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It was like living in a nightmare that she couldn’t wake up from.
Watching Clint struggle for breath, his fingers trying to pull at the hands on his neck while Natasha’s hands only tightened around his throat, choking the life out of an enemy that wasn’t actually there.
“N-Nat…”
The sound of her nickname on his choked breath slowly brought her world into focus. This wasn’t Red Room; this wasn’t the enemy. She was home, in bed, choking the life out of Clint.
Clint.
She pulled her hands from his throat like she’d been burned and scrambled to the other edge of the bed, staring at him in horror while he coughed and sputtered, sucking in precious air with each gasp.
It happened sometimes; she’d have a nightmare, a memory, and in her attempts to lash out at a target or to relive a moment of her life with Red Room, she’d end up unconsciously taking it out on Clint, catching him off guard while he was asleep.
He would never fight back. Even at the beginning when these incidents could have been labeled as ‘malicious intent’ or even an ‘attack’, Clint would never fight her. He would lay there with her hands around his throat or a knife positioned over his heart and stare up at her calmly.
Usually he’d say her name and she came back, realizing what she’d done and end up sleeping on the couch for the remainder of the night.
Sometimes it took longer for her to come back; it took Clint risking his life, telling her that she was safe, she was home, she wasn’t who she used to be anymore.
On those nights, Clint usually had to go to medical.
Natasha wouldn’t sleep again for days.
When Clint finally regained his breath, he sat up, rubbing lightly at his throat to ease the aching with one hand while the other was reaching out to her in a placating way, like she was a frightened animal.
“Nat, it’s okay–”
“Stop it. Just stop it. It is not okay.” Natasha snapped, burying her face into her hands. “How is any of this okay?”
“It isn’t your fault.” Clint protested.
When she lifted her head from her hands to look at him, she saw the skin of his neck already darkening and she felt sick to her stomach.
“Do you have any idea how this makes me feel? Waking up with my hands around your neck? This happens so often–”
“Not true. This happens maybe once every other month.”
“Stop defending me.” Natasha said firmly. “Are you kidding? Once every other month, I try to kill you.”
“Hey, it used to be every other week! This is an improvement!” Clint exclaimed.
“This isn’t a joke, Clint!”
“And it isn’t you–”
“Of course it’s me! It’s always been me!” She exclaimed suddenly. “I’m not a good person, Clint, and no amount of denial will ever change the things that I’ve done!”
Clint sat there for some time, staring at her with something in his eyes that she started to mistake for pity, but then he shrugged his shoulders simply and the look was gone.
“No. It won’t. You’re right.” He said and the brutal honesty in his voice was like a knife to the stomach.
Even Clint didn’t believe in her anymore.
Clint reached across the bed, putting his hand on her shoulder, causing her to startle in surprise.
“But the past is the past, Nat. It doesn’t define who we are now.”
Natasha stared at him; she stared at his face, taking in his smile, his touch, his expression. She saw no fear, no pity, she only saw Clint and his honesty.
She looked away, her hands were still shaking. She couldn’t look at them without seeing Clint underneath them.
“I should go…”
“Stay.” Clint said gently. “I trust you.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“For trusting you?”
“I don’t even trust myself. I’m a time bomb.” Natasha said with a frown.
“You’re not. Lay down. Let’s go back to sleep.”
She lays down. She isn’t sure why she does; she isn’t sure why she pressed herself into his arms and wraps her arms around his middle, holding him as he was holding her.
“I could kill you.”
“I know.”
“Your throat will be sore for a few days.”
“I know that too.”
“I wish you’d fight back. Protect yourself from me.”
“I don’t need to protect myself from you.”
“I’m sorry…” Her voice is a whisper and he holds her a bit tighter, kissing the top of her head.
“I know. It’s alright.”
It wasn’t alright, but she didn’t argue.
She just wanted to protect him; how could she protect him from herself?
“We’re getting you checked out at medical tomorrow. Whether you like it or not.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She paused, closing her eyes and listening to the thump-thump of his heart under her ear.
“Clint?”
“Yeah, Nat?”
I love you.
“Good night.”
His chest rumbled with a low chuckle and she pressed her face more into his chest.
“Sweet dreams.”