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Clint reached out and took her hand, stopping her from opening the door and leaving his quarters. “Natasha.”
His voice was soft and intense, and sent a shiver down her spine. There was something different in the air between them. Something new, something crackling with change and promise and heat.
She couldn’t tell who moved first, but the next thing she knew, she was pressed up against him, his arms tight around her waist and hers wrapped around his broad shoulders. Clint’s mouth was oh, so hot against hers; the kiss open and deep, passionate, but not quite frantic. It went on and on and on.
It was absolutely the most exquisite moment she’d ever experienced.
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Natasha sat at the water’s edge and let the gentle waves wash over her feet as she dug her toes into the wet sand. She’d replayed the scene from Clint’s quarters over and over in the last few days. And each time she berated herself for breaking away from him and … there was no other word for it … running.
The rush of confusion she’d felt after the initial overwhelming swell of rightness had made her doubt herself. Made her doubt the feelings that kiss had churned up in her chest.
That kiss. That exceptional, toe-curling, mind-blowing, pulse-racing, heat-inducing, singularly perfect kiss.
Natasha felt her cheeks flush again just thinking about it. And then dismay settled in her stomach. One perfect kiss and she’d run.
Well, to be fair, before the kiss there had been two weeks of radio silence, not knowing Clint’s whereabouts; followed by staggering relief as she heard his voice when he finally managed to check in; then she’d had the almost irresistible urge to touch him as he disembarked the quinjet; and later, the heat of his hand on hers when he stopped her from leaving his quarters; that one perfect kiss, and a flood of emotion she hadn’t been prepared to handle.
She’d been overwhelmed with the need to get away, to hole up somewhere and figure out just what the hell had happened. And what she wanted to happen next.
So, she’d left New York and hidden out in one of the last places Clint would think to look for her – his own beachfront cottage in the Keys. She’d almost made a clean getaway. After bolting from Clint’s quarters and hastily packing a bag, she’d run into Steve while she was commandeering one of SHIELD’s basic black SUVs. He’d asked if she was okay - he must have seen some trace of panic on her face. Since she hadn’t been able to completely lie to him, she told him she just needed to get away from the Christmas rush for a few days and that she was headed for a getaway in Florida.
The days of solitude and soul-searching had done her a world of good. She felt lighter than she had in years. For the first time in her life, Natasha felt she had something to look forward to, something to hope for. She had to believe that her knee-jerk reaction to run hadn’t ruined everything.
She planned to make her way back to New York in the morning and wanted to sit for just a little bit longer and enjoy the stillness. She tilted her head back and let the late afternoon December sun soak into her skin.
These last moments of peace and quiet were soothing, a balm to the ragged edges of her emotions over the last few weeks.
She took a deep breath and steeled herself for what she needed to do.
Surprisingly, it didn’t seem as terrifying as she’d first thought it would be.
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Calm waves lapped at the shore and erased her footprints as Natasha made her way back along the beach toward the rustic cottage. “Rustic” and “cottage” were overly kind words for the actual structure, but it was solid. And comforting. Much like its owner.
The thought of Clint didn’t bring the flash of panic that it had a few days ago. Instead, something warm and affectionate settled in her chest. She knew she had some damage to repair; could only imagine the hurt she’d caused him by leaving so quickly. And by ignoring the multiple texts he’d sent her.
As she rounded a bend in the shoreline, she noticed an odd glow about the cottage where it sat nestled in a grove of palm trees. Natasha had to blink a couple of times to make sure she wasn’t having some kind of holiday-induced hallucination.
But no, there were still hundreds of Christmas lights wrapped around the porch railing, outlining the roofline, and blinking in a couple of palm trees.
Those were still two huge inflatable snowmen in the sand at the foot of the porch steps. And that was still a giant plastic Santa on the roof.
She stood for a moment, stunned at the incongruous display, before pulling out her phone to snap a couple of photos. Clint probably hadn’t thought to take pictures of his handiwork.
Natasha typed out a quick text and tucked her phone back into her pocket. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.
Time to face the Christmas music.
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Steve was flipping through the channels on the TV and stopped on some random football game when the buzzing of his phone distracted him.
blabbermouth - N
you’re a dead man - N
He snorted. He’d feel more threatened if Natasha hadn’t followed that statement with half a dozen skull-and-crossbones emojis.
“What’s so funny?”
He looked up at Maria as she crossed the room and sat next to him on the couch, handing him a bowl of popcorn and a beer before popping the top on her own bottle. Settling against him, she covered them both with a blanket. She scowled at the game, grabbed the remote from him, and changed the channel to some show about Christmas lights.
“Hey,” he put up a token protest. “I was watching that.”
“I don’t care,” she replied and snuggled closer into him. “I love this show.”
Maria nudged him in the ribs with an elbow and mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn, “So, what was so funny?”
“Oh,” he said and showed her the text. “Natasha.”
Maria snorted at the message. “Barton must have made it to Florida.”
“How do you know where Natasha is? She told me nobody knew where she was going,” Steve asked, incredulous. He paused a moment while Maria just stared at him. “Nevermind. I don’t really want to know how you know these things.”
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The smell of baking sugar cookies fought with the scent of pine when Natasha opened the cottage door.
“Where the hell did you find a real Christmas tree in the Keys?” she blurted out, saying the first thing that came to mind when she saw the partially decorated tree in the corner.
