----------------------

“How do you know he’s in Russia? Did you see him?” 

Natasha tilted her head in a way that allowed less sunshine into her blinded eyes. She squinted at Yelena. “I just ... know.” They were sitting on the balcony of their old hide out which was now only Yelena’s hide out anymore. They had shared many bottles of liquor up here, many smokes and many bandages.

The blonde woman narrowed her eyes at her. “You know.”

Natasha sipped at her pitch black coffee, avoiding eye contact with her “sister”. Back in the Red Room, they had all been sisters. A ridiculous idea that was supposed to make them less traitorous. Many sisters had been killed by their own kin. No family word could change that.

The silence of the beautiful November morning stretched out and Natasha dwelled in it, the warm mug between her palms and the hot steam in her face. Then Yelena was done with waiting for an explanation. 

“Why is he not dead yet, Natalia?” The sharpness of Yelena’s words rang in Natasha’s ears. Not Natalia, not anymore, never again. Her jaws wanted to clench, her heart wanted to race, her stomach wanted to tremble. Unimportant. She had all that under control. She had trained her body to this state of absolute stillness over years. Yet her voice sounded cold when she spoke.

“What do you mean?”

Yelena’s suspicion annoyed her. They had nothing to share apart from a hide out and the circumstances. Why did Yelena keep pushing her business around as if it were a dead animal and her suspicion a stick of wood? Wow. Had she really just thought that? Bad metaphor. Clint Barton’s dirty laughter rang at the back of her mind. He was rubbing off on her. 

“I mean, Natalia, that people who hunt you down don’t tend to live that long. What did you say how long you have been playing cat and dog? Ten months?” 

“It’s cat and mouse!”

Angrily Natasha pushed away from the table and marched over to the old, out-of-tune piano that had stood in this moldy room for as long as they had known it. Years. She started playing and it sounded horrible which is just what she had intended. 

Yelena groaned and fell back in her chair, staring up at the clear blue sky with eyes of fury. Natasha knew what she was thinking. That they had been trained not to show mercy, not to anyone or anything. That they had been trained to kill. Efficiently, effortlessly, neither cheerfully nor angrily. There was no rest for them. Not along their path. 

But they had gotten off of it. The Red Room was no longer paying for their weapons, their kills, their deals. Yelena was a fear-inducing jewelry thief. And Natasha was hunting down the big bosses she’d suffered under. Whatever that made her, whatever attention it had gained her from SHIELD, from her old enemies, from new enemies, she didn’t care. She was on the run and as long as she could say that about herself, she was not a lost soul with nowhere to go and nowhere to stay. 

So yes, Clint Barton had been chasing her for ten months. 

In her life, he was the only reliable person. He would follow her wherever. He had to be in Russia as surely as she had to get this piano tuned. Whatever Mozart had composed on the yellow sheets that were crumbling under Natasha’s fingers as she turned them, he hadn’t composed it for dead pianos. Or for dead people. 

And that is what she was. 

Because Clint Barton, the only reliable person in her life, was on his mission to kill her. 

------------------------

Clint waited patiently. 

Ten months of chasing could bring a certain ease with them. He splashed around in his coffee with a tiny metal spoon and tried to move a sugar cube with the force of his mind only. He had never quite given up the hope of possessing certain supernatural powers. He was seconds away from a nosebleed when the little bell at the door rang. 

In the mirror opposite to the entrance Clint recognized her immediately. His heart took a short flight through his left ribcage before settling again. Huh, if those weren’t supernatural powers he didn’t know what was. 

She walked to the cashier with her hood over he red hair and her hands in the bag that was attached to her black sweater. She looked just as plain as he did that day. They were both trying, but the mere fact that he had recognized her with one glance made him hunch over his coffee more and try to disappear more into the shadows of the café. 

Natasha bought some bread, coffee to go and two little bagels filled with cream. Then she headed his way. 

He kicked out in surprise, pushed over his cup of coffee and actually fucking blushed. Well, hell to that. The people at the other tables looked at him shortly, figuring he had fallen asleep and then startled awake or something like that, before ignoring him again, the way everyone always ignored everyone. 

Everyone except Natasha Romanoff who had walked over to his table with her food and coffee and now pulled out a few napkins to throw on the big black stain Clint’s coffee had produced on the tablecloth. 

“Whoopsie, I guess.” She actually grinned at him from under her hood and held one of the two to go cups she was somehow juggling in her hands in his direction. “I figured you’d need a new one.”

