Bartoned

Chapter 8

At least Steve had been good about this pregnancy. He'd spoken to you in private and said while the timing wasn't ideal, he'd make it work. Training would stay the same unless it got to the point where it couldn't. Then he'd work out something else. He'd work out ways for you to learn the fighting techniques without heaving sparring, so there would be no risk to the baby.

The last time you spoke to Clint had been in that closet when you told him you were pregnant and that had been a week ago. He hadn't even been showing up to training anymore. You wondered if you'd broken him in some way.

It was the weekend when you saw him again. Normally you'd go out, but the funk you'd been dragged into made everything feel like such effort. You'd ordered pizza and when there was a knock at your door, you'd assumed it was the pizza guy.

It was Clint.

He stood at the door looking sheepish and guilty. His eyes rested on just about everything except you. "Can I come in?" he asked.

You stepped out of the way and he came in just as the delivery guy appeared in the stairwell. You paid him and came and sat down opening the box and grabbing a slice before pulling the blanket back over yourself and starting to eat. You didn't say a word to Clint during that time and you could tell that the silence was eating at him. He stood fidgeting, not sure if he should sit, start talking, or turn around and leave again.

"I'm sorry," he said finally.

You grunted through your mouthful of pizza but other than that didn't acknowledge him. You weren't even sure which part he was apologizing for. The initial ghosting. The more recent ghosting. Or the fact that he had not worn a fucking condom when you'd told him to.

He seemed to decide he needed to sit and moved to the recliner near you. "I guess... I guess I should just talk," he said and when you didn't respond he let out a breath. "I'm sorry about the condom thing. I really... I guess I got caught up in the moment. I was sure you meant don't worry about wearing one. But why would you mean that? You didn't know me. Fuck, I can't even believe I didn't do it anyway. Like... you could have been anyone. I'm sorry I did that. I'm a fucking idiot."

You nodded and took another bite of the pizza.

He scrubbed his hands down his face and continued. "I'm sorry I cut you off like that. I freaked out. It wasn't your fault. I just... I thought it would be fun, us working together and all at once it hit me I'd just dragged you into this world where you could really get hurt. I was blaming myself for the fact they attacked you. It was my class. And I couldn't even do anything to comfort you because I had to be the boss. I fucking hated it. And ... and the only way I could think to deal with it was if we weren't friends anymore. In my head being your friend meant that you'd definitely get killed and it would definitely be my fault."

You sighed and looked back at him. "You really hurt me, Clint. Weren't we doing what we were doing to avoid the 'getting hurt' bit?"

He sunk back into the couch and huffed. "I am the worst person."

"Don't do that," you said.

"What?"

"Try and make me feel sorry for you. Don't try and make me tell you how, no, no, it's okay. You're a good person," you said.

He sat up and looked at you. "Right. Sorry. I guess I do that sometimes. I'll ... yeah." He paused and shook his head. "I'm sorry. My point was, it's on me. It wasn't anything you did. It was the same self-sabotaging bullshit I'm always on. I do want to be friends with you but I understand if I hurt you too much for you to want it too."

You shrugged. "I don't know. I mean... were we ever really friends, Clint? We knew each other a bit and then one day we decided we'd be friends for a handful of weeks we fucked constantly. Then you ghosted me. Is that friends?"