To Go Unseen (A Natasha Romanoff Story)

48 [Clint's apartment, a few years ago]

Natasha didn’t scream during nightmares. Not usually. But she wept. If he stayed up late enough, he could hear her in the other room, sobbing into a pillow, and it made him sick to think she was in there all alone, shaking like a leaf and bawling. This was one of those nights, and Clint sat up and listened for as long as he could before finally, he got up and he marched himself into her bedroom and woke her up. He turned on the lights and pulled the blankets off of her and grabbed her up in his arms and hugged her to him tightly until she was crying into his undershirt and slowly shifting, waking. He had been right. She was trembling.

“Clint,” she breathed and then stumbled through a few words in weepy Russian and he just rocked her back and forth and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Shhh, come on.”

They sat there for a while, Natasha pressing herself into Clint and shaking and Clint resting his cheek on the top of her head and kissing her hair every so often and whispering comforting things.

He wasn’t sure what she dreamed about. She had never said.

“Do you wanna go put on the TV?” He asked her gently, because he knew that helped her sometimes, and she nodded a little into his chest. Then, “Can you walk?” He asked as he tried to help her to her feet, but she was still shaking so violently and when she tried to put weight on her feet, she fell back into him and clutched him. So instead, Clint scooped her up in his arms and carried her bridal style into the living room. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” he told her. “Don’t even worry about it, you’re okay.”

He set her down on the couch and sat next to her and she threw her arms back around him and he put the noise of the TV on the background. He gave her a few more minutes, and after a while, her tears quieted  and her shaking was gradually stopping. Still, she snuggled next to him and wiped at her face and Clint looked over and thought for the first time, ‘I love you.’

It didn’t surprise him, like he thought it should. He’d known he loved her. He’d known for a while and he was just now admitting it, he supposed. He’d loved her ever since he’d met her in Russia. She’d literally taken his breath away.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked her, like he asked her every time something like this happened. “You can tell me anything, you know. Like what happened to you.”

She shook her head, like she did every time.

“Nat, you’re gonna hurt yourself if you just bottle everything up, you know,” he told her.

Natasha took a long time responding, and when she did, she pulled away from him a little and wiped her face. She took a deep breath and looked at him and her face was illuminated by the glow of the TV and Clint thought she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his entire life.

“I’ll stay here, Barton,” she said quietly. “I’ll stay with you and I won’t run. But you have to promise me that you’ll never ask.”

“Ask what?” Clint said and swallowed, playing ignorant.

“Anything,” Natasha said. “I want to put the past behind me and never think of it again. I don’t want to tell it to you. I don’t want you to know the things I’ve done.” Clint felt as though his heart had fallen straight through him. He squeezed her.

“Aww geez, Nat, I’d never judge you, you know that,” he said to her, because it was true. Then, Natasha wriggled out of his arms and sat there, the sweatshirt of his she slept in pooling around her shoulders and her hands at the ends of the sleeves, looking him in the eyes with the most desperate of serious faces.

“Promise. Me,” she said. Clint swallowed for a second time.

“Ha,” he gasped. “You’re, uh, you’re breakin’ my heart, Romanoff,” he said to her and her eyes hardened. He watched her jaw tick when she ground her teeth together.

“Get used to it, Barton,” she replied sharply. “No one, not now and not ever, will know everything about me.”

“Seems sorta lonely,” Clint said, and he felt as though he were still gasping because, futz, is this how I lose her? Is this how I watch this good thing leave me, too?

“Clint, please,” Natasha said and she softened a little, changing her tactics, begging. “Let me… Let me just keep this, okay? Let me move on.” Move on? Clint couldn’t look into Natasha’s eyes anymore and he looked down and shifted his weight and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Who was he to tell her that she couldn’t move on? Who was he to stand in the way of Natasha Romanoff getting better? He thought this, but somehow, his heart still broke a little.

This is right for her, he thought to himself. And you can just suck it up and live with it, Barton. Be a little selfless for once.

“Fine,” he said after a while. “Fine, Nat. I promise. I’ll never ask. You get your secrets, congratulations.” Natasha’s face broke into a relieved smile, and she relaxed back down with him again, her shoulders sinking and she slipped herself under his arm and put her head on his shoulder and her legs in his lap. He knew she was enjoying being held and he wrapped his other arm around her and clung to her.
“Thank you, Clint,” she said gratefully. “Really.” Clint swallowed.

“Yeah, sure,” he said.