Natasha should have known better.
The first sign that something was wrong came after Stark had dragged them to the small shawarma restaurant. It was ridiculous, all of them sitting in their uniforms and eating while the owners cleaned up rubble and wreckage, but Tony tipped well, and nobody seemed to mind. The Avengers ate quietly, Natasha would say wearily, if not for Thor and Clint. While Thor ate with gusto, marveling at the taste of the food, Clint ate ravenously. His food was pulled onto his lap, shoulders hunched protectively over it, and before she had even picked up her food, Clint had wolfed down half of his.
Natasha wondered, not for the first time, if Loki had let Clint rest long enough to eat or sleep.
Judging by the bags under his eyes, his pale face, and the heavy cloud of fatigue that hovered over him, she would guess not.
Clint must have felt her stare. His face turned away from her, tired blue eyes sweeping over the restaurant's entrance before he ducked his head over his food and made an obvious effort to eat slower. Natasha watched him for a while longer. She wanted to ask him what had happened. Wanted to know what Loki had done, but the Avenger's presence made it impossible.
She resolved to ask him later, turning to her own cooling food and thinking instead about how S.H.I.E.L.D. would handle the fallout of an attempted alien invasion. Clint's boot behind her back was a solid, not unwelcome, presence that kept her grounded.
Had she been more aware, less drained by the battle, she would have recognized it as another sign.
Clint Barton was a friendly guy. He was funny, if not occasionally childish, with an easy-going personality and a knack of buddying up to people and making them relax. But if there was one thing Natasha knew Clint did not readily tolerate, it was unnecessary physical contact. If Clint was in a good mood, he might let Natasha lean against him, her shoulder comfortably warm against his while they watched movies. Other days, anyone within a foot of him made him agitated and jittery.
That said, Clint would always accept Natasha touching him when she needed it. Natasha leaning against him when she was tired and wanted warmth to help her forget cold nights spent alone in the Red Room. He might have a tight smile on his face, his leg bouncing uneasily, but Clint would do it for her. Because he knew that despite her reputation as cold and withholding, she sometimes wanted the comfort of having someone near her, knowing that it was her choice. Clint had never wanted the same, had never sought any kind of physical comfort.
Until he put his foot on the back of her chair, boot against her back, and his leg stretched along the side of hers, barely touching.
Clint was subtle enough that Natasha convinced herself Clint put his leg behind her, just out of reach to give her the option of seeking comfort. Natasha could believe she herself had closed that small gap herself to touch him. She attributed his uncanny silence to exhaustion, and his avoiding her gaze to another one of his stupid attempts of hiding he was hurt. She could have watched him closer, kept an eye on him to make sure he was alright.
Except she didn't. And after they left the restaurant, between the confusion of New York pulling itself back together and S.H.I.E.L.D. debriefing the Avengers, he had disappeared.
It wasn't her fault he was gone. He wasn't her responsibility, and she wasn't his. But Clint was her best friend.
Natasha should have known better.
The second Natasha was free from her S.H.I.E.L.D. duties, she changed into civilian clothes and went looking for Clint.
It took her all day to find him. She started at S.H.I.E.L.D., scouring his room and his favorite hiding spots for any signs that he had been there. She interrogated any agents he might have come in contact with, and when that yielded zero results, she scanned the main video feeds to see if he had entered the building. When she was satisfied he was nowhere in S.H.I.E.L.D., she made the rounds to his favorite city hideouts, his safe-house, and even Stark Tower to make sure she hadn't missed anything.
Clint covered his tracks well, Natasha thought proudly. She considering returning to S.H.I.E.L.D. for a few hours of sleep before resuming her search, when pure luck gave Natasha her first clue as to where Clint might be found. It was enough that Natasha traced him to one of the more damaged areas of New York, rubble from the Chitauri's attack lining the streets, and handfuls of people still working to fix their homes despite the sun having set hours earlier.
Natasha followed the noise of a large group of people to a collapsing apartment complex. Chunks of the building had been smashed out, the entrance completely blocked by debris from the inside. The fire escape had been almost completely torn from the side of the building, clinging precariously to its support.
And perched on the edge of said fire escape, five stories up, and reaching toward an open window that was narrowly within his grasp, was none other than Clint Barton.
Clint had changed out of his uniform, wearing a pair of loose black sweatpants and a dark grey hoodie that was a few sizes too large. Natasha moved in closer, and even though she couldn't see his face, she could tell he was hurting. Stubbornly determined, still agile, but after he slowly maneuvered so he had one leg inside the room and one leg hanging out the window, he paused. He ducked his head, drawing in deep breaths before smiling and easing himself into the room. His low, soothing voice was just loud enough for Natasha to hear him say, "I know you're real scared, but I'm not here to hurt you, okay? We're going to get you out of here."
An older woman with greying hair and hints of wrinkles on her face, came to stand beside Natasha. The woman followed Natasha's gaze, an intrigued look on her face before she gestured to the window and asked her, "You know him?"
"He's a friend," Natasha replied. She smiled disarmingly at the woman and held out her hand to shake. "I'm Natalie."
"Mary Jo," the woman said. "Do you two live around here?"