“How did you know I would push over-”

“You’re very predictable.” 

They stared at each other for a second, before Clint took the cup out of her hand and grumbled about his choices self-pityingly. 

Natasha poked him in the shoulder, making him feel her fingernail, his nose scrunching up reproachfully. 

“Hey!” 

“Come on. We go for a walk.” 

There was another moment of trust-questioning, but it was even shorter than the first one. Clint put on his leather jacket and followed her easy steps. The hairs on his neck were up, alarmingly. He wanted to nod to them and tell them he’d be careful, but he didn’t want to say that out loud in front of Natasha. 

Out on the street she handed him a bagel. Clint burned his tongue on the steaming hot coffee and hissed. 

“It says “Careful, contents hot” on the lid.” Natasha said nonchalanty and sipped on her own coffee without showing any signs of discomfort. 

“You playing tough now?” Clint asked disgruntled, pushing his poor tongue against the cold whipped cream. 

“Don’t need to.” Natasha was quick to answer, pulling his awful Adidas cap off. “This is actually an insult to me.” She threw it in the mudd and stepped on it. “We go this way.” 

Clint looked at her as she gracefully walked away on the pavement and waited for her to notice that he so wasn’t following. He couldn’t help but giggle when she said something to the total stranger hurrying to walk past her, mistaking him for Clint. He looked at her in shock and she stopped walking immediately, leaving the poor confused man whom she had probably just threatened right where he was to threaten the perfectly right target that was actually quick to get away. 

Clint sneaked into the next alley, making sure Natasha was following him this time. Her face was less soft and less mocking than it had still been at the café. Two could play a game of prediction and surprise. And Clint wasn’t walking into her trap, that was for sure. 

He turned around and nodded to the tiny, dark court at the end of the alley. She didn’t react much, merely glared at him. But she followed, when he started walking anew. 

In the middle of the court Clint turned around again and took a quick step back when he realized how close she had gotten during that short time. She was in punching range so that’s what she did. 

Her fist hit him right in the stomach and he dropped and spilled the second coffee that day, as he bent over in pain. “DAMN it.” He wheezed and then started laughing. “You don’t got much of a sense for waste, do you?”

Natasha grabbed his chin and pushed him up against the red brick wall. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, here? In this specific spot? I don’t know. I can’t even read the street signs, russian letters, ya know, I just wanted to get on your n-”

“Stop the act. I know that you can read the street signs perfectly well.”

Clint’s shoulders sagged a little. His chin felt heavier in her palm now. His stubble felt nice against her fingers. Not that it mattered...

“Does this mean you know I’m not dumb?” Clint shook his head slightly, his voice getting a teasing tone. “And I thought I had you fooled.”

“Stop it.” Natasha wasn’t in the mood for his jokes. Yelena had succeeded in making her feel wary about herself, her own intentions in this game of cat and mouse. What were they doing? This endless road trip, this constant making and following of hints, it was leading nowhere but on. They could keep dancing around each other for another ten months. Maybe hurt each other again, so SHIELD wouldn’t suspect too much. Suspect what they both already knew: they couldn’t kill each other. They were way too curious about the other, way too pulled in by the other. 

Natasha didn’t know how it had happened, how it had come to this. But she was a hundred percent certain that she was fond of Clint Barton and that she was protecting him by leading him on. She always knew where he was, because he always knew where she was. She kept an eye on him, he kept an eye on her. A part of her was still careful, still suspected betrayal, even death. Still, she knew what they said about him, about Hawkeye: he never missed. And he had missed. Big time. 

Her grip on his chin loosened a little and she noticed she was stroking over his cheek. The humor hadn’t left his eyes, but it had transformed. He wasn’t teasing her anymore. There was affection in his gaze. 

“Natasha.” 

She felt his fingers on her elbow and jerked slightly. A soft sound of surprise exited her mouth. She hadn’t noticed him reaching for her. She was letting down her guard, his stupid blue eyes were bewitching her. 

“Stop!” She pulled back suddenly, pushing her hand against his chest and grabbing for her gun which was hidden in her waistband. The weapon she had suspected to be in his free hand was invisible. Meaning there was no weapon in his free hand. He was holding up his arms gently, showing them to convince her he wouldn’t hurt her. She swallowed. 

