Clint knew he had fucked up this time.
Not to say that he had not fucked up other times, but this time….
Well, this time took the cake.
He had known that the job in Kuala Lumpur had been semi-optional and he had gone. It had taken all of 48 hours but by the time he had arrived home, everything was fucked to hell.
Now as he stared at her red hair splayed across S.H.I.E.L.D. medical’s too white pillow he berated himself for ever even considering going.
No one could watch Tasha’s back as good as he could and because he had failed to show up, she had suffered for it.
He knew from experience that she was a light sleeper, but looking around at all the IVs she was attached to, even the widow serum pumping through her veins, there was no way that she would wake. He turned away from the red-headed assassin and shook his bow snapping it back to its foot long length and tucked it into the quiver next to his feet. Clint looked at his hands one last time before crossing his arms on the bed beside him and laying his head down. The steady beeps of the heart monitor and the slight buzzing of his hearing aids whispered him off to sleep.
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Natasha Romanoff hated hospitals.
All hospitals. Period.
Hospitals took your blood, your body and extracted every secret with their eyes. They read your scars like a book, so when you awake you are met with pity or malicious smiles at the thought of you being so weak.
She much preferred Bucky or Steve or Clint (especially Clint) murmuring softly in anything but English as they stitched her back together again. Marble doesn’t crack, but she does and that was unacceptable.
Natasha kept her eyes closed and her body alert as she listened to the area around her. There were hospital sound, machines beeping, nurses talking, swishing fabric, rickety wheels, and the sound of everything slowly dying.
There was another sound next to her arm. Soft breathing and a heartbeat she knew better than any other.
She lifted a heavy hand and combed through the mission old blonde hair. He had been away and she had been hurt, so she knew for a fact that he was blaming himself, running over scenarios in his head as he slept.
Over their years of running together and especially since they had both joined the avengers, she had grown tired of his regret. There was nothing he could have done, but still, he blames himself, it seemed tiring to her.
She stroked her hands through his hair and wondered when they would let her free of her own personal hell.
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Clint woke to a hand running through his hair. It was nice and the hand was small. It tangled and untangled his hair until he decided that it was time to interrogate her. He was met with green eyes upon opening his own.
He didn’t bother moving his head.
“Who?
“Dead now.”
“Do you know how long until you get out?”
“Haven’t told me yet.”
“Are you healed enough to get out?”
He watches as she closes her eyes to assess her own condition.
“The last of my ribs are knitting together, but other than that I believe I am adequate enough to escape.”
“Do you need any help?”
“If you could get the IVs out that would be nice.”
Clint stood up and walked around to her other wrist. He gently unwrapped her wrist and wiggled the IV free, feeling as her whole body tensed up. She relaxed, though only a small amount, when the needle was safely tucked away.
He watched as she pushed back the blankets and took the clothes that had sat on the chair next to her hospital bed. He bent down to grab his quiver and when he stood up, she was fully dressed and waiting.
“Do you want to walk out or sneak out?” He asked.
She rolled her eyes and grabbed his arm. “We need to leave now, the nurses will be back to check on me in about 3 minutes.”
As in most things in life he just let her drag him along.
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Pizza dog was waiting for them when they arrived back at the tower.
Clint loved his dog and Lucky loved him.
Clint had saved him after a very unfortunate run-in with the Tracksuit mafia and had become his owner. It had taken an unholy amount of begging from him, and a single look from Steve to convince Tony that Lucky could live at the tower.
Since then, the dog had more than paid his dues, after saving everyone at least twice from bombs and acting as a therapy dog for everyone (but mostly Bucky).
The one-eyed dog greeted them as they stepped off the elevator to their floor.
It had once only been Natasha’s floor, but a month after everyone finally moving in, Tony seemed to realize that Clint’s floor was empty and collecting dust. He had then realized, through J.A.R.V.I.S., that the two master assassins had been sleeping on the same floor (and some nights in the same bed) the whole time. He had changed the codes but had said nothing of it, understanding that it was for the same reason he always slept better with Steve.
So Clint got his own code for the floor and Pizza Dog was officially moved in.
The brown dog followed them happily as they slowly staggered towards Natasha’s bedroom, discarding jackets and bows and shoes as they went. Natasha slipped into the bathroom and Clint heard the shower as it started. He slowly unlaced his boots and set them beside the bed. He stared out the window at the New York skyline until a small hand was set on his shoulder.
“Take a shower. I know you haven’t since you left.”
He nodded dumbly before pulling out his hearing aids and shuffling over to the bathroom. She sighed and slid under the covers.
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When Clint slipped bed, he smelled like her mint shampoo.
Natasha Romanoff, master assassin, the pride of the red room and the world’s deadliest ballerina, allowed her to be pulled into his arms.
She remained pliable as he ran his hands up and down her sides, knowing that he was checking her injuries and just assuring that she was still alive and that he wasn’t dead. When he was finished, she turned so he could read her lips.
