Clint x Natasha FanFic's

Deprivaton By TashaBlackWidow

Deprivation

TashaBlackWidow

Summary:

Natasha and Clint's first mission comes back to haunt them in the worst way possible, leaving Clint desperate to help his partner who refuses to sleep.

Work Text:

All of them are used to little sleep. They're used to the deprivation of rest when the occassion called for it. It didn't mean that they had to like it, but they're used to it. It means that they can appreciate it more when they manage to get a ten minute nap while strapped to their seat on the way home from a mission, and how it feels to curl into one of the Rec Room armchairs after a long training session. Sometimes sleep comes easy, so easily that they'll have to hide the bruise on their elbow from where they only just caught themselves at the last minute from falling to the ground. Sometimes sleep evades them, usually hidden behind the sights that have burned themselves onto the inside of their eyelids. Tonight, Clint Barton finds that sleep claims him easily, but not for long. The assignment had been particularly hard on them all this time and he had a feeling that this is what bought him away from his bed in the middle of the night and towards wandering the halls instead.

He turned down a corridor, and realising where he was he understood that there had been no aimlessness to his walk, that he had been walking with a purpose to this spot. The door was ajar, but that didn't surprise him; he knew that her door would be left open tonight for a number of reasons, but he didn't expect to see an empty bed when he leaned to look through the gap it created. He'd expected just a small enough gap so that he could look in and reassure himself enough to go back to sleep, but she wasn't in the room at all. He pushed the door open a little more and revealed nothing but an empty room. Frowing, he turned to the training room as his next location, but she wasn't there either.

Where was she?

He went back to wandering the halls, only this time he wasn't chasing sleep, he was chasing her. Slowly, mind. She would be as tense as he was, worse even. Knowing your partner inside and out, especially how their mind works, was extremely beneficial in times like this. Today had been an awful experience for them both, not that the rest of the team had realised. There had been a frantic moment of trying to get to one another, followed by a relieved embrace - partners glad one another was alive, relief, nothing more, that's what the others had seen. That hadn't been what Clint had felt. Sure, he was relieved when he'd pulled her tight into his arms so quickly that afternoon, but it had been more than that. It was the knowledge that she had been hurting and an urge to make it better - an urge that he couldn't fulfill - that had overwhelmed him as he held her against him.

He found her a little later in the kitchen area, standing to one side with a half-filled glass of water before her. Her hands were gripping the worktop for dear life and her head was bowed before her. He wanted to rush to her but didn't want to startle her. She'd probably throw a knife at his head in this mood and location. "Tasha," he said softly instead, remaining in the doorway. "Why are you up?"

"Thirsty," she mumbled back, sounding far too distracted for his liking.

He frowned at her short answer and stepped up to her side quickly. "Can't sleep?"

"Yeah," she said with a false and quiet brightness. "I just needed a glass of water."

"You could have gotten one from your room," he called her out. She said nothing in retaliation, so he moved one hand up and used it to turn her face towards him slighty. She didn't even fight him to hide her face, so when her eyes briefly met his he saw the dark circles around her hollow eyes. He let out a choked sigh. "Tasha..."

"I'm fine," she assured him quickly.

"You're not fine," he shot back. His hand remained on her chin. "You haven't slept at all."