FIC: Good Enough (for sarea_okelani) - PG-13
Title: Good Enough
Author: queenriley
A Gift For: sarea_okelani
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: pregnancy and abortion
Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary/Prompt Used: A story about an emotionally distant Natasha getting pregnant, while she has a physical relationship with Clint, but no established emotional understanding wrt their relationship. A story less about the pregnancy itself and more about dealing with the fact that Natasha doesn't really know how to let Clint in.
Banner by inkvoices
Part 1: Clint
He knew he shouldn’t bother Natasha, not so late at night. He was out of bandages and not entirely sure his landlord would let him back in, not in the state he was in anyway, and especially not after the fight he’d managed to cause that tore up the lobby. It wasn’t his fault the jerks from the bar followed him home.
He couldn’t go to S.H.I.E.L.D. He couldn’t go home. There was only one place he knew he could get cleaned up without any questions, without any paperwork, without any issue. So it was Natasha’s door he knocked on at two o’clock in the morning.
She didn’t ask. She didn’t even really look at him. She just opened the door and pointed down the hall towards the bathroom. She knew why he was here. He at least looked sheepish enough that she sighed and said she’d make him some coffee.
It wasn’t as bad as he initially thought. Just a black eye, bloody but unbroken nose, and one shallow scalp laceration. There was a lot of blood, but head wounds always bleed a lot. He’d be fine. It was just messy. He was just tossing the bloodied gauze into the trash can when he saw it. A long, thin, white stick with a pink grip on one end and an absorbent pad on the other. The viewing window had two distinct, clear blue lines. They were bright and strong. There was no mistaking what it was, or what it meant.
“Tasha… what’s this?” he asked, wandering into the living room. The rest of the apartment was dark, but the flickering light of the television drew him like a moth. She glared at him over the back of the couch.
“Just what it looks like,” she replied. He blinked at the test and back at her.
“You’re pregnant?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think it was possible.”
“Neither did I.” She sounded almost lost. He wanted to rush to her. He wanted to hug her and congratulate her and console her all at the same time. He took a step and stopped himself. That’s what he needed, not what she needed. That wasn’t Natasha. That sort of response would only make things worse. Instead he sauntered around the couch, dropped the pregnancy test on the coffee table, and plopped down beside her.
“I peed on that, y’know,” she said, pointing to the test.
“Yeah? And?” He stretched an arm across the back of the couch. She poked him in the side.
“And you just dropped it on my coffee table. Next to my coffee. That I was drinking.”
“Your point?” He was failing to see the problem.
“I. PEED. On that.” She pointed again. He nudged it away from her coffee with his foot. It’s not like he’d dropped it in the mug or anything. She sighed and scooted closer, curling into his side like a cat. He shifted down a little so she could use his shoulder as a pillow and settled in to watch whatever she had turned on. It was some black and white movie with a lot of dialogue and not a lot of action and it just couldn’t hold his attention.
Not when there was a positive pregnancy test on the table just staring at him. Natasha was pregnant. He had never in his wildest dreams thought that was possible. He’d just always assumed with everything else the Red Room had done to her, they’d make damn sure their operatives couldn’t have the inconvenience of a pregnancy.
The blue lines encompassed his vision. Somebody was the other half of that genetic bundle growing in her womb right now. He wanted to think it was his. It was just as likely not. But it could be. She’d never said they weren’t exclusive. Of course, she’d never said they were, either, but maybe. Just maybe.
Natasha wasn’t good with emotions. He knew this. She believed love was for children, at least the romantic sappy love he seemed so good at tumbling head first into. He loved her, and she him in her own way, but he was pretty sure that was the extent of it. He was exclusive to her. She was his one and only and he was pretty sure she’d be the last for him. He’d be by her side until S.H.I.E.L.D. carted him away from it in a body bag. But for her, it was different. He knew it was different. She never talked about it and he never asked.
It could be his, and part of him wanted it to be his, but following that train of thought was dangerous. He had no say in this. He had no right to even think he had a stake in this. This was for her to decide and the only thing he could, and should, do would be to stand beside her as she went through it.
He stared at that test for nearly an hour before he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“I’ll be here, whatever you decide and whatever you need.” She pulled his arm down and wrapped it around her waist. She clung to him with a fear he’d never felt in her before and he just pulled her closer, held her tight.
“Just be here,” was her only reply. And he would.
Part 2: Natasha
It took Natasha less than two weeks to figure out what to do, find a sympathetic ear, and set up an appointment for the abortion. She was in no position to raise a baby. She was in no position to even carry out a pregnancy. She knew that. She knew what she had to do.
