In His Silence
It's after the mission.
They're both covered in wounds: a large bandage on his shoulder, bandages wrapping her wrist, a bandage on her thigh, a bruise on her forearm and elbow and cheekbone, a band-aid on his jaw, bruises and cuts on her knuckles. Stitches on his stomach.
He's cleaning his hearing aid, and she can't stop thinking about the way she felt when he collapsed from the blood loss.
“Clint,” she says, to make sure he can't hear her. He doesn't react. “I love you, Clint.” Something tears in her chest when he still doesn't react, even though he can't hear her.
What would it be like to say it to him when he can hear her? To see his smile, feel his lips against the bruises on her face?
But what if he doesn't feel that way about her, if he just considers her a close friend?
“Tasha.”
His hearing aid is back in his ear, and his face is full of concern.
“Are you okay?”
“I—”
He touches her hand, and she nearly breaks out into tears. He stands, moves over to sit next to her on the couch. Surprising her, he wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Tasha,” he repeats, a smile quirking his mouth. “I don't think I got permission to die.”
Her face screws up at the old joke, and she buries her face in his neck, a quiet sob shuddering from her mouth. “Nat,” he says, startled. “I love you,” she cries, against all instincts, and prepares herself for the feeling of rejection.
Instead, she feels lips on her hair. Strong arms lifting her up slightly to rest her on him as he lays down on the couch. “Oh, Nat,” he murmurs, fingers threading with hers. He nudges her chin, so that she's looking at him. Gently kisses the bruises on her cheek, and the tears. A broken sob rips from her mouth, and he kisses that as well.
“I love you too,” he whispers, and the last of her walls fall. He holds her, stroking her hair and letting her cry herself to sleep.
When she wakes, his eyes are closed, but they open when he feels her shift. He smiles at her sleepily, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. “You are so beautiful,” he mumbles, giggling when her cheeks flush and she ducks her head. “Can I kiss you again?” he asks, rubbing a gentle circle on her back. She nods against his chest. He sits up, pulling her to him, and presses a soft kiss to the scars on her wrist, trailing his lips up her arm to her neck. “You asked if you could kiss me,” she protests, leaning into him. “That implies on the lips.” He giggles evilly, nuzzling behind her ear. “I didn't say when.” She snorts, pulling her ear away and kissing him first, eyes drifting closed. He hums happily, playing with her hair. “Love you, Tasha,” he says. “Love you too, Clint,” she answers, smiling into his mouth. He puts a hand to the back of her head, and she can feel him smiling too.
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realtalk the least realistic thing about Endgame is how Clint shows up with a highly detailed full arm sleeve tattoo of a skeleton samurai and a viper, the edgiest tattoo possible, and no one says a single, fucking, thing.
Not even Tony. Like come ON you cannot tell me he didn't see that and go, "Mid-life crisis much?"
though on second thought I guess Clint would probably punch him in the throat so, maybe it was just self-preservation.
it's still funny, though.
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do you ship clintasha?🥹
YES, I do.
And I thoroughly believe that the world needs more Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff in general. I think Marvel missed the boat by going with Clint’s secret family in AoU and not Clintasha, considering how easily clintasha could’ve happened after Avengers. I’m glad we got a Black Widow movie and the Hawkeye series, but I feel like there could’ve been more and it would’ve been great if there was a prequel or something to elaborate on Budapest and their time with SHIELD.
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