Light slowly filled the apartment as Natasha's eyes slowly opened. Simply by moving her eye towards the beige wall, she could see the window was still open from last night. She was surprised with herself, that she managed to fall asleep with it open. Muted sounds of an awakening city echoed through the living room, but amongst the liveliness of the morning, Natasha remained still. Lying on the leather couch calmly, her mind at ease by the normality of the morning.
Her awareness of her surroundings came to her gradually, like the rising of the sun. And even as she began to feel the weight of an arm carefully holding her side, the light blow of a breath on her neck, and the warmth of another person asleep beside her, she didn't panic. She didn't feel adrenaline course through her veins at the realization of waking up in the arms of someone else.
This did confuse her. Most men who ended up in such a position would have a gun to their head the moment the widow awoke. At first she forced herself to remember what she was conditioned to live by all those years ago. She subconsciously braced, her petite form rigid on account that she felt she had to. She couldn't get attached to anyone, that was her creed. That was the gospel she was to follow and live by.
It was only seconds after Natasha began to question her actions, that Clint, despite being sound asleep, stirred quietly. Leaning against the couch's pillows, his arm which was still around her was no longer limp, but with just a minuscule addition of pressure, held her gently. As if on command, as soon as he did this, Natasha's entire form relaxed under his hold.
As he leaned back into the cushion, she leaned back into him. For a moment she just laid there, feeling protected from her own feelings, her own fears. But also empowered, as if by feeling so at ease, she was freeing herself from everything she thought would never be able to get out of her head. Each steady rise of his chest against her petite body, reminded her that this was a reality. Quieting herself, she agilely turned around so that she faced him.
His hair was not it's usual chaos of rugged bed head, but laid dark and flat against his forehead from the rain last night. Natasha's red hair was both darkened and wavy, from having dried naturally after the storm. Clint had only had enough energy to kick off his shoes before crashing, and so he still wore his grey jacket which now had yet another tear in it. The bullet only grazed him, this time, but there were countless occasions when Natasha had to sew up both Clint and the jacket he wore much too often.
As for her, well in recalling the night before all she remembered was changing out of her own soaked black jacket, and stripping herself of all her weapons. With a loose black tees shirt and pants, she at first just sat beside Clint, as he tried to carry a conversation through exhausted mumbles. What they were speaking of, she couldn't recall, but it was interesting enough to keep Clint awake for five more minutes, and to keep her from going to bed. It wasn't as if the two planned to fall asleep on the couch together, but they somehow couldn't bring each other to leave before sleep overcame them both.
She looked at Clint as he continued to sleep, his eyes closed lightly, and his jaw for once completely relaxed. Natasha wasn't sure how her hand ended up on his chest, but with every raise of it above her hand, she felt some reason to keep it there.
After many months of developing a liking to her partner, enough to deal with his more obviously persistent and affectionate personality, they began dating. But still, Natasha had never been comfortable with such physical intimacy. Clint knew this, even if she never had to tell him him. Naturally, the opportunity for her to experience such contact was extinguished.
And yet now as Natasha laid nimbly relaxed against her partner, and felt each raise of his chest, as soft and gradual as the lapping of waves against warm sands, she didn't want to let up. She closed her eyes, and let her head sink deeper into his chest. A faint yet naturally relaxed smile spread across her face as she embraced it all, embraced him.
She had no idea if Clint was actually conscious, or still asleep, but it didn't really matter, for once. She wasn't looking to find the moment to strike when her lover-made-victim was still unconscious, she had no agenda. She was able to lay close by someone, without reaching for a weapon. Instead she was enveloped in warmth and care. For a man capable of such violence, he held her close to him with the easy carefulness that a mother would hold an infant.
Natasha wasn't sure if the warmth she felt was from the rays of light that shone through the window, or from Clint beside her. Yet it was with this comfortable warmth present, that an always cold and dormant realm of emotions within the Russian, was awoken. She felt an emotional warmth within herself, one that she wasn't sure was tangibly real.
Looking up at Clint, Natasha eased her hand off him. Just as she did, she felt a careful yet steady touch on her cheek. Emerald eyes still on her partner beside her, Natasha saw as Clint smiled before letting his hand run up her cheek and then to her temple.
It was a natural smile, one that suggested the man wasn't even conscious enough to know he was feeling such bliss. His fingers only just touched between strands of her naturally wavy hair, before he brushed those strands smoothly back behind her ear. Natasha felt his touch grow stronger, and wasn't sure if that was because she was subconsciously leaning into his hand, or because he was slowly beginning to wake.
As his smile relaxed, sleepily innocent grey blue eyes met that of Natasha's. He let the end of his hand rub her temple once or twice more, his thumb running down her smooth jawline as he did. She just looked at him as he did this, eyes softening under his gaze, and at the touch of his embrace.
Words didn't need to be spoken between the two to express their intimacy. Natasha melted under his embrace, as her own chest and shoulders fell against him. As his hand fell almost limply off her face, she closed her eyes once again as she let her small head fall into the crook of his neck. She felt her lips pull back into a smile, and then part in a breath of relief, as she shook her heads a couple times, as if to settle herself deeply against him.
With a simple turn of his head, Clint was close enough that his lips touched the skin on her head. As he held her without brace or strength, he closed his eyes and kissed her forehead tenderly. He wasn't surprised or excited by her behavior, nor was he resistant to express himself. It didn't even feel like there was ever a side to Natasha that resented physical affectionate contact. To Clint, this embrace that lasted less than two minutes, felt as natural as talking to Natasha. As common and routine as fighting beside her.
He too felt a rising warmth in his chest, and he doubted that it was from the body heat of his partner that laid so close against him. He felt relief Natasha's breath against his neck. She was as relaxed and still as if she were asleep.
And she was at such ease, both physically and mentally, that she could have fallen asleep. She was released from all fear, stress, and guilt. In that moment, she felt worthy of having such a life, and in taking pleasure in life. She felt like she didn't owe the man who held her so lovingly in his arms, but instead that she deserved him. That she deserved to feel this release from her usual cold self, to feel the compassion that she never imagined would be shown towards her.
Author's Note: This fanfiction was inspired by the song Spirit Cold by Tall Heights as well as an episode of Six Feet Under. While only a one shot, I may eventually put this in as a flashback to my larger clintasha fanfiction Dear Agony, but for now it stands alone as a oneshot. This is the first time I have really wrote a border line fluff fic, and if there is positive feedback I may write more in the future. I thank you all who have read this far, and throughly hope you enjoyed this work.