bakerstreet | The Compulsive Truth Telling Meme.

Clint wasn’t sure whether to be relieved when she finally moved to sit up or afraid. When she stood he definitely settled on the latter. Her kicks had hurt enough when she had been curled up on the floor, and he had seen what she could do to a man when she was really trying.

He watched her carefully, brow furrowed in deep concern, wanting nothing more than to wipe away the blood but knowing that even moving right now could be dangerous to his health. He flinched when she laid down behind him but otherwise didn’t move. Well, hadn’t this just gone to hell in a handbasket real quick?

“Natasha... I’m sorry,” he started quietly, resting his elbows on his knees and keeping his back to her. “I wasn’t gonna ask you anything. Even when you gave me a freebie, I didn’t want...” Dropping his head he ran his hands back through is hair. “I didn’t want to screw everything up. You know how good I am at that.” 

Her pounding head wasn't helped by the lights, clasping a hand over her face in an attempt to filter the light, to fill her head with the calming darkness while it pounded. It probably hadn't been the best idea to beat her face into the floor, but for a moment it had felt good, gave her something else to concentrate on other than admitting to wanting him.

"Stop talking" Natasha sighed, trying to work things out in her head. Hand brushing the trail of blood that curved a path across her cheek and down her neck. "You can't be held responsible for the fact you have no filter between your brain and your mouth." Her words sounded tired, so defeated through her confession and ungraceful escape.

"You haven't screwed anything up." She rolled onto her side, staring at his back, the muscle shifting under his clothes as he moved. She swallowed everything back, the confession, whatever she was feeling and reached out, placing fingers on his spine, closing her eyes. "I'm sorry I kicked you, but you deserved it, both times".

She'd get over it, she'd brush it off her shoulders. The pain of having to admit things, the anger at his careless mocking questions. "If it's any consolation, if it was Stark in your place, I'd have certainly choked him out, just for a quiet life." She left her hand on his back, aimlessly tracing patterns of stars and triangles and a circle just for good measure. Natasha found it far too hard to be angry at him, maybe how she felt was real, maybe she'd have to consult a dictionary.

Stop talking, right. He could do that, it was a simple enough request... so why was it so difficult to actually follow through on? He wanted to protest against the insult, but it was unfortunately true; he really was lacking in the brain to mouth filter department. He just... he hated hearing her talk in that tone, sounding so lost and defeated, but more than that he hated that he was the cause of it.

His whole body tensing when she touched him, it took a moment for his muscles to relax, for him to realise she wasn’t planning on attacking him again. Once he did he may have even leaned into the touch a bit. “I guess I should thank you for at least kicking both legs so the bruises will be evenly distributed,” he said with a bit of a strained chuckle. Scrubbing his hands vigorously through his hair, when he finally dropped his arms again his hair stood at all different angles.

“That does help a little,” Clint said, finally looking back over his shoulder at her. What was he supposed to say now? Should he just pretend it had never happened and try to ignore what he now knew? Should he tell her he felt the same, that had she asked him the same questions he would have given the same answers? For a moment he said nothing, he just watched her silently. 

"You can't wear a skirt for a while, that's for sure" Her words were mumbled, hazy with the sense of sleep she was fighting off. Muscles ached and all Natasha wanted was a scorching hot bath to relax in and a good book. She smiled lightly at his hair, finding the odd angles of his shadow amusing.

"It should help. I couldn't put up with him. I'd have strangled him out not long after setting foot here." She caught his eyes, suddenly feeling overly self conscious she'd got a stained trail of red across her face, probably because he was just looking at her and not speaking. She fixed it by closing her eyes for a moment, fingers stilling until they were merely resting down on his lower back like he'd become her touch stone.

She finally managed to open her eyes, finding him still staring at her, unable to block the feeling of his eyes on her. "Stop staring at me like I'm either going to break or explode Clint. I'm done. Tired out."

Despite everything he managed a chuckle at her joke. “Damn, there goes all my fashion plans for the weekend,” he replied, feeling himself relax a little. They were going to be okay, he just had to pretend she hadn’t just admitted to wanting to tear his clothes off because she thought he was sexy. Right. He could do that.

