Truce
It was hours later when James found her.
She had made her way outside with one of those damned books she is supposed to be studying, flipping through the pages absently, while her mind turned over and over the information she had just learned.
She sees him approaching from the side, slow and silent but obvious, she thinks, in an effort not to catch her unawares. He's trying to allow her to come to terms with his presence before she is faced with it outright.
He tended to be considerate like that, she had learned in the past weeks.
Leaning against the tree she had seated herself under, he asks quietly, "May I join you?"
Not looking at him, still staring blindly at the book settled in her lap, she nods.
He sits, leaving barely any room between them, not quite touching, yet close enough she can feel heat radiating through their layers of clothing.
She wasn't as disturbed by it as she felt she should be. In fact, she finds it quite comforting.
She refuses to think about why that is.
He says nothing, seeming at peace with the silence between them while she 'continues reading.'
After a few minutes pass this way, she shuts her book. He watches her, she can feel his eyes tracing her face, but she doesn't look up. Not yet.
"I didn't know."
Those were the only words she could find to communicate what she had been thinking, what she had been feeling since their session had ended earlier. The confusion, the uncertainty, the guilt.
It was enough. James sighed. "His relationship with his parents was far from what they wanted it to be. Far from what he wanted it to be. They had some fundamental differences in opinion on things that mattered far more to his parents than they mattered to him."
"Like slaves."
Nodding, "Yes. Like slaves."
Taking a deep breath in, Natasha looks up from her hands, taking in her companion, before looking over the grassy hill in front of her.
"It was bad when I first came here. Nothing like what it is now." She rubs at her wrists, the gesture drawing James to look at the spot, staring at the faint markings. "He has helped a lot of people in impossible situations. You are right about that. Maybe if I had been brought in later, after his parents were already gone…"
She trails off, unwilling to say she was wrong in her judgement of Clint. She wasn't, at least not entirely. He is still the thing standing between herself and freedom. He is still the one controlling her very life.
But he has been much kinder about it than she realized before today.
She finishes her thought, settling on saying, "Maybe if it had happened later, things would have been different."
James nods along, understanding what a big step admitting that was for her. If what Clint had said was true, it was James that had brought her into this mess of a cover story they were concocting, so she shouldn't be surprised. He had understood enough about her as a person to suggest her for their ruse, after all. He obviously had a good handle on how she worked even before getting to know her. She should expect it by now.
It bothers her a bit that he seems to understand her so well. Bringing her to his lover, somehow knowing she would agree to help them, or at least not condemn them for what she learned. Between the two of them, they had easily figured out how to garner her cooperation in the whole thing, the key to securing her help: a way to escape, to be free.
It wouldn't have worked that way with just any slave. They weren't exactly promising her her freedom. She would forever be tied to Clint as his wife.
What they were offering her was escape, pure and simple. It would take time, but she would eventually be away from this place which only served to remind her of the things she couldn't have, of what she had lost.
While she is glad she hadn't had to polish her words even more than she did to be understood, she has the distinct feeling it leaves her vulnerable.
What bothers her more than that is the feeling of being safe even while feeling vulnerable. Where had that come from? And how had she not noticed the change while it was happening?
James speaks up. It startles Natasha because she had thought their discussion was over and no more words would pass between them. That was how most of their time together went, after all.
Instead, he launches into a story of his own. "I remember the feeling from when my parents died. You can't see much beyond your own loss." He smiles a sad little smile that Natasha finds she can relate to. "I was fortunate, of course. I had my sister. We weren't completely alone in the world."
Like you. The words pass unspoken between the two. They both acknowledged their existence, so, thankfully, neither felt the need to say it. It's a relief Natasha didn't know she needed.
"Clint and I were friends already, though it was at that point where his parents were becoming concerned that their son who was set to inherit the title was still entertaining himself with a common boy like me." He laughs, a memory taking hold in his mind that Natasha finds herself wishing she were privy to.
"They would've been pleased if he had allowed us to be turned out, regardless of the fact it would have left us homeless. My father started out as a servant to his father, before he was elevated to an advisor sans title. But all of that was before Barton was married and had inherited the title himself. 'Young and foolish' is what he would call it; he even said those words to Clint during one of their fights. But really, it was before he had been corrupted."
The look on his face turned sour as he watched more memories of that time long past. Finally bringing himself back to their conversation with what looked to be a great effort, he looked Natasha straight in the eyes. She could feel the change in tone, the depth of what he was trying to impress upon her.
Hearing his tense voice, she felt her chest tighten at the vulnerability he was showing her. It was new, a bit exciting, but overall heartbreaking to witness.
"He begged and pleaded with his parents to allow me and Rebecca to stay on. They would've sent us away without a second thought. But not Clint." He shook his head. "No. He would never dream of it."
"But that was the beginning of their strained relationship. No common-born person should mean so much to their son, born of noble blood." James looks at the ground, bitterness tingeing his voice. "They were harder on him after that. Pushed their ideals onto him like they could convert him. They never did, though. Only managed to turn him against them entirely."
He let that information sink in a moment. "Anyway, we were allowed to stay and I was given a position training to be a servant to Clint when he was older. My sister was set up as a true ward, because who can turn down a beautiful, young girl? They planned for her to be used as a bargaining chip in the future, to marry her off in order to 'gain connections.'" He scoffs at their logic.
"Where is she now?" Natasha asks without thinking. She knows well enough there is no Rebecca at the estate, no ward waiting to be pawned off as a form of political advancement.
"Gone. When she turned 16, she ran. I hear from her every so often. Clint has said she is welcome back at any time, but she has found a life where she is. She seems happy." James smiles. It's clear he misses her but he seems pleased for her nonetheless.
"Good." Natasha is glad his sister had managed to escape the life that had been chosen for her. She hadn't missed the pride on James' face as he told the story either.
When he looks at her, she sees much more than she thinks she was supposed to. There is tenderness there and she can't tell if it is leftover from talking about his sister or... something else.
Something she isn't prepared to acknowledge yet.
"We both owe our lives to Clint." He leans into her gently. "But he'd be the last person to agree."
They lapse into silence, both caught up in thoughts they are unwilling to share, but likely don't need to anyway. She reminds herself how well he knows her somehow and figures their shared silence makes it clear enough.
Natasha decides to learn more about the man she is to marry. It has recently occurred to her that she knows very little.