So this takes place after the first Avengers movie. Clint has trouble going to sleep. Luckily for him so does Natasha.
Clint just looks at his wife sleeping. His beautiful, heavily pregnant wife who is peacefully asleep next to him. Just as he should be. He's afraid to go to sleep. Afraid that he wakes up back under the mind control of Loki. Too much has happened over the last few days. He has done too much. Caused too much pain.
Clint's done just lying in bed. He is too restless to keep still. He has to do something. Has to hit something or run or… He doesn't know what he needs to do. But he knows he can't stay in this bed. He pulls on some sweatpants. He doesn't bother putting on a shirt as he heads downstairs.
He heads straight for the fridge as he gets down. But as he looks at the beer he was intending to take he realises that alcohol won't do. No matter how strong. He closes the fridge and goes over to the couch. A few minutes after he fell down on it his phone buzzes suddenly. Clint doesn't need to look at the screen to know who it is.
'Can't sleep either?' he says after he accepts the call.
'No', Natasha croaks on the other end. This is one of those moments where they don't really need words. She knows what haunts his mind and he knows what haunts hers.
'Want to talk about it?' she asks nervously. He can hear her voice shaking.
'Not yet, Tash, I don't think I'm ready for that', Clint's starting to relax just a little knowing Natasha doesn't need any more words to understand, 'why did you call?'
'Wanted to make sure you were still you', she honestly tells him, 'just needed to hear your voice'.
He can tell she's upset. She wouldn't tell him these things if she was still in control of her emotions. These last few days were hard on everyone.
'You okay, Nat?' he asks even though he already knows the answer. He can hear her take a shaky breath.
'No', she whispers barely audible. Now Clint's worried. In the years he's known Natasha, she never once admitted she wasn't okay.
'Oh, Tasha', he leans his head back against the couch and places a hand over his eyes. Wishing he was there with her. 'Please, talk to me'.
'I don't really know what to say', she sniffs and his chest constricts as he realises she's in tears.
'Tell me what you're thinking', he encourages her. He hears a soft sob leaving her lips. A sound that shoots straight to his soul.
'He took you away from me', she cries softly, 'he used you against me'.
'Shh…', he sooths her.
'I can still hear his voice in my head. When I close my eyes he keeps his promise', she continues. He's confused at what has her so upset.
'What did he say to you, Nat? And don't start about your ledger. I knew that was only part of the truth'.
'He, uh…', she needs to pause a moment before, 'he said he was going to make you kill me. Slowly, intimately, in every way you know I fear', he can hear her cries becoming a little louder.
'Fucking hell', he leans forward and leans his head on his free hand.
'Every time I try to sleep he keeps his promise', her breathing is getting faster, he can tell she's panicking a little.
'Breath, just breath. I'm right here', he tries to calm her down as best as he can. They don't talk for a while. She still lets out a soft cry every now and then but he can hear her calming down. And he's trying to stay in control of his emotions for her. I wouldn't help her if he started losing it right now. Even though he feels ready to burst into tears as well.
'I hated fighting you, Clint', she whispers eventually.
'I'm glad you always beat me in sparring', he attempts to joke.
'What about you?' Natasha asks again, 'what's keeping you up?'
Clint hesitates for a moment. Afraid to feel what he's feeling. To think the thoughts he tries to bury deep, deep down. But he feels like he owes her at least some of his thoughts.
'I think about all the lives I took', he starts softly, 'about Phil. About how close I came to killing you', he has to pause. Saying out loud is making his thoughts too real.
'I won't tell you that it wasn't you. I know it will not make things better', she says hoarsely. She knows how much he hates it when people want to make him feel better. He'll blame himself anyway. Until he can see that it, indeed, wasn't him who killed those people.
'Thanks', he breathes a little relieved. He's heard those words too many times the last few days, 'fuck, Natasha. That's all I can handle right now. I'm not ready to say much more'.
'That's okay, Clint. I understand', he knows that she actually does understand. That the words aren't just meaningless words you say to someone to make them feel better. 'So what now?' she asks.
'I don't know. I really don't', Clint sighs as he leans back against the couch again, closing his eyes.
'I guess we just need some time', she also sighs. He doesn't talk anymore. Just lies down on the couch and closes his eyes.
'I'm so tired, Clint', the exhaustion is clear in her voice, 'I'm just too scared to go to sleep'.
'Me too', and that's it. That's all they need at this moment. They don't speak anymore. They don't sleep either but that's okay for now. Both aren't ready to hang up. So when their call hits the two hours the line automatically disconnects.
So another one taking place at night. Guess that's when they let their guards down the most. Thoughts?