Shit.

“I’m sure he would have given you a reason to before you even had the door closed.” Knowing the genius that was Tony Stark, he probably would have figured out Natasha’s predicament before they’d even left the laboratory and it would have taken all the willpower he didn’t have to wait until they were in the safehouse to start grilling her for information. He would have been unconscious in minutes, Iron Man suit or not.

“Sorry,” Clint looked quickly away when she called him on his staring. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, some sort of sign of what to do next? “It’s been a long day, why don’t we just get some sleep?” He moved to get to his feet, this time the second cot his chosen destination. 

Natasha managed a smile back, the images of Clint in a skirt was simply far too much for her to ignore.

"Stark doesn't even need to give me a reason, I'd just do it to stop him talking full stop." Then he was moving and her hand dropped from his back, hanging over the edge of the cot. Another question. Damn she was banning questions when this thing wore off.

"Yes" She mumbled in response to the question, sleep would probably help. Maybe when she woke up she'd be able to lie through her teeth at any question proposed. She watched him start to move, bit into her already split lip and furrowed brows. "No. Too far away" She mumbled, that one outstretched hand reaching fingers out further through the air, grabbing at nothing. "I.. don't want you that far away, not now" She'd have whined but it was beneath her, instead she just closed eyes and hoped he'd move back towards her.

The state she was in, feeling fragile like glass, the headache, the pounding of blood in her ears, the fact she'd spilled some of her darkest secrets. She felt no shame anymore. Just the need to have him close, like after most missions when she was feeling exhausted. The need of companionship could outweigh the shame or anger.

Badmouthing Tony Stark was a sport they could always both enjoy. It wasn’t that Clint didn’t like the man, he actually got along with him quite well and considered him a friend, but ragging on the billionaire still made for good sport. “Probably the only way to ensure he stop talking.” Tony had a comment for everything, time and place never mattered. Clint suspected he just loved the sound of his own voice so much he couldn’t help but fill every silence with it.

Getting to his feet, the archer barely made it a step before Natasha’s voice stopped him. He hadn’t asked a question, she didn’t have to say what she said; she was saying it because she wanted to, because she wanted him to stay. He stood silently a moment, his back to her and his brow furrowed before finally turning back and taking her outstretched hand. He didn’t want the distance either, probably why he hadn’t given the other cot a single thought before everything had gotten awkward. In their business they were exposed to the worst people and crimes the world had to offer on a daily basis, so at the end of the day it was nice to be close to someone, to feel that reassurance that not everyone was bad, that other people felt the horrors just as strongly.

“Okay,” Clint said quietly as he lay beside her again. Keeping her hand in his, he held it against his chest a moment, right over his heart, before finally slackening his hold so she could retract her hand if she wanted. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Natasha clung to his fingers, grasping them in her warm grip, blinking sleep from her eyes.

It was stupid to say but she felt safe around him, usually she was the type of woman who could easily fall into a light sleep with her fingers wrapped around a gun or a blade hidden under her pillow, yet that's all it was a light sleep. However with Clint around she replaced the gun with him and didn't have to worry about being awake enough to get up if she needed to, kowing that whatever came through the door she wouldn't have to face it alone.

She exhaled a quiet sigh, forcing eyes open, teeth biting at her torn lip. Too close, her hand under his pressing against his heart, feeling the beat under her fingers. Even when he moved his hand she kept her hand there, finally curling fingers into the material of his clothing just for something to hold onto.

"I'm sorry" The mumble was lazy, forced out between soft breaths. "About everything.. I don't want you feeling awkward or anything. Or treating me any different." She lazily shrugged, wincing at the straining muscles, fingers re-gripping over his heart, shuffling closer as a shudder rolled down her spine. "Got more than you bargained for".

Letting out a deep sigh as he relaxed, Clint smiled a little as she kept her hand in place, her fingers gripping the front of his shirt. Sometimes they both just needed a little contact to remind them they were still human.

“Shh, don’t apologise. It’s not your fault,” he said, barely above a whisper. It had been all him and his big mouth, not watching what he was saying even though he knew it was a sensitive situation. He also had the habit of wanting to joke around when things were tense, kind of like right now. If he could get her to laugh he thought maybe everything would be alright. “I am pretty irresistible.”

