Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel.
These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update.
I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!
The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!
It had been two weeks since Clint had brought Natasha home. In that three weeks, he had sat by her as she tried to sleep. He spoke to her sometimes, but often they sat in silence, without her acknowledging his presence in the room. The night before though, she had rolled over to face him and watched him for a moment before she sat up.
"Why do you sit here every night?"
Clint looked at her in surprise, was that really what she had asked? He sighed, "I don't know. I guess, I wanted to keep an eye on you."
"Liar," she stated.
He raised an eyebrow at her but couldn't bring himself to disagree with her. "Alright," he started, knowing he would have to give her more information, "I thought you might need someone with you. Some nights - mostly when I come back from missions – I need to know that there's someone watching out for me or I can't sleep. Those missions where you're afraid to sleep because then you let your guard down and if you do that, you might as well commit suicide. I thought if I sat here and kept watch for you, you could sleep."
She was silent for few minutes after this, considering what he had said. When she responded, it was with the first piece of information she had given him since she told him she didn't know how old she was. Her voice was small and a little shaky, not at all the steely tone he had come to expect. "In my training… In the Red Room… To keep us in our beds, we were handcuffed. It meant we couldn't escape, or sneak around, or- or go to the bathroom. We were chained there, like animals until the morning."
Clint had known that the techniques used in this institute were more torture than anything else, but he hadn't thought too much about it. He felt sick to his stomach. As he looked at her, he considered that is was very likely he was the first person she had ever told this to. Upon this realisation, he had placed his hand next to her on the bed, his palm facing upwards. She stared at it for a moment, then put her hand on his.
Wordlessly, she had lain down again, her hand still on his as her eyes closed. It was the first decent sleep Natasha Romanoff could ever remember having.
The following morning, Clint sat across from Natasha at the breakfast table. It was the most relaxed she had looked since he had met her. His wife had evidently noticed too.
"Nat?" Laura had quickly slipped into the habit of using this nickname, and Natasha had not argued. "I have some errands to run with the baby this morning so I need to shower now or we'll be late. Would you mind feeding him his breakfast?"
Natasha looked at Clint who had been up almost every night for her. He was clearly exhausted. She felt she owed them at least this, "I- okay."
Laura pushed the highchair next to Natasha and handed her a spoon and a bowl of oatmeal before giving her arm a gentle squeeze. "Thank you."
30 minutes and several thrown spoonfuls of oatmeal later, Natasha was almost vibrating with frustration. Why was it so hard for this chubby creature to eat a damn spoon of mush? Clint scooped his son up and looked at Natasha. "Why don't you go get cleaned up? You and I have stuff to do today."
"Hit harder, Natasha! Use your skills!"
She was pulling her punches and he could feel it. He had told her that she needed to be able to spar with him if they were going to prove she could be part of S.H.I.E.L.D. He threw a punch at her and she blocked it before pushing him away with such force that he fell backwards. She shook her head, the colour draining from her face.
"I can't," she murmured, "I can't do it. I don't want to kill you."
Clint stood, brushed the dirt off himself and stepped forward, his hand held out to her. "Natasha. Trust me. Please. I told you I would keep you safe, but I can only do that if we trust each other. I trust you. Please, trust me."
Natasha looked from his hand to his eyes, full of pleading and truth. "I'm not ready for this."
Nodding, Clint had another idea. "Come with me." He strode over to the shed and retrieved two sledgehammers before turning the power off to the house and walking inside. He stopped in front of the kitchen wall and faced her, "I've been telling Laura I'd open up this kitchen space for her since we moved into this place. I put it off because I never think I'll have the time to finish it, but I could do it if I had some help." He handed her one of the sledgehammers and took a step back. "Knock it down," he instructed her.
Natasha stared at him, her eyes wide as she exclaimed, "What? You're not serious!"
Clint looked her in the eyes and repeated himself, "Knock it down."
The redhead hesitated for a mere moment before taking a deep breath and swinging the hammer hard at the wall. The crunch and give of the wall underneath her power gave her a rush and complete sense of relief. She couldn't help but laugh.
Grinning as she laughed, Clint nodded, "Feels good, right? Do it again."
Natasha did not have to be told twice. She swung hard again, enjoying the feeling.