“I brought it with me, of course,” Clint answered from the kitchen. She couldn’t resist the smile that threatened when she saw him wearing a red and white Santa hat and a “may the fork be with you” apron. ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ played on the radio next to the TV.
Their eyes locked and Natasha felt a quick flash of fear swell up in her chest before it settled into something warm and comfortable. After a long pause, she finally broke the silence. “Why did you come, Clint?”
“I wanted to spend Christmas with you,” he said, as if that was a perfectly obvious, reasonable answer.
“I was trying to get away for a bit,” she responded, leaving unsaid that she’d been trying to get away from him.
“Well,” he smirked, entirely too smug for her liking, “since it’s my house, you can always leave again if you want.”
An unusual seriousness crossed his features and she thought she saw a brief flicker of longing in his eyes before he continued, “Although, I’d really, really like it if you stayed.”
She played with the hem of her shirt and resisted the urge to squirm. The reckoning might be coming sooner than she expected, but she was still determined to see it through.
Natasha replied quietly, “I really, really want to stay. Since you’re here now.”
His smile in response to that was enough to light up the room. And warm up her insides.
She cleared her throat and tried to calm her racing heart. “How did you know where I was?”
“Steve told me.”
“I find that hard to believe,” she said. “I asked him not to tell anyone.”
“I tortured it out of him," he said, trying and failing to look innocent.
Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him.
“Okay, so it wasn't exactly torture, but I did beat it out of him.”
Both eyebrows raised at that.
"Fine. I beat him thumb wrestling. Winner got to choose their prize so I asked him if he knew where you were and you know he's a terrible liar. It was a hell of a lot easier than tracking you down.”
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thumb wrestling? really? - N
Barton cheats. - S
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Natasha sat at the little kitchen island and tried not to fidget with the chocolate candies that were laying next to a mixing bowl. Clint pushed a couple toward her and smiled. “You can lick the bowl when I get this batch in the oven.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and smiled back. The atmosphere wasn’t awkward or stilted. It almost felt like nothing had changed in their relationship and Natasha realized that Clint was offering her an out. He’d shown up so they could spend Christmas together like they usually did when they were both off-mission. He was even baking cookies for her like it was any other vacation.
“I’m sorry I ran.” She didn’t want the out; she wanted to grab onto what that perfect kiss promised with both hands and never let it go. “I just … I mean …”
Clint tugged off his apron and rounded the counter to stand next to her. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Tasha.”
She couldn’t help but reach out and take his hand. She laced their fingers together and smiled up at him again when he gripped her hand tightly. “I know I don’t. But I want you to know that I wish I hadn’t left. I wish I hadn’t been so …”
“Scared?” Clint asked and suddenly her voice left her, all she could do was nod. He reached out and ran a hand through her hair. He cupped the back of her head and pressed their foreheads together. “It kinda scared the shit out of me too.”
Natasha sighed and relaxed into him as she wrapped her arms around him. “I’m not scared anymore.”
They stood like that for several long, peaceful moments.
Clint pulled back and looked at her. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure of me, I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, waving her hands to indicate the two of them, “how to be in a relationship.“
She cupped his face in her hands and made sure to meet his gaze, “But I am completely sure of you.”
Natasha would deny it later, but she squealed a little bit when Clint swept her up in his arms and kissed the breath out of her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and laughed as he peppered her face with kisses while carrying her into the bedroom.
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need a favor. send package marked dostoevsky from my room. - N
What’s the address? - S
ask maria, i’m sure she knows ;) - N
Steve debated texting back and asking how she knew he was with Maria. Before he could formulate a reply though, his phone chimed again. Instead of a text, it was a picture of a dazzlingly lit up beach cottage, complete with snowmen and a gigantic lighted Santa on the roof.
His artist’s eye appreciated the excellent balance and color array Barton had managed, but after several episodes watching families battling it out over Christmas displays, Steve couldn’t help but feel it was lacking something.
Another text popped up.
you’re still a dead man - N
He opted not to reply suggesting lighted reindeer and a sleigh filled with presents.
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Hours later, the only light in the cottage came from the now fully decorated tree, the fake fireplace playing on the TV, and the blinking porch lights that could be seen through the windows.
Clint and Natasha sat curled together on the couch trading lazy kisses, empty eggnog glasses were left ignored on the coffee table next to a half-finished plate of cookies.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clint said and reached over to grab a small wrapped package from under the tree. He handed it to Natasha and she eagerly ripped it open, pausing at the sight of the delicate little arrow necklace.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. He took the necklace and tossed the box over the back of the couch. The arrow looked ridiculously fragile in his strong hands. She turned as he draped the necklace around her and shivered as he swept her hair away from her neck to clasp the chain for her.
She turned back to him and fiddled with the charm for a moment before kissing him lightly, “Thank you.”
He suddenly dipped his head and placed a scorching hot kiss over the arrow where it rested in the hollow of her throat. She couldn’t help but moan.
Clint raised his face to hers and his eyes sparkled with delight.
“Merry Christmas, Tasha.”
“Merry Christmas, Clint. I love you.”
His smile rivaled all the lights on the Christmas tree.
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you’re forgiven - N
“Love you too, Natasha,” Steve chuckled as he set his phone aside and wrapped his arm around a dozing Maria. He tucked the blanket a little tighter around them both and turned down the volume on the TV. He set the DVR to record the last half of the show and the rest of the marathon. He briefly thought about changing the channel and going back to the game once Maria was more deeply asleep. But he just had to find out who won this episode of “The Great Christmas Light Fight.”