“Natasha Romanoff, I was sent as an agent of SHIELD to exterminate you, as they put it. You know that. We have been putting up quite a show, the two of us. I got into a lot of trouble for that. Barton, you’re wasting our time. Shit like that. I wasted their time, because...” Clint took a deep breath and chuckled insecurely. He scratched the back of his head and one could have almost forgotten that he was as cute as he was deadly. Natasha quit hunching, hadn’t even noticed that she was doing it. Her face felt frozen. Her eyes were fixed on Clint’s face. The face she’d been looking at again and again for the past months. Hidden by a mask or uncovered, at daylight, at nighttime. She felt like she knew him.

“I wanted to ask you, you know, under my protection and all, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, that has to be clear. If there are any doubts from you or or ... from my side I won’t even sleep, make sure nobody even thinks about-” 

“You know, you annoyed me enough with letting me walk down the street alone and talk to some complete weirdo, so... get to the point.” She tried to keep up their banter, she had grown fond of it over the time they had been following one another from country to country, but at that specific moment her eyes were too dry and her throat was too cold for herself to be easy about the situation. 

What was he proposing? She could feel hope flare up inside her chest like a magic trick. She couldn’t quite believe it, but she also couldn’t understand how it worked. 

Clint chuckled, but choked on it like he was shivering on the inside. She knew that he was 26 years old, just like her. They were so young. Wasn’t it good and human to still hope?

Something hit Clint so quietly that only his stung reaction proved the collision. He grabbed his neck with wide eyes and Natasha could see blood between his fingers. His cheeks turned pale. With a piously untroubled expression Clint pulled a tiny bolt out of his delicate flesh. It was red. Darker than his own blood. Natasha knew that signature. The Red Room.

A poisoned arrow. 

Her head whipped around and she saw Yelena’s blonde locks disappear inside a window up on the fifth floor.  

Forget about hope, she thought. We need an antidote. 

--------------------------

“The good news is I can still feel my legs. The bad news: I’m sweating on your pretty sweater.”

Natasha stumbled down the street, her right arm wrapped around Clint’s shoulders to support him. He was muscley and heavy and Natasha was strong, but her resources were being strained. She had to get back to the hide out. The antidote was inside the piano. It had always been stashed away there. Multiple flasks of it.

Yes, she was running into a trap. And yes, Yelena might have already destroyed all reserves. But a part of her demanded her to keep going. She couldn’t give up on this man. This god damn nuisance.

“Seriously ‘Tasha, where’d’you get it, that sweater?” Clint wasn’t aware of the fact that his poison-induced slurry slang sparked something inside Natasha’s emotions. She had been Natalia in the Red Room, Natalia in the hide out, Natalia in the last curses of her enemies. She had chosen to be Natasha for herself. And Clint gave her Tasha. 

She looked at his sweaty, grief-marked face and saw nothing but affection. It seemed so easy for him to... 

Quickly she shook her head and shortly butted their foreheads together. It was supposed to be gentle and reassuring, but it whipped his head back rather harshly. 

“Ow.”

“You will be okay.”

“This’ll grow blue.”

“I will ... protect you.”

Clint smiled and stumbled, almost falling to the hard ground, but she kept him up, wheezing from the effort. She groaned, her muscles were protesting, burning. She had to keep going. Just five more turns. They could make it. They had to make it.

“You hesitated.” He chuckled and Natasha couldn’t help but huff at that. Feisty, gentle, good-humored archer. 

“You have to help me move, Clint. How about those useless legs of yours?”

“They feel less alive by the second.” He gritted his teeth visibly and marched on despite the lifelessness. She would have winced, but she couldn’t. She had to keep going. Stay focused. Don’t think about all the ways this could turn out. He’d make it. He’d make it.

“I got the stupid sweater at Primark.” Natasha spat out and pulled him on forward. They did get some suspicious looks from the pedestrians around them. Since they weren’t calling for help though, or breaking down in a pile of death, nobody seemed to care enough to ask or even offer help. Good.

“Primark.” Clint’s voice sounded hoarse. He was hobbling slightly. Natasha knew that his incessant talking distracted him from pain and unconsciousness. Therefore she kept it up.

“Got it for five dollars. I’m a horrible person.”

“Yes. You- you should be ashamed of yourself. I’ll get you a better sweater. It’ll say: “Don’t buy five dollar sweaters at Primark.”” Clint’s face turned even paler than it had been before. Natasha noticed her lip was bleeding. She had bitten it too harshly. 

