Understanding
As the wedding date approaches, Natasha finds herself more and more confused. Clint is unfailingly kind to her, while James constantly challenges her. She has no idea what to make of it.
She has had several encounters with both men that have left her more than a little perplexed. If she didn't know any better, she would almost think they were trying to woo her.
Which was ridiculous. Obviously they want her to trust them, for them all to be on civil terms, and they are just working especially hard to make that happen.
But there have been certain instances where she just can't shake the feeling she is still missing something. Like they're on a different page than she is, maybe even reading a different story altogether.
Somehow, she knows there is something going on that she doesn't know about. Now, she doesn't expect to know everything between the two of them, given their history and established relationship. But whatever this particular thing is, it has to do with her. And it has been making itself increasingly obvious.
Like the day she and Clint finally spoke about his parents.
He had been going over his family tree with her, educating her on all the important names and various accomplishments she would need to know as his wife. It was dull stuff, as he had warned her it would be. He was honest like that; he seemed to be under no illusion that she would be interested in the many things that society demanded of an Earl and his wife, the Countess.
She had yawned, less to do with the boring lesson she was supposed to be paying attention to, more to do with the horrible sleep she had gotten the night before; all the little moments that had passed between them that she didn't understand were adding up to nights filled with tossing and turning and trying to riddle it all out. Last night, she finally had to mentally slap herself and tell herself firmly that she was just imagining things, that it was all in her head.
Clint laughed beside her. "I did warn you. Don't worry, it took me years to remember even the bare minimum. And even then, it was far less than my parents would ever be satisfied with."
And there had been that look. The same one she had seen on his face every single time his parents were mentioned.
It wasn't the same as the look Natasha herself wore when her parents got brought up in conversation: sadness that they were gone, frustration at the situation she had been forced into upon their deaths, a little bit of pride from being their daughter, being able to share some bit of them with people who could help her carry on their memory.
No, the look Clint wore never displayed any of those emotions. His was a look of bitterness. Of disappointment, with some strangely placed look of determination. None of which Natasha understood.
"You were an unsatisfactory student?" She found herself asking. She had been making an effort to get to know her future husband for the person he is, rather than the noble she has always seen as separate. The title he carries and the act he had put on for years doing exactly what it was meant to do: deter and distract.
"I was unsatisfactory in every aspect to them, I'm afraid." He smiled, trying to make light of the words, even though they were clearly painful to him. "Student just topped the list of their disappointments where I was concerned."
Nodding, she questioned, "You weren't close, I take it?" She had heard enough of it from James, but she felt it was important to hear his take on it all.
Taking in a deep breath as if he needed fortification for that particular conversation, his head dropped back as he looked up and leaned far back in his chair.
Were he any common person, Natasha would have called it slouching.
"We were as close as any family with a title being passed down to a reluctant child, I suppose." He considered for a second before letting out another small laugh. "Which is to say, no. By anyone else's standards, we were not close."
"You speak of them so rarely. But when you do, it always seems so…" Natasha remembers fishing for a word that would describe what she has heard him say about his family so far without being disrespectful to them herself. "So strained."
"Ah. Yes, it makes sense that you would pick up on that." He took a hand and scrubbed it over his face, stopping under his chin where he rested his head on it. "We had some fundamental differences; morals, perspective, policy. You name it, we argued over it."
There was more to it, something she could only tell when she looked in his eyes that he wasn't saying but Natasha had felt she was prying enough already. If there were ghosts he wished to keep to himself, she could hardly blame him.
He had given her a calculating look. She waited to follow his lead on how he wished to continue the conversation. If they were ever going to speak openly about his family, it seemed like while she was learning about his family history was the most likely time. And most appropriate.
"I had no desire to inherit the Earldom. It was always a point of contention between us. It should have gone to my brother, in all fairness. He was always much better suited to it than I am, even still." That brought a touch of sadness to his reminiscing that hadn't been there before.
Yes, she remembered the Barton brother. While Clint had been busy, supposedly 'whoring himself out,' an image Natasha now recognized had been purely for show (or at least who he was doing it with had been), his brother was the picture of what a nobleman's son should be. He had been killed in an accident a little while before their parents, maybe a year or so earlier if Natasha remembered correctly.
It was so long ago she had forgotten. A lifetime ago, given the loss of her parents, her transition to being a slave in the Barton household, and then the death of the Bartons as well.
"I'm sorry, I had completely forgotten you had a brother." She cringed internally, hearing the words from her mouth. That's the opposite of what someone who has lost a loved one wants to hear: that nobody else remembers that person ever lived to begin with.
Clint had taken it in stride, however, nodding. "Yes, it was a long time ago. And had much less of an impact on anyone than the death of my parents." He turns his head to face her, "And definitely less of an impact on you, of course, than the loss of your own parents."
Natasha had ducked her head to avoid his gaze. She couldn't look at him right then. She had expected him to gloss right over the loss of her parents, but there it was again, the catching her off guard, just like he and his lover have been doing for their entire engagement.
Her engagement.