“There was nothing you could have done.”
He sighed and buried his face in her hair.
They fell asleep that way, tucked in each other.
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The next morning when Clint finally slinked into the main floors kitchen to get his coffee, he was not surprised to see Steve with his arm wrapped around Tony’s waist whispering softly as the other man made bacon. The sight was old hat by now. For all of the Avengers, new and old.
Though to anyone else in the world it would seem like a sign the apocalypse. The two men who never stopped arguing in public, stood for two completely different parts of American life, cuddled up together in the kitchen at breakfast.
Tony laughed.
Sam rolled his eyes over his paper.
Bucky continued to squirt way too much sriracha on his cold pizza.
Clint drank his coffee out a cup the size of a small helicarrier.
Bruce drank his tea and smiled softly into his cup.
Thor beamed at nothing and devoured a pop tart.
Natasha poured conspicuous amounts of vodka into her coffee.
Rhodey had his eyes closed resting in the sunlight.
Vision floated through the ceiling.
Wanda looked like a teenager who just climbed out of a grave.
Pietro kept throwing worried glances at his sister.
Scott was sleeping on in his oatmeal.
Everything was so domestic.
Then it became a shit show in less than five seconds.
“HEY!!!”
Ah. Tony had decided to be an asshole, big surprise.
All eyes were on him with varying states of rage, surprise, anger and curiosity. (Except for Scott who was so surprised that he had fallen off of the bench and banged his head looking a little bit like he was gonna cry.)
“I got a new personal assistant,” Tony had to pause and wait for the mutterings of poor bastard to stop. He glared extra hard at Bucky. “and I would appreciate if you didn’t scare him to death on his first day. Pepper will yell at me if I break another one.”
“What’s his name?” Rhody asked looking mildly interested.
“Peter Parker. He’s sixteen, lives with his aunt and is a certified genius. Also, he will be here in like five minutes, so if you don’t want to be seen, I would leave now.”
Panic.
Pietro snatched up his sister, who looked very confused and disappeared in a blur. Natasha grabbed her coffee and walked away. Bucky muttered something about new people and bloodstains before punching Steve in the arm on his way out of the kitchen. Sam followed saying something about going for a jog. Steve followed him out. Vision floated back through the ceiling. Rhodey bro hugged Tony before leaving for work. Bruce had disappeared. Leaving only Clint at the table. (Scott was still there, but he was now sleeping on the floor so he didn’t count as being at the table.)
When the elevator doors opened, Clint was kind of expecting Godzilla. Instead, there was about the cutest teenage boy he had ever seen, all wrapped up in a checked shirt and bow tie.
Clint took one look and turned to Stark.
“Holy shit, it’s an actual human puppy.”
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Peter Parker had seen many things in his time as a vigilante and personal assistant for Tony Stark, but none as interesting to him as the relationship between Hawkeye and Black Widow.
He observed as Clint remembered all her favorite foods, as she carried him into the elevator, as they laid together on the couch, knowing only Clint was allowed to do that, as they battled aliens or whatever villain of the week. He watched unable to decide if they were best friends or soul mates.
He tried desperately to explain it to Michelle.
“It's like their space married! It's spirk style!” He exclaimed one day, throwing his hands wide.
Michelle stuffed another fry into her mouth. “I doubt it. From what you described it sounds like they use each other to fend off their PTSD. I think you lie.”
The young spider boy crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. “Fine, don’t believe me but it’s true.”
The girl rolls her eyes. “Sure whatever.”
That was before she got to see it for herself.
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Peter Parker was broken.
Aunt May had been the final straw. Not that the Avengers knew that.
Tony saw it in the way he worked. He was always focused, but his mind was somewhere else. Steve saw it in the way he interacted with others, no more awkward smiles or little laughs, just silence.
Clint saw it in his closed doors. He saw how the younger man shut the world out. If no one could come in then no one would get hurt. He had done the same until a mission gone awry when he had come home with a red headed stray.
The final clue had been when one evening, a tall black girl had stepped out of the elevator instead of a depressed teenage boy.
J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke before she could. “I am very sorry sir, she used Mr. Parker’s identification and overrode my codes.”
Everyone was on instant high alert.
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Michelle saw the way the archer started to breathe softer and stepped just barely ahead of the other assassin. She would examine them later, but right now she was on a mission, social anxiety, and awkwardness be damned.
“Who are you?” Captain America said Icily. She looked past him, directly at Tony Stark.
“Mr. Stark, I am Michelle, Peter Parker’s best friend and I have come here to speak on behalf of him since he has not.”
The tension in the room eased a fraction, and Ironman stepped closer.
“Speak on behalf? Why?”
“Peter Parker is now alone. His Aunt died two weeks ago of a heart attack. Since then Peter has been avoiding Child Services for reasons I am sure that you know. The reasons you chose him for.” She watched as the billionaire's brain worked to put all the pieces together. “Do with this information what you will. I just wanted to inform you.” She walked back towards the elevator she had come from.
