Natasha rolled over on the bed, naked, grinning, and very tired.
Clint trailed warm fingers down her spine as she lay on her stomach, floating in that post sex, pre nap kinda place that she was familiar with.
It wasn't surprising that sex took it out of Natasha, it was after all, exercise. Enjoyable exercise, but it still put the strain on her body that taking a run would do.
It had taken them a very long time to get to where they were regarding the activity.
Years before the illness had even really surfaced, Natasha had been clear with Clint from the get go that sex wasn't super important to her.
From that first time they'd met and gotten suitably drunk together, Natasha had been very firm that she wasn't about to go back to his apartment for a 'good time'.
She'd had sex a handful of times during her life, and had never really enjoyed it much. But then again, that could have been the fact that a, she either didn't want the sex to occur but it had anyway or b, she'd done it to please someone who wanted it. She didn't really remember a time that she'd truly wanted to have sex and had done.
Well actually, that was a lie, she had once. Elena had been beautiful and charming and all-encompassing. Things had eventually splintered but they were still friends and spoke over the phone all the time.
As Natasha and Clint grew closer and eventually became a couple, sex had become a topic that needed discussing.
Natasha tried to explain how she felt about it, how she wasn't sure whether they would ever have sex, but she understood if Clint wanted what she didn't.
She told him very slowly about her past, and how she wasn't sure if that was why she didn't want to do these kinds of things, or if she was simply wired that way.
She told Clint that if he needed to have sex to be with her, that was fine, he could go and do whatever he wanted, as long as it was at the other persons apartment and not his.
Clint had told her that he didn't want to have sex with anyone else unless she was involved, and that he was more than happy to just see where things went with them.
A year of their relationship had flown by and Natasha had woken one morning, tangling bare legs into Clint's.
She'd looked at him as he'd slept, the blanket hanging low on his hips, his forehead smoothed out and his hair wild from the shuffling in the night.
She'd felt something she hadn't for a while.
That morning, heat in her stomach and fire in her veins, she'd kissed Clint awake.
That was how she'd realised that sex was a spectrum.
After that morning, Natasha had very much wanted to do it again that night.
About two months later, they'd brought someone new in, though never at their apartments, always at the other persons. But Maria was a close friend, and all three knew it was just sex. And it was great, it really was, but despite the fact they knew each other well, it wasn't making love. They would never have a relationship with the other woman, not like that.
Natasha would much rather make love.
And she loved Clint oh so much.
She wished she could control when the feelings would come because it felt an awful lot like whiplash sometimes.
They never knew when Natasha would feel like sex; they could go months without or could do it every day for weeks.
She was terrified it would scare Clint off, that he would grow tired of the yo-yo effect and move on. Despite what they'd discussed towards the start of their relationship, Clint hadn't had sex with anyone unless she was there, despite her assurances that it would be okay.
Clint rolled with it easily enough however and after whispered confessions and tears in the dark, he had very firmly told her that if she never wanted to have sex with him ever again, that would be okay. He didn't want to share that experience with anyone unless the love of his life was there.
He loved Natasha with every fibre in his being, and making love could be fantastic and magical and all those corny ass things, but it wasn't the be all and end all.
She was.
And now, with her illness crippling and debilitating as she swung through a violent low, sex hadn't been important.
It had been months since their last time.
Because if she was too tired to shower or eat or move, she was definitely too tired for sex.
The morning had been amazing and Clint and Natasha both had treasured it, because neither knew if or when it would happen again.
It had been wonderful, but now Natasha was plain exhausted and almost dozing as Clint went about tidying up.
He came from the en-suite with a warm cloth, kneeling on the bed next to Natasha and gently wiping sweat from flushed skin. He carefully wiped over her arms and stomach and legs, only very lightly touching, not wanting to aggravate her sensitive skin.
Once that was done, he helped Natasha sit up for a moment and slid clean underwear over her hips, and an old shirt over her head.
He pulled off the top blanket and threw it into the hamper to deal with later, pulling the duvet back and gently lifting and tucking Natasha underneath it.
She barely moved with him, just shifting a little to make it easier for him.
"Here." Clint murmured, pulling the covers up to her chin and kissing her forehead.
"Sleep, doll, I'll make us some food." He murmured and she was fast sleep before he'd even left the room.