With Clint. Not both of them. Just Clint, she repeats to herself, unsure where the sudden need to remind herself of that had come from.
"But, yes. I never wanted to inherit the title, nor did they want me to. And yet, as circumstance would have it, here I am. An Earl," a pause, then, "...forced to marry a mere slave."
Natasha had avoided returning his gaze, but at the mention of her position, her head snapped back up to look at him.
He never mentioned the word. Not once. And she had avoided saying it since the whole political debacle that had transpired recently.
What she saw when she looked at him was a man full of uncertainties, most of which seemed to relate to her.
Uncertain how to build a relationship between them. Uncertain how to speak with someone who so openly claimed to hate his guts. Uncertain how to join in the easy going relationship she had somehow developed with his lover, with James.
Uncertain how to be with the both of them without compromising his relationship with James or sacrificing the one she had started building with James, perhaps?
She could see where it would be a struggle for him. Because, honestly, how does one build a civil relationship with the person they are to marry, while maintaining a romantic and physical relationship with the man they actually want to be with?
Suddenly Natasha could see how this was all a balancing act for Clint. How will he level the scales between her and James without tipping them in one direction or the other?
"Forced to marry a mere slave."
There had been no judgement in his tone. No derisiveness on the word slave. If anything, she could almost imagine she heard a slight mocking behind the phrase 'mere slave,' as though he thought the concept behind it was ridiculous.
Much the way she herself felt about it.
Was it simply her projecting her own feelings onto his words? Her recent dedication to finding the man under the title making her read into things? Or… could it be that he truly felt similarly to her on the entire matter?
Her mind displayed several images for her almost simultaneously.
James comforting Clint over how he had helped the slaves under his ownership when she had unintentionally upset him regarding their treatment.
Her accomodations when she had first come to the manor as opposed to those she had just months ago, before being moved to a proper bedchamber.
The state the slaves had been in when she first arrived: dirty, underfed, and in chains, compared to now: healthy, only as dirty as their daily jobs left them, and with an amount of freedom she recalls as increasingly uninhibited.
Why had it seemed so suffocating to her?
And the final image, when he had admitted just moments before that he and his parents had disagreed on nearly every manner of things relating to the Earldom.
As her thoughts slowed, she realized he was still waiting for her response to his 'mere slave' comment.
Careful to keep her voice steady she had replied, "And I, to a mere Earl. Surely, I could have done better for myself."
She watched his face flicker through several emotions: confusion, shock, relief, and finally, the teasing way that she had only seen him get with James.
"Quite the pity I am holding you back so." He had grinned, gratefully accepting her olive branch.
"Quite. I had set my sights higher, you know. I could've at least been saddled with someone my type." She still refused to let her serious expression break.
"Is that so? And what, might I ask, is your type? Perhaps I can make it up to you. A wedding present of sorts." She had never seen such a smile on Clint's face.
Natasha thought on it for a moment, standing and wandering over to look out the window, spotting a familiar figure in the courtyard, before grinning slyly. "Tell me, where did you find him? There is certainly something to be said for the strong and steady type, even if they tend to be a bit sulky."
Clint had stood and approached, following her gaze, eyes catching on the figure. He stared at James through the window for some time, apparently in no rush to answer her.
"You know, I have known James since childhood. And he was always the kind that sulked when there was a pretty toy he couldn't have." There was that damn tone to his voice, the one that Natasha still hasn't figured out what it means.
"Oh? So I was right, he does tend to be a bit sulky."
"Only when he wants something."
"And what toy have you denied him now?" Natasha had asked, trying to rib him out of whatever mood she had unwittingly gotten him into.
His eyes were heated when he finally turned to meet hers.
"I have denied him nothing. He seems to be under the impression it's mine, when the truth of the matter is, I acquired it for him."
Natasha could feel the warmth from his body where he stood, leaned in close enough to look out the window with her.
"Although, I am beginning to fear he may need to learn to share. If he ever comes to his senses and realizes it's there for the taking."
Natasha had gotten the feeling they were talking about something more than a toy but she couldn't focus on that at the moment.
He was so very close to her, the way he leaned against the window sill, putting them on eye level. She could feel that he was holding his breath, which made her feel better because she had been too.
When his shoulder brushed hers, it was a surprise, but not an unwelcome one. She still isn't sure which one of them had moved enough to make contact, but neither pulled away.
They maintained eye contact for an uncertain amount of time. Neither seemed to notice pressing tighter against the other. For Natasha, being so close to another person was still so foreign, she had no idea why this would feel so comforting. Maybe just because she never felt it anymore.
She has no idea what would have happened if the door hadn't slammed open at that moment.
Well, maybe it only seemed like it had slammed because the quiet had been so intense, wrapped around them as it was.
And there in the doorway had stood James, watching them with a closed off expression.
Clint had straightened up slowly, not moving back from Natasha, but keeping his eyes on James the whole time.
"I take it your lesson went well." It wasn't a question. Either way, the words weren't directed at Natasha, nor was the ice in his voice.
Somehow, she had felt it like a blow to the gut anyway.