dance, v.

definition: move rhythmically to music, typically following a set sequence of steps.

rating: K

"Glissade, assamblé, jeté, assamblé, и piqué, piqué – no, Natalia, that is unacceptable! On your toes! Ой! Бесполезно ребенок*!" A hand came down in a smarting slap across the side of her face, and Natalia rose up en pointe, even though she could feel her feet bleeding through her pointe shoes. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't hold her position. "No, Talia! Piqué is en pointe! On your toes, ленивая девчонка! On your toes, Natalia! Natasha? Natasha!"

Natasha whimpered, quailing away from the hand that was shaking her shoulder before she realized that it was Clint's, and not the hand of a furious Russian ballet teacher. He was sitting on the edge of her bed, and even in the dim light, she could see the concern that pervaded his features. Then a tear dripped onto her nose, and she sat up quickly, brushing it away with the long sleeve of her shirt, pulled over the heel of her hand.

"Are you okay?" Clint asked gently, pulling his legs up onto the bed and leaning against the headboard next to her. "Was it the Red Room again?"

Natasha shook her head and hugged her knees, trying to take deep, even breaths to calm her heart rate.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

This time, she nodded, then inhaled shakily and slowly blew back out. Clint drew an arm around her and pulled her close, and she settled against his side, relaxing a little.

"I was in a ballet class," she began, then proceeded to describe her nightmare to him in a low voice. Gradually, his presence began to calm her down; the scent of him and the rumbling vibrations of his chest against her back when he hummed in response to certain parts of her dream soothed her, and when she finished, he hugged her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"It seems ridiculous now," Natasha admitted, hugging his arm.

"No, it doesn't," Clint disagreed, and his breath tickled the top of her head. "There's some weird, psychological explanation for nightmares. Maybe you had that dream because you're stressed out, or you're afraid of the past or something."

"I don't know," Natasha said doubtfully, then gave a wry half-smile. "What I do know, is that I officially hate dancing."

Suddenly, Clint extricated himself from her grasp and got up from the bed. "C'mere, Tasha," he ordered, holding out a hand. She viewed it skeptically.

"Why?"

"Just because. You'll see. Just come here."

Still unsure, Natasha did as she was told, climbing off the bed and taking Clint's hand.

"Now," he said, his free hand settling on the small of her back, "I'm going to prove to you that dancing is not half bad."

"You're such a sentimentalist, Barton," Natasha complained.

"Whatever," Clint scoffed, pulling her closely to him so that their hips collided.

But you're my sentimentalist, Natasha thought contentedly, and dropped her head down on his shoulder, her face turned into him, and circled her arm around his neck.

Clint hummed a soft tune, resting the side of his face against her forehead as they swayed, slow dancing the nightmares away.

translations: и – and

Ой – an exclamation, usually of disapproval, pronounced "oi".

Бесполезно ребенок – useless child, or worthless child

ленивая девчонка – lazy girl