Fallout Patterns (4/?)
This is an ongoing fic. Typically I don't share anything until it's done. But this one is long and I'm actually not exactly sure where it is going or how long it's going to be. Since it's already seven chapters on AO3, I figured I'd start posting it here too. I'll put it on be_compromised when it's complete just because I'm not sure of all the warnings.
THIS FIC IS TRIGGER HEAVY
Title: Fallout Patterns
Rating: Mature
Warnings:Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempts, Self Harm, Dubious Consent Sex, POSSIBLE eating disorder allusions, other warnings may apply
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
"...We could hurt each other even when we weren't trying to, and that none of us was as perfect as we like to pretend." Meg Waite Clayton, The Wednesday Sisters
Chapter 4: A Heart So Unpermitting
He didn’t sleep that night. He stayed up all night, watching her sleep, reassuring himself that she was not going to wake up in the middle of the night and kill herself. He sat, legs crossed on his bed, his laptop open. He sent a secure email to Coulson’s private email, keeping out the part where she actually fired towards her own head and where she went on a screaming rant in public. He just said that Natasha was having trouble coping with the aftermath of the mission and was suffering from flashbacks and ‘passive suicidal ideation’ which was a term Clint knew well.
He lived passive suicidal ideation for years. He lived it for years. He lived it until he met Natasha. And it wasn’t that he was stupid about what they were or what she was or what he was, for god’s sake, but it was the first time he had drawn an arrow, feet from someone, and seen himself in her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill her because she wanted to die and there was something perverted about helping someone kill themselves, and wasn’t that what it would have been? Wouldn’t it have been assisted suicide? Didn’t he swear to Coulson that he’d never do anything stupid under Coulson’s watch? It was the excuse he gave to Coulson when they got back to base and Coulson asked him if he was confused about the definition of neutralize. He had looked at Coulson and said quietly, “Birds of a feather flock together. I made a different call. Look, you asked me awhile ago not to be stupid.” And that was all it took for Coulson to change his tune.
He knew what it was like to move through life and see potentiality for death everywhere, to act just on this side of impulsive. He took missions he shouldn’t have taken and took risks he shouldn’t have taken. At train stations, he put a hand on the wall, pretending to lean on it, but he did that to keep himself from throwing himself in front of the train. He understood life as an abstract concept, something he was obligated to go through like a ritual, but he did not really care for it. There was no value in his life. It was better than it used to be, but getting better did not mean well. That changed when he brought Natasha in. Everything changed with her.
Coulson emailed back. Clint-
Two options. You bring her in and we put her in the medical ward. Or, you see if you can figure her out. I won’t say anything until you tell me whether she can stay in the field or if we need to pull her out. I had no idea about the dancing. Maybe ask her who she is if she ‘disappears’ into her head again. Might give us a clue for where these memories are leading her and what her behavior will be. Don’t blame yourself. She’s traumatized and you were not the trigger, just the person she reacted onto.
Phil
Coulson hadn’t even known what happened, that Clint slept with her, but somehow, it seemed like he had guessed it. Clint had been wary of the same thing happening when they had returned that evening, but it hadn’t.
He had moved around her cautiously, simultaneously wary of letting his eyes leave her, and acutely aware that he had violated some sacrosanct space in their partnership by sleeping with her. He had not realized the extent at which she could be triggered and how fragile her identity was, even after two years with SHIELD and with him. He understood, too late, how very little he knew her. That was the hardest part for him to swallow, that a week ago, he was laughing and teasing her and they were goofing off on the deck of the helicarrier, and he never knew, he never knew that lurking under her surface was a terrible capacity for the violation of self.
She had no idea who she was. And he had no idea who she was. It felt like the last two years had been a deception, a lie, a smokescreen. It felt like the last two years had been a waste. Clint had never felt as useless as he did sitting there all night, watching her sides rise and fall with her breathing.
She woke before dawn, rolled over, sat up and stared at him. Her eyes were instantly bright and her body was instantly awake. She said quietly, “Did you sleep?”
He studied her face. “How do you feel?”
She smiled slightly. “Too soon to ask that question. You should have slept. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You tried to kill yourself yesterday,” he replied, his voice shaking. He had to look away from her.
She was quiet for a long time. Then she got up and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower. She told him she was leaving the door open so he wouldn’t freak out and he did not even mind the jab at his overprotective behavior. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He was exhausted, drained, and still confused and worried and frightened. Frightened. How long since he felt true fear like he felt in the last twenty four hours? A long time.