Getting it set up was the more difficult part. She couldn’t just go to any clinic and she certainly couldn’t let it be on the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical records. There was one person, though. One surgeon who had worked on her before, who had been more than willing to fudge the records for her before.
Natasha didn’t remember much after the start of the appointment. It was mostly a blur and she took that as the small gift that it was. She found herself in a taxi, trying desperately not to cry, on the way home from the medical base. It had been quick and easy, not exactly painless but certainly nothing she couldn’t handle. As far as S.H.I.E.L.D. records would show, Natasha had simply had a biopsy on a cyst they’d found at a routine physical. Nothing to worry about. Completely benign.
She unlocked the door to her apartment. It was dark. Cold. Very very empty. She found she didn’t want to be alone. Not right now. She dialed his number and she didn’t have to say a word.
“I’ll be right over,” Clint said as he answered the phone.
They watched stupid movies. They drank some of her good vodka, despite the warning on her painkillers to avoid alcohol. They talked about inconsequential stuff, what Tony was up to, where Bruce might be now, if Clint had cleaned up his building’s lobby yet. They never once brought up the abortion. The pregnancy. The potential baby that would not be hers.
Towards two am, slightly drunk and struggling to stay awake, Natasha lay her head down in Clint’s lap and allowed the tears to silently fall. She’d never felt such a mix of sadness and relief before. It almost made her feel guilty. She wasn’t used to such emotions. Clint ran his fingers through her hair in the only source of physical comfort she’d allow him.
“Are you… will there be testing?” he asked. She blinked back the tears and turned to look at him.
“What for?” she asked. He was blurry and he wouldn’t look at her.
“To see who. Who might be. Genetics. To see who the father was.” He was stuttering. Stopping and starting. Clint was thrown off balance and that startled her. He was never unsure of himself.
Natasha blinked at him to clear her eyes. He really had no idea. She knew he loved her. Had known for a very long time now. He’d even said it once or twice, usually in the heat of passion. But she could never repeat it, never find the words herself. Love was for children. What she felt for him was more than love. And because she couldn’t find a way to say it, he doubted it.
“You’re the only one. It was you. It was always you.” It wasn’t enough, not for her, but it was enough for him. It was the best she could do, and that had to be good enough.
Author: queenriley
A Gift For: sarea_okelani
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: pregnancy and abortion
Pairings: Clint/Natasha
Summary/Prompt Used: A story about an emotionally distant Natasha getting pregnant, while she has a physical relationship with Clint, but no established emotional understanding wrt their relationship. A story less about the pregnancy itself and more about dealing with the fact that Natasha doesn't really know how to let Clint in.
Banner by inkvoices
Part 1: Clint
He knew he shouldn’t bother Natasha, not so late at night. He was out of bandages and not entirely sure his landlord would let him back in, not in the state he was in anyway, and especially not after the fight he’d managed to cause that tore up the lobby. It wasn’t his fault the jerks from the bar followed him home.
He couldn’t go to S.H.I.E.L.D. He couldn’t go home. There was only one place he knew he could get cleaned up without any questions, without any paperwork, without any issue. So it was Natasha’s door he knocked on at two o’clock in the morning.
She didn’t ask. She didn’t even really look at him. She just opened the door and pointed down the hall towards the bathroom. She knew why he was here. He at least looked sheepish enough that she sighed and said she’d make him some coffee.
It wasn’t as bad as he initially thought. Just a black eye, bloody but unbroken nose, and one shallow scalp laceration. There was a lot of blood, but head wounds always bleed a lot. He’d be fine. It was just messy. He was just tossing the bloodied gauze into the trash can when he saw it. A long, thin, white stick with a pink grip on one end and an absorbent pad on the other. The viewing window had two distinct, clear blue lines. They were bright and strong. There was no mistaking what it was, or what it meant.
“Tasha… what’s this?” he asked, wandering into the living room. The rest of the apartment was dark, but the flickering light of the television drew him like a moth. She glared at him over the back of the couch.
“Just what it looks like,” she replied. He blinked at the test and back at her.
“You’re pregnant?” he exclaimed. “I didn’t think it was possible.”
“Neither did I.” She sounded almost lost. He wanted to rush to her. He wanted to hug her and congratulate her and console her all at the same time. He took a step and stopped himself. That’s what he needed, not what she needed. That wasn’t Natasha. That sort of response would only make things worse. Instead he sauntered around the couch, dropped the pregnancy test on the coffee table, and plopped down beside her.