“Good. Yes. Where will you get that sweater?” Natasha asked, carrying him across the street and futher down the darker part of the district. There was a lot of garbage on the pavement. She could see the broken window in the first floor of the building across the street. The broken window that raised some feeling of home inside her. A home she despised. But at least a place she could go. 

“Primark, of course.” Clint was powerless. He fainted. 

--------------------------

Natasha could hear herself. Her breathing was hysterical. Her body was at its limit. She pulled Hawkeye up the stairs, cursing his name, his weight, the shards on the steps that threatened to hurt the man even further. She gathered him in her arms and activated her last energy to pull him through the door to the hide out, to the tiny, moldy apartment with the piano in the middle. The door broke, she stumbled over it and the next thing she felt was a numb pain on the back of her head.

The next thing she realized was that she was on her hands and tried to blink herself back into her body, because it felt like she had exited it. Yelena walked into view, a blurry view, but a view. In her right hand she was swinging a baseball bat. I mean really? A baseball bat? How original. Natasha almost laughed at that. Clint Barton’s voice had really found a way into her head.

“I’m sorry, Natalia. I couldn’t risk you trying anything.”

Yeah, sure, like this was totally going to stop her. Her hand was fumbling across the floor that felt less real under her callous fingers. Damn baseball bats. She found Clint’s hand, pulled at it. His head met her thigh. She searched his pulse, fingers fumbling around at his collar. She found it, found something else as her fingers brushed against metal. A spark of relief washed through Natasha’s chest. Wonderful genius nuisance archer.

“I don’t understand you, Natalia.” Yelena sat down on a wooden stool. Natasha wished it to break apart. It would have been a fun story to tell Clint when he’d be awake again. She felt tears fill her eyes. God damn heads and their fragility. She had to get that antidote, she couldn’t suffer a concussion. Not now. “What is it about this man that could possibly be more intriguing than your old career? You were glorious, back in the day.”

Natasha held on tightly to Clint’s little gift, her hand hidden inside his horrible sweater. His heartbeat was weak against her knuckles. 

“I suppose you have already guessed it.” Yelena sat back and put the baseball bat over her lap.

“What? That you never stopped working for the Red Room? Yeah... I figured.” Natasha blinked, tried to get her brain into a normal position in her head. Where was it swimming? 

“Hmm. Sorry about that. They kind of want you delivered. This is why I can’t, you know, let you go with him.” Yelena got on her feet again. “It’s tragic. I’ve never seen you like this before. It could have been a happy end for you. He’s pretty.” 

Natasha wasn’t even mad at Yelena. For any of it. She knew what the Red Room could be like. They had probably tortured the blonde mercenary. Unfortunately, in their line of work, nobody was trustworthy. Unfortunately for Yelena. She was getting closer. 

“Maybe they won’t kill you. You were one of their best killers. It is possible that they take you back. After a certain... ordeal of course.” Yelena kneeled down before her, her foot kicking against Clint’s shoulder. Natasha bit on her bloody lip again. Her hand tightened around Clint’s necklace. 

“What did they do to you, Yelena?” Natasha looked up, trying to focus on the slightly widening eyes of the poor lost soul and then, when she was certain the other woman was distracted, she hit her mark. 

---------------------------

The arrow stuck out of Yelena’s eye like a candle out of a birthday cupcake. It wasn’t a nice death, but a fast one. As long as you hit the brain. 

Natasha puked on the blonde strands of hair. Then she scrambled to her feet, fell down again, hit Clint’s head with her elbow. The man weakly awoke. A huff of air coming from his lips. They were turning blue.

“Don’t you” Natasha got on her knees.

“fucking” She hobbled over to the black instrument in the middle of the damn room. 

“die” Her hand slipped between the backside and inside of the thing.

“on me!” She hauled herself up by the side of it, looked inside and saw nothing but broken vials. 

A wail was about to break out of her. Long, loud and desperate. Instead, she dipped her head down until her lips met the wet bottom of the wood. Her brain was not happy about this change of positions. She ignored the nausea that started to build up. Tiny evil shards grazed her lips and tongue. And they would graze Clint’s iips and tongue as well. But that’s the way life goes sometimes.

When Natasha’s mouth had gathered up as much of the life-saving liquid as it could have from the godless puddle at the bottom of a really old piano she fell on her butt and moved herself back to the pretty lifeless Hawkeye on the floor. Her calm hands grabbed his jaw and opened his mouth. Then she bent down. The idea of her basically spitting into his mouth wasn’t a nice one. It certainly didn’t help her nausea. But he was a courageous little dying man and swallowed all of it, the antidote, the shards and her spit. 