More than he bargained for was an understatement. He knew he could still treat her the same as always, but he couldn’t guarantee there wouldn’t be awkward moments. It was going to be hard when they were sparring, or when they got teasing each other and got too close, just knowing now that if he made a move on her it wouldn’t be entirely unwelcomed. She wanted him just as bad as he wanted her, and that was not knowledge he could just forget or ignore. There had been times he’d wanted nothing more than to just push her against a wall and ravish the hell out of her, and now he knew that there were probably moments when she had the exact same thoughts about him. It was going to be a lot more difficult to not act on them now.

“I’d say we got about five hours until extraction. Try to get some sleep.”

She gripped tighter, green eyes watching him although her vision was fuzzy around the edges managing a half smile at his words. "Think you got irresistible and idiotic mixed up Hawk" she mumbled softly, supressing a yawn with the back of her free hand.

Natasha didn't plan on treating him any differently. There was no way she could, she wasn't about to pin him down and start locking her legs around his waist, no matter how long she'd wanted too she'd always resisted, so she could continue resisiting. The fact that he knew, hell, it didn't change anything, not to her. He was still her Hawk, no matter what.

"Five hours" She hummed softly, shifting her legs into a more comfortable position, not resting until she'd moved them close enough to touch his knee with her own. "Maybe if I sleep this will all either have been a nightmare or it'll have worn off. Nothing said leaves this room by the way. Nothing."

Clint chuckled at her shot, the laughter rumbling low in his chest. “They’re not necessarily mutually exclusive,” he replied, watching her through half lidded eyes. Her movements were usually so controlled and calculated that he always enjoyed the moments when she let herself relax. Seeing that she had no intention of moving her hand even after she’d gotten comfortable, he placed his own over hers again, not holding it but just letting it rest there.

“Nothing,” he agreed, pausing a long moment before continuing in a voice barely above a whisper. “Except maybe the part about the tutu...”

He could probably use a few hours himself; two, maybe three tops. He had learned to sleep pretty much anywhere, in any position and could fall asleep almost instantly, but he was also a very light sleeper. Any movement, and sound was usually enough to wake him at least when he was on the job. It was a good skill to have for someone who did so much surveillance, but it meant that any sleep he got was usually brief and broken.

Somehow, though, he always slept sounder when Natasha was at his side... when he knew she had his back.

Tasha laughed softly, feeling the vibration of his own laughter through her finger tips, shocking her all the way up her arm like an electric current. Pursing lips, unable to keep the corners from an upturned ghost of a smile. "I don't know how the women find it so hard to resist you."

Of course she heard the whispered words, she was the Widow albeit a sleepy one. "Internal voice Clint, use your internal voice" Fingers prodded into his chest as a stern reply. She didn't expect him to mention it, but he didn't forget things and she knew at some point he'd probably buy her one, and that she'd have to strangle him with it.

She let sleep roll over her in waves, comfortable and pliant, curled up next to him like a sated cat. The warm weight of his hands lulling her into a feeling of, well, submission almost. The one person who she'd be submissive for simply because of the respect and care she held for him. Fingers in his shirt loosened and for once she was almost thankful of the predicament earlier, only because it ensured that the nights revelations would keep the nightmares and demons of her past away.

[ obviously don't mind if you want to consider this done or continue the squishy feels more. the weight of the squishing is in your hands :3 ]

((I choose feels! Always feels.))

Clint let her last comments go with another chuckle, willing to hold back another witty reply so she might actually get some sleep. If he kept talking he’d probably just end up accidentally asking another question and all progress would be lost.

In the silence that followed he focused on her breathing, on her subtle movements. Only when her breaths grew more steady and her grip on his shirt relaxed did he finally allow himself to drift off as well.

For an hour or so he actually managed a deep, dreamless sleep until Natasha’s movements beside him drew him out of it. She was still fast asleep, he could tell by her breathing, but she had burrowed herself into his side, the hand that had been on his chest drawn further around him, the knee that had been barely touching his now draped across it. It wasn’t anything new but it never failed to make his heart ache. It would take some major adjustments to his sleeping patterns to keep from waking up every time he moved, but this was something he could get used to as more than just a post mission comfort. 

