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Everyone else had gone out, leaving Clint and Natasha alone in the tower once more. It was a rare occasion, but never unwelcome. Especially since there was one thing Clint got to do when everyone was gone; what he saw Natasha do.
When she’d settled down in the largest room in the tower, Clint smiled. She had a book open in front of her, and her hair fell partially in front of her face. No matter what she was always stunning. He looked away, just for a moment. “JARVIS, can you please play the song?” He asked quietly, and his eyes immediately turned back to her.
After a few moments, the beginnings of the Russian version of Once Upon a December flowed from the speakers. It was always her favorite version; she’d never admit it though, not even to him. But he knew.
Her lips curved up in a small smirk, like they always did. Natasha kept her eyes on the book in front of her though; of course she never got up immediately. The song had to play through at least once before she finally stood, but it was definitely worth the wait.
When she finally stood, she didn’t look at Clint. She never did, she just closed her eyes and let the music flow through her. That’s when it happened.
He always thought Natasha was most beautiful when she danced. Even if she wore just loose-fitting clothes, even if her hair was wild or pulled back hastily. No matter what she looked like, she looked her best dancing.
Her movements were always graceful, her balance always perfect. She never messed up, or if she did he never noticed. Her arms swooped out in front of her, and she moved her legs with such precision. Whenever she danced, he fell in love with her all over again.
All of the emotion she usually hid from most everyone, she put into her dancing. All of her happiness, all of her love, everything. It was etched in her movements and it made the entire thing more stunning.
By the end of the song, everything was drawn back, every small barrier she made was put back up. The small moments when they were alone and she danced were the best. As she sat back down, Clint just smiled. He rarely saw her dance, but he loved that he was the only one to ever see her danced, that he was the only one she trusted enough to dance in front of; the only one she loved enough. It made him feel like a special part of her world.
They never spoke of it, not even with each other. The room fell silent, and she sat back down, pulling the book back into her hands. Her hair fell over her face once more, and Clint stood up from his place to join her on the couch. His head fell into her lap, and a hand fell into his hair. It was like nothing ever happened, and he didn’t mind. He wouldn’t trade these moments for anything.