Natasha put her palm on his cold forehead and looked at his very still face. She started laughing like a crazy person. Then she cried a little, but shh, that’s between us. She concluded her hysterical session with a loud intake of breath and slumped in on herself. 

-----------------------------

Later on, she wondered how long she had remained in her hunched sitting position. While doing it, it didn’t seem like much of an effort. Clint was either asleep or dead. And she wasn’t willing to find out which option applied. 

As long as she could just sit here, all was possible. All was undecided. 

The night was cold, but short. The morning was cruel with its ever growing light. More and more did Clint’s face reveal itself to her. And she couldn’t make out entirely what it indicated. 

She must have waited about thirteen hours. Maybe a little less, maybe a ittle more. But it took many hours for Clint to wake. 

He stirred on the floor and Natasha’s dry, dry eyes enjoyed a nice little shower. 

“’Tasha?” 

“I’m here.” 

“Crazy.”

“Yeah.” 

That was all he could muster. Then his head rolled back to the floor and he fell unconscious again. 

It was more than enough for Natasha. She wiped away her tears, laughed about herself, got to her numb feet and rolled Yelena under the out-of-tune piano. Her head was better. Way better. She realized there was dried blood sticking to her hair. But she didn’t worry much about it.

She took up the baseball bat, walked to the fucked up instrument and destroyed it. 

---------------------------------

Two hours later Clint woke to the steam of coffee being basically held in his face. He instinctively pushed the white, hot object in front of his nose away and shrieked when hot driplets of coffee splashed on his cheeks. 

“Hellfire and endless agony!” He yelled as he sat up and wiped at his wet skin. 

Natasha was sitting next to him, with a smirk on her face. Playfully she shook the cup in her hand around and leaned in as if to tell him a secret. “Just coffee actually.” 

Clint looked at her as if he had never seen her before and for a moment the Black Widow felt uneasy. What if the poison had deleted Clint’s memory? 

But then Clint cocked his head and asked “Gary?” with so much conviction that Natasha couldn’t decide which wish to give in to first: laughing or punching him. Which is why she did both. 

“Ooooww.” Clint chuckled and dramatically leaned to the side of his hurt arm. 

“That’s what you get for... for... “ Natasha was lost for words as she remembered the agony and hellfire she had spent the night with. Her face turned serious. 

Clint sat up straight again and looked at her with his tilted head. His eyes were so soft. They always had been. Every damn time they had met along the way. 

“What you did yesterday must have been incredible.” Hawkeye bent over and obviously wanted to grab something hidden inside his sweater. He was surprised not to find it.

Natasha watched him. “It probably was.” After a while, she added: “I had to use that necklace of yours.” 

Clint slumped down a little. “Oh.” He only took a second to recover from that loss, but the fact that he had needed it showed Natasha how meaningful the jewelry must have been to Clint. He was back to his grinning self in no time. “What, did you put it in somebody’s eye or...?” 

It was supposed to be a joke, but Natasha’s expression must have given the truth away. Clint’s eyebrows rose an inch. He saw the remaints of the piano and pieced the puzzle together. “You have been efficient.” 

“I tend to be.”

With a nonchalance Natasha immediately liked about him Clint looked at his watch. “Oh well. We gotta go. Let’s burn this place down.”

He was about to get up, but fell on his backside again rather elegantless. He furrowed his brows and looked at his slightly trembling hands. “Huh.”

“Take it slow maybe.” Natasha advised, her hand extended to him to offer help. 

“I’ve never been poisoned before. I can’t say it’s for me.” Clint took her hand with an adorably crooked smile and additionally grabbed for her shoulder when he was standing on his feet. Sweat broke out on his forehead, but he did his best to breathe it away. His stomach grumbled. “Oh, would you look at that. Being hungry is a good sign, right?”

Natasha patted his hand and blinked ironically. “I’m sure it is.”

The archer took another few breaths to steady himself, holding on to Natasha all throughout it. What a weird pair they were. Natasha watched him calm down his shivers, watched his knuckles grow less and less white on her shoulder and on her hand. He wasn’t acting tough - well, he definitely was to a certain degree, but not in that specific moment - and he allowed her to see that he was weak. She pushed the backside of her left hand to his nice and stubly cheek, the way she had done it the day before. The stuble had grown over night. 

