The Light in my Darkness

Chapter 22

The thing about loving someone was the pain that so often came with it. You knew from the beginning that this agreement with Clint was a risky proposition. That there was the chance it would all go to hell and you'd be left picking up the pieces of your heart. What you didn't realize was just how deep that pain would go. Your chest ached with the loss of him. This wasn't heartbreak, this was pure devastation. He had become such a part of you that his absence was a physical thing you felt deep in your soul.

God, it hurt. You laid on the floor of your studio for hours and wept. The coolness of the wood beneath you seeped through your clothes and your skin grew tight with dried tears, but still you cried. Grieving for the loss of the man you loved and for the love you were so certain he'd felt for you even if only for a moment.

Eventually the tears stopped but you remained curled up on the floor not willing to move just yet. You ran your eyes around the room taking in the photos that lined the wall, the sketches you'd drawn, the paintings you'd created. You hadn't been wrong. He loved you. The proof was all around you. And nowhere could it be seen more clearly than the photographs still in your computer.

You sat up with a sniff and ran the sleeve of your shirt over your face to wipe away some of the tears. You reached up and pulled your laptop from the counter where you'd sat it when you'd first entered the studio. After firing it up, you went immediately to your photos to scroll through them again. The images that had brought you such joy earlier now only served to hurt you more. You took a deep, stuttering breath, trying to center yourself.

You opened one of the images in your graphics program and, after making a couple of tweaks, sent it as an attachment to Steve. The email you sent with it was lengthy and detailed and perhaps a little rambly but he responded almost immediately. He loved every rambling thought you'd typed out.

This was it. This is what you had been missing. That central theme Steve wanted your show to have. Love. Loss. Him.

***

Clint woke the next afternoon with a dry mouth and throbbing head. He might have had a drink or five too many after returning home from your apartment. How had everything gone so colossally fucking wrong in such a short period of time? He'd taken the day off intending to spend it in bed with you. Well, your plan had been to do some prep work for Thanksgiving the next day, but that wasn't what had been on his agenda at all. Shit. Thanksgiving. At least it was only supposed to be the two of you and Wanda. His girl wouldn't give a shit what her old man whipped up for the holiday. If she even showed. She would probably be too pissed at him to even come.

And he deserved it. He knew he did. He should have stayed well the fuck away from Y/N and continued to admire you from afar. Instead, he'd just had to have a taste. He had just wanted to know for a moment what it would be like for you to be his. God, he was an idiot.

Natasha was right. This had been different from the beginning. Hell, if he was honest, he'd been in love with you before he ever had Loki write up the damn contract. But you were supposed to be stronger than him. Than all of this mess he was now in the middle of.

You weren't supposed to fall in love with an old man like him. And as much as he wanted to toss all of his worries and concerns aside, he couldn't. He already knew what would happen if he did. He'd become even more tangled up with you. Until he couldn't function—couldn't live—without you.

And then you'd realize that behind the success, behind the money, he was nothing. That deep down he was still that dirt poor soldier with nothing more than a good aim. And he wasn't sure he could survive that look in your eye when it happened. That utter disappointment and regret. Not from you.