She came out of the shower, casting him a careful look. “Clint, it was not your fault.”
He gave her a small smile. “Part of it was.” He sighed and sat up. They had to have this talk. “Tasha, you’ve never let me touch you, and we’ve never talked about that. I should have known something was up. What are the chances you’d just do that out of the blue?”
She nodded. “Low.”
He ran a hand through his hair, absentmindedly realizing how long it was getting. “It never occurred to me that it may not beyou who wanted it. I had no idea-don’t look at me like that, Tash-that your hold on Natasha was that weak.”
She frowned at his words and sat on the bed, still holding a towel to her chest. She pressed her lips together and shrugged, a strange motion from her. “I didn’t lose track of who you were though. I knew you were not a job.”
He smiled a bit. “Yeah. I know. I woke up. Your jobs don’t usually have that honor.”
She laughed slightly, appreciating his quip and attempt at lightening the mood. “True. No one’s ever woken up after I sleep with them.”
He froze, his eyes widening beyond his control. “Natasha.”
She had frozen too. She replied, saying his name carefully, “Clint, it isn’t-“
“Natasha, have you ever slept with someone who wasn’t a job?”
She flinched. “Yes. At the Red Room. I was married. You know this.”
His heart was pounding in fear. “But since then?”
She said nothing. Nothing. Her meaning slammed around in his head. The word rapist slipped into his consciousness and he forced it down, told himself to breathe, reminded himself that he knew the tools for this. He had been there before. How often had he self-destructed just to remind himself of his own edges? The darkness could obliterate him. He knew the blast radius of his own mind now. She did not know hers and it had caught up with them.
He whispered hoarsely, “That makes this so much worse.”
She studied the floor intently. “I think I need to take a leave of absence.”
Magic words in their business. He couldn’t ask her to stay in the field, or with him, as soon as she said them. It was like a suspect asking for a lawyer. She was untouchable as soon as she uttered those words. Clint shut his brain down. He couldn’t handle it, walking around the edges of her trying to understand something he barely understood in his own mind. Her magic words turned off his responsibility for a little bit. He just needed to get her home safely now.
He said stiffly, “Get dressed. Coulson has a plane for us at the airport.”
THIS FIC IS TRIGGER HEAVY
Title: Fallout Patterns
Rating: Mature
Warnings:Suicide, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempts, Self Harm, Dubious Consent Sex, POSSIBLE eating disorder allusions, other warnings may apply
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
"...We could hurt each other even when we weren't trying to, and that none of us was as perfect as we like to pretend." Meg Waite Clayton, The Wednesday Sisters
Chapter 4: A Heart So Unpermitting
He didn’t sleep that night. He stayed up all night, watching her sleep, reassuring himself that she was not going to wake up in the middle of the night and kill herself. He sat, legs crossed on his bed, his laptop open. He sent a secure email to Coulson’s private email, keeping out the part where she actually fired towards her own head and where she went on a screaming rant in public. He just said that Natasha was having trouble coping with the aftermath of the mission and was suffering from flashbacks and ‘passive suicidal ideation’ which was a term Clint knew well.
He lived passive suicidal ideation for years. He lived it for years. He lived it until he met Natasha. And it wasn’t that he was stupid about what they were or what she was or what he was, for god’s sake, but it was the first time he had drawn an arrow, feet from someone, and seen himself in her. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill her because she wanted to die and there was something perverted about helping someone kill themselves, and wasn’t that what it would have been? Wouldn’t it have been assisted suicide? Didn’t he swear to Coulson that he’d never do anything stupid under Coulson’s watch? It was the excuse he gave to Coulson when they got back to base and Coulson asked him if he was confused about the definition of neutralize. He had looked at Coulson and said quietly, “Birds of a feather flock together. I made a different call. Look, you asked me awhile ago not to be stupid.” And that was all it took for Coulson to change his tune.
He knew what it was like to move through life and see potentiality for death everywhere, to act just on this side of impulsive. He took missions he shouldn’t have taken and took risks he shouldn’t have taken. At train stations, he put a hand on the wall, pretending to lean on it, but he did that to keep himself from throwing himself in front of the train. He understood life as an abstract concept, something he was obligated to go through like a ritual, but he did not really care for it. There was no value in his life. It was better than it used to be, but getting better did not mean well. That changed when he brought Natasha in. Everything changed with her.
