He can feel her eyes on him, sense them without having to turn his head to look at her. She's watching him, she does that on occasion, but he rarely asks why.
"What?" he asks, finally turning his head to look at her. She's stunning in the light that's still barely left behind by the setting sun and she gives him a small smile before bringing her binoculars back to her face, seemingly getting back to the mission.
"You're so calm up here," she says after a minute, "On a rooftop, you're always so calm. I've always known that about you, but I love seeing it in person; the look on your face when you're this focused… you know exactly what you're doing but you just get this look- I don't know. When you're on a rooftop, you only belong to you, not SHIELD, not The Avengers, no-"
"Still to you. Always to you," he grins, the smile reaching his eyes.
She chuckles, shaking her head as she watches forward, "After all this time, just seeing you calm on a mission like this where we're just watching and waiting, it makes me calm."
She's right, he thinks. Over their years as partners, they had done plenty of missions like this. They'd spent days surveilancing from rooftops in the boiling sun, from snow covered buildings in negative temperatures, to nights like tonight where it was warm, not unbearable and slightly humid, but you could see the stars for a thousand miles in the darkening sky.
Natasha hated missions like this. She always had, probably always would. She preferred action and working up close, the perfect contrast to his own preference of being out of site. Over the years, she complained less about them, gave him less shit as they were sprawled out uncomfortably, but he knew she still didn't enjoy stakeouts. She was calmer about them, though. He couldn't say whether or not that had anything to do with him being there, but she tended to be a calming presence for him as well, so maybe.
"I know that you hate this," Clint said sincerely, directing his attention back to the warehouse as well.
"Oh, really?"
"You would rather be down on the ground, up close."
"I won't deny that, but I don't mind being up here with you. You're not bad company, Barton."
"That's not what you used to tell me," he smirked, nudging her shoulder.
He felt her eyes on him again, looking at him the way only she ever had. It made him weak in the knees, this look. He felt like he would fall apart into a million pieces.
Clint turns his head, his gaze immediately latching to Natasha's. Coulson used to call it their magnetic pull, he had even called them out on it during debrief on more than one occasion.
"Marry me," he says. It's barely audible, but Clint knows she heard him. He doesn't know where the question came from, but he refuses to take it back.
For a split second, Natasha looks shocked. If it were anyone but him, they wouldn't have noticed the way it flashed over her face and was gone in a second.
"What?"
"Marry me," he says, this time louder.
Before Clint realizes it, he's on his feet, helping her up. He steps closer, using his right index finger to brush a few strands of red hair out of her face.
"Tasha," he starts, "You know me better than anyone. You always have. I can't even remember what it's like to not have you know me and what I'm thinking, what I need. I feel like I take what we have- what we are to each other for granted."
"Clint," Natasha says, she's looking up at him curiously through the dim light.
"No, I do. We work together, we live together, we risk our lives for each other day in and day out and I feel like I take that and the little things among it, for granted. Over the past few months, after Loki, after losing Phil, you've been my rock. I wouldn't have gotten through the last four months without you by my side. Losing our friends and almost losing each other taught me something. It made me realize that I need to stop taking our life for granted, I need to stop counting on a future that I might not have and start living the life that we have together to the fullest. I love you and I don't say it enough, but I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. I'll never love anyone else that much. I don't want to let anything hold us back anymore, especially things that we want."
Clint takes a deep breath, easily taking Natasha's hands in his, "No matter what your answer is, how much I feel for you isn't going to change, but I'd like the chance to ask you anyway, Natasha, will you marry me?"
Natasha bites her bottom lip, stealing a glance at the warehouse.
"I love you, more than anyone or anything, you know that?" She asks.
"Of course. I love you, too."
"I don't want you to feel like you're obligated to do this."
"I don't."
"I don't want you to feel like I need or want to be married, because the truth is, I'm completely happy with the way we are. I've never been happier. I love you, and you, Clint, you have changed my entire life. I'm so thankful for what we have and who we are, I don't need a piece of paper to tell me that I'm happy and that I love you, so if that's why you're doing this, if you think that I need-"
"Natasha," Clint chuckles, "I don't think that. I know that I love you more than anything. I know that I plan to spend the rest of my life with you, for better, for worse, and all of that. I know that we don't need a piece of paper to tell us that we love each other, and we don't need that as a contract of a commitment, but, I do think that if we wanted to get married just because we love each other, then we shouldn't let anything stop us."
Natasha takes a step back, making her way towards the other side of the roof. She looks at the sky, clearly contemplating her choice.
"Natasha, we don't have-"
"No, that's not it, Clint," she whispers, looking back at him, "What if we mess it up? What if by getting married, we ruin it."
"We won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because we're us. No one knows me better than you, no one gets me more. We're two halves of a whole. I'm not going anywhere."
"Okay," Natasha says.
"Okay?"
"Okay. Yes, I will marry you," she's smiling now, completely turned in his direction. The smile reaches her eyes and god, she looks beautiful.
Clint makes his way to her in just a few strides, leaning down to kiss her. Their lips touch, smiles and a few small chuckles making the kiss difficult and imperfect, but neither of them mind. Their fingers are together and as they pull apart, resting their foreheads against each other.
"I don't have a ring," Clint laughs, blushing slightly, a blush only Natasha would ever notice.
"I have you, it doesn't matter."
"No wait," he says, moving over towards their gear. Natasha watches as he rummages through his things, searching for what she couldn't begin to guess.
When he returns, he's clearly trying not to laugh as he takes her left hand in his.
"Don't laugh," he says, "This is just for now, until I can find a replacement." He pulls a small piece of string from his pocket and easily ties it around her ring finger.
"Is this-"
"I restrung my bow last night and I guess I still had a small piece of the old string with me. I mean, I know it's not perfect and it's obviously not a ring, but it's the best I have on short notice."
"No, Clint, I love it," Natasha replies. Her smile is genuine as she looks at her hand, admiring the worn piece of string around her finger.
They barely have enough time to look back at each other before they hear commotion from the warehouse. Instantly, both of the assassins snap back into action mode.
"It's go time," Natasha says, checking her holsters.
"I'll meet you on the ground, Romanoff."
They make their way down the building and across the grounds to the warehouse, stealth and silent.
Almost silent.
Once they're against the wall, Natasha pulls a gun from her holster and whispers, "You know, I think I could get used to having a string for a ring. It's not going to get caught on everything."
"You sure? I was thinking maybe we could go an even more unconventional rout, maybe a necklace? Something with a little arrow on it maybe? You could wear it on missions." Clint jokes, daring to look at her.
"Sure, Barton," Natasha answers sarcastically, rolling her eyes. She tries to hide the small smile creeping up on her lips as they round the corner of the warehouse, but he notices. He always notices.