra. The objective of the mission was to get rid of me, I think. The fucking bastard used Kim as bait, and I couldn't save her." Clint's throat was closing, and his voice was thin. "He – he shot her in her throat in front of me," Clint choked out. His eyes welled with tears. "She was such a great kid, and she had such faith in me. She was so sure I was going to be able to save her. She said so to Peterson." The tears were falling now. "I heard her mocking him, telling him he might as well kill her because I would never fall for his trap. But the hope in her eyes when I tried to rescue her...she wasn't ready to die." He sobbed silently. "When I close my eyes, I see her face."
"It's not your fault, Clint." Natasha pulled him towards her, and he buried his face in her neck. She felt the dampness of his tears.
"Intellectually, I know that. I just can't convince myself of it." His voice was muffled.
"I know, родной." The endearment slipped out, and while Natasha wasn't sure she'd ever even uttered it before, she meant it. There had never been and would never be anyone in her life more important than Clint.
He pulled away from her neck. "I don't know that word."
"It doesn't translate well. It means you are my family."
Clint's eyes filled with fresh tears, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face. He pressed a chaste kiss to Natasha's lips and then her forehead. "You're my family, too, Tasha."
*родной Russian endearment for non-family with whom a deep, almost familial connection is shared