Title: Dancing Through Life
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Avengers, early comics-based
Character/Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Rating: PG-13/T
Challenge: #121: Dancing
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,100
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Marvel Comics and Disney, not the author, and are used without permission.



She used to love to dance. It didn't matter with whom she was dancing, rather it was one person or an entire troop. Dancing was how she found herself, and lost herself again whenever she chose. It was as natural to her as breathing.

Dancing was how she found her husband, but then when she lost him, she lost most of herself as well. The dance no longer called to her. Only survival and avenging his death mattered. She forgot how to dance. She forgot how to live. She existed from one night to the next, adopting a new identity and with it, a new name. She was no longer the beautiful, elegant Natasha. She was the Black Widow, and her husband was dead because of the cursed bite that lingered in her life.

She learned another dance while still in her homeland. She learned to serve her country, because they claimed they could help her avenge her husband's death. She learned to dance on the arms of wealthy, influential men and warm them close enough to her that she could kill them easily. She learned to dance in their deaths, slipping in and out of their lives with all the quiet deadliness of a shadowed plague.

She never enjoyed those dances. She told herself they were necessary. She told herself each life she took brought her closer to avenging her husband's death. And then, eventually, she learned the truth. Her husband was never killed. He never loved her as strongly as she'd once believed, and she, in fact, had never been a ballerina.

She was lost again, but this time, she wasn't alone. Slowly, she learned to dance once more, and to trust, and to live again. Slowly, she came to understand just exactly how much she wasn't alone. Clint, who had saved her life instead of taking it when he'd been ordered to do so, was not her only friend, but he was her closest and much more.

She's come to love dancing again, and once more, it doesn't matter where or when the dance occurs. She can be on a ballroom or on a stage under a presumed alias. She can be by herself or in a crowd of people or with just one person with the lights turned down low. She doesn't even have to wear a dress; in fact, there's a different attire she now much prefers.

Her life has never been typical, and her dances aren't either. She'd much rather be dancing between bullets and to the sounds of battle than swirling around to notes of music. She'd much rather hold to one hand than any other.

She closes her eyes now and leans out over the building where she's already spent a couple of hours and knows she's still got several more to linger. She leans her face into the cool, night wind where it's rising and listens to the music of the night in this land that is no longer foreign to her. Horns honk, and people yell. Glass smashes, and sirens blare through the night on another mission different from theirs.

"Nat?" She doesn't respond at first as she hears her name called. This is the anniversary of the night her life changed. She remembers the girl she thought was, but she is an altogether different woman now. She lingers in those memories for a moment longer.

"Nat?" The voice sounds pressed now, and she supposes she should open her eyes and grant him her attention. Something might have changed. It is possible, although doubtful, that their enemy might have moved without her sensing them. He may need her.

"Nat?"

At last, her eyes open, and she looks to him, the one man in all the world who she trusts as much as she'd once believed she trusted her husband. He smiles at her, and despite their uniforms and the mission to which their attention is supposed to be trained, she understands instantly. His mask is still on, but his crossbow lays on the roof several yards away from them. The man before her isn't her partner Hawkeye. He's Clint, the same man who rescued her so many years ago, the same man who she trusts and loves now with all her heart even if she dares not ever tell him, and he's holding out his hand to her.

She smiles, knowing he remembers and this is his way of acknowledging their past and cheering her. This is his way of telling her he's not going to lie to her again and he'll never willingly leave her unless she orders him to go. Even then, she knows she'd have to fight hard to get him to leave her, and he'd never go far. She knows this man perhaps even better than she knows herself.

He smiles at her his warmest and brightest grin, and she feels the familiar catch of her breath when he looks at her like that. Usually, she'd tease him, perhaps toss a few, harmless flirtations his way, but tonight, she smiles in earnest. Tonight, she takes his hand, and she lets him lead her across the rooftop. She lets him lead her in their dance.

She leans into his embrace; he wraps his arms more tightly, but still gently, around her waist. The music of another night in the city disappears as she listens to the ballad of their two hearts beating together. She lays her head on his shoulder, trusting him more than she'd once thought she would ever trust another being. She excels in his arms, lives in their dance together, and loves again and truly for the first time if only secretly, and just as much of a secret, if her lips brush softly against the side of his neck as they dance, both pretend not to notice.

He doesn't call her on her emotions. He doesn't speak his own aloud. The kisses that pass between them in this quiet dance will never again be mentioned, nor will that night some months ago on another of their anniversaries. He turns her in their dance, keeping his arms safely and lovingly around her, and she knows. She knows she's safe with and loved by him. She knows she can trust him forever, love him forever more, and he'll never ask more of her than she's willing and able to give. He'll never ask more from her, but he'll always be there beside her, leading her when she lets him, being led by her when she doesn't, and always, always continuing their special, private dance through life.

The End