“If i die, im haunting you first”
Clint Barton is hungover, spectacularly so, but he is not at the point of death, when he is Natasha muses, he’s usually a lot less dramatic
“If you die I’m claiming your life insurance then calling ghostbusters”
“I’ll just tell the life insurance people you killed me”
“Then you’ll haunt them first”
“No, I’ll just schedule an email to be sent upon my death or something”.
“An email?” Natasha questions amused, before offering Clint a sip of her morning latte. The obvious catalyst for his current melodrama.
Clint nods accepting the cup gratefully.
“And what if I die with you?” Natasha probes.
“I’ll just have to haunt your grave” Clint concedes laying his head back down into Natasha’s lap ignoring her huff of displeasure.
“Then people will just think I’m the ghost”
“I’ll write that it’s me”
“How will you write it’s you ghosts can’t pick things up”
“They do in ghostbusters”
“No, they don’t?!”
“Look I’m the ghost I make the rules”
“Your not a ghost yet”
“But I’m clearly dying”
“Dive bar Absinthe will not kill you. Turn you into some overly affectionate land goldfish maybe, but it won’t kill you”
“Don’t wanna be a land goldfish, wanna be a ghost” Clint croaks spreading his limbs out in such a way that makes Natasha glad he’d pestered Fury into getting the larger mattress.
“Do you even remember last night?”
“I remember the pizza” Clint supplies helpfully, eyes slowly closing as Natasha cards her fingers through his hair. It’s getting long and she hopes the sensation doesn’t remind him to cut it.
“Do you remember what you said last night?” She says softly
He pulls away from her touch suddenly awake “No, was it important?”
It was largely unremarkable Natasha recalls. Just his usual drunk spiel - pizza, dogs, complaints about the price of alcohol. That was until she’d gotten him to bed to let him sleep it off. Before he’d become petulant requesting she stay the night.
“I love you” he’d said when his demands were denied. He’d been serious, eyes glazed but honest. The blue like running water pouring his soul out to her “That can’t be a surprise, Tasha. I love you”
It wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t. It had always been there. Her base to explain him - but that didn’t make it real. Not like those words did, painting them into suffocating reality.
She sighs. Tonight is not the night for falling in love with Clint Barton. He’s drunk and she’s, well she must be in Egypt cause she’s drowning in denial. Still, she’d slid into the bed beside him.
“Your drunk” Natasha mutters as if those few magic words could translate text back to subtext. If they could excuse her staying, making her bed in this mess with him.
“And You’re still here” He whispers pointedly, wrapping an arm around her waist. Their back to innuendo and whispers, maybe he’s sobering up.
“Checkmate” She breathes.
“Checkmate” He agrees turning away to turn off his bedside light.
“Clint-” she starts.
“It’s ok. I know- you don’t need to say it. I hear it in all the other ways you speak”
He hadn’t said anything about it after that.
And in the cold sober daylight, he hadn’t mentioned it either. Natasha looks at him for a moment longer and smiles.
“Nothing I didn’t already know”
“Good. Drunk Clint Barton ain’t no snitch” he mutters settling back, content.
“Drunk Clint Barton ain’t no snitch” Natasha agrees.