A/N: Sorry, I just. I couldn't help myself. It's Halloween and it's 4 in the morning. I've been reading some sad BuckyNat where Bucky told Nat he loves her but he'll kill her if she returns him to the Red Room, after he remembered a sliver of Steve. Then she goes on to deny that he doesn't love her. I won't mention the story, because I probably misquoted it.

Anyway, here ya go. My 5+1(+1) fic. My fix-it-fic for a fix-it-fic. Heh.

Sorry for the grammatical errors. I'll get back to it ASAP. It's 4 am. Reviews will be deeply appreciated.

Non-CACW compliant. Probably 2017ish since Nathaniel's 2 years old.

On Love, In Sadness

by Alex Levi (One Shot)

The first time Clint noticed it was in one of the debriefings Coulson had ordered after a raid on a Hydra base near Stockholm.

His best friend was staring out of the window, obviously too preoccupied to listen to the meeting – which was very rarely an occurrence, for she was always so attentive to give details. But then, who could blame her? Coulson's drone could be very mind-numbing when it got too long, and they've been sitting in those chairs for about five hours since lunch.

It wasn't that he was boring – it's just that Fury's vocabulary had been more… colorful.

Clint's eyes went back to the projector, where a footage of some experimental droids had been playing. He watched from the corner of his eyes as the man sitting beside his best friend laid a gleaming metal hand on hers on the table, which made her shift her gaze from the window to their hands. She glanced at him and hesitantly pulled her hand away, earning her a confused expression that only lasted for about a moment when Coulson turned the lights back on as the video finished playing.

Clint focused his eyes directly on his best friend, silently asking her what's wrong. She only shook her head. It's nothing, Clint.

The second time Clint noticed it was on a Tuesday, when his best friend called to ask if he was free for the night.

"I've got tickets to Hamilton, man." He rolled his eyes at her attempt in mimicking Sam – which was actually pretty good over the phone. "You, me, we paint the town red. What do you say?"

"Nat, I've got kids to teach basic algebra to – and I don't even know basic math!" He yelled at the phone, tossing a paper plane made out of graphing paper into the bin. "They didn't teach these at circus! Take your boyfriend or teach my kids yourself."

"Come on, you got a hundred percent aim." She dropped the weird Sam impression. Fina-fucking-lly. "That requires math, right?"

"Not as much as quadratic equation."

He could actually hear her rolling her eyes at him. "It's 'negative-b, plus or minus, square root of b-squared minus four-a-b, all over two-a.'"

Fucking show-off. He thought. "Take your boyfriend, Nat. That's why I got the guy to hang out with you – to get you off my back."

There was a moment of silence, and Clint almost – almost – wanted to take back what he said, even though she knew it was just playful banter. "Barnes doesn't like musicals as much."

"Nat," he groaned, though there were alarms ringing in his head that something was wrong, "he and Steve went to see Hamilton for about four times already. I doubt one more screening would bore him."

The third time Clint noticed it was when he was in his farm, at sunset. A month and a half after the musical invitation.

His two older kids were running around, being chased by the birthday boy, who just recently blew out his two little blue candles. Thor was setting up the fireworks, Laura was showing Steve the best way to marinade a fucking salmon – "It's an old family recipe, Steve. You'd love it." – and Sam was doing his best not to laugh at the names of the chicken – "Come on, man, you named your chickens after us. It's good stuff! Look at Tony the Eight go!"

His best friend, however, was sitting alone in the porch steps, watching the kids run around giggling with that faraway look in her eyes again. He grabbed a couple of beers from the cooler and sat beside her. "It's been a long day. You look like you could use a drink."

She held out her hand, not even glancing at him. "I've had longer days, Clint."

"You okay?" He mumbled after a long swig from his bottle, staring at where she's staring. He could feel the corner of her eye watching him. "Oh come on, Nat. Don't look at all surprised. You know you're my best friend, right?"

She snorted. "Well, you forced me to wear friendship necklaces like kindergartners. I think you got the message across."

