The hitch of her breath when the tears come rips at his heart with sharp claws that mean to maim, to shred him to ribbons. His own eyes are wet with it, but he doesn't notice, all of his attention on her and the words coming out of her mouth. That explains it, and for a moment he swears he can see her, trapped under a beam, water rising, pale skin shining with the wet under the red glow of emergency lights--
He blinks and the broken image is gone and he swallows, hard, trying to keep his voice even. Clint doesn't ask if she's got any way out, if there's anything anyone could do because if there was she wouldn't have called him like this. Wouldn't have reached out to say goodbye.
"Hey--" he starts, and despite his efforts, the tears have thickened his voice, "Hey, don't apologize." he can't handle it if she apologizes, "We've never done that bullshit before, we're not going to start now." Neither of them have ever apologized for what they are. Not to one another.
Clint takes a breath, slow and shaky, and then says; "You know it was always you, right? From the first second I saw you over that Senator. I was fucking gone--"
Natasha's arm trembles hard and threatens to give out under her. She has to brace her hand against the steel floor (or is it the wall? Natasha can't remember) and lock her elbow to keep from falling back into the water. The movement very nearly loses her the cellphone as it threatens to slip from her grip into the dark water below. Only her excellent reflexes helps her numb fingers curl tight around it before it falls. She's still sorry. So damn sorry.
Her throat works and she ducks her head. Her tears fall straight into the water, causing soft ripples that spread before fading out. "I thought you were such a kid." The memory hurts now. Back then she was courting death to just feel something, and his blade against her throat gave her such a rush. It was like a flame igniting in the dark, and for weeks to come she'd warmed her hands against the memory of it. "Inexperienced. Amateur." Barely nineteen and she'd been so damn arrogant.
"Then you shot me. I'd never felt anything for anyone. Not like I felt for you. I--" The words are thick and oddly shaped, they keep sticking in her throat. "You're everything." She wedges the phone between her shoulder and her ear so that she can wipe her nose on the back of her wrist with a soft sniffle. "I shouldn't've run. In Wales. I just didn't want to lose you." But now she's going to, forever.
There's a short, strangled sort of laugh and he leans back, closing his eyes even as he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to fight off the overwhelming ache that's battering at the edges of his mind, trying to overtake him. There will be time for that--plenty of it--after this is done. For now Clint is going to drag out every single moment he has with her. He's going to savor it so he's got them later, when he needs them most. She may be sorry this is happening, but he's sorry he's not there with her. They were supposed to do this together--he never imagined they'd live to be old, but he had imagined they'd at least go out together.
"That's kind of sick," he says, trying to tease, but it falls flat, sounds forced, "loving someone after they try to kill you." But then she mentions Wales and he's lost for a moment in the smell of the ocean, the bite of cold wind and the sight of the grey sea under thick clouds from the top of a cottage as he waited for her to return. He's lost in the feel of her lips against him for the first time, the way she looked when she came through that door.
"You came back to me, Nat," he says, and there's an aching truth to it, one that can't be denied, "That's all that matters." He wishes she could come back to him now, that somehow, between them, they have one last second chance, one last miracle that will make this not real. They're friends with gods after all. What's the point of being a superhero if you can't save the most important person in your life?
"We--should have gotten married. With a paper trail and all. Could have used fake IDs--"
There's a brief moment where Natasha thinks that maybe she can box it all away again. If he laughs and just goes soft with her again, maybe she can forget the cold and the pain and the panic slowly clawing at her throat. The truth of the matter is that she doesn't want to die. She has a life with him and she'd give anything for another day together, for one final chance to touch him.
"But I left first, and I shouldn't've." It's not that she doesn't remember the panic clawing at her chest or the need to put some distance between them. Her leaving was the only thing she could do to salvage who they were. But, she wishes that she'd been able to see beyond that to the fact that she's always loved him, that expanding their relationship would only mean having more of him.
"We never needed the paperwork." Her hand presses against her chest where her two rings rest just above her heart, strung as they are on the reinforced titanium chain she wears for missions. "Or to make promises in some church." She chokes back a sob. If she had a chance to go back and do it all over again, she'd give him that damn wedding. Church, huge white dress and all. The ceremony has always been important to him, like it never was to her. "I made my promises to you a long time ago, Clint. They're etched on my heart."
Her hand curls into a too tight fist above the rings and she fights to keep the sobs at bay. "Listen. I need you to promise me-- When this is-- When we hang up, you have to go find Tony. I don't care what you do, but you're not spending tonight alone. Do you hear?" The water is up to her throat already, they're fast approaching the end of the line here. There are so many things she needs to tell him and there's just not enough time.
"I should have kissed you in Hong Kong," He says, quietly, and it's true. Just imagine what they could have done with ten extra years with one another. God, they would have rewritten history. Clint had thought about it, then, as the minutes ticked toward midnight, about tucking her slim body close and kissing her deep and heavy--and then the building had fallen out from underneath them.
