Clint couldn’t help but picture the outfit Natasha was describing and it was sexy as hell in his mind’s eye. “That’s a damn shame,” he said when she claimed to now be tutu-less. Maybe he should get her one for Christmas. If he wanted to live to see New Years he probably shouldn’t.
Watching her oddly as she got all defensive about wanting to watch Disney films, he wisely kept his mouth shut until the end. Ah, of course. He hadn’t had much of a childhood for different reasons, but it hadn’t been stolen away like hers had, he hadn’t been forced to grow up and become a machine, an instrument of death. “I’m sure I can find a list somewhere. We can start at the top, go chronologically,” he gave in easily. If it made her happy he’d concede; besides, she’d said ‘we’. She didn’t just want to watch the movies, she wanted to watch them with him, and that was enough. They didn’t really get a lot of downtime to spend together, just the two of them anymore, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.
Holding his breath after he had finished telling his own story of the day they met, he waited until she closed her eyes before finally looking away again. It was as he suspected, part of her had had a death wish, but to hear her confirm it tore at his heart. He had killed many people in his lifetime but he reasoned that they were all bad people, that it was for his country, for the world, that he did it. The thing he never let himself dwell on was the one question: how many of them had been like Natasha, redeemable if given the chance?
Eyes drawn to her hand on his arm he once again told himself it didn’t matter. He had saved her and that was enough; she was worth ten of anyone else, a hundred even.
Everything.
“Yeah, well,” he said with a shrug, unsure what else he was supposed to say in reply. Leaning to one side he reached down to untie the laces of his boot and slip it off, the other quickly following. Getting to his feet and stretching, he pulled off his jacket and hung it on the chair. Standing at the side of the cot he motioned at her. “Now scootch over a bit.”
no subject
Watching her oddly as she got all defensive about wanting to watch Disney films, he wisely kept his mouth shut until the end. Ah, of course. He hadn’t had much of a childhood for different reasons, but it hadn’t been stolen away like hers had, he hadn’t been forced to grow up and become a machine, an instrument of death. “I’m sure I can find a list somewhere. We can start at the top, go chronologically,” he gave in easily. If it made her happy he’d concede; besides, she’d said ‘we’. She didn’t just want to watch the movies, she wanted to watch them with him, and that was enough. They didn’t really get a lot of downtime to spend together, just the two of them anymore, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to the prospect.
Holding his breath after he had finished telling his own story of the day they met, he waited until she closed her eyes before finally looking away again. It was as he suspected, part of her had had a death wish, but to hear her confirm it tore at his heart. He had killed many people in his lifetime but he reasoned that they were all bad people, that it was for his country, for the world, that he did it. The thing he never let himself dwell on was the one question: how many of them had been like Natasha, redeemable if given the chance?
Eyes drawn to her hand on his arm he once again told himself it didn’t matter. He had saved her and that was enough; she was worth ten of anyone else, a hundred even.
Everything.
“Yeah, well,” he said with a shrug, unsure what else he was supposed to say in reply. Leaning to one side he reached down to untie the laces of his boot and slip it off, the other quickly following. Getting to his feet and stretching, he pulled off his jacket and hung it on the chair. Standing at the side of the cot he motioned at her. “Now scootch over a bit.”