Top Of Head Kisses Clint tried not to seem so antsy when Natasha stumbled down from the plane’s ramp. She looked worst for wear and would most likely need to go to med bay, but Clint could be selfish for a few minutes and soak in the relief. It was sometime past 3 am when every agent got the call that they dreaded. Your partner’s plane went down. They lost all contact and no amount of signal tracing could pick up the slightest tell of them. But Clint knew Natasha. She wouldn’t go down without a fight. Even if the plane had exploded into smithereens and there was nothing left, but rubble, he knew Natasha would find a way to contact them. That didn’t mean he was sitting useless on the side either. The second that call went through, Clint was out of his apartment, still pulling on his shirt as he ran towards HQ. That’s where Hill met him, filling him in on the situation. Agent Romanoff had jumped at the last second, with the precious intel and narrowly avoided being killed in the process. Hurt, but alive. That’s all Clint heard. Who gave a shit on some important hard drive recovered from Hydra’s archives? His partner was alive. Natasha had made contact when she floated to land, laying low in some small coastal village of Denmark until SHIELD sent a retrieval to pick her up. Clint would like to say that he didn’t weep when she stumbled down, a gash across her forehead still sluggishly fleeting. Bruises littering her fair skin. People moved out of the way as he pushed his way through and wrapped Natasha in his arms. He felt her arms wrap around his torso, his lips pressing to the top of her head. “No offense, Romanoff, but you stink.”