Chapter Text
1. Spit it into her voicemail, a little slurred and sounding like the shot whiskey you downed for courage. Feel as ashamed as you do walking into work in last night’s clothes. Wake up cringing for days, waiting for her to mention it.
It takes shot after shot of vodka, leaving the bottle just about empty, for her to take the risk. Shot glass knocked over, she holds the bottle in one hand and her phone in the other. His name is easy to find when he is her most recent call. As ring after ring pass, she can only get to his voicemail, but that is enough. He’s on a mission with only minutes to spare each day. She can’t say it to his face and hearing his response almost instantly makes her heart race so loud and so fast she can’t hear a thing, so the best way is by voicemail. There’s fire in her voice, a slur licking at the edges, as she says, “Clint, you dumbass, it’s ‘Tasha. I have to tell you - I love you! I’ve loved you for a while, you idiot! Couldn’t you tell? Come back to me. I’ll say it again n’ again.” She hangs up and finishes the bottle, letting the liquid courage burn down her throat. When she’s done, she stumbles to the couch, passing out as her head practically hits the cushion.
The next day she’s rewarded with a hangover and embarrassment. That embarrassment turns to shame as she spends each day avoiding his calls and burying herself in work. It’s only when he shows up a week later at her door, a bandage over his cheek and arm, that she can finally face him. Before she can even talk, his arms wrap around her in a tight embrace. Neither of them say a word. They laugh and cry and lose themselves in kisses and touches. Neither of them remember the fear that once consumed them. They only feel the warmth of relief and that’s enough.