Ficmas 2013: "Lift Her Up" Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov Avengers

[hiddencait]

Next up in my Ficmas fics! This for sourpony! And *cough*thismighthavebeenoneforlastyeartoo*cough*

Cross post to AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1079511

Lift Her Up
Prompt: Clintasha something awesome (way to narrow it down for me! LOL)
Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Avengers
Total wordcount: 558

It wasn’t often that Natasha asked for this from him, for this intimacy that she barely remembered from a former life that might not even be her own.

Even Clint wasn’t always sure what triggered the request. Sometimes it’s obvious – an op gone wrong enough that Tasha blamed herself for someone else’s injury; a child drawn into the criminal world far, far too young; a spat between her and Pepper and no experience in how to ask for forgiveness from a friend or offer it in return.

But then there were the days like this one: days he had no idea what sent her to him. Clint wasn’t even sure she knew.

It didn’t matter all that much really – his response was still going to be the same. He just offered her his arm and led her down the hall and the stairs to the studio on her floor. Who knew who it was who had told Tony that the resident femme fatale would enjoy a ballet studio complete with a barre and wall of mirrors and even a baby grand in the corner (though usually JARVIS played DJ instead of an accompanist). Who ever it was, Clint figured he owed them a favor or two. This was fast becoming Tasha’s place to heal and to forget for a while just who she’d become.

Even she didn’t know if she’d ever really studied ballet or if that was just another memory the Red Room had implanted within her, but the muscle memory was real enough. Clint guessed Natasha just enjoyed the knowledge that dance was beautiful all on its own and for its own sake, without any pretense or hidden agenda. One just danced, whether for themselves or for an audience. It was enough just to move and feel graceful – feminine with no edges hidden beneath the surface.

But sometimes, even the dance was almost too much for her beneath the weight of the deeds and the red of her ledger. Those were the days like today when she went to Clint and asked for a partner on the floor as well as at her back.

He wasn’t that good, Clint knew, or at least not the kind of good that Tasha was at this – her good was closer to prima than beginner. But he knew enough about the mechanics of a proper lift to do this for her. It even called to mind a few of his rare happy memories – of learning how to do this for one of the girls back at the circus, a down-on-her-luck dancer turned acrobat and tight-rope walker instead of sullying herself with a strip show. He’d had the balance to join in for just a little of the show, to stun the crowd with lifting her up over his head while he stood rock solid on the rope. She taught him enough that his arms looked almost graceful instead of just strong.

He barely remembered her face anymore, or at least her face without the grease paint and make up they all wore when the show went on.

But his body remembers the lifts. Remembered just enough to give Tasha a pair of arms to raise her high above the ground until she all but seemed to float there.

It was enough to let them both to remember for a while.