#ciernavdova

    “If you drink the entire bottle without sharing, I’m disowning you.”

       “I might be biased, but so what? I know you more than anyone, shouldn’t that count too? Is that not an important factor to know what you deserve?” Clint sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He hated to argue with Natasha, but sometimes she needed to really understand things. “You’re good, Nat. You have a good hear and I’ve seen that with my own eyes countless times. You have to stop blaming yourself for the mistakes of your past. You’ve done enough to fix them, you’ve taken down the Red Room, you have saved the world... And I have tried to give you a life you deserve... I have tried to give you happiness. Are you not happy with it?”

         She clung to it for too long, as if it could somehow bring him back. So easily he’d thought of her when he saw it. But, as the other woman had pointed out - it wasn’t hers. The jacket is offered back to Natasha, lips pursed. “I figured you would want this back.” 

“Natalia, are you ready?” he called out, not knowing if she was in their master bathroom or in the walk in closet. He looked down at Max, letting the little boy have his finger. “What do you think, bud? Is mommy taking too long to get ready?” He smiled as Max gurgled, though probably not in response to Angel’s questions. Angel chuckled.

   “Well at least you didn’t find me dying in an alleyway this time, Miss Romanoff... How can I help?”

“No Of course not I mean what kind of man would watch those...” Clint fucking Barton that’s who would watch those kinds of movies. Both of them knew very well that fact. “It’s just a straight fact more people get together when they think it’s the end...”

“ o, lookit! now she needs help            ” if he dripped any more blatant sarcasm, someone might just slip on it. the bruised shoulder looked nasty, popped smaller vessels already turning the skin a nice shade of PURPLE, and Clint bit his tongue, swallowing any inappropriate commentary on matching team colors. the responsible thing would have been to shoo her back on the bed and SIT on her until a doctor got here. neither of them, however, were ever known to be particularly responsible. Clint glimpsed over his shoulder, shuffling and muttering on the corridor outside promising that nobody would get to her any time soon. “ you wanna leave that HANGIN’, or rather want me to pop it back in real quick? ” didn’t hurt to ask. not as much as a dislocated shoulder at least.

@ciernavdova, ⚡