Le GASP! :O lol, no worries, all good this time. ;) Also, just so there is no confusion: Italics = dialogue/words are signed, not said. Now then!
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Clint hated hospitals a burning passion. He'd never been to even a proper doctor before SHIELD, and the idea of someone else touching his body, or taking care of it, was a little daunting to say the least.
But then he'd gotten stabbed in the ears and he was pretty much useless. He was stuck in the damn bed all day while people poked and prodded him and Phil sat next to him, work splayed out but not a single bit of it was getting done. He was too busy fretting over Clint and saying he was sorry. Sorry for WHAT? Clint knew the risks going into the field.
And then there was the annoying bitch from linguistics who came by for two hours every day. Apparently she was supposed to be teaching Clint sign language. What she was accomplishing was very little, considering she was trying to teach someone who could barely write his name and had to have his boyfriend read everything for him. It was a massive blow to his confidence and above all else, his pride.
What he really wanted to do was go hide in the range for two weeks and then wallow in self pity for another month. But he wouldn't do it. Phil wasn't going to let him and he had Natasha to worry about. She told him not to worry about her, that he needed to get his own head screwed back on right. Yeah, that was going so well. On top of everything with his hearing, his old nightmares from his first days at SHIELD were resulting in many a sleepless night.
When they finally discharged him, he was given hearing aids, with the promise of purple ones within the week. He threw them on the counter of his and Phil's on-base apartment and locked himself in his room. He turned off all the lights, and hid under the covers.
* * * *
"He's barely learned any sign and I just... I'm so WORRIED Maria. I haven't seen him like this in so long," Phil sighed.
"Hey, he's just lost a major sense, something that's kept him alive most of his life," Maria said gently. "Give him time."
Natasha, on the other hand, had been spending most of her time in the vents. Sleep had been hard after what happened in Budapest, but then again she figured most near-death experiences when you're NOT suicidal could do that to a person. She'd mostly been keeping an eye on Clint from afar. Some part of her said that it was her fault. But a larger part said that he needed her to help him learn to communicate, much the way he had been teaching her. That gave her an idea.
* * * *
The next morning, at exactly five o'clock, she landed gracefully (and silently) in his bedroom. She carefully approached his bed, and his eye's were opened. Red. He hadn't been sleeping. She took his whiteboard and wrote down, 'come with me.' He nodded, grabbing his hearing aids and putting them in with a sigh.
"Wanna tell me what this is about?" He asked.
"You will learn sign language today," She said, as well signing it.
"Nat, in case you haven't noticed, I'm failing miserably," He grumbled.
"That is because you cannot read. I will teach you differently," She explained, continuing to sign as she spoke.
Clint blushed. "How'd you know?" He asked.
"Because you refuse to read anything unless Phil is there with you. And he always does your paperwork, which leads me to believe you cannot write either," She explained. "Can you?"
Clint shook his head. "No one bothered to teach me," He explained. "Foster care doesn't exactly promote a constant environment, and when you switch schools as often as I did...."
"You do not have to justify it," Natasha said. "But we will learn without reading and writing."
"HOW Nat?"
She smiled a cheeky smile, and danced over to the cabinet, pulling out picture cards. "This is how I was taught languages," She explained. Clint couldn't help but smile. To do that must have taken a lot of work. "The basics are already all over the house, but we will start with a few here first." She pulled out a tablet, and tapped a few things before setting it down.
"Dog," The lady on the screen said, as well as showing how to sign it. Then she asked the audience to do it with her. Granted it was probably meant for small kids, but it worked. Clint was LEARNING.
"Now, every time you encounter a sign, you must try it," She explained. She showed him a flashcard taped to the fruit bowl with picture instructions on it. It showed the signs for apple, orange, and banana.
Needless to say, by the time Phil made his way to the kitchen, Natasha and Clint were well on their way to conversing together. Phil could have cried he was so happy. Except.... something was off with Natasha. Hmm... He'd have to talk to Maria later. Anyways, he was running a bit behind.
* * * *
Things looked better after that, and Natasha was actually willing to go to therapy the next day, provided Clint came along. They decided to get ice cream afterwards. Clint smiled.
"I'm proud of you," He spelled out in sign.
"Why?" Natasha signed back.
"You're getting better," He said. "And you were brave enough to try and help me. That's good Tasha. That's really good."
Natasha squirmed. Praise always came with a price... right? "I still have a hard time with things. And.... sleeping is still hard."
"It'll get better," Clint said. "It was awful when Phil first recruited me. I might have tried to kill myself. More than once." He shrugged. "I'm not sure people like us ever truly get past what's happened to us. I think we just make peace with it and move on. It's not going to help to dwell on my brother's.... death. But I can fight to make him proud, wherever he is."
Natasha nodded thoughtfully. "Do I make you proud?" She finally asked.
