Betting Debts   von Lollapie
                  (Clint Barton x Natasha Romanoff and more)
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                         Kapitel 1: A Passing Thought
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It was one of those days, where everything went wrong.
He could hear the sound of his shower being turned on, but he didn't move off
his bed, he didn't even look in the direction. It was only her. His eyes peeked
up at the narrow window, which stretched along the ceiling. They lost men today.
More than they should have lost. He drew his left leg close to his body, leaving
the right hanging from the bed, but still touching the floor with the tip of his
boot. His torso hurt, making it hard to breathe.
Civilians lost their lives, although they were prepared.  Preparation is not
all. They learned the hard way today.
A few years back, when they fought the Chitauri, they were not prepared, but in
the end they won that battle. This battle was similar. Aliens attacking the
world. No Loki, no Chitauri. But a battle with the unknown, just as it had been
then. It wasn't important what attacked them or why. In the end it would always
be the same reasons. Power, might. Greed.
The thing he learned today, was, that being prepared was not everything. The
town was down. Run over by aliens – monsters – and corps. Tasha and him
fought so hard, but they hardly made a dent in the mass of their opponents. He
was at the end of his strength, out of energy.
He could still hear the people shout, hysterically scream at the top of their
lungs – and yet he wasn't able to help them. Clint wasn't used to not being
able to help. His ear twitched, as he heard her move under the drizzling water,
as the splashes changed their sound, when hitting her at different angles or
body parts. At least they were okay. Tired and exhausted, but okay. Alive.
He had a few cuts and bruises, maybe a cracked rib. Nothing he couldn't handle,
nothing he hadn't had before. He would heal, just like she would. Their bodies
would be fine – hers earlier than his, just as usual, but they'd survive.
His gaze followed the first snowflakes falling past his window. It reminded him,
that it was hardly two weeks to Christmas. Even if she would dislike it, he got
her a gift. Nothing grand, nothing expensive, but meaningful. She hated it, when
he had a present for her, but by now she at least tried to be happy with it.
Cherish the thought, when not the thing itself.
Today’s day made him wonder, wonder if they would ever may have a normal
Christmas, or a pre-Christmas time and not fight a battle. Wherever and whoever
against.
The snow outside got dense. Huge flakes drifted past the narrow window, piling
up on the ground directly in front of it.
In his mind, Clint gave in to a short moment, where Natasha and him had one
normal day. A normal day, that could belong to a normal life. They would go ice
skating. Thinking of her on skates, made him grin. She would be perfect at it.
Clint had never skated on ice, he wouldn't know how to stay on his feet, but in
his head … just for a moment … he could see himself standing behind her,
reaching around her narrow waist, to pull her back to his front, lean his chin
against her soft, red hair and make them glide over the solid, smooth plane.
Soft lights brushing their bodies, showing their every movement.
Ridiculous.
Clint shook his head, still grinning lopsided. She would never go ice skating
with him. They would never have a normal life. It wasn't in their blood. The
only thing they were good at was their job, they were master assassins. Always
have been and always will be.
The shower stopped, while his eyes wandered back up to the window. Still the
thought was nice, to do something different. Just once.  Ice skating, visiting a
Christmasmarket or going for a shopping spree. Every other woman would love to
do that. But not her, not Natasha.
She might like the engraved new knifes he designed for her. They were slender,
double-bladed and out of pure, folded steel. After almost ten years of working
with her, he knew what she liked, what she prefers to use to kill.
He could hear her footsteps, as she left the bathroom and joined him, but only
because she wanted him to hear her. Clint moved his head ever so slightly, just
to see her out of the corner of his eye. Natasha was drying her red hair with a
towel, her green eyes looking at him. Worried and also wondering.
She always worried about him, even if there was no need for it. He was the only
thing she ever worried about.
Clint turned a little farther toward her, straightening himself ever so
carefully, to not wince at the condition his body was in. However carefully he
would move, she would always notice. Just like now, she flung the towel to the
end of the bed and stepped up to him, lightly placing her open hand on his left
cheek. „We fought well”, she whispered, thinking his mind was still with the
fallen ones and she was right to some point. „You did”, he couldn't help
himself, but smile, while looking up at her. Her face was unharmed, but ever so
slight lines ran across her forehead, creasing the lovely skin. „We both did,
Clint.”, she repeated with more force in her voice. „They were outnumbered.
By far. We couldn't do anything anymore.”
„We just left them there ...”
„I had to get you out of there … you would have killed yourself.”
„Tasha …”
„You know, you would have.”
Both of their voices where no more than a low murmur, but considering the
silence around them their voices seemed loud and clear. Clint didn't know what
to respond. He would have fought to the end. To the very end. She was right, he
would have killed himself.
„What is on your mind, Clint?”
Ashamed of his thoughts, he looked down, taking her hands in his, gently
stroking the back of her hands with his thumbs. „You know me far too well”,
his blue eyes wandering back up to her face. „I just about know you well
enough”, she said softly, taking her hands from his and putting them on his
head, stroking through his short, messy hair. „You should go to sleep,
Clint.”
He liked it, how she said his name, over and over again. She did that, when she
was worried about him. Saying his name, seemed to calm her for some reason.
Immediately he knew she wasn't planning on staying with him. „You're going
back?”, fear, fear for her crept into his voice. „You can't go, you need to
stay here”, with me. „Please.”
The Black Widow in her was repulsed, he could see it in her eyes, just a
glimpse, gone with the next beat of her eyelashes. „Just stay”, he
repeatedly asked.
„Fine … at least until you sleep”, a grin crept onto her face, while
running her hands, from his hair, to his cheeks, cupping his face. He knew she
would go, no matter what he said, or did, no matter how long he tried not to
fall asleep at her side, no matter how tight he would hold her against his body.
„You'll never hear me leave.”
No, he wouldn't. Not, if she didn't want him to. He could only hope she would
come back just as quietly.

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