Mimicking her, even though he can't see, he moves his hand over to wrap tight around his ring, holding them tight enough he can feel them press into his hand. Later, when he opens it, there'll be a mark there that matches the shape of that band. The church wasn't important to him, hell, they could have done it in the Justice of the Peace's office if she'd have preferred, but he would have liked to tell people about them, to show the world that he was hers as much as she was his, to stand in front of their friends and make a commitment. He would have liked that.
"Love you," he murmurs, because he needs her to know it, can't let her go without making sure she understands.
There's another one of those pained laughs as she tells him to find Tony, and he shakes his head, "Yeah, sure," He's not going to go find him. Doesn't know if he'll make it off the couch. He could notify JARVIS he guesses, but--he doesn't think he has it in him. But he's not going to deny her that wish, "'Course."
He blinks and the broken image is gone and he swallows, hard, trying to keep his voice even. Clint doesn't ask if she's got any way out, if there's anything anyone could do because if there was she wouldn't have called him like this. Wouldn't have reached out to say goodbye.
"Hey--" he starts, and despite his efforts, the tears have thickened his voice, "Hey, don't apologize." he can't handle it if she apologizes, "We've never done that bullshit before, we're not going to start now." Neither of them have ever apologized for what they are. Not to one another.
Clint takes a breath, slow and shaky, and then says; "You know it was always you, right? From the first second I saw you over that Senator. I was fucking gone--"
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Her throat works and she ducks her head. Her tears fall straight into the water, causing soft ripples that spread before fading out. "I thought you were such a kid." The memory hurts now. Back then she was courting death to just feel something, and his blade against her throat gave her such a rush. It was like a flame igniting in the dark, and for weeks to come she'd warmed her hands against the memory of it. "Inexperienced. Amateur." Barely nineteen and she'd been so damn arrogant.
"Then you shot me. I'd never felt anything for anyone. Not like I felt for you. I--" The words are thick and oddly shaped, they keep sticking in her throat. "You're everything." She wedges the phone between her shoulder and her ear so that she can wipe her nose on the back of her wrist with a soft sniffle. "I shouldn't've run. In Wales. I just didn't want to lose you." But now she's going to, forever.
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"That's kind of sick," he says, trying to tease, but it falls flat, sounds forced, "loving someone after they try to kill you." But then she mentions Wales and he's lost for a moment in the smell of the ocean, the bite of cold wind and the sight of the grey sea under thick clouds from the top of a cottage as he waited for her to return. He's lost in the feel of her lips against him for the first time, the way she looked when she came through that door.
"You came back to me, Nat," he says, and there's an aching truth to it, one that can't be denied, "That's all that matters." He wishes she could come back to him now, that somehow, between them, they have one last second chance, one last miracle that will make this not real. They're friends with gods after all. What's the point of being a superhero if you can't save the most important person in your life?
"We--should have gotten married. With a paper trail and all. Could have used fake IDs--"
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"But I left first, and I shouldn't've." It's not that she doesn't remember the panic clawing at her chest or the need to put some distance between them. Her leaving was the only thing she could do to salvage who they were. But, she wishes that she'd been able to see beyond that to the fact that she's always loved him, that expanding their relationship would only mean having more of him.
"We never needed the paperwork." Her hand presses against her chest where her two rings rest just above her heart, strung as they are on the reinforced titanium chain she wears for missions. "Or to make promises in some church." She chokes back a sob. If she had a chance to go back and do it all over again, she'd give him that damn wedding. Church, huge white dress and all. The ceremony has always been important to him, like it never was to her. "I made my promises to you a long time ago, Clint. They're etched on my heart."
Her hand curls into a too tight fist above the rings and she fights to keep the sobs at bay. "Listen. I need you to promise me-- When this is-- When we hang up, you have to go find Tony. I don't care what you do, but you're not spending tonight alone. Do you hear?" The water is up to her throat already, they're fast approaching the end of the line here. There are so many things she needs to tell him and there's just not enough time.
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Mimicking her, even though he can't see, he moves his hand over to wrap tight around his ring, holding them tight enough he can feel them press into his hand. Later, when he opens it, there'll be a mark there that matches the shape of that band. The church wasn't important to him, hell, they could have done it in the Justice of the Peace's office if she'd have preferred, but he would have liked to tell people about them, to show the world that he was hers as much as she was his, to stand in front of their friends and make a commitment. He would have liked that.
"Love you," he murmurs, because he needs her to know it, can't let her go without making sure she understands.
There's another one of those pained laughs as she tells him to find Tony, and he shakes his head, "Yeah, sure," He's not going to go find him. Doesn't know if he'll make it off the couch. He could notify JARVIS he guesses, but--he doesn't think he has it in him. But he's not going to deny her that wish, "'Course."
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