"No. We got separated during all the chaos, and when I heard people were gathering here to help clean up, I thought I would come look," Natasha said. "He has a knack for finding trouble."
There was a yelp from the building, a crash, and Natasha heard Clint say, "Ouch! Geez, I'm just trying to help."
"Seemed like a good place to look," she added.
"He's been here all day," Mary Jo said, watching Natasha closely. "Showed up early this afternoon, 'bout an hour after everything had settled down. People thought by the way he was bruised and scraped that he had crawled out of one of the wrecked buildings, but nobody recognized him. He has helped a lot of people, managed to free some of them that were trapped. He won't tell us his name, though. Won't eat, won't take a break, won't even let the doctors look at him."
"Sounds like him."
"People want to thank him. Any chance you can at least tell us his name?"
"If he hasn't told you, I don't think I should," Natasha said with a small smile. "But if you want to call him something, I throw my vote in for Hansel or Francis."
There was a rustle from the building, and Clint's head popped out of the window, briefly judging the best way to reach the fire escape before ducking back inside. He returned a second later, feet finding purchase where he crouched on the window sill, his left hand firmly gripping the wall, and safely tucked under his right arm-
"Is that a cat?" Natasha asked, her eyes narrowing as she leaned closer. It was hard to believe the brown ball of fluff could be anything besides a cat, but surely even Clint wouldn't risk entering a collapsing building to save somebody's pet.
"That's Argus, my friend Mrs. Norris's cat," Mary Jo said. She raised her hand to her mouth, watching anxiously. "Mrs. Norris, the poor dear, was taken to the hospital. Her cat is all she has left, but the rescue crews were too busy helping others to fetch him, and the building was too destroyed for anyone else to get inside."
It took Natasha all her determination not to roll her eyes at her partner's stupidity. Of course, Clint volunteered to rescue a cat from a building that could collapse any minute. This was the same man who stopped Natasha every time they saw a dog and introduced himself...to the dog.
Natasha was drawn out of her thoughts as Clint froze on the windowsill, poised in the way she knew meant he was about to jump. It wasn't far. If he stretched, he would have been able to place one foot on the fire escape and one on the windowsill where, after some careful maneuvering, he could have hauled himself safely onto the landing.
But Clint was a risk-taker. And the showman in him could never resist performing for a crowd.
He jumped, smooth and graceful like a leopard, the crowd below him gasping even as he caught the metal bar of the fire escape with his free hand and easily moved onto the landing. Minutes later he was on the ground, surrounded by people who complimented him before scattering away to take refuge for the night.
Clint seemed surprised to see Natasha. His left hand rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous gesture only briefly before he remembered the cat and used his arm to secure the animal closer to him.
"Thank you so much for all of your help! Mrs. Norris will be relieved to hear her kitty is safe," Mary Jo said, accepting the cat from Clint. She soothingly ran her fingers through the cat's thick fur, scratching gently behind his ears. "I'll make sure he's well taken care of until Mrs. Norris is released."
"Anything to help," Clint said with a large smile. "He seems okay. Put up a bit of a fight when I first found him, but he settled down after I picked him up. Is there anything else I can do?"
"No, it looks like everyone is calling it quits for the night," Mary Jo said, looking around the emptying street. "You and your friend might as well go home. Maybe get some rest. Lord knows you've earned it."
"We'll see about that," Clint said, exchanging a small glance with Natasha. "Seems like there is still a lot that can be done."
"It'll still be here in the morning. If you really want to help, come back tomorrow," Mary Jo said. She paused, a small smile on her face. "If you tell me your name, I can tell people to expect you."
"And ruin the 'mystery man' vibe I've been working on all day?" Clint replied. "Not a chance."
Mary Jo laughed, Clint giving her one of his goofy 'I'm-charming-so-underestimate-me' smiles that Natasha could never decide if she loved or hated.
"I've got to leave now, but both of you take care," Mary Jo said. She shook Natasha's hand again then shook Clint's and said to him, "Take care, honey. You've got a big heart; we can't thank you enough."
Clint nodded, his smile tightening and body tensing almost imperceptibly. He shifted away from Mary Jo, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck while the other twitched at his side. He managed enough words to say goodbye, Natasha watching closely, and the second Mary Jo was out of sight, his shoulders slumped. His body seemed to deflate in the middle of the empty street, his eyes dulled either from the lingering concussion or realizing there was nothing left for him to do.
Natasha waited, her posture relaxed, until Clint eventually moved and refocused his eyes on her.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
"I could ask you the same thing. You were supposed to debrief with Director Fury."
"We rescheduled," Clint stated. "Seriously, Nat, what are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
"S.H.I.E.L.D. worried I'm going to go rogue again?" Clint said irritably. "They send you out here to bring me back in?"
"You know I would never do that, Clint."
"Yeah…you're right. Sorry, Tasha, I don't know what I'm saying," Clint said. He rubbed at his neck again, trying unsuccessfully to cover up a wince.
"You're hurt."
"Just a couple of bruises and scrapes. Nothing we haven't dealt with before."
"Do you need to see a doctor?"
