Colors [Clint/Natasha]

Red

He's yelling at her. It's hard to focus on what he says, all she notices is how his words cut through the air. He's speaking so loudly and with such feeling. His words are like knives, and all she can focus on is how sharp they are. She doesn't yell back, doesn't even know what he's yelling about. Knows she should listen, but it's so intense. The words hit hard and fast, and she doesn't want to hit back. Listen to the conversation. God damn, Natasha, listen to him. So she makes herself listen.

"—could've died! For no reason! God, Natasha, I know you're not listening. You— It doesn't make sense!"

She knows what he's talking about. Hell, she knew what he was talking about before he started talking.

Throwing herself in front of him. In a mission. Both of them had done it before, but this time she hadn't needed to. Hadn't needed to. (She had needed to.) Bullet ripping through her side. His hands holding her. His hands with her blood on them. Blood all over. Hurts. Him screaming.

Laying in the hospital bed. (Lying? Laying.) His absence— His appearance. His jaw locked tight to keep the screams out.

Later, home. Home? Her apartment. (Not home.) Now. Screams let loose.

I had to. She sounds so weak, the words in her head are so weak. Natasha Romanoff is not weak. I had to. I had to. I had to. I had to. I had to. She was not made to be so weak. (I was not made to be a person, she reminds herself) Still. Weak.

"I had to."

"No, you didn't."

He's right, of course. If she hadn't jumped in the way, he would have still been able to move in time.

"I had to."

She's going to have to explain. How can she explain?

"Natasha."

Oh, he says her name in many different ways. This time is furious. This time is normal volume, but the way he says it— It hurts worse than the yells.

She smiles. Be weak. "I owe you a debt," she spits, words overused. "I tried to pay it back."

Crumbling. His face changes flashes through every emotion.

"You—"

"I had to."

He looks at her with something. She thinks it's pity. Pity. His eyes won't leave hers.

Anger burns in her stomach. So weak, child. 'Love is for children' rings in her head. Weak like a child. Humans are children? This—being a "child"—is normal.

No. She is weak. Mostly she is strong. She will not crack. She will not become a child, an average human. She is so much more than average, fire burning in her throat.

Author's note: So, since Senses is over, I thought I'd start something else. These will be unrelated Clint/Natasha one-shots. so yeahhh. This won't be updated every day though, just whenever I get around to writing more, ha