She stepped in and turned around, facing the Avengers. “One last thing,” She stared directly at Clint. “Remember if you wait too long, you will lose the things you love most.” The doors closed.
Silence.
Damn, she owed Peter dinner, they were totally space married.
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Meanwhile back on the Avengers floor, everyone except for apparently Tony and Natasha, was very confused. Clint was the first to voice this confusion.
“What the fuck was that?”
Tony turned to Natasha, both of whom proceeded to have a very intense eye conversation. Eventually Tony sighed and Tasha placed her hands on her hips after making a shoe motion that very clearly said ‘go on, tell them’.
“I haven’t been completely honest with you guys about the reasons I hired Peter Parker.”
All eyes in the room followed him to the coffee table where he double tapped it, turning it into a holo table. He called out to JARVIS. “J, pull up project spider.”
Instantly the table exploded with images, of a person dressed in red and blue spandex swing between buildings.
Once again, Clint was the first to speak. “Hey, I know him, that’s the new vigilante. Fury wants him to be brought in.”
Tony enlarged a video and pointed to the red and blue clad person. “That is Peter Parker.”
Chaos ensued.
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Needless to say, Peter was mystified when two days later he was setting down his suitcase in his own room in the Avengers tower.
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There were very few things that could crack Natasha’s facade of marble.
This had been one of them.
Most of them had been splayed out across the living room for movie night. It had become something of a tradition. Every Thursday night, they would all pile into the living room with food and they would each take turns picking the movie out. Most of the time it went well. They chose carefully making sure it was something everyone could watch.
It hadn’t been the twin’s fault, they just hadn’t known.
As soon as Natasha had heard that sickly sweet voice, she was locked once again in the classroom. She could feel the chains on her wrists and felt the weight of a once comrade’s body in her arms. She had to escape just as she had done before.
So she did.
She tripped over bodies of her family, seeing only the dead bodies of little girls, trying to reach the door before it closed.
There were very few things that could crack Natasha’s facade, but Snow White was one of them.
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Clint had arrived in the room a minute later holding popcorn, to see gaping mouths and shell-shocked faces staring at the elevator.
He was more interested in the movie on the screen.
Snow White.
He saw red.
“Who picked this?”
Wanda, his adopted child put her hand up, “It was Pietro and I’s favorite when we were small. I am sorry.” Her voice got watery at the end and the speedster beside her held her close.
His anger dissipated knowing that it hadn’t been intentional.
“Turn off this movie. Never watch this movie, or hell any princess movie before Mulan around Nat.”
He gave the popcorn to Sam and ran towards the elevator.
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Clint found Natasha sitting on his bed, too straight, staring at nothing. He knocked on the door careful not to startle her. If she had gone full red room she would try to kill them.
He knocked again louder and she turned.
Tears were streaking down her pale face. He walked in, scooped her up and held her close. They sit like that for a while. Him just holding her and her just silently crying clutching him like a lifeline.
“I am sorry.” She said softly.
“Why?” He asks back.
“I was supposed to be unbreakable.”
“I know, I’m not mad, even the best marble cracks after years of pressure.”
She cries.
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That night they sleep together. Tangled together in a giant human knot. Clint can’t help but think about the young Michelle’s words.
He looked down at the woman in his arms and couldn’t help but think that was how it was supposed to be.
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As in everything they do, Natasha was the first to do it.
One night, after a long day of fighting pink slime, Clint was running his hands up and down her sides, making sure that she was still alive, convincing himself that they were both still alive.
Steve had been the one to point it out to her while they were running one day.
“You know that you love him right?” She had given him the silent ‘say-one-more-thing-in-and-I-will-kill-you’ look, but he had continued.
“You keep saying you owe him, but by now, you’ve both paid back your debts tenfold.” The slow their pace and Steve grabs her wrist.
“It’s okay to be happy. After so many years we all deserve that much. Tell him you love him. He loves you too, you’ll both be better for it.”
Natasha stared deep into his blue eyes and saw what he meant. She saw all the years of damage and saw how Tony and Peter were slowly sewing things back together.
“Maybe.” was all she had said.
But now as the two were tangled up in bed, she understood how right he had been. She never wanted to lose this. Clint’s slowing breaths tickled her ear.
Maybe all she was waiting for was permission.
She had gotten that.
So, as soft as she could without breaking she said it. “I love you.”
Clint squeezed her tighter, breath picking up once more. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I love you too.”
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Weeks later, Clint held her hand tight as she sat down in the chair at the tattoo parlor.
They had decided that that was the best way to go about things.
Clint already finished his. It was small and on the left side of his left ring finger. It said
Мой.
Then Tasha was finished. A tiny arrow shot up the left side of her ring finger.
It was quiet, kind of stupid and there, just like Clint.
He grabbed her untattooed hand and they walk out.
“I love you.” he whispers
“Mmm.”
Then they begin the long journey home.