Coulson emailed back. Clint-
Two options. You bring her in and we put her in the medical ward. Or, you see if you can figure her out. I won’t say anything until you tell me whether she can stay in the field or if we need to pull her out. I had no idea about the dancing. Maybe ask her who she is if she ‘disappears’ into her head again. Might give us a clue for where these memories are leading her and what her behavior will be. Don’t blame yourself. She’s traumatized and you were not the trigger, just the person she reacted onto.
Phil
Coulson hadn’t even known what happened, that Clint slept with her, but somehow, it seemed like he had guessed it. Clint had been wary of the same thing happening when they had returned that evening, but it hadn’t.
He had moved around her cautiously, simultaneously wary of letting his eyes leave her, and acutely aware that he had violated some sacrosanct space in their partnership by sleeping with her. He had not realized the extent at which she could be triggered and how fragile her identity was, even after two years with SHIELD and with him. He understood, too late, how very little he knew her. That was the hardest part for him to swallow, that a week ago, he was laughing and teasing her and they were goofing off on the deck of the helicarrier, and he never knew, he never knew that lurking under her surface was a terrible capacity for the violation of self.
She had no idea who she was. And he had no idea who she was. It felt like the last two years had been a deception, a lie, a smokescreen. It felt like the last two years had been a waste. Clint had never felt as useless as he did sitting there all night, watching her sides rise and fall with her breathing.
She woke before dawn, rolled over, sat up and stared at him. Her eyes were instantly bright and her body was instantly awake. She said quietly, “Did you sleep?”
He studied her face. “How do you feel?”
She smiled slightly. “Too soon to ask that question. You should have slept. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“You tried to kill yourself yesterday,” he replied, his voice shaking. He had to look away from her.
She was quiet for a long time. Then she got up and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower. She told him she was leaving the door open so he wouldn’t freak out and he did not even mind the jab at his overprotective behavior. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. He was exhausted, drained, and still confused and worried and frightened. Frightened. How long since he felt true fear like he felt in the last twenty four hours? A long time.
She came out of the shower, casting him a careful look. “Clint, it was not your fault.”
He gave her a small smile. “Part of it was.” He sighed and sat up. They had to have this talk. “Tasha, you’ve never let me touch you, and we’ve never talked about that. I should have known something was up. What are the chances you’d just do that out of the blue?”
She nodded. “Low.”
He ran a hand through his hair, absentmindedly realizing how long it was getting. “It never occurred to me that it may not beyou who wanted it. I had no idea-don’t look at me like that, Tash-that your hold on Natasha was that weak.”
She frowned at his words and sat on the bed, still holding a towel to her chest. She pressed her lips together and shrugged, a strange motion from her. “I didn’t lose track of who you were though. I knew you were not a job.”
He smiled a bit. “Yeah. I know. I woke up. Your jobs don’t usually have that honor.”
She laughed slightly, appreciating his quip and attempt at lightening the mood. “True. No one’s ever woken up after I sleep with them.”
He froze, his eyes widening beyond his control. “Natasha.”
She had frozen too. She replied, saying his name carefully, “Clint, it isn’t-“
“Natasha, have you ever slept with someone who wasn’t a job?”
She flinched. “Yes. At the Red Room. I was married. You know this.”
His heart was pounding in fear. “But since then?”
She said nothing. Nothing. Her meaning slammed around in his head. The word rapist slipped into his consciousness and he forced it down, told himself to breathe, reminded himself that he knew the tools for this. He had been there before. How often had he self-destructed just to remind himself of his own edges? The darkness could obliterate him. He knew the blast radius of his own mind now. She did not know hers and it had caught up with them.
He whispered hoarsely, “That makes this so much worse.”
She studied the floor intently. “I think I need to take a leave of absence.”
Magic words in their business. He couldn’t ask her to stay in the field, or with him, as soon as she said them. It was like a suspect asking for a lawyer. She was untouchable as soon as she uttered those words. Clint shut his brain down. He couldn’t handle it, walking around the edges of her trying to understand something he barely understood in his own mind. Her magic words turned off his responsibility for a little bit. He just needed to get her home safely now.
He said stiffly, “Get dressed. Coulson has a plane for us at the airport.”