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Nat had known Clint long enough to know that she deserved to steal some of his stuff.
Well, steal was an overstatement. More like take without permission without any intentions of giving it back, she should say. Regardless, Clint was her best friend, he could spare her his cool punk rock leather jacket. And, if he really liked it, it wasn’t like he wouldn’t see it again.
She smiled slyly as she grabbed it off of the bed post it was splayed across. Clint’s jacket looked good on him, sure, but Nat knew that it would look much better on her.
And Clint’s face would be priceless when he realized just what she was wearing.
Nat sat on the stairs and pulled the jacket tighter around herself, making her body as small as possible. She didn’t want to be there; she didn’t really want to be anywhere. Everything just felt a bit empty, distant.
Like maybe she really was alone.
That was how Clint found her, her head in her hands and her shoulders hunched forward.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asked, sitting down right next to her. Nat just shook her head, though, not willing herself to speak. She sniffed slightly and let herself lean into Clint, just a bit. He was her best friend, after all. “Hey, it’s okay. Just cry it out if you need to.”
Easy advice. For anyone other than her.
“I can’t cry,” she croaked out, her voice sad and raspy. The Widows had been trained not to cry, not unless it was necessary for a mission, and her body did well to remember that.
That didn’t stop her from trembling, though, her body shaking against Clint’s in waterless tears.
“My letter to Yelena was returned,” she told him after a moment. “She doesn’t want to hear from me.”
“Hey, I’m sure that’s not it,” Clint told her. “Someone else might have received it, you don’t know. C’mon, I’ll help you find her.”
Nat nodded and stood up, straightening out her jacket as she did so. Clint was right, of course. There were probably plenty of times that a Widow hadn’t been able to receive mail addressed to them, no matter what process Nat went through to send it in the first place.
“Right. You’re right.”
“Of course I— is that my jacket?!” Clint interrupted himself.
Nat grinned; she knew his reaction would be priceless.