Baby Barton

Chapter 51 Chloe Barton

***TalesFromTheNetwork Elle, you are the love of Chloe Bartons life, thank you for being my sound board and helping with my ever so shitty writing. I loves ya***

Smoke clings to your windpipe, in panic you gasp for breath. Forcing your eyes open to try and figure out which way is up, regretting that move immediately as dust and debris claw at your exposed eyeballs.
"You're okay, try to calm down." Natasha's husky voice echoes in and out as you attempt to regain focus. Tilting your head back she pours water into your raw eyes, gently washing away the remnants of the blast, your eyes scream as it penetrates through the debris, clawing and raw.
You gasp loudly jerking your body forward, your throat chafed and abraded.
"Chlo, you need to calm.  The more you panic the worse its going to be." Natasha's voice becomes clearer, you listen intently focusing on taking small slow breaths, inhaling through your nose and exhaling very gently out of your mouth.
Able to take in your surroundings you cock your head in confusion, wincing at the grazing pain, as you clear your throat "wh...where are we?"
Natasha wipes hair from your face, a soft smile parts her lips, she has grey smudges of dust smeared across her own face, a small cut above her eye and red blemishes on her chest and neck.
"Steve is hiding out at Sams, we figured its best that we split up, so I brought you here." handing you a damp cloth, so you can wipe your face.
You heave a sigh of relief at Steves name, thank fucking every one on earth that the three of you made it out of there alive.
Gargling some water you stand, walking around the dingy apartment, wallpaper peels from the walls, you see graffiti etched into the door frame, games of naughts and crosses scrawled across the window sills "Ho...how'd you find this place?" You say looking out of the grimy window into the darkness, the hue of the orange street lamps washes over the unfamiliar sidewalk, Natasha cracks open a beer smiling wryly as she slides it into your hand, her eyes full to the brim of reminiscent memories, "this is where Clint and I would hide out when things went sideways." She places her hand on one of the etchings on the sill.

CB NR

You trace the CB with your finger, remembering fondly that Natasha and Clint were partners, best friends. You always suspected something more, but they are purely platonic soulmates.

"I just hope Steve and Sam are okay. Hopefully Rumlow hasn't got to them." You claw at your arm as  the panic and fear breed cravings, gulping your beer trying to stave them off.
You mind begins to get carried away, your heightened state feeding into your anxiety. What if something has happened to them, what if right now they are being tortured, or worse...what if they are dead?
Your breathing speeds up, raspy and harsh, sweat forms on your upper lip, you wipe it with your shaky hand.  Natasha reaches out, her lips pressed together  as she meets your gaze gripping your hand with hers.
She nods along hypnotically with your breathing, slowing each head movement, instinctively causing you to take slower breaths.
"I'm sure Steves fine." Her hand squeezes yours reassuringly, looking at you slyly.
You half smile back, trying to think positively of course Steve is fine, he is Captain America.
Releasing your hand from Natasha's you clasp your own together, you close your eyes and imagine, no not imagine, you remember Steves fingers interlocked with yours, the way he caressed the back of your thumb with his, how it made you feel safe, sending sparks of electricity throughout you.
Natasha clears her throat, bringing you out of your daydream, she smiles at you coyly raising her eyebrows knowingly.
Scrunching your nose you gulp some beer, the acid stings your throat "What?" You choke slightly.
"Don't what me, you like him!" She laughs, leaning placidly smiling at you "are you dating?".
Could she have asked a harder question.  Who knows what you are doing. Its all very hot and cold just now, which is fair because well, you know...genocide, murder, corrupt governments, its not exactly romantic. Except, it is.
You roll your eyes at the age old difficult question, "honestly?" You take another large swig of beer, forgetting the ripping pain it causes "Gah!! I don't know what the fuck we are doing!" You rub your neck irritatedly.
"He likes you." Natasha's eyes bore into you, forcing you to break the eye contact.
He does, you know he does, but are you good enough for him?
Sharons right, he is Captain America, and what are you? An ex junkie con with daddy issues. Steve is so squeaky clean and golden, and you are a crumpled up piece of paper that someone tried to straighten out.
Natasha lifts your chin with her finger, looking you deep in the eyes "whats wrong with you?" She begs for an answer, her brows snapped together in annoyance.
Whats wrong with you? Where do we start...
Sometimes its hard to figure out whats right with you.
"I don't understand my feelings." You didn't mean to blurt out exactly what you were thinking, tears form in the back of your eyes as a painful lump grows in your throat. No one has ever shown you compassion, friendship much less love. So how would you know what you are feeling.
Resting your lips on the tip of the bottle you allow a few tears to fall from your eyes, nipping your raw eyelids with their salty sadness.
"I...I'm not..." you choke "not sure I'm good enough for him." You sob quietly, laughing at yourself pathetically.
"And Loki? Did you understand your feelings there?" She laughs along with you through her own sympathetic tears.
"Nope, not a fucking clue. I'm a mess." You weep between laughter.
Natasha slides into the chair next to you, pulling your head onto her shoulder, she smoothes your hair placing a little kiss on your forehead.
She smells like fire and sweets, it fills your nose pleasantly reminding you of s'mores, comforting.
"Give Steve a chance, but more importantly Chloe, give yourself a chance."
Sniffling through your tears you nod repeatedly.
You want more than anything in the world to give yourself a chance, but if enough people tell you your worthless, you start to believe it. No matter how many people try to build you up.