Natasha is tired. In an odd way, such a feeling is a luxury she never expected to get. It’s the first time in her life she’s ever had the time to stop and sit in her emotions in such a way. It doesn’t mean there isn’t a laundry list of things to do still - there always is - but for this first time she gets to truly sit with her emotions. She wonders if this is ever how Fury felt.
She hates it.
She hates it, and she doesn’t know how Steve leads whole therapy groups about this shit. Give her a gun in her hand and a mission to complete - a real mission, not the phantoms they all keep chasing after - any day of the week over all this.
More than anything, she misses Clint at her back. The thought of him alone out there, hurting and doling out vigilante justice - it kills her. This isn’t who her partner is; at least, it isn’t who he was. If she’s honest, she could probably find him. She was a spy once, things like that were her job, but she’s afraid. She’s afraid to find out that he truly has changed, that maybe she can’t save him, that she will have to face the fact that she will never be enough.
She feels tired all over again, a bone-weary exhaustion taking root that she isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to rip out.