Usually Tasha had a lot of problems sleeping. Letting her guard down and closing her eyes seemed to allow memories and fragments of her past haunt her dreams. More often then not she'd wake up in the middle of the night, knowing she was safe, knowing she was protected but she'd be screaming and sweating and focusing tired eyes down the barrel of her gun at anything that moved. Being beside Clint was worlds apart. She slept without incident and even when she had slipped into limbo and the ghosts of personas past started talking her voice would cut through and tell them all the shut up, because she was safe and protected and nothing would harm her.

Then again he was like her, such a light sleeper and since she cuddled far too close he always managed to pull her out of sleep, like now. It took her a while to focus, breathing in the scent of his skin. Dust, metal, gunpowder and the tiny hint of sweat from the exertion of the mission. A familiar smell, a smell that reminded her what it felt like to have a home, a place in the world at last. She lazily opened eyes, finding herself staring at the hollow of his throat where she'd somehow managed to wiggle her way into him. Typical Natasha.

"Hi" She grumbled. Voice low, hazy with sleep, closing her eyes as the world swam. "Stop moving. I'm warm and comfortable" Damn him and his Hawkish behavior she'd grown to like.

Clint had tried to remain still so as not to wake her, but his arm was starting to fall asleep where she was laying on it, pinned to his side. He thought maybe if he could just ease it up around her then maybe he could just get comfortable again and drift back into oblivion.

No such luck.

Hearing her deep intake of breath he let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Raising his head slightly he looked down at the mass of messy red curls just below his chin.

“Sorry. Arm’s asleep,” he muttered. Figuring that she was already awake so he might as well just go for it, he stretched his arm out beneath her before bringing it up around her back, flexing his fingers to regain some blood flow. “Go back to sleep.” 

Tasha huffed a sigh, breathing against the space of his throat she seemed to have slotted herself into. She moved, lazily rolling limbs up and on-top of him, literally. Curled on her side, balancing a hip side on to his, smothering her face in her chest like he was the bed.

"Mmph" Came the mumbled reply, fisting hands into his shirt, trying to back him more comfortable much like a cat with a cushion. "Comfy Hawk" Sleepy words in approval. This was really nothing new, when Tasha was in his company she ignored the rules about personal space. Mind always hazy. The Widow was far too complacent around him, enough to smother him probably.

Head on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart under her ear. She felt calm, safe. Like nothing could hurt her considering she was perched on him. She finally couldn't get comfy enough and rolled off him again, back into her earlier position yet closer, as if she was literally trying to claw her way into him, like a blanket, a comfort blanket for the both of them. "Mphm body hurts" she mumbled, groggy, too pliant, hands still stuffed in his shirt as if she couldn't let go.

Clint’s breath hitched when Natasha maneuvered herself practically on top of him and just kept... squirming. Jesus, if she kept that up then she’d know soon enough that he wanted her too without him even having to say a word. Despite his growing discomfort, though, he couldn’t help but smile as her sleepy mumblings. If he told anyone about this nobody would ever believe him, nobody would ever expect that the Black Widow had a soft, cuddly side.

Not that he would ever even think of telling anyone. This side of her was something he wanted to greedily keep to himself.

For a moment she seemed to settle down and he could breath again, but before he could wrap his arms around her proper she was sliding back down to lay at his side once more.

“Think you can sleep anymore?” he asked, forgetting for the moment that questions should probably be off limits, no matter what they were. “Muscles or bruises?” If it was bruises he couldn’t really be much help, but if it was muscle pain he could offer a massage, or check if this place had a bathtub and hot water. 

That cuddly side was something forbidden to her, had always been forbidden unless she was playing the part of an enchanted mistress or lover. She played parts too well that she often fell into a pattern of believing the never ending string of lies.

More questions. She scrunched her face up, burying herself in his fisted shirt. She'd probably pull it out of shape but hell she knew it have about ten of the same. "Yes." She mumbled. Damn so it still hadn't gone away. She huffed a sigh, pulling away from him to rub at her eyes. The hour sleep made her feel worse, the strain of her muscles, the aches of the bruises.