He rolled his eyes, "Come off your high horse. You admitted that you loved it."

She just shrugged in reply. He sighed and put the bottle on a creaking step. "So… I haven't seen Barnes around."

"He didn't think he was invited." Her tone was stern. It held no option for a reply, but he's Clint Barton, so he knew she was lying. "I called him personally, Nat."

They were looking at each other now, her wanting so much to silence him, and him prying for her to spill. "You should ask Steve. He moved out of my place a week ago."

He frowned, "Is this about you pushing people away again? Goddamn it, Natasha –"

She shook her head, "Ain't that. That, I could deal with, Clint. I can't deal with this."

The sun was setting so low, the sky was almost completely black. He grabbed his bottle again and drank its contents, spilling some on his shirt. It earned him a chuckle. "I fucking hate that bullseye shirt. I hope it stains."

"Nat, it's beer. It's not tomato soup." He deadpanned.

The fourth time Clint noticed it was when his best friend started drinking green tea again.

She was on the Stark Tower's roof – his usual hiding place – on an early November morning. She's usually not fond of going on high places, told him it's from when she was young and she never saw the appeal – "but missions are missions, Clint. I get my head out of my ass sometimes."

"I just saw Barnes walked out the building with – who was that woman from accounting again? Laurel-with-the-lip-piercing?" He said lightly as he hoisted himself up on the ledge.

"Lillian-with-the-lip-piercing, actually." She murmured, looking out at the New York City skyline. "She's cute, isn't she?"

He shrugged, grabbing the cup from her hand and taking a drink from it. He spat it out almost immediately. "Tastes like grass, Nat. I might just treat you to Starbucks if it'd make you stop drinking leaves."

"Coffee stains your teeth, Clint."

He rolled his eyes. She never drink tea, not unless she's in distress. Last he saw her drink a cup, it was when Liho was lost for two weeks. "Yeah, but tea is just garbage. You're not in London, you weirdo."

She snorted, snatching the cup from him and pouring the contents on one of the potted hibiscus near the bench. "Nice word play, Shakespeare."

"I do my best."

They were quiet after that, both just mindlessly watching as the city lights turn off, albeit not simultaneously, to start the new day. He kept his thoughts to himself until the last streetlight flickered off on the fourth block from the parking lot near Times Square. But it seemed to be that she was doing the same, because she was the one to break the silence. "I'm actually the one to set them up. Not directly, of course."

He glanced at her questioningly, his tone flat. "Now why would you do that?"

"I couldn't be there for him." She said, nothing of her tone betraying what she felt, but Clint knew. He was the one who was with her when she was emotionless at the beginning. He knew her. "That's just stupid. You're stupid, you know?"

"It's not that easy." She whispered. Quiet. Impassive. "I love him, Clint. He doesn't love me. Not that way."

Then, he laughed – bitter, low, irritated – and even he, himself, was surprised at the sound. "You fucking walnut! You knew the quadratic equations and that long formula that Cooper asked about like the back of your hand – you basically manipulate people for a living and you didn't see how that boy look at you like you're his fucking lifeline." He glared at her, "Don't do that shit where you underestimate how much people would go on lengths for you –"

She withdrew her breath exasperatedly. "It's not that, Clint. I know he'd die for me. I know."

"Then what's the fucking problem, Nat? It's your seventh assignment this month alone and you're never around anymore. Because it's killing you, and I refuse to see you that way." He took her right hand in his left, squeezing it. "You love each other, it's never gonna be that simple, but it's not that complicated."

She held his gaze for a couple of seconds before staring into the view again. "If it was down to me and Laura, whose life would you save?"

"What kind of question is that?" He muttered, frowning. "Of course, I'd save Laura. You could kick my own butt without even breaking a sweat, I know you'd handle yourself well."

She gave him a sad smile, "If it was me and Steve, he'd still pick him over me."

He nodded, because he knew. He knew because there came a time when he would have picked her over Laura, too – even if she could've saved her own.

He also lied, because he heard Barnes telling Lillian that he wasn't interested in her.

