So this is my first story. I definitely don't mind criticisms, in all actuality I would love feed back! This will be a chapter story, so the beginning might start a bit slow and short but there will be more. Thank you for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Avengers. I do own the storyline and the original characters in it (though the characters come later)

OUT OF MILK

In hindsight it was stupid really. Boy does/says something stupid, girl in turn does something equally stupid and then all of the sudden its crystal clear how absolutely dumb they are being and said boy and girl figure it out and fix it. Girl was not supposed to just up and leave, just a letter on the kitchen table all that was left to prove that she had been there in the beginning.

Then again, he figured what he did could be considered a lot more then just dumb. She had warned him of the very few things that she wouldn't be able to get over. Well, more like one big thing, don't break her trust.

Now her trust was pretty hard to break. When she decided to love and let some one in fully it would take the world turning upside down to break it. If he were being serious with himself he would have been able to admit that it would really take only one thing for it to crumble beyond the point of repair.

Clint understood that from the start. Shit, he understood that before anything even started. Yet he had to do it, had to just go for that sweet spot.

Clint didn't think he broke his ribs this past mission. But he had to because all of the sudden he couldn't take a breath with out the feeling of his whole chest caving in on him.

He had crumpled up the paper unknowingly and with the next thought that entered his brain he smoothed out the tear stained lines. What was he suppose to do now?

He re-read the paper even though he had already memorized what it said. Photographic memory be damned he was sure he misread something. Hopefully the whole thing.

This could not be a letter telling him that she was gone. That she had finally found something she couldn't handle when it came to him, when it came to them. No, it was a letter telling him they are out of milk and she is sorry she missed him walking out the door.

That had to be it, had to be it.

They weren't out of milk. She wasn't sorry she missed him walking through the door.

He hadn't read the letter wrong.

She was gone and wasn't it just a-fucking-mazing that it wasn't until she left that he realized how absolutely screwed up he had been. How it wasn't until now, that he realized how much he relied on her being there when he finally decided to come back.

When he finally realized that surviving without her was easy, but living with out her was impossible. Well wasn't he just a walking goddamn country song.

He looked up around his apartment eyes taking in the emptiness of it all. The D.V.D rack had some bare spots, the wall was spotted where pictures had hung, and throw pillows on the couch had disappeared. He quietly headed to the bathroom taking in the almost empty medicine cabinet and the plain white shower curtain. Slowly walking through his small downtown apartment his eyes grew dimmer as he cataloged all that was missing, leaving their, fuck, his room last.

"Fuck" he breathed out. The bed was neatly made with dark purple sheets; pillows that were obviously new covered the left side of the bed. Covered the spot she had always claimed. The closet door was opened, his shoes spread out neatly on its floor, his clothes still coordinated by color and facing the same way. An O.C.D habit she had picked up in her childhood; the only evidence that she was even here. Not even the smell of her lingered, it was if she just erased her presence.

His breath wasn't coming out right again; he could feel his chest constricting. Falling back against the wall his head fall forward to meet his knees as he folded in on himself. His hands clenching at air as the paper fell to the floor between his feet. Eyes dry and head pounding he sat deadly still as he tried to sort out his thoughts.

It was a day later the rest of the team found him. Wanting to know if he was willing to watch Good Will Hunting for the teams movie night the rest of the Avengers filed in loudly to their, fuck, his room. All it took was one look, and they stopped in one fluid motion. It would have been funny; if Clint could remember what funny was.

For not having moved a finger that night his body was able to move surprisingly quick. Sniper training hauntingly effective in his smooth movements as he quickly darted between them to pull open a ceiling vent. Disappearing before they could even blink. No pins and needles for Hawkeye, he was indestructible, or at least he was.

A piece of paper crumpled against Tony's foot as he moved to pick it up. Tear stained words, dark against the white background. Her signature was small; it seemed that even her own handwriting was drawn in and about to collapse.

Tony scanned the paper, handing it over to the men and woman beside him without a word and walking out. Simultaneously trying to guess where Barton had disappeared off to and asking Jarvis how long it would take him to find the missing person.

The Widow glanced up at the ceiling almost willing the man into being. She knew she couldn't go after him. As much as he wouldn't blame her, she knew he wouldn't be able to stand her either. Her sigh echoed in the dark room, walking silently she followed Tony.

Steve, Thor, and Bruce traded glances. They didn't read the letter. Instead they chose to just follow their teammates. They didn't have to read what was written. They just needed to see their teammates reaction to know what it meant.

Knowing that once he came down, or was found, whichever came first, he would need them. As much as they knew he had messed up, they also knew that family isn't only there for the good times. That's what makes them family. Besides nothing was ever truly broken, especially when it came to Barton and her. A relationship like their's was obviously end game. They needed each other.

Yeah people do amazingly stupid stuff. Okay life is a bitch sometimes but even fate couldn't be this cruel.

This cold.

Except there was piece of paper was left on the floor, crumpled, tear stained, and torn at a corner.

Words that even in heartbreak never turned vicious, instead wishing the reader a happy rest of his life. It was those simple words that really made things echo out. Words that conveyed a certain type of distance because at least mean words hinted at a passion still there. Yet these words as sad as they were, just showed how cut off the writer felt, how finished.

Yeah she was done and as Barton lay in the air vent, darkness surrounding him, he slowly realized that the thing beating in his chest was only a muscle.

His heart had just left him and breathing would never come as easy as it did again.