"Both" She nodded, managing to open eyes to stare at him lazily, stretching out limbs, mindful that she was still pressed close to his side. "Boots" She mumbled, still hazy, still fighting off the urge to flop back down and wrap herself in the human blanket that was Clint. Instead she fought off the urge to nuzzle back into him, sitting up with a wince and reaching to start the task of unbuckling the boots, managing to wrench one off her foot with a content sigh, toes wiggling.

"Hate you boots" Oh yeah she was pretty groggy, considering she was berating her choice of footwear as if the boots had magically crept onto her feet without her noticing. Getting one off was half the chore, flopping back down and curling back into him. "Ugh when we get back you can do the debriefing. I can't go through a five hour stand off with Fury and all his questions".

Exhausted and groggy, Natasha was almost like a cranky child, huffing about and getting annoyed at inanimate objects. Had Clint the penchant for using the word ‘adorable’ now would have been the opportune moment for it. As it was he could only grin goofily at her as she waged war on her footwear.

“Do you want...” he started to ask but was cut off when she suddenly flopped back down against him, giving up the task half finished. “I can handle Fury,” Clint agreed. The last thing either of them needed was the Director asking her questions about what had gone on tonight when she couldn’t carefully choose her answers. “Though he’s probably gonna insist you let the doc check you out.”

Clint always hated that part. The debriefings were horrible and he certainly wasn’t a fan of those either, but it was the medical check-ups; the bandages, splints, blood tests, needles, stitches and general poking and prodding that he loathed above everything else. He preferred to stitch himself up on his own and pretend all was fine, which was probably why he had so many scars.

“You want me to take care of that other offending boot too?”  

"You handle Fury, I'll do the paperwork. I know you hate paperwork" Waking up, feeling more life filling her. She groaned at the thought of being checked over. She hated them. medical check ups. She didn't care so much about the needles, it was more the mental examinations. Fury had once suggested she saw a therapist. It ended up with the therapist needing therapy.

Like him she preferred to nurse herself back to health, preferred to play doctor and stitch herself back up and if she couldn't do it she'd make Clint.

She stared down at the boot, nodding. "Yes." Usually she'd say no and struggle on-wards but with the effect of, well, whatever it was she couldn't pretend or be the defensive Widow persona.

"Why can't I have straight forward boots like yours. Think I'll have a word with whoever said these were our work clothes." Natasha shifted, bringing the offending boot still clinging to her foot closer so he didn't have to move so far, she could feel the weight of the weather outside pressings in. Natasha liked to be warm, not cold. She liked to be able to remove clothes not put on as many as she could. "Get rid of it, throw it someplace, exile it from my sight okay?"

It was a good trade off; Clint hated paperwork almost as much as he hated the medical checkups. “Deal,” he agreed, and would have shaken on it but she was all curled against him again and seemed like too much work.

Looking down at her booted foot, he was about to sit up and try to deal with it when she instead shifted to stretch her leg up toward him instead, clearly not prepared to let him move very far. Even so, this was still going to take some finagling. “Tell you what. When we get back we’ll go get you some new ones and you can tell whoever gave you these where they can stick them.” He couldn't help but laugh at the whole thing, her seemingly absolute hatred of the footwear and how she was acting. He could feel that familiar twinge in his heart, the one that reminded him that he'd let himself get compromised to the point of no return when it came to her.

Grabbing the boot with his free hand, he wrapped his other arm up around her to try to get at the buckles. “You might have to squish in a bit,” he said, pressing her closer into his side as he worked. It was an awkward position but he still worked as gently as he could, aware of the fact that she was bruised and sore. 

"I will literally help stuff them where the sun doesn't shine." However much Natasha complained, they were good boots, steel toe caps for those awkward moments when you needed to kick someone in the jaw, thick soles for walking on beds of nails. Favorite party tricks of hers. Alas, she scoffed, groaning at the strain of the muscle in her thigh and even more so at suddenly being crushed against his side, hand against his chest so she didn't suffocate, although suffocating to death in Clint's chest would be an interesting way to go out.

