A/N: The text shown at the beginning is sent from Agent Maria Hill's phone to Natasha's phone. It's not like, accidentally sent to Clint's phone, hahaha.


Lucky – Chapter 7


'Natasha, hi. We should get together soon. I miss hanging out with you.' (My Maria – 4:13 am)


She shot out of their bed one morning, three months after bloody lips and sweaty bodies, two since guitars and singing. He followed her pacing with his eyes and for a heartbeat, her eyes cut to his. He saw it again, something he'd only seen once in her life: sheer terror. She did not say anything, simply wearing down the carpet as she shuffling back and forth between her

"Nat?" he asked, after several minutes.

"What?" she paused to stare at him, as if just realizing he was there. There was a small frown that sunk across her lips, her eyes lit with misery. And then he saw it coming all over again. "I'm so sorry, Clint," she whispered. His throat was dry; he wanted to kiss the fear off her face, but part of him knew that would make it worse. She was afraid… of him. "Sorry for what?" he managed to croak, if only to prolonged the inevitable that had materialized into the air.

"You're smart," she started softly, "You knew. You knew this entire time, didn't you? Clint, I love you. So, so, so much. More than I have loved anyone else… But…" He felt the stilted breath, the hesitance, the same one from their first time.

"But?" he prompted.

"But as a friend, Clint. You're my partner, you're my right hand, you're my best friend, and the man I'd spend the rest of my life with if…" She crumpled inwards against herself, sinking to the floor, tears beginning to spill down her cheeks.

"If what?"

"If I didn't love – " The silence was heavy for a long pregnant pause, then, "I would be able to be with you. Probably as more than a friend. And I can't believe I used you as my guise, my lie… I told you, Clint, the one thing I'll never do is beg for my life. But I am so terrified of what might happen if everyone knew. I… I saw you. Your beautiful eyes, your charming smile… All for me. And I convinced myself to finally buy into that, to make myself fall in love with you… But it didn't work. All of this… all of my façade would have been real… it could have lasted forever. If it wasn't for…" She paused again, taking a couple rasping breaths. He just stared at her, air caught in his throat. "If it wasn't for fucking Maria goddamn Hill."

The moment the name left her lips, she seemed sit up just a bit taller. There was that defiant ferocity in her eyes that he had not seen since they met, all those years ago. Except, unlike then, there was hints of terror danced there, that hung on the corners of her slightly parted, rasping lips. She must have seen how pale he went for a moment; it took a while for him to register what she had just admitted. He had been braced for Bruce, or even Steve. But Hill? Despite the jealousy that crawled in the back of his brain, despite the flash of betrayal he felt when she called him a lie, he could not find it in himself to be angry with her.

The tightness in his chest dissipated. It wasn't because she didn't love him. She didn't love him like that because she was…

"You're gay?" he eked – not exactly the tone he had been going for. He suddenly felt a rush of confusion at himself, for not knowing her as well as he thought. She eyed him levelly, weighing her responses before murmuring, "I'm in love with Maria Hill. I… I have been for a while now. It's always just been there. This bundle of feelings inside of me. Maybe since the battle of New York, maybe earlier, maybe forever. I never told anyone…" She flushed softly. "I never told you because… I was afraid. And fear, well, you know how I feel about fear."

She looked back down to study her suddenly interesting knees, tears still dripping down her face, making silent rivers to her chin. He studied her for a while, her warm, welcoming lips that had been his to kiss for such a short time, the hilt of her breasts as she tried to control her breathing, and her fingers, laced together, holding herself in a tight ball. She sniffed, and he seconded the noise, realizing he had his own tears in his eyes.

"Ok," he finally whispered. Her head shot up. Beyond the doubt and fear, a small flicker of hope bloomed in her eyes, "Ok?"

"Yeah. Of course it's ok. I mean, I'm ok. I'm just… Thanks for trusting me. Nat, I'm so glad you told me." He didn't quite know what to say, but the managed flicker of a smile told him he had done at least an ok job. They sat there for a long time in their – no, in his – bedroom, tears and snot and shaking and everything. He wondered, briefly, if she was praying.