A/N: Three sentences fics written for the random songlist meme where you pick a pairing, put your music on shuffle, and write.
Songs: Elastic Heart by Sia, How You Learn to Live Alone by Jonathan Jackson, Can't Get It Right by Sam Palladio, Eavesdrop by The Civil Wars, Home by Ingrid Michaelson
you won't see me fall apart ('cause I've got an elastic heart)
Natasha stood over Clint as he rasped her name, her eyes drawing together slightly in a frown of consideration rather than concern. Through every time she had held him wounded or bloody in her arms, every time he had known the tenderness or pain of her touch as she rescued him, fought for him, held his skin together so he wouldn't bleed out, he had never seen the tenderness reach her eyes.
He saw her draw back her fist to knock the rest of Loki out of his head and knew that this was the Tasha who would be whole and strong for him: she would wait until she was alone to fall apart into pieces.
it don't feel right but it's not wrong (it's just hard to start again this far along)
Clint fell into a deep sleep before his back had barely hit the bed, and he woke in a depth of silence that brought something choking up in his throat. His fingers gripped something sharp and solid under the pillow as he noticed every hint of shadow, every gleam of morning light in his apartment that had never registered before—the sights and shapes of home, the weight dipping down the mattress beside him…
He had the knife up before he had time to register the familiar warm scent, scrubbed of perfume, the trail of red curls, the familiar green eyes over the familiar touch of Natasha's hand gently taking the weapon, and he let her because it was Natasha, because he trusted her, because he didn't need to hear her voice and she didn't need to speak for that trust to pass between them.
counting up the lines on the highway (like I'm counting my regrets)
Hotels passed in blurs like the yellow lines of roads passing beneath the wheels of Clint's car. Arrows blurred into targets, silences passed where brotherly banter used to fill the air, and he crashed into strange streets in strange bed after strange bed.
"I killed my brother," Natasha told him once, voice soft and dark with the admission, another red name bleeding into her ledger, and he'd laughed so darkly and bitterly because she always thought he was somehow better than she was until he'd looked into her surprised eyes and told her, "I did too."
I don't want to talk right now (I just want your arms wrapped around)
Love is for children.
Clint's eyes were dark and wounded, but his voice soft and understanding, but he didn't understand, he didn't, so Natasha tightened her hand around his, begging him with her eyes to stay and not walk away.
She had no words to bridge the gap between the fundamental difference in how they viewed the world, but she held on until he gently tugged her into his arms and she could finally breathe again.
I've always known (with you I am home)
Natasha stayed with him through the recovery in the hospital with none of her usual restlessness at being immersed in the medical wing of SHIELD, and Clint wasn't entirely certain he understood it, but he was grateful as he watched her sleep with the ease of her capability of doing whatever must be done and listen to the doctor carefully for aftercare instructions. They were partners and nothing felt quite right anymore if they were separated.
"Finally, we can go home," Clint said at the end with a grin, but she just gave him the oddest look and opened her mouth as if to answer before stopping herself, shaking her head, and tucking her hand into his.