"If you'd have mentioned this was an odd angle I'd have contorted myself into a box" A sharp intake of breath, using the last bits of strength she had to wrench her foot out the boot, stretching out instantly and groaning in delight as her toes wiggled. "Hello feet."

Post-sleep Widow was someone who probably never should have been let out in the open around real people. Most of the time she was awake before him, had showered, dressed (had generally stolen one of his shirts in the process) and left to find breakfast. Especially after a good nights sleep the rest always made her feel, well, giddy in a sense. Considering she hardly ever had an unbroken nights sleep, going through the full night was like a drug.

"You're going to take me footwear shopping? You're becoming domesticated."

“Oh, come one, I’ve seen you stretch into more awkward positions than this. Suck it up, Romanoff,” Clint replied, managing to undo the last buckle so she could pull her foot free. “Whew!” he breathed out loudly before tossing the boot to the side, somewhere in the general area of where his sat. Dropping his head back to the pillow he loosened his hold on her but didn’t remove his arm completely, instead letting his hand rest on her shoulder.

The mention of him becoming domesticated caught him off guard and he gave the top of her head an odd look. He had never really thought about it, about ever having anything that even vaguely resembled a normal life. He wasn’t the ‘wife, kids, dog and white picket fence’ kind of guy, it just didn’t fit in with the danger and intrigue of his job, and he had been perfectly fine with that until Natasha had somehow managed to wriggle her way into his heart.

“Yeah, well...” he replied awkwardly. “I mean, I’d hate for you to do some real damage the next time they piss you off. Especially if that damage ends up being inflicted on me.” 

"Mouth the brain filter again Barton" She shouldn't have took it to mean what her mind computed but in the dull haze of one hours sleep she couldn't stop herself. Chuckling away as the boot was careless tossed away, shuffling to get comfortable in the circle of his arm.

She hummed softly in response, careless of what she'd made him think. Domestic was something Natasha was unsure about, another grey area. She wasn't bred to be domesticated, to be tied down to something. She was bred to murder, seduce and disappear into the night like a good little shoulder. Then again, she didn't get given the code-name of Black Widow for nothing. Possibly because ninety percent of men she'd taken to her bed had never left.

"Point taken, touche." She patted his arm softly, deciding to remove the gloves still around her fingers, ripping the Velcro straps open and tugging them off with her teeth. "I warn you, I'm a terrible shopper. I either hate everything or want everything. Don't think Shield would comp a shopping spree."

The idea of actually going clothes shopping with Clint made her stomach clench and well, her heart throb with some kind of need. Possibly the need to feel normal, the need to become somebody new, the need to lie to herself instead of having others do it for her. Trick herself into believing she led a different life where she could feel compassion and love for somebody and understand it.

"It's a date I guess. After the Disney marathon though okay?"

Chuckling when she pointed out his lack of filter again, Clint breathed out slowly, his eyes drifting closed as she settled herself against him again. There was a wool blanket folded at the foot of the bed that he managed to catch with his feet and kick up far enough to grab with his free hand, drawing it up over them.

“SHIELD might not go for it, but I be we could convince Stark to foot the bill,” he said with a grin. Clint had be subjected to a few torturous shopping sprees with ex-girlfriends, but while the experiences were something he wasn’t too keen on recreating, with Natasha it would be different. They got each other, and he had no doubt she would find a way to make it entertaining. Also, he could give his honest opinion to her as opposed to just saying whatever the girl wanted to hear so they didn’t get angry at him.

Overall it wasn’t an altogether unappealing idea.

“After, of course,” he said, not even dwelling on the term ‘date’ that she so casually threw out there, because he knew it was casual and didn’t mean what other people seemed to attribute to it. Not for them.

Going silent a moment, Clint couldn’t help but wonder if she ever thought about life beyond SHIELD. Did she ever consider leaving? Did she ever wonder what her life would have been like had things been different? He thought about asking her but before he could form the words he remembered her predicament. This wasn’t the type of conversation to have when she had no choice.

“How are you feeling, anyway? Feel up to lying to me yet?” he asked.

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