บท 12: A New Life and an Old Ghost
Clark stood in front of the door to his apartment, the key still in his hand, but it felt more like a weight than a symbol of his new life. He'd been living in the small, modest space for a few days now, and every time he stepped into it, a familiar ache settled in his chest. It wasn't the ache of physical wounds those were long healed but the emotional ones. The ones he had carried with him from his old world.
It had been hard to leave Mike and Sarah's house.
He hadn't expected to form a connection with anyone so quickly, especially not after everything he'd been through. When he'd arrived, disoriented and worn down, they had taken him in without question. They'd offered him warmth, food, a bed, and most importantly, a sense of peace. The kids had looked at him like he was just another guest, but there was something in their eyes—something in the way Sarah and Mike looked at him that made him feel. normal. For a while, he had almost believed it. He had almost believed that maybe he could stay.
But staying wasn't an option. He couldn't keep hiding in their spare bedroom forever. It wasn't fair to them. Not when he didn't even know how long he was going to be in this world.
He'd told them he'd figured things out. Told them he was going to get his own place. That he wasn't going to be a burden. They hadn't pushed him to stay, but Clark could see the disappointment in their eyes when he'd said goodbye. Mike had clapped him on the back and wished him well, but the look Sarah gave him—that was the one that stayed with him. It was a look of worry, of someone who saw more than just the man standing in front of her. She saw someone who was still carrying something heavy, something he wasn't sharing.
And maybe that was the hardest part of leaving.
Mike and Sarah had tried to show him that there was more to life than his past. They had reminded him, in their own simple way, that he could have a future. But Clark had left. He had to leave. He needed to figure out who he was now that everything he had known was gone. He couldn't let himself grow too comfortable, couldn't let himself feel at home.
And so, here he was. Alone in a new apartment, still haunted by the idea of what he'd lost and the fear that he'd never truly find peace.
Clark unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was sparsely furnished, not even a picture on the wall. It felt empty, the way his heart felt sometimes. He'd tried to make it work. Tried to make it feel like a new beginning. But the truth was, every corner of the place reminded him of how much he had given up. Of what he had left behind in the search for some kind of normalcy.
He let out a sigh, dropping his jacket on the couch, and ran a hand through his hair. The silence of the apartment seemed to press in on him. The weight of the world, the quiet ache of being so far removed from the man he used to be it was always there.
But then he heard the sound of footsteps.
He turned, his eyes narrowing instinctively, but the source of the noise didn't feel like a threat. It was… familiar. Almost *too* familiar.
The door to the apartment across the hall opened.
And standing there, with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and that sharp, calculating look in her eyes, was Natasha.
Clark froze. He hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected *her*—of all people—to show up here.
She saw him almost immediately and gave him a small smile, the kind that felt like a challenge in itself. "Well, well," she said, a glint of amusement in her voice. "Didn't think I'd see you so soon. Looks like we're neighbors now."
Clark blinked, trying to make sense of it. His mind was still reeling from his departure from Mike and Sarah's house his' decision to leave everything he'd begun to build there. But Natasha? Of all people, why was she here, in the same building? In the same hallway?
"You're…" he started, his voice trailing off in disbelief.
"Your neighbor," Natasha finished, her tone casual, like this was nothing more than a coincidence. "Just moved in across the hall."
Clark looked at her, still trying to process it. How was it possible that she was here? After everything? Was this another twist of fate, or had she engineered this in some way? Natasha always had a knack for making the improbable feel like a well-executed plan.
"Small world," he muttered, shaking his head. He wasn't sure whether he was frustrated, surprised, or just downright confused. But all he knew for sure was that things weren't going to be quiet around here.
"You could say that," Natasha replied, stepping into her apartment and glancing around. "Though, I don't think we'll be *that* small a world. I'm here to stay for a while. Maybe longer."
Clark didn't respond at first. The thought of her living just across the hall was unsettling. Not because he didn't want her near him well, maybe a little but because he didn't know how to navigate this new reality. He had barely even begun to get comfortable with the life he was building here, and now, Natasha was complicating things. She" was complicating things.
She tilted her head slightly, noticing his hesitation. "Don't worry, Clark. I'm not here to cause any trouble."
Her voice was smooth, almost too smooth, but there was an underlying intensity in her words. She wasn't here to cause trouble, but trouble seemed to follow Natasha wherever she went.
Clark let out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I'm not worried. Just surprised. That's all."
Natasha raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying the nonchalance in his tone. "You don't look very surprised."
He smirked, trying to push away the unease that was beginning to settle in his gut. "Maybe I'm just trying to wrap my head around it."
The silence between them stretched for a moment before she spoke again, her voice softening just slightly. "You okay, Clark? You've been keeping to yourself a lot. The 'I'm fine' routine isn't fooling anyone."
Clark froze, her words striking a little too close to home.
It felt like Natasha could see right through him, like she always had. He wanted to turn away, to say that he was fine, that everything was going the way it was supposed to. But he wasn't. And he couldn't lie to her at least, not in the way he lied to himself.
"I'm just… trying to figure things out," he said, the words coming out more fragile than he had intended.
"Trying to figure out who you are?" Natasha asked, her tone almost sympathetic. She stepped closer to him, her eyes searching his face for answers.
Clark didn't answer right away. He couldn't. Because, in some strange way, Natasha was right. He was trying to figure that out. And he wasn't sure he had any answers.
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