codenamemockingbird:
Everything unsaid gets caught in the hollow of her throat and she swore she couldn’t breath until she forced herself to take a slow, deep inhale. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He always had this effect on her ; when Bobbi was younger ( more foolish, sentimental ) she would have described it in romantic terms : he took my breathe away, my heart skipped a beat, but she knew better now.
maybe.
One day maybe there’d be a happy ending to their story ( was it even theirs anymore? ). Love won, everything else subsided. They’d realize what was important. But it was nothing more than selfish, childish fantasy. They ( like everyone else like THEM ) didn’t get storybook conclusions. She supposed there was honor in their selfless play, but she’d never felt honorable. Half the time she couldn’t bear the weight of the life she led, let alone being PROUD of it. She did what had to be done to keep people safe, and more often than not that was unsavory, toed the line of the grey world she lived within.
Her gut churned, but she managed to keep her expression flat and neutral. She was good at masking her emotions, good at keeping up the façade … except with him. She knew he could ( would ) easily see right through the act. It used to be nice having someone know you THAT well, but now it felt trite.
His compliment sounded genuine and she didn’t question it, rebuffing Clint Barton was trickier than most people would assume, and she didn’t have the energy. Not now. Not today.
Bobbi’s hip jutted against the counter, hands crossed loose and low over her chest, eyes skimming up from the floor. The truth threatened to spill from the tip of her tongue, but she quickly swallowed it back down. She wanted to tell him, but there was still this wall, a metaphorical dam between them. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wanted to let loose a pricked retort it’s none of your business. Why do you care? But she didn’t.
❛ Okay. ❜ a lie. ❛ Tired. ❜ a truth.
❛ How are you? ❜
{ ➼ } » — Tension. He feels it in the air between them, in his shoulders. Like when his form’s wrong and he knows he won’t get his target, but he has to take the shot while he still can; Lest he regret it once it’s too little too late. It’s times such as these, though, that he finds it hard to believe there was once a point where conversation came easily between them. That they once shared laughter and quips, and that tightness he felt in his chest was for entirely different reason.
How could something that had felt so right have gone so wrong...?
Clint watches her, ever the silent observer. Even if she takes a preferred interest in the floor, he keeps his eyes on her. Wishful thinking tells him that he’s hoping, waiting to see her shake her head and smile at the ground at his dumb comment. Hell, these days he’d settle for a halfhearted eye roll. Any sort of indicator or reminder that what they once had wasn’t nothing. That maybe it still ISN’T nothing. But he knows better--he did this. This was his choice. Just as with everything else, this is his fault. Because he had to play the hero, try to prove that he’s GOOD ENOUGH. WORTHY of standing alongside Captain America and Spider-Man. With great power may come great responsibility, but Peter always seemed to leave out the part where it came with great sacrifice, too.
Okay, she says. It’s met by a mild frown. He knows better, he always has. But it’s not his place anymore to call her out. They’re no longer man and wife, haven’t been for some time. Yet all he wants to do is reach out, tug her towards him. Tell her that he MISSES her and nothing has been right since he let her go, because it’s the truth. He can’t even recall the last time something went according to plan without blowing up in his face (sometimes quite literally).
“Ah.”
He hates everything about this.
“You should probably try to get some sleep then,” he replies.
He steadily slips back into his usual behavior, the sheepish duck of his head, the hand rubbing the back of his neck. The sudden need to look anywhere but at HER. She wants to know how he’s been?
“Oh, y’know.” Miserable. Pathetic. Wondering what it would take for Thor to just wind up and nail him in the face with his hammer. “Keeping busy. Avengers never take a day off and whatnot. Another day, another sketchy dude in a dumb outfit trying to hit me with something.” An awkward pause.
“Lucky’s doing good though. So is Kate...I think. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when something’s up and when she just doesn’t wanna talk to me.”
His hand falls back to hang loosely as his side while he idly scuffs his worn sneaker against the floor.
“...What have you been up to?”