Naps were very very important with chronic fatigue and it didn't matter if some doctors said it was counterproductive.
If someone was so bone tired they couldn't speak or swallow or open their eyes, meditating or exercising clearly wasn't going to help.
Natasha was never fully refreshed when she woke, but if naps could help her function a little better, then she was taking naps when she damn well pleased.
As she slept, Clint pulled on a shirt and sweatpants and padded around the apartment.
Lucky was sleeping too, obviously the trip to the store had worn him out, but most of the time he was also very quiet anyways.
He'd learned early on that Natasha didn't do well with loud or excitable so he had calmed down an awful lot from that two year old bundle of energy.
He only got very excited when meeting new dogs, like he had been at the doctors' office, but even then he would stop in an instant if Natasha needed him.
Lucky wasn't just there for a physical therapy animal, he was also there to help with some of the mental health issues they both suffered with.
Clint's social anxiety could come on suddenly and some days, he would be completely fine in public, with other people, but other times even going to the store could turn into a nightmare.
Lucky couldn't stop the panic attacks or fight or flight response, he wasn't magic, but he could calm his owner down and very quickly lead him outside and away from other people.
Natasha had PTSD, and because of that she had frequent panic attacks and flashbacks to the moments that triggered it all.
A common side effect of both PTSD and Chronic Fatigue was dissociation. That meant that sometimes Natasha would lose minutes or hours of time, and could wander around or do something potentially dangerous without even realising it.
Lucky was amazing with her, and would firmly plant himself on her feet or over her body so she couldn't move. He would bark at her and urge his face up to hers, using soft licks and noises by her ears to bring her back.
Failing that, he would simply follow her around and if worst came to worst and she got hurt or something bad happened, he knew to run to their bedroom and pad at the red button on the bedside table. It would send a message through to Clint's phone and he would come back immediately.
But thankfully, most of the time, the barking and laying on her worked.
She would absently stroke through his fur in a repetitive motion that was soothing to not only her, but Lucky too, and would usually come out of the episode a little confused and maybe having lost some time, but usually unharmed.
Depression was something both of them suffered with, and sometimes, just the reassurance that they had something that needed them, needed them to feed and walk and look after him, something that would be left alone if they went down the dark path their minds took them, was enough.
Waking up, stroking through soft fur and whispering things unsaid to the one of the only things that loved them unconditionally, sometimes that could mean the difference between something very bad occurring or them standing and carrying on with their day.
Clint knelt by the dog, stroking him for a few minutes, humming softly. "Good boy." He murmured, smiling.
As he stood, Lucky whined and shook himself out, standing and trotting over to when Clint had headed.
The dog looked at the door to their bedroom and yipped softly.
"Go on then, be gentle." Clint pointed at the door and Lucky bounded into the room.
Clint saw through the crack in the door as the dog jumped up onto the bed, wound himself around Natasha's feet and lay down.
Clint smiled again, warmth in his chest as he moved around the kitchen.
Good boy indeed.
…
Twenty minutes later, Clint carried two plates over to the couch.
Unless she was really sick, Natasha liked to eat lunch and dinner outside of the bedroom.
So he tried to make it as inviting and comfortable as possible.
He turned the TV on, fairly quiet for the time being since he wasn't sure how she would feel regarding the noise.
Sometimes Natasha could get overwhelmed with just the softest noises, with the dimmest lights, with anything heavier than cotton touching her skin.
They weren't entirely sure what it was or where it had come from but it could just happen sometimes, usually when she was overwhelmed or in a super crowded place. She could just kind of shut down and usually dropped whatever she was doing and bolted until she found somewhere quieter.
Clint would follow but she was insanely fast and by the time he caught up with her, she could either be completely in her head and shut down, or would be rocking on the spot to try and calm herself, or occasionally she would be slumped over and her hands would be hitting at the sides of her head.
They had no idea when it would flare up again, and with Natasha so exhausted, it was like her body was tired of fighting it, and so the 'episodes' were happening more frequently.
After naps, or waking in the mornings, she was exceptionally vulnerable to it.
Clint grabbed the pale pink and baby blue blanket from the back of the sofa, smiling softly as he ran his fingers over the material. Wanda and Pietro had given it to them for their second anniversary, pink and blue to mimic the coloured strips in the twins' hair.