"No," Clint said, shaking his head. "Might have you check my back to make sure there isn't any glass stuck in it, though."
"Sure," Natasha said. She believed him. Or at the very least, she believed that he didn't think he needed a doctor. It was good enough for her. Clint's eyes glossed over in thought, and when they regained their focus again, she asked, "How much sleep have you gotten?"
"Nowhere near enough, that's for damn sure," Clint said with a grimace.
"Do you want to go back to S.H.I.E.L.D.? Or we could go to one of the safe-houses?"
Clint shrugged.
"Do you want to stay here?"
Another shrug.
Natasha saw him anxiously scanning the streets. His body read defeat, and in many ways, it reminded her of herself the first time they met. Right now, he was running from Loki, running from the knowledge of what he had done under the Asgardian's control. Blaming himself, no doubt, and under the impression that he was out of options.
Just like she had been when she left the Red Room. She had been exhausted, at one of the lowest points in her life, and ready to die. Clint had stood across from her with an arrow to her head, and she had told him to kill her. Instead, he gave her a second chance and helped her turn her life into something she could be proud of.
"Let's go for a drive," Natasha said.
She drove them to the nearest river, found a tall building with minimal security, and took Clint to the roof where they sat staring out at water with their feet hanging over the edge. Neither of them said anything, Clint lost in thought and Natasha keeping watch. Thirty minutes passed, then an hour, until Clint finally spoke, so quietly that Natasha would have missed it if she weren't waiting for him to speak.
"He said I had heart," Clint said, glancing at Natasha briefly. "Loki caught me off guard, put the scepter against my chest, and told me I had heart before he used it on me. I fought so damn hard against it, Tasha. I thought maybe if I…I dunno, concentrated enough? I thought maybe I could take back control."
"Loki wouldn't have let you," Natasha said. "It's surprising you were even able to stop yourself from killing Hill and Director Fury."
"Yeah, I guess," Clint said. He drew one leg onto the edge, crossed his arms over it, and rested his head on top. "He used the scepter on me again after that. Everything's blurry but I get flashes of memory every now and then."
"Of what Loki was planning?"
Clint shook his head and sighed. His hands were clenched, a slight tremor running through his body, before he forced himself to stop. Natasha didn't move, kept her head turned toward the water even as she watched him out of her peripheral vision.
"Mostly, I see people getting hurt," Clint said eventually. "Good people…S.H.I.E.L.D. agents falling with arrows in their chests, and all of it under a blue fog...all because of me."
"It wasn't your fault. Loki forced you to do it."
"I'm still the one who did it. I'm the one who has to live with it."
"No, Clint," Natasha said firmly. "You may have done it, but that's because Loki was using you. It's his fault, not yours."
Clint shrugged, an unreadable expression on his face. He rubbed at his ear, and Natasha wondered if his aids were bugging him. Clint got twitchy when he left them in too long or when he couldn't use them for more than a day. They could try signing instead of speaking, but she wasn't as fluent as he was yet, and it would be harder to see in the dark. Her thoughts were interrupted when he mumbled something and looked at her questioningly.
She raised an eyebrow and he repeated, "Why didn't you tell me, Nat?"
"Tell you what?"
"When I asked what Loki did to you, you said you were compromised," Clint said. His sad blue eyes locked onto hers and she knew what was coming next. "You didn't tell me you were compromised because of me…because of what I told him."
Natasha's expression didn't change, but her heart hammered in her chest. She hoped he would never remember how Loki had used him to get to her. She knew he would feel guilty, would blame himself for all of it, especially if he knew that Loki threatened to have Clint kill her. He would already be beating himself up for fighting her on the Quinjet, she didn't want him to hate himself more.
"You were compromised, too. It wasn't important how Loki got the information, only that we stop him from hurting anyone else," Natasha said. "You could have stayed on the Quinjet, and nobody would have judged you for it. But you picked yourself up. You joined the Avengers, and you had a second chance to fight Loki. I wasn't going to distract you."
"I heard Director Fury wants you to work with the Avengers full time," Clint said, changing the subject.
"And you."
"I don't deserve it."
"Clint, when I met you, you said you were one of the good guys. You said I could be one of the good guys, if I went with you," Natasha said. She moved so they were sitting shoulder to shoulder, her arm resting lightly against his. "Despite everything I had done, you believed I could change. We have both been used, both done things we regret, and not all of it is our fault. But we try to be better people, and that's what counts."
"I've done a lot of bad things since then, Tasha."
"And I've got red in my ledger," Natasha stated. "You don't think you're a good guy, fine. But look at how many people you've helped, Clint. You can still be that person. I know you can."
"Thanks, Natasha," Clint whispered. He hesitated, his leg slowly moving to hang over the edge again, before he leaned against her, drawing solace from her warmth.
They sat in comfortable silence, the sky slowly fading to purples and oranges as the sun creeped over the water. They would need to leave soon to catch a few hours of sleep before Thor returned Loki to Asgard. But Natasha was okay with waiting. It was worth it when Clint looked at her with an achingly familiar mischievous smirk, and said, "Did you see Loki when he caught the exploding arrow and it blew up in his face? Smug bastard had no idea what hit him."