“I peed on that, y’know,” she said, pointing to the test.
“Yeah? And?” He stretched an arm across the back of the couch. She poked him in the side.
“And you just dropped it on my coffee table. Next to my coffee. That I was drinking.”
“Your point?” He was failing to see the problem.
“I. PEED. On that.” She pointed again. He nudged it away from her coffee with his foot. It’s not like he’d dropped it in the mug or anything. She sighed and scooted closer, curling into his side like a cat. He shifted down a little so she could use his shoulder as a pillow and settled in to watch whatever she had turned on. It was some black and white movie with a lot of dialogue and not a lot of action and it just couldn’t hold his attention.
Not when there was a positive pregnancy test on the table just staring at him. Natasha was pregnant. He had never in his wildest dreams thought that was possible. He’d just always assumed with everything else the Red Room had done to her, they’d make damn sure their operatives couldn’t have the inconvenience of a pregnancy.
The blue lines encompassed his vision. Somebody was the other half of that genetic bundle growing in her womb right now. He wanted to think it was his. It was just as likely not. But it could be. She’d never said they weren’t exclusive. Of course, she’d never said they were, either, but maybe. Just maybe.
Natasha wasn’t good with emotions. He knew this. She believed love was for children, at least the romantic sappy love he seemed so good at tumbling head first into. He loved her, and she him in her own way, but he was pretty sure that was the extent of it. He was exclusive to her. She was his one and only and he was pretty sure she’d be the last for him. He’d be by her side until S.H.I.E.L.D. carted him away from it in a body bag. But for her, it was different. He knew it was different. She never talked about it and he never asked.
It could be his, and part of him wanted it to be his, but following that train of thought was dangerous. He had no say in this. He had no right to even think he had a stake in this. This was for her to decide and the only thing he could, and should, do would be to stand beside her as she went through it.
He stared at that test for nearly an hour before he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
“I’ll be here, whatever you decide and whatever you need.” She pulled his arm down and wrapped it around her waist. She clung to him with a fear he’d never felt in her before and he just pulled her closer, held her tight.
“Just be here,” was her only reply. And he would.
Part 2: Natasha
It took Natasha less than two weeks to figure out what to do, find a sympathetic ear, and set up an appointment for the abortion. She was in no position to raise a baby. She was in no position to even carry out a pregnancy. She knew that. She knew what she had to do.
Getting it set up was the more difficult part. She couldn’t just go to any clinic and she certainly couldn’t let it be on the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical records. There was one person, though. One surgeon who had worked on her before, who had been more than willing to fudge the records for her before.
Natasha didn’t remember much after the start of the appointment. It was mostly a blur and she took that as the small gift that it was. She found herself in a taxi, trying desperately not to cry, on the way home from the medical base. It had been quick and easy, not exactly painless but certainly nothing she couldn’t handle. As far as S.H.I.E.L.D. records would show, Natasha had simply had a biopsy on a cyst they’d found at a routine physical. Nothing to worry about. Completely benign.
She unlocked the door to her apartment. It was dark. Cold. Very very empty. She found she didn’t want to be alone. Not right now. She dialed his number and she didn’t have to say a word.
“I’ll be right over,” Clint said as he answered the phone.
They watched stupid movies. They drank some of her good vodka, despite the warning on her painkillers to avoid alcohol. They talked about inconsequential stuff, what Tony was up to, where Bruce might be now, if Clint had cleaned up his building’s lobby yet. They never once brought up the abortion. The pregnancy. The potential baby that would not be hers.
Towards two am, slightly drunk and struggling to stay awake, Natasha lay her head down in Clint’s lap and allowed the tears to silently fall. She’d never felt such a mix of sadness and relief before. It almost made her feel guilty. She wasn’t used to such emotions. Clint ran his fingers through her hair in the only source of physical comfort she’d allow him.
“Are you… will there be testing?” he asked. She blinked back the tears and turned to look at him.
“What for?” she asked. He was blurry and he wouldn’t look at her.
“To see who. Who might be. Genetics. To see who the father was.” He was stuttering. Stopping and starting. Clint was thrown off balance and that startled her. He was never unsure of himself.
Natasha blinked at him to clear her eyes. He really had no idea. She knew he loved her. Had known for a very long time now. He’d even said it once or twice, usually in the heat of passion. But she could never repeat it, never find the words herself. Love was for children. What she felt for him was more than love. And because she couldn’t find a way to say it, he doubted it.
“You’re the only one. It was you. It was always you.” It wasn’t enough, not for her, but it was enough for him. It was the best she could do, and that had to be good enough.