Through either sheer coincidence or fate or something, both Natasha and Clint knew the twins' years before the pair had even met.
They'd been tentatively dating for almost two months when Natasha brought up maybe having dinner with some friends and Clint had agreed immediately, saying his friends wanted to meet her too.
They'd been very careful with revealing information, wanting to get past the first 'honeymoon' phase before revealing each other to their friends.
It had been Wanda that had figured out they were dating, before they'd even had the chance to go out for dinner.
They'd been having a girls night, drinking more than a little wine and Natasha had let slip Clint's name and then it had clicked.
It had been one hell of a trip, but at least they didn't have to worry about their closest friends getting on with each other.
Clint quickly threw the blanket over the sofa, waiting to see how Natasha felt about it when she woke, and arranged her pillows just right.
After two cups of juice, a mug of green tea, two trays and a bowl were set down, Clint went to wake Natasha.
Long naps often made her feel even worse so if possible, Clint tried to wake her after thirty minutes.
If she could get up then, great, if she needed longer, also great.
"Sweetheart, hey." Clint gently shook her shoulder, brushing fallen strands of hair out of her eyes.
Natasha hummed and blinked herself awake as Clint kissed her forehead, using soft, gentle ways to wake her up because he knew from experience that a loud voice waking her up was one of the worst ideas ever.
"Hey babe, there's food in the other room, you wanna get up?"
Natasha blinked a couple more times before nodding, groggy as she just about managed to sit halfway up.
Clint held a hand in between her shoulder blades, supporting her and moving as she did.
"There we go." Clint murmured, once she was sitting up completely.
Natasha slowly swung her legs off the side of the bed, feet planting on the floor as she fought back the dizziness that always seemed to hit when she sat or stood after laying down.
She sat there quietly, needing a few minutes before she could stand.
When she did, she was more than a little shaky on her feet.
"Can you help me?" She asked quietly after a moment, brows furrowed.
Clint wound his arm around her waist and they stood.
They took small steps out of the room and over to the sofa.
He gently lowered her down and she tugged at the blanket, throwing it over her legs and when Clint sat too, tucking it over his too.
He reached over and grabbed her bowl and plate, sat on a lap tray, making sure she was comfortable before handing it over.
"Smells good." She mumbled as she sank back against the pillows.
Clint had made something simple but delicious, and also one of Natasha's favourites.
He could be quite the cook when he wanted to be.
Tomato soup (that he made himself and froze big batches of), grilled cheese with onion, and baby carrots and sweet peppers on the side, and of course ketchup for the sandwich because Natasha loved ketchup.
On the table sat a bowl of cut up fruit too, since Natasha could get worked up about not eating very well when she was especially sick.
A long time ago, she'd suffered with some form of an eating disorder, never diagnosed, but very real nonetheless and sometimes, because of the meds or because she couldn't exercise or didn't have the energy to make healthy food, her mind could slip back there.
Clint helped her keep balance.
Natasha hummed, spooning soup carefully, blowing on it so it wasn't too hot.
"This is good." She mumbled, still a little sleepy. "Not that that's a surprise, 's always good."
"I'm glad." Clint chuckled, "I try my best." He hummed. "Oh and there's your tea on the table too."
Natasha swallowed her mouthful and tipped her head back, puckering her lips.
Clint smiled and leaned over, kissing her sweetly, one hand reverently cupping her cheek.
Pulling back, he brushed a red strand from her face and sighed softly. "I love you."
"I love you." Natasha smiled, eyes shining.
"You wanna watch some TV, love?" Clint held the remote up.
"Sure. What do we have recorded?"
"Hmm," Clint scrolled through the list. "Brooklyn Nine Nine, Wynonna Earp, Doctor Who?"
"I don't mind." Natasha hummed, more focused on not spilling any soup since she really didn't feel like doing laundry.
Clint could tell that the nap had helped a little and she was fairly with it, despite the stumbling and muscle weakness.
Brooklyn Nine Nine was usually reserved for when she couldn't focus or speak much, since they'd already seen it like three times all the way through.
"New season of Wynonna Earp started, you wanna do that?" He asked.
Natasha smiled and nodded. "Sure. You know I love me some Nicole and Waverly goodness."
Clint laughed and pressed play, settling back against the pillows with his own lunch in his lap, and his girlfriend relaxed and eating happily at his side.
Today was a good day.