Revelations
Over the next month, Natasha continues learning how to fulfill her duties as 'My Lady,' the Countess. There isn't too much she doesn't know simply from working in the household.
What she doesn't know, Clint continues to educate her on. He is always kind to her, but with a distant politeness that bothers her for some reason.
She is supposed to be his wife. Even if it's only in name. Can't he treat her differently from how he treats everyone else?
There are some exceptions, of course. He teases with James in front of her, seemingly without fear of repercussions. He is not shy about sharing personal space with her anymore. Casual touches are more than just a rarity at this point. From both of the men.
She has sat shoulder to shoulder with James countless times. Clint has held her hand, always in socially acceptable ways, of course. He has wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leaning in close to point out something or other on a page of the books she is constantly flipping through.
The touches don't carry the same weight they once did. No longer does she dread that physical closeness. Instead, she finds herself relishes the fact they have found such an ease between the three of them.
All that, yet she still feels some form of disconnect with her fiance. The personal bits he has shared with her, she can count on a single hand, with fingers to spare.
The first time she experienced him open and vulnerable had also been the only time. Not that it was any fault of his. She had unintentionally insulted him, her words reflecting just how little she knew of him. She didn't blame him for politely refusing to open up after that.
It had started from an assumption that his approach to certain things, including his views on slavery, had been passed down and adopted from his family. She was pleased to find she was wrong, but couldn't be more ashamed of how it had played out.
He had been hedging on the word 'slave' in a conversation about her duties concerning directing the servants on household matters, both the paid servants as well as 'her former peers.' She had noticed that was a recurring theme with him. The word seemed almost distasteful in his mouth.
She took offense to it. Because how else could that have been meant, other than he was disgusted by the slaves in general?
And so she had spoken up.
"Slaves." Natasha had asserted the word, significantly less timid now that they had gotten to a point she didn't need to fear being clapped in irons again and thrown in a holding cell. "The word you are avoiding is 'slaves.' That was my previous position. Please, do not try to belittle what they go through, what I went through."
She watched as the man in front of her flinched. A curious reaction for someone who kept as many slaves as the Bartons always had.
"What? You don't like being reminded of our existence? Or is it the idea that you're set to marry one? You did know I was a slave when you came to me with your proposal. In fact, you bartered my freedom for the marriage to happen." She should stop, she knows. This is nothing like their usual light ribbing, the almost friendly barbs they had begun trading in recent weeks. She tried to lighten up some. "Are you wishing you could send me back to the slave quarters? Regretting having me here, realizing your parents had the right idea to keep the slaves so isolated they've never even seen this area of the manor? Keeping your parents proud, I'm sure."
So much for trying to lighten things up, she thinks, cringing internally.
Why did these things keep going wrong between them? It's almost like she wants to ruin things, although she knows she doesn't. She isn't sure what comes over her in these moments.
Clint had frozen, her words triggering something in him that she'd never seen before. James reached out a hand to lay on Clint's shoulder, thumb digging firmly into the muscle there in a gesture of grounding comfort.
Suddenly, Natasha felt like she had made a mistake. It's something she didn't feel often, so she was unaccustomed to it. At least that's what she told herself was the reason behind the uneasy feeling in her gut.
She looked away when she saw James lean into Clint, mouth right at his ear, forehead pressed to Clint's temple to whisper to him.
She tried not to hear, she really did. But the words skipped over her brain and landed straight like a knife to her heart.
"You've done all you can to give them better lives. You are not your parents, Clint. You take people in from impossible situations and show them mercy." He pressed his lips to Clint's jaw in a soft kiss, laying his other hand on Clint's other cheek to hold him close. "Your parents would hate what you have done, you know that. Actually helping people?" His voice was passionate, begging to be heard, believed, to reassure. "Yes, they are slaves in the most basic meaning of the word, but there's not a slave alive that is treated better than the ones under your protection."
Clint drew in a shuddering breath, eyes clearing a bit from where they were focused on something far in the past. Everyone had known Clint and his parents were regularly at odds, but never anything that would cause this reaction.
It made Natasha think. Really think, for once, about all that had happened, all that had changed, since becoming a slave. It happened so long ago, and she was so young and still grieving the loss of her family.
The chains were always the first thing she remembered. She had been brought in and thrown in a cell. When she stopped putting up such a fight, when they felt she was broken in enough, she was allowed to transition into the slave quarters. They had been packed, with little room to fit in even a young girl like Natasha. Had she been grown, she wasn't sure they would've managed it.
She was still forced to wear the shackles. They were only chained together at night, when the chance of running was the highest. As long as she was out and working, they remained harmless metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles. Simple reminders of what her life had become.
She was given little food, and barely enough water to remain useful. Clothing was given only when absolutely necessary. She was in need of bigger clothes, outgrowing what she came to the Barton household wearing with the speed of a child fast approaching adolescence.
It was around the time she was coming to terms with her new life that things got easier. The amount of food she was given increased; water too. She was given new clothes that fit again; nothing especially nice, but serviceable, much less restrictive than the ones she had outgrown.
There were suddenly fewer slaves occupying the slave quarters, and the number continued to decrease. Her punishments for acting up were less severe and farther between. While she was lucky and had never been whipped like so many others, she was no longer thrown in a cell and denied food for her behavior.
Now the worst she received was extra hours chained in her bed, and even that had tapered out with time. But suddenly there were books she could read, things for her to entertain herself with, little toys and materials to play and tinker with. She still owned next to nothing but she wasn't denied necessities or things to learn from anymore.
It had all happened in the months following the deaths of the Clint's parents, she recalls with a sense of guilt.
She had always attributed the upturn in her life to acclimating to her new situation, her own better behavior, and coming out of the haze of mourning brought on by so many drastic changes all at once.
Eventually it had even gotten to a point where the chaining had stopped and the shackles had come off altogether. It had been years since she was forced to wear either.
And now that she's thinking about it, it had been just as long since she had seen anyone else in them as well.
Did she have Clint to thank for these changes? When all she had been doing was blaming him for taking her freedom all these years?
Silently, she had excused herself. She felt their eyes on her as she retreated out the door, but neither said a word to stop her.
Good. She had some thinking to do and the sadness and guilt she felt watching the two lovers was not going to allow her the peace she needed to do so.