The fifth time Clint noticed it – and he supposed, even Banner noticed and he was always in his lab two floors above the lobby – was when Thor brought them the infamous Asgardian mead in celebration of his thousand-and-ninth year of existence.

To say the least, he was very entertained when Steve had loosened up his usually uptight posture and was singing all these trashy girl group pop songs Tony probably have JARVIS programmed into his phone. He was in the middle of Destiny's Child's Emotion on the makeshift karaoke stage in the common area when Barnes, in all of his drunken state, snatched the mic off his hands.

Everybody turned to look at him, even his own best friend, who was probably planning on exit strategies, sitting next to Banner.

Barnes was glaring at the pair – who, Clint have noticed, were harmlessly flirting near the bar. He threw the mic away and stormed off, breaking his pint mug when he reached the door.

Steve sighed, sending the two an apologetic smile, and followed him out the door. Tony tried to lighten things up by stating the obvious – "That's some… interesting turn of events. Hope he doesn't tear the building in half." – which most certainly did not work to appease the tension.

Banner looked uncomfortable, because everybody was watching them curiously. He just muttered his apologies and slipped to go to his lab. Clint waited until everybody was only half-pretending not to listen to their conversation before he trudged up to where his best friend was sitting on one of the high metal stools, her chin resting on her knuckles, stirring a glass of martini with a cocktail parasol. "Well, that was wild."

She rolled her eyes, trying to sound uninterested. She looked more tired than he was, and he have kids. "That's putting it mildly."

He snickered, nudging her side. "Shoulda seen Steve, though. I was so sure he was channeling his inner Beyonce when Barnes grabbed the mic from him."

"Yeah, he was getting to the good bits. I was so sure he was gonna sing Sweet Dreams next." She licked her lips. "Too bad."

"Yeah, too bad, right?" He muttered, very much wanting to skip the banter. "Why didn't you follow him? This thing between you two has been killing him as much as it's killing you."

"It's always been the two of them." She murmured, frowning down her glass.

He scrunched up his nose in annoyance, "Are you really gonna be jealous of two straight – well, probably bisexual – guys who were inseparable since the twenties?"

"I'm not jealous. I just know he hasn't outgrown Steve like you've outgrown me. He has to." She said, resigned. The bags under her eyes were more prominent now. "Or this wouldn't work. Not again."

If he hadn't known her, he would've thought that she was about to cry.

The first time Clint punched Barnes was on the week after.

Clint was never a man who bit off more than he could chew, but then he was never a man who had friends he'd be willing to die for. He only had, like, five of those.

Barnes chuckled and stood up straighter, rubbing the spot where Clint managed to land an impressive blow that sent him a couple of steps back. "Thanks. I needed that."

He gave him a shit-eating grin, "You're welcome."

The next time Clint saw his best friend was half a year later, on Steve's hundred-and-first birthday.

Her hair wasn't as long as it was since then. It now only hung a few inches from her chin, completed with messy side bangs – bangs! He was never gonna let her hear the end of it.

But she looked better, and that was always a good sign. "Nice hair, Auntie Nat." He teased.

She rolled her eyes, "T'was for a mission. Shut the fuck up."

"What, there ain't enough Hydra bases that you got yourself pulling off a 21 Jump Street?"

She raised an eyebrow, "Actually, I did 22. Went undercover in college. Almost forgot how much I missed the mind-numbing life of a millennial student."

"You certainly took too long to show up." He grinned at her, "You turned a week's worth of mission to a whole semester."

She grinned back, "I needed the time."

"But you're okay now?"

Behind her, he noticed Barnes watching from across the room, sipping his cup of coffee quietly.

Slowly, however, he watched as the man finally, finally, put his cup of coffee on the counter and stood up to walk in the direction to where they were both standing.

"Hi." He whispered at her back. She turned to him, her mouth automatically twisting into one of those rare smiles she'd only give to someone if they're exactly what she came for.

Clint chuckled and excused himself, because if there's something he was sure of in the universe, there was one more thing Natasha missed more than playing a millennial student.