Clint’s blue eyes focused on Natasha’s green ones. His breathing was getting more steady and his shivers disappeared. He smiled ever so lightly. 

“Please don’t hit me now. I don’t think I could ever get over that.” 

Natasha smiled back at him, the skin on her almost healed bottom lip breaking again and leaking some blood. She didn’t mind it. 

“Do you ever shut up?”

“Nope.” He grabbed her hand from his cheek, kissed her fingers too quickly for her to pull back and turned around to bend down and search through the jacket she had taken off of him.

Unimpressed Natasha raised her eyebrows and looked at her fingers. She couldn’t hold back the tiniest smile. She cleared her throat. “Bet you’re so nice to all your missions.” 

Clint made a noise that could have meant so much as “I beg to differ” or “God, I really need to pee”. Probably a bit of both. The archer slid inside his jacket and extracted a hand to her. “Not a mission anymore. Partners.” 

Natasha blinked at him. What did he mean by partners?

“Well, before you ask any rude questions. Let’s really burn this place down!” Clint concluded and pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket. He grinned so dumbly, Natasha had to cross her arms to keep from mirroring him. 

“You don’t got any gasoline nearby, do you?”

------------------------------

They sat in the cafe again, when the firefighters rushed past them with sirens whailing.The coffee-stained tabelcloth had been badly washed. There was a big brown spot on it where Clint had been so graceful to cover it with the hot liquid a day before.Natasha poked her smashed potatoes around like someone had hidden a fly in them and she had yet to find it. She didn’t like flies. Clint’s stomach continued to rumble, but he didn’t touch his food. It was unusual for him to be this serious. But the situation called for it.

“Like I said I would protect you. At all costs. Nobody will be able to hurt you.”

“I don’t need your protection.” Natasha hissed reflexively and felt bad for it immediately. Felt.. bad for it? Seriously? Gosh, this man was annoying. Natasha dropped her spoon and rested her head in her palms.

To her surprise Clint looked down quickly, badly hiding his sudden smirk.

She kicked him under the table. He hid his wince with a chuckle. “You are responsible for so many bruises on this shin, you got no idea.” Natasha ignored that. “What are you grinning about?”

Clint shook his head and smiled openly now. “You... you pout.”

The reaction from the Black Widow must have been an even more indignant pout, because Clint’s grin widened. She kicked him again, but this time he pushed his leg out of reach fast enough. His left eye-brow raised triumphantly. Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. So many thoughts and doubts and hopes were flaring through her slightly concussed head, she could barely focus on one at a time. Still. This smirk. This softness. This almost playful side of him - or well, definitely playful side - she was pulled in by it.

“I... “ She started, then looked away, bit her scabby lip and started again. “I don’t want to say yes because of you. But I would have to say yes because of you.”

Clint’s smirk vanished, making room for a very sympathetic expression. Worry. He was just as worried as she was. This is why he kept on promising her protection. To calm his own mind. 

“If it helps you,” Clint stated with a self-ironic chuckle, “I am offering it because of you. And you alone.”

Natasha tilted her head questioningly.

“Well,” Cint started to explain, “I have been working for SHIELD for six years now. They pay well. And I’m good at the whole bow and arrow thing-”

“The best, I heard.” Natasha interrupted, looking not the least impressed.

Clint grinned and pointed at her face teasingly. “Pouting again!” He sing-songed. She blushed - actually blushed for God’s sake - and slapped his hand away. He chuckled and continued his monologue. 

“It’s just... I don’t recruit people. Obviously. That’s Phil’s job and Nick Fury’s. I get my missions and I finish them. And now there’s you. Natasha, you are the first mission I didn’t finish. I won’t finish. Because you are impressive. And there’s good in you, intelligence, so much will. You saved me so many times. It’s kind of twisted, isn’t it? My mission was to kill you, so you would stop killing. Now we are here, you saved my life more times than I can count and I want you to-”

He looked at her almost desperately and Natasha felt that she was looking at him the same way. What he was proposing there was a future. It was a job, it was redemption, it was forgiveness, it was friendship and more than that. In front of all, it was a risk. He was taking a huge risk. For her.

Clint took a deep breath and closed his cold fingers around her hand on the table. “I want you to be my partner. I want you to work with me.”

You could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall above them. You could hear more sirens blaring outside, more firefighter, maybe the police. You could hear Clint holding his breath and Natasha’s voice stuck inside her throat.

