[Sometimes dreams are just dreams. Sure, Natasha's all on board with that theory. Except every single night, she comes here to fall. Not to die. No. She never hits the ground. She always wakes just before the moment of impact, her whole body bracing for it.
She can't remember the impact from the first time. She remembers the look in Clint's eyes -- wide and pleading -- and the way his voice came out thick and broken. She remembers the calm. The certainty. One final act to wipe the slate clean. The rush of wind around her as she fell and then-- Waking up shivering and bald in a strange place, her body the same, but different in ways she can't begin to quantify.
Maybe that's what her brain is chasing. Not the fall, but its natural conclusion.
If he tries to go for the cliff, she can stop him. All she has to do is keep him from locking his arm around her throat. Once they get there, there's no way out. No way for her to win. But she knows to avoid it now. And in this scenario, all she has to do is make it to the cliff before he does. And she's done that before. In another lifetime.
The blood on her hands is beginning to dry, going tacky and stiff against her skin. She wipes them against the smooth leather of her tac suit-- the denim of her jeans-- the skin tight leggings she wears to practice-- the time travel suit she almost died in. Did die in? She's not sure. The edges are kind of blurred.]
You're pretty opinionated for a figment of my imagination.
[She has to admit though, it's kinda nice not being alone with the weight of this place just pressing down on her the longer she stays.]
I've tried other ways. I can't walk away from it, every single path just leads me right back here. I've thought about killing myself, up here, but it doesn't work. I tried to wait it out, but-- [The less said about that, the better.] So yeah, I get here, I step off the cliff, I wake up. The faster I do it, the more sleep I get.
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She can't remember the impact from the first time. She remembers the look in Clint's eyes -- wide and pleading -- and the way his voice came out thick and broken. She remembers the calm. The certainty. One final act to wipe the slate clean. The rush of wind around her as she fell and then-- Waking up shivering and bald in a strange place, her body the same, but different in ways she can't begin to quantify.
Maybe that's what her brain is chasing. Not the fall, but its natural conclusion.
If he tries to go for the cliff, she can stop him. All she has to do is keep him from locking his arm around her throat. Once they get there, there's no way out. No way for her to win. But she knows to avoid it now. And in this scenario, all she has to do is make it to the cliff before he does. And she's done that before. In another lifetime.
The blood on her hands is beginning to dry, going tacky and stiff against her skin. She wipes them against the smooth leather of her tac suit-- the denim of her jeans-- the skin tight leggings she wears to practice-- the time travel suit she almost died in. Did die in? She's not sure. The edges are kind of blurred.]
You're pretty opinionated for a figment of my imagination.
[She has to admit though, it's kinda nice not being alone with the weight of this place just pressing down on her the longer she stays.]
I've tried other ways. I can't walk away from it, every single path just leads me right back here. I've thought about killing myself, up here, but it doesn't work. I tried to wait it out, but-- [The less said about that, the better.] So yeah, I get here, I step off the cliff, I wake up. The faster I do it, the more sleep I get.