(TW for red room horribleness/mentions of abuse to children. One line that refences sexual assault. please read with caution if these are upsetting to you.)
when she was a kid, her favorite color had been red.
it was bright and loud and fun and strong and passionate. red demands to be noticed and won’t take no for an answer. everywhere she looks she sees red. her halo of curls she smiles at in the mirror. in the sunsets that stretch across the sky. the apples that she and her mother pick from trees and bake into pies. the roses that grow in their garden. the autumn leaves that fall from trees and cover the ground.
.
the f i r e.
.
they take her somewhere called the red room. her excitement is quickly squashed- there’s nothing red in this building that she can see at first. in fact, there’s almost no color at all. the clothes they force her into are gray, just as the same as all the other girls. the bedsheets are white, reminding her of a hospital. their leotards black. the food mushy and brown. the grass and leaves brown and dead from the northern cold.
.
it doesn’t take her long to find the red. she finds it in the rosy cheeks of her sisters as they stand outside in the snow in too thin clothing. it appears on the skin of her arm in a welt where the teacher had struck her. her classmate’s bloodshot eyes from crying she thought no one could hear. the blisters on her feet from pointe shoes. the inflammation of her ankle after it’s broken for the first time as punishment for talking back. the wisps of her hair that slip through the fingers of the male guards that come in the night. the symbols of the organization that cover the walls. the splatter of warm blood from a man’s body that coat her face and body as she makes her first kill.
she wishes she hadn’t found the red at all. she would trade every memory she has of colors if it meant the pain would stop.
.
the red only grows and grows and grows. itsuffocatesher.
.
a hawk by the name of clint gets her out.
she doesn’t remember the last time someone had treated her with kindness, but clint stays by her side from the moment she chooses to come to shield. he takes her hand and shows her a world she had forgotten existed.
he introduces her to cherry red wine, to christmas lights that flash neon red and green, bright red cans full of cold coca-cola to drink after a long day, red velvet cake. the water of the bath turns a faint copper as clint gently washes away dried blood from her body with a warm washcloth. her face flushes crimson as she spends close to five minutes laughing at one of the most ridiculous jokes he’s ever made. he combs his fingers through her auburn locks until she falls asleep, head on his chest and wrapped in his arms.
so yes, the red is still there. she just doesn’t mind it as much anymore.
maybe one day, she thinks, with him by her side she’ll be able to look at the color again with the same love from her childhood. but for now, she allows herself to curl deeper into the purple of clint’s t-shirt and breathe in his scent of safesafesafe.
A contribution to Day 7 (”Free Day”) of @clintasha-week, written to a prompt from @scribblemyname (Clint and Natasha stay in touch between the events of Civil War and Infinity War).