It was hours before Thor was taking Loki back to Asgard.
Clint Barton couldn't sleep.
Natasha Romanoff could.
Exhausted from the Battle of New York, the two assassins collapsed on the same bed, as a comfort, a balm.
However, even with the comfort of his best friend-lover according to over half of SHEILD- Clint was plagued by hazy memories of his time under Loki's spell. He lay awake for hours, drifting somewhere in his own mind.
Natasha stirred.
"Clint?"
He was drawn from his reverie by her voice.
"I'm fine." he responded automatically.
"No, you're not." she stated knowingly, wrapping her arms around him in order to comfort him.
The kiss he placed on her temple was to acknowledge, to sooth.
"I'm not. But I will be."
"Good."
The kiss she placed on his jaw was to comfort and support.
Natasha's eyes slowly slid closed once more as Clint's deft fingers carded through her auburn hair. He pressed his lips to the top of her head.
"God, marry me, Nat."
Later that morning, when the sun was high in the sky, Natasha was still thinking about the statement he hadn't meant for her to hear.
As the bound Loki was brought to the departure site, she found her answer.
"Yes."