Clint smiled. "Every day," He answered honestly. Natasha beamed.
_________________________________________________________
Clint hated hospitals a burning passion. He'd never been to even a proper doctor before SHIELD, and the idea of someone else touching his body, or taking care of it, was a little daunting to say the least.
But then he'd gotten stabbed in the ears and he was pretty much useless. He was stuck in the damn bed all day while people poked and prodded him and Phil sat next to him, work splayed out but not a single bit of it was getting done. He was too busy fretting over Clint and saying he was sorry. Sorry for WHAT? Clint knew the risks going into the field.
And then there was the annoying bitch from linguistics who came by for two hours every day. Apparently she was supposed to be teaching Clint sign language. What she was accomplishing was very little, considering she was trying to teach someone who could barely write his name and had to have his boyfriend read everything for him. It was a massive blow to his confidence and above all else, his pride.
What he really wanted to do was go hide in the range for two weeks and then wallow in self pity for another month. But he wouldn't do it. Phil wasn't going to let him and he had Natasha to worry about. She told him not to worry about her, that he needed to get his own head screwed back on right. Yeah, that was going so well. On top of everything with his hearing, his old nightmares from his first days at SHIELD were resulting in many a sleepless night.
When they finally discharged him, he was given hearing aids, with the promise of purple ones within the week. He threw them on the counter of his and Phil's on-base apartment and locked himself in his room. He turned off all the lights, and hid under the covers.
* * * *
"He's barely learned any sign and I just... I'm so WORRIED Maria. I haven't seen him like this in so long," Phil sighed.
"Hey, he's just lost a major sense, something that's kept him alive most of his life," Maria said gently. "Give him time."
Natasha, on the other hand, had been spending most of her time in the vents. Sleep had been hard after what happened in Budapest, but then again she figured most near-death experiences when you're NOT suicidal could do that to a person. She'd mostly been keeping an eye on Clint from afar. Some part of her said that it was her fault. But a larger part said that he needed her to help him learn to communicate, much the way he had been teaching her. That gave her an idea.
* * * *
The next morning, at exactly five o'clock, she landed gracefully (and silently) in his bedroom. She carefully approached his bed, and his eye's were opened. Red. He hadn't been sleeping. She took his whiteboard and wrote down, 'come with me.' He nodded, grabbing his hearing aids and putting them in with a sigh.
"Wanna tell me what this is about?" He asked.
"You will learn sign language today," She said, as well signing it.
"Nat, in case you haven't noticed, I'm failing miserably," He grumbled.
"That is because you cannot read. I will teach you differently," She explained, continuing to sign as she spoke.
Clint blushed. "How'd you know?" He asked.
"Because you refuse to read anything unless Phil is there with you. And he always does your paperwork, which leads me to believe you cannot write either," She explained. "Can you?"
Clint shook his head. "No one bothered to teach me," He explained. "Foster care doesn't exactly promote a constant environment, and when you switch schools as often as I did...."
"You do not have to justify it," Natasha said. "But we will learn without reading and writing."
"HOW Nat?"
She smiled a cheeky smile, and danced over to the cabinet, pulling out picture cards. "This is how I was taught languages," She explained. Clint couldn't help but smile. To do that must have taken a lot of work. "The basics are already all over the house, but we will start with a few here first." She pulled out a tablet, and tapped a few things before setting it down.
"Dog," The lady on the screen said, as well as showing how to sign it. Then she asked the audience to do it with her. Granted it was probably meant for small kids, but it worked. Clint was LEARNING.
"Now, every time you encounter a sign, you must try it," She explained. She showed him a flashcard taped to the fruit bowl with picture instructions on it. It showed the signs for apple, orange, and banana.
Needless to say, by the time Phil made his way to the kitchen, Natasha and Clint were well on their way to conversing together. Phil could have cried he was so happy. Except.... something was off with Natasha. Hmm... He'd have to talk to Maria later. Anyways, he was running a bit behind.
* * * *
Things looked better after that, and Natasha was actually willing to go to therapy the next day, provided Clint came along. They decided to get ice cream afterwards. Clint smiled.
"I'm proud of you," He spelled out in sign.
"Why?" Natasha signed back.
"You're getting better," He said. "And you were brave enough to try and help me. That's good Tasha. That's really good."
Natasha squirmed. Praise always came with a price... right? "I still have a hard time with things. And.... sleeping is still hard."
"It'll get better," Clint said. "It was awful when Phil first recruited me. I might have tried to kill myself. More than once." He shrugged. "I'm not sure people like us ever truly get past what's happened to us. I think we just make peace with it and move on. It's not going to help to dwell on my brother's.... death. But I can fight to make him proud, wherever he is."
Natasha nodded thoughtfully. "Do I make you proud?" She finally asked.
Clint smiled. "Every day," He answered honestly. Natasha beamed.
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