SHOTGUN | CLINT BARTON (REWRITING)

CHAPTER NINE

— chapter nine

A FRAGMENT OF the overwhelming heartache had been relieved, giving her the chance to actually breathe.

For years, the crushing guilt and self-blame had been wrapping itself around her bones, leaving her with an all around ache that never shifted. It always hurt. Now, it felt as though the aching had been dulled into a distant throbbing, one that made itself scarce during their conversations. There was room for more to be said, just as there always would be, but at least now she could say that the hurt had been soothed. Rosa felt confident in saying that the two held a mutual understanding of what they wanted, even if it was small. Clint felt the same.

After their talk, and the promise of continuing it when they weren't facing a bastard of a God, there was a chance that they could restore their friendship, just as the both of them had wanted. (Even if, deep down, they wanted more). More than anything, they wanted to be in each other's lives again and Rosa was more than willing for that to be awkward for a while until they could face their issues.

A small knock sounded throughout the room, startling Rosa from her thoughts. It was a cautionary warning she was sure because thirty seconds later, Natasha poked her head in, and it was rare she ever knocked with either of them.

Natasha frowned as she looked about the room. Rosa was sitting on the bed, arms loosely wrapped around her, and Clint was no where to be seen. The frown faded when she heard the sound of running water, she assumed it was him trying to wash away that lingering manipulation that still faintly encompassed him.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Natasha sat next to Rosa, eager to hear what had happened and what had been said. Ask anyone and they would tell you that Natasha had always been invested in their relationship, she'd been the first to place a bet on them getting together in the first place and she'd constantly encouraged it. She'd be the first to admit it too.

"I have more to say," Rosa muttered, all those words she'd been planning to say for years and she hadn't even dented the store of them when they'd spoken. "So does he, mind you."

Despite the looming reminder of unspoken words, Rosa was glad that she had finally said that one sentence. "I want my best friend back." It was a great relief, to say the least, that the words had finally fallen off her tongue and tumbled out into the open. It was something that she'd repeated to Natasha over and over again whenever she fell into that pit for self-pity and despair. It was something she'd always regretted losing.

"I think we always will."

Natasha sighed, part relieved that it hadn't ended with the two of them at each other's throats like that first time just after the divorce, and part disappointed that the unrealistic idea of them confessing their love again didn't come true. "Well," she started, "as long as you have both realised that you can still be friends, then it'll be okay."