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She’s looking at Laura when something tightens in her chest and her mouth goes dry. Loki almost found out about her. Natasha almost lost her.
She doesn’t say anything though. She just looks at Laura listening to her daughter’s babble as they’re curled up on the couch with a book while she finishes her own task of quietly washing up a sinkful of dishes.
Clint pauses beside her, also looking toward the couch and his family.
He’s her partner. It takes her a bit before something in their mutual silent observation feels uncomfortable and she glances a question at him.
Clint’s studying her now with slightly furrowed brow. His expression smooths out, he shakes his head and kisses her temple before heading out of the kitchen again for another chore he’s using to drown out the memories of everything he did leading up to the Battle of New York.
Natasha waits a moment before returning to the dishes. He didn’t say anything, but she knows he noticed something neither of them can quite put their finger on.
Now that he’s noticed it, Clint can’t quite stop noticing it—the softness in Natasha’s eyes and that warm smile when she’s watching Laura coming or going, the gentle way she’ll tuck Laura’s hair behind her ear when it’s getting in the way during household chores, the hint of vulnerability when Laura asks her how she’s doing. It’s the strangest feeling in the world, wondering if his partner is falling in love with his wife.
He doesn’t say anything though. Not only is he half sure Natasha hasn’t noticed, but he knows that any direct question about it would only make trouble without getting a real answer.
Laura’s noticed. She doesn’t say anything but she knows she’s not the only one watching Clint in the aftermath of New York and gods playing in his head, not the only one whose eyes are full of aching for him, not the only one who wants to hold him through the pain of it all and heal it. Laura’s the only one who does, while Natasha quietly fills in the gaps of their household and spots her husband when he’s out in the barn training.
Laura knows what Natasha has never admitted to herself and won’t because Laura is in the picture, that Natasha is in love with Clint and has been almost from the moment he brought her home and she saw the kind of man he was with his family.
At night, Natasha tucks in the children and shoos Laura upstairs with her eyes—I’ve got this. I know you’re tired—and Laura goes upstairs where Clint has wearily stretched himself out on the bed, pretending that sleep will come easy. She holds him in her arms and murmurs love against him, stories of the children and the things he’s missed because that’s their tradition, her way of keeping him a part of everything.
She doesn’t want to ruin his partnership or be the jealous lover when she isn’t jealous at all. She loves Clint and understands what makes Natasha feel the same way. Natasha cannot help what she feels, but she has never done anything but strengthen their family in becoming part of it.
Natasha thinks it’s time for her to be going. Clint will be all right. He’s home now, and she can finally see the wary edges beginning to fall away when he holds Lila or teaches Cooper how to sand a two by four or kisses Laura gently in the mornings.
“I’m not on medical leave,” she reminds him quietly.
She expected the sigh, so isn’t surprised by it or the way he keeps his draw, his aim, then releases an arrow into the bullseye of the target.
He turns around at last and looks at her with all that stubborn openness and humanity that drew her to him in the first place. “We love you, you know. All of us.”
She waits in the space of her next breath, holding the warm feeling of it in her chest, then smiles briefly as she answers, “I’ll be back.”
Always? Clint’s eyes ask her.
She lets her own promise yes.