natasha "that's what's up" romanoff
06 June 2012 @ 02:34 am
we're so close to something better left unknown; i can feel it in my bones | ([personal profile] perched)  
continuing from here.

[ in spite of how things had gone earlier, the word from hill that they were still on the enemy's radar, and how the night had nearly ended just a few hours prior, the pick-up's gone off without a hitch. a medical team looks them over (no drastic injuries, just a few scratches and bruises) and there's a quick debriefing with hill before they're dismissed to clean up and recuperate before they land back in new york.

they head to the sleeping quarters - a little later than she'd promised, but any sleep is better than none - and fall into a fitful sleep in the same bed for a few hours (both are exhausted, but you can only sleep so well on a flying fortress no matter how tired you are). she awakes to hills voice over the comms - they'll be arriving within two hours.

she turns to clint, glancing over her shoulder (a bit awkward while his arm is still draped over her waist) and nudges his side lightly with her elbow. ]

Hey. [ her voice is kept soft, too, she doesn't want him to startle and knock her out of bed. ] Wake up.
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natasha "that's what's up" romanoff
28 May 2012 @ 12:06 am
and i'm not sleeping now; the dark is too hard to beat | ([personal profile] arches)  
[ it's been a little over a week since their first one at the safe house, and things have been progressing at a more or less steady pace. it's not easy and it's going slower than she suspects he wants it to, but she knew going in that it would take some time for him to level out, and that 'some' could be as long as a few weeks, maybe even months. she's prepared to put in the time and fury is, surprisingly enough, willing to give it to them. they've been working together to try and reach a place where he's okay with himself, if not what he did (that may never happen, she knows that better than anyone), but sometimes they spend time alone, because as much as she wants him to be okay, her holding his hand through everything isn't going to help him.

the third night into the second week is one of those times she's left him on his own, but not because of any conscious decision - he fell asleep on the couch, she elected to let him sleep rather than wake him, because he's been going without it more often than not. so when she wakes suddenly and violently, gasping for breath, coated with sweat with the sheets tangled between her legs, she's alone in the bed and in the room, and it takes her a few minutes to remember why.

she sits there, on the edge of the bed, for a few more minutes, fingers clutching at her sheets so tightly that her nails come close to tearing through the fabric. the minutes are spent with her eyes screwed shut as she breathes, in and out, slowly, through her nose as she tries to calm herself enough to head downstairs without the automatic instinct to attack anything that may be lurking in the dark. eventually she's steady enough to unclench her fists and stand and make her way downstairs, find something to occupy her time until she's either calm enough to try going back to sleep or until the sun rises. once she's there, she pauses in the kitchen and retrieves a tumbler from one of the cabinets and a bottle of vodka from the freezer.

her hands are still shaking, ever so slightly, as she pours the liquid into the glass. ]
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