Then Clint’s phone started to ring. He squeezed his eyes shut in discomfort and grabbed it out of his pocket, not letting go of Natasha’s hand on the table. She believed, it was an unconscious thing from him and it endeared her. With his eyes he conveyed her the message that he had to take this call. She nodded with a patient smile.

“Eyyyyyy Phillie, Phil’oh’boy, how’s it gooooing?... Yeah, I didn’t, that’s right. ... Oh why, you ask? Why I didn’t call? I was poisoned, almost dying. ... Busy night, yeah. ... I know. ... Yep, I know that’s what was our deal. ... Sure. ...”

Clint furrowed his brows when he saw Natasha taking out a pen and writing something on a napkin. He realized he was still holding her hand. A slight blush colored his cheeks. But he didn’t let go. Partly because he didn’t want to, partly because she was smiling while writing.

“The meetup is in an hour already? ... Huh. ... Yep, I think we can make it. ... Yes, we. ... Well, I’m a hopeful person. ... Love you too, Phillie. ... That’s just rude.” Clint ended the call and slid his phone back inside his pocket.

Natasha watched him with attentive eyes.

Clint smiled crookedly again and scratched the back of his head. “We uhm... we gotta be at the airport in an hour. If that’s where you want to be.” 

The Black Widow had banned all emotions from her face and merely looked at him. Then she raised the napkin from the table top and held it in front of her sweater. It said “Don’t buy 5$ sweaters at Primark.”  

Clint closed his eyes and hummed with a smile that was banning all worries and pains he had ever suffered from. When he looked at her again, his blue eyes were shimmering.

“Is that a yes?”

--------------------------

Phil stood in the opening of the helicopter, sunglasses on, in a suit as usual, and shook his head so obviously dismissive that Natasha’s stomach rebelled worriedly. 

Clint held her hand and he didn’t let go, even when she made an effort to slip out of his grip. 

“With all I have.” Hawkeye reminded her loud enough to hear over the noise of the helicopter and squeezed her hand reassuringly. She stared into his soft blue eyes and couldn’t help but smile.

Phil Coulson helped them into the helicopter, closed the door and gave the SHIELD pilot the sign to take off. He looked pissed. Even with his sunglasses on. Even with this face of a passionless fish. So the first thing that Natasha could think off was smile.

“You must be Bill.”

The poor archer next to her had to turn around and act like he was searching for something to cover up his shaking shoulders. She grinned. Making Hawkeye laugh would be one of her favorite new hobbies.

“Natalia Alianovna Romanova.” Phil Coulson answered coldly, hitting a sore spot, just as he had probably wanted to.

Natasha bit on the inside of her cheek and gave a quick response. “Or just Tasha... though I haven’t yet decided who is allowed to call me that.” Her newly gained partner settled in more comfortably and pushed her thigh with his knuckles to remind her of putting on her seatbelt. She nodded and did so.

“This is adorable.” Phil said, looking not at all charmed by their silent conversation. “Hawkeye brings in a new recruit. A deadly new recruit who has been filed as one of the Top 20 most wanted assassins by SHIELD. The organization you work for, Clint.”

“Top 20?” Natasha asked, a little disappointed. “That could mean anything. It could mean that I am the eleventh most wanted or the nineteenth. That’s a huge difference. Could you be a little more precise?”

Clint had to bite his quivering lip and stepped on her foot gently but firmly.

“Ahh.” Coulson made. “I see. She amuses you. Wonderful. Just perfect. Can’t wait to see what Fury has to say to this.”

That was all Phil Coulson said for the remaining long journey back to America. It didn’t matter much. Natasha got used to him staring at her rather quickly and managed to ignore it.

Why? Because Clint was shielding her. Not with his body. But with his presence. Sure, she didn’t need his protection. She had had her own for years, Ever since she could remember actually. Yet, it was the nicest, most comfortable feeling Natasha had ever experienced. Sitting here, in a helicopter of an organization that had her on a list of most wanted assassins, next to a mercenary who had spent months hunting her down, opposite a man whose hidden stare alone made her see his wish she’d drop down dead immediately.

It was in the touch of his elbow against her arm, in his foot stepping on hers repeatedly to annoy her, in his head leaning in close to hers to whisper mean things about Coulson in her ear. It was in his soft blue eyes and in his little smiles. It was in the echo in her head, the echo of his words. 

With all I have.

That is where her hope sat. Her safety. Her trust and ... affection.