For the third day in a row rain had been falling on Chicago. A cold, relentless patter that drove most of the city's inhabitants to shelter within their homes with warm drinks and lovers.
Natasha, for all of her deadly weapons and years of training never felt safer than she did now-her back pressed against his chest, tucked into his arms.
His measured breath steadied her own, just as his presence steadied her body and mind in combat and in rest. Strong and practical. Just like her. But Clint was also her heart-warm and thoughtful where she was calculating-he kept her human.
"Barton?"
"Mm?"
Natasha wanted to tell him these thoughts. These tangled strings of emotion which she herself could barely understand. She wanted to tell him that she needed him like she never needed anybody. That he was the first person who had gained her trust, grudgingly at first, but undoubtedly. She wanted to tell him how she would do anything to keep him safe. To whisper that she loved him. Her mouth opened but no sound came out, the sentiments too strong for words.
In response to her silence Clint tightened his arms around her body, kissed the nape of her neck, pressed his forehead to her curls. He knew.