Love You Like a Love Song (7/8)
Title: Love You Like a Love Song
(OR: 5 Times that Natasha and Steve did not understand a pop song + 1 time that Clint understood a pop song and Natasha did not + 1 time that Natasha understood a pop song that Clint did not + 1 time that the whole team understood a song)
Disclaimer: Characters are Marvel’s. Story is mind. Headcanon is my crack.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Angst. Lots of it. Feels. Some fluff.
Author’s Note: I have feels sometimes. Forgive me for some fluffy cheesy crack.
Summary: Unfortunately, pop music was inherent to the culture and they were subjected to it, again, and again, and again. By proxy, due to Natasha’s temperament and Steve’s insatiable curiosity, their teammates were also subjected to their reactions to it. Again, and again, and again
1. Let Go - Frou Frou
Natasha was crying at the end of Garden State. Granted, Clint liked the movie and found it amusing even if half of the references went over Natasha’s head. But it was the last song that made Natasha’s face turn sheet white and she had curled into a ball on the couch, nestling into him like she normally did not, and there were tears on her face. Clint couldn’t decide what was more confusing: the song or Natasha’s tears.
He whispered to her, his finger catching a tear. “Hey, there.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, wiping at her cheeks. “It’s just. Why didn’t I hear this song before?”
“Because it’s obscure and doesn’t make sense?”
She gave him a watery smile and an arched eyebrow. “It makes perfect sense.”
Clint said dryly, “Natasha. I think you’re beautiful and wonderful. But there’s no beauty in the breakdown and you aren’t actually one of those girls who can’t cry and look pretty.”
“Later, I’m going to make you pay for that,” she told him seriously. She sat up and met his worried expression. She pulled her sleeves over her hands and shrugged. “It’s a metaphor.”
“Everything is,” he told her with a smile.
“So is this, then,” she gestured to the tv.
“No one gets into their breakdown,” Clint argued.
Natasha leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. She leaned back again. He looked at her, surprised and confused and suspicious. She said quietly, “I did, when I said yes to you all those years ago and defected. I jumped in. That was a breakdown. They were mishaps I bubblewrapped.”
“You think about things too much,” Clint said after a long pause because he didn’t know what else to say.
Natasha shrugged, slipped back down into his arms and pressed her face next to his neck. She whispered, “I love you.”
That was not a metaphor.