FanFic: Denial is the best defence
Title: Denial is the best defence.
Characters-Pairings: Clint, Natasha (MCU) and cameo by Carol Danvers (from the Comics. I need SHIELD agents to flesh out the world, kay?!) - Clint/Natasha
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “He knows exactly how uncomfortable it makes her when people care about her. And she does have a tendency to completely dismiss the fact that he is falling in love with her. He has learnt to not mind. It is easier that way after all, for both of them.”
Authors Note: This is completely un-beta’d so all mistakes (humongous and/or minor) just credit them to that.
Authors Note #2: For the promptathon, in response to this prompt!comment.
Disclaimer: I obviously DO NOT own anything... I’m just a fan expressing some love.
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“Incoming,” Carol says, looking over his shoulder as he’s peeling off his boxing gloves. He turns to see what she’s talking about, and he spots Natasha walking determinately, towards the sparring mat. “I think I’ll get out of the way from your lover’s spat,” she comments and begins to take a few steps backwards. He rolls his eyes.
“Just stop,” he says, as he dismissivelly waves his hand at her. “If she can’t handle the fact that I need to train while she’s out of commission then... Hey Nat!” he cuts himself off quickly and is rather taken aback, over how fast Tasha made her way across the gym.
“What the hell Barton!” she yells at him, and gets the attention of every agent in the hall.
Something is wrong, he gets that much. But he knows, despite his joke, it’s not like Natasha would actually be jealous over him sparring with other people, while she’s still going through recovery. So he has really no idea what the problem is, and how to approach the subject.
He opts for his default: Light, chipper, cutesy sarcasm, and acting flirty and dumb.
“Aw don’t worry Nat. The Major can absolutely keep up, but she’s not as good as you. No offence Danvers,” he gives Carol an apologetic grin, letting her know he’s going to do his best to brush this - whatever ‘this’ is - off quickly and painlessly.
“None taken,” Carol plays along.
Natasha shakes her head in confusion, and looks between the two of them. It takes her a second to get on track, but when she does, she narrows her eyes, and gives him the signature Romanoff death glare. Usually he’s immune, and he is proud to say he, Coulson and Fury are easily the only people in all of SHIELD who can make that claim. However today, right now, he can absolutely appreciate why that look has made grown men cry, and shit their pants.
“That is not what I am referring to,” she, curtly, lets him know.
“Then wh...?”
“Major, could I possibly steal Agent Barton away from you, for a moment?” she asks Carol without taking her eyes off him for even a second.
“He’s all yours.” It’s pretty obvious; Carol can’t wait to detach herself from this situation, fast enough. He, honestly, can’t say he blames her. If he could, he, too, would be walking away from Natasha right now instead of following her into the locker room.
He takes a moment to relish in the slapstick comedy that ensues, when they walk in. All the agents who were already inside, changing or coming out of the showers, hurriedly exit. It doesn’t seem to matter if they’re dripping wet, or are covering themselves with the small face towels, if shampoo is still bubbling on their heads, and that they might be nearly naked or half dressed, and that they are leaving trails, of shoes and clothes, scattered all around the floor and benches, as they stumble towards the door.
They’re facing each other, standing a few feet apart. She is still glaring at him and he is looking utterly confused, while she waits for them to be alone. The last shower is turned off, and a rookie runs quickly passed them, falling over one of the benches and hitting his head on one of the locker doors as he tries to get up. He decides it’s probably safer to crawl his way out, instead.
Clint follows him with his eyes, and turns to look back at her when the kid has rounded the corner. He points his thumb towards the exit when he hears the door close.
“That one’s a keeper. I’d love to see how he fairs in hand-to-hand combat.”
He’s trying to break the ice. He knows she’s aware of this, but she doesn’t really seem willing to meet him half way. He’s starting to get a little anxious now, because if she doesn’t tell him what he did wrong, then he won’t be able to apologise. He racks his brain, trying to think of what could be the reason why he’s on her kill list.
“What is this?” she finally asks him, holding up a piece of paper.
“No idea,” he tells her honestly.
“Agent Barton is of the belief that Agent Romanoff is not yet ready to be reinstated for field work, and should spend more time in recovery,” she reads.
“Oh...”
“Oh!? OH!? That’s all you got!?!?!”
“Okay, in my defence, we were just talking. I had no idea Phil was going to quote me, in his evaluation.”
“Are you serious? It’s Coulson!”
The thing is he is not lying. It had accidentally slipped out, while he and Phil were observing her last physiotherapy session. Coulson just happened to hear him, and asked a few follow up questions. It seemed friendly and off the record, and he just had a need to get it off his chest, so he had babbled on a bit.
But she’s right, he should have known better. He doesn’t for a second doubt that their handler’s concern was genuine, but that he would also use it... yeah, that is something he should have assumed.
“Tasha, come on...” he begins.
“Do you mean it?”
“What?”
“Do you actually think, I’m not ready to get back on the field?”
He pauses and that is all the answer she needs.
“And, tell me, what exactly makes you think you have the right to...” she begins scolding him, derisively and accusingly, but this he will have none off.
“The fact that it was I who had to pull you out of that hell hole, gives me the right.” He doesn’t yell, even though he wants to. However the volume and tone of his voice is high enough to startle her. “The fact that it was I who had to carry you bleeding and dying to safety, gives me the right. The fact that I spent the next week in medical, by your bed, and had to have other agents and guards physically remove me from your room, gives me the right. The fact that you can fool pretty much everyone else in this agency, that you are not favouring your left leg, except from me, gives me the right. The fact that, when you go back out there, it is me who has to stand on a rooftop and worry you don’t get yourself killed, gives me every damn right.”
Then he blinks and sees her looking up at him, with wide green eyes.
That is when he realises, he has covered the distance between them, by taking a step closer to her with every point he made. He notices she is suddenly too conscious of how close they are, and she averts her gaze away from his eyes and tries to take a step back. He doesn’t let her.
He places both his hands gently on her hips, and holds her in place, slightly tugging her closer. She takes that half of a step, which separates them, and places her hands, flat on his chest. She is still not looking at him, though. Her eyes are focused on the collar of his T-shirt, instead.
He sadly smiles down at her, and places soft kiss on her temple. He doesn’t move away after. He just stands there, with his lips still resting on her forehead and looking at the empty space, over her hair.
He finds it is quite depressing, that in the last four years, that they’ve know each other and have worked together, and despite the fact that their trust towards one another is unconditional and unfaltering, this is the closest they’ve been, without some sort of martial art form being involved in the mix.
He knows exactly how uncomfortable it makes her when people care about her. And she does have a tendency to completely dismiss the fact that he is falling in love with her. He has learnt to not mind. It is easier that way after all, for both of them. It certainly helps their partnership that they ignore it. The denial allows them to be professional. And trying to be professional, is exactly why they’ve never acted on it.
But this time, it was too close a call, and there is really only so much that a guy can suppress, before he drives himself crazy.
“I’m fine,” she says quietly after a while. She doesn’t make any attempt to move, and he finds some sort of comfort in that.
“I know,” he assures her. “I need you to be better.”
“Okay,” she whispers, as she trails her hands over his shoulders, and shifts to hug him properly.
He answers by wrapping his arms around her tightly, and burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in.