OOM - SeaWorld

[hasthehighground]

Clint didn't sleep great last night. Natasha was jetlagged, so she claimed the couch, and he woke up a couple times wondering if that's really why she did it. If Natasha's uncomfortable sharing a bed, that should be fine -- she's full capable of making her own decisions. But... he didn't mean her to think she wasn't welcome.

("Do you want to see me?" she'd asked, as if he might actually say no.)

It's stupid. He gets over it.

-

Clint doesn't concentrate that well at work, either. The coffee doesn't seem to be helping as much as it should be, and what they're currently doing isn't strategy-oriented, it's just... the standard stuff.

Clint likes the standard stuff (when it's not expense reports), but it's not exactly engaging.

The intra-office chat client on his computer blinks after lunch (he didn't really eat lunch).

"Clint," Beamon writes. "I can hear you stressing."

Clint looks down at his hands, which are completely still, and can see what she means. Metaphorically.

"Take the lady to the zoo or something. We have three meetings Monday, and I need you on the ball."

He acknowledges the message, and packs up his stuff.

-

Clint has a cigarette in the area just outside the doors before he leaves, because these days in San Diego he can basically only smoke here and on the roof of his apartment, and he's pretty sure the last one might be illegal.

After that, he buys a hot dog, and sits on a bench as he thinks about whether or not he should head back. Natasha might not want him there.

It's his house.

He goes back for his car.

Comments

[hasthehighground]

That draws a curious look, before Clint nods. He settles a hand on her back, just below her shoulder blades, and starts a light discussion about the sea lion show they saw earlier.

By the time they're back at his place, it's mutated into something about spaceships and an alliance with sapient dolphins. (Natasha read a book, apparently. Natasha reads a lot of books.)

"Yeah, but they couldn't even hold a light-sabre." Pause. "Except the sea lions, I guess, in their teeth -- but who'd make them?"

[redintheledger]

"They negotiate an additional alliance with the raccoons, based on the division of fishing rights and shiny bits of tinsel," Natasha says, serenely, as she slips off her sandals at the door.

She hangs up her hat, and makes her way over to the couch. Her normal spot happens to be the one furthest from the door anyway; it doesn't show any nerves.

Possibly, she's over-thinking this.

She's just...going to wait for him to join her. There's no point in stumbling over explanations when the man's just walked through the door. She can wait.

Wait, and absently rub the back of her wrists in one of the few nervous gestures she allows herself.

[hasthehighground]

Clint splits off to the kitchen, to get a glass of water. After a moment's thought, he fills one for her too.

He hands her hers before sitting down, turned slightly on the couch to face her more easily. He sets his free hand down on the couch, open; an invitation, but not a request.

[redintheledger]

"Thank you," she murmurs, accepting the glass of water. She sips it as he settles himself, and then puts it down on the coffee table to take his hand. Much like his hand on her back before, it's comforting.

"Before I start," Natasha says, "I just...The threat's over now. So you don't have to worry.

But, in Moscow, I...acquired a stalker. Not the 'we are destined to be together kind'. Um, but the 'I deeply admire you, so I'm going to test you, and then kill you and take over your life' kind."

[hasthehighground]

Clint brushes the pad of his thumb across the line of her hand.

"Sound logic."

[redintheledger]

Natasha snorts at his comment, but her mouth curves into a brief smile.

Brief, but there.

"Sure. I can completely see SHIELD respecting her wishes to be known as the Black Widow."

[hasthehighground]

Clint doesn't smile, exactly, but his eyes crease slightly at her response.

He squeezes her hand, gently. He's still listening.

[redintheledger]

Natasha squeezes back, and looks down at their hands.

"She said she followed me for a week. I can't confirm that, but she knew where I was staying. I had Evenstar crash my hotel room."

A brief glance up, another quick smile - this one sharper.

"I kicked their asses, but, I didn't know until then. She was working for a man who was after the same thing I was, but for her it wasn't professional. And I didn't-" know, didn't see her, I had no fucking idea...

"I'll be okay. But I'm not okay just yet."

Natasha glances up to catch his gaze, and her expression turns faintly apologetic. "So, when you came back earlier, that's why I was acting weird. I'm a bit jumpy."

[hasthehighground]

Clint breathes out.

"That makes sense," he says. His voice is calm; it's his habitual reaction to uncertainty. "It's contained?"

[redintheledger]

She rubs the base of her left thumb across the back of her right wrist, and half lifts a shoulder.

"The immediate danger? Yes. But if she had records somewhere, they haven't been found."

She's not too worried about that; not the first time someone's had records on her, nor will it be the last. Stalking aside, it's the price of having a reputation.

She's trying not to worry about it.

"If I'm told I need to worry about it, then I'll...let myself be rationally concerned," Natasha says, after a moment's pause.

[hasthehighground]

Clint's pretty sure Natasha wants a hug, but that's ...

Not something they do, hugging when there's actual emotional distress.

He can stop maintaining the distance he prefers when upset. He moves a bit, and presses lightly against her side.

[redintheledger]

She leans into him, tucking her head down a little to rest against his shoulder. For a moment, she just breathes; eyes closed, concentrating on relaxing what muscles she can.

"I, uh, went to Milliways yesterday," she says, shifting her head to look up at him.

"Got your keyring."

[hasthehighground]

"We crashed through a gift store. You like it?"

[redintheledger]

She grins at him. Partly, it's just due to too long spent nervous and stressed.

But mostly, well.

Dinosaur keyring.

"I am passably fond," she says with a certain degree of solemnity. "It's still in my wallet."

Clint looks pleased at that, in the way he gets when he's quietly yet genuinely happy at how things have turned out. Still smiling a little, she settles back against him, curling her fingers around his hand.

No matter what else is going on, they, at least, are okay again.