Hello! This is my first drabble type of story, so heads up. What I will be doing is using random prompts to start each chapter from an online writing prompt generator that I have recently found. Therefore, for the most part, the first few sentences in the story would be the prompt. I just let my imagination flow from there. I have had a fun time doing this, and I look forward to writing more of these, I have TONS of ideas in mind! SO without further ado, here ya go!

Ps: I obviously don't own anything affiliated with the Avengers, let alone the Avengers themselves.

Prompt: I was sitting at my desk, working on a case. She walked in and sat down right in front of me. Neither of us said a word.

I was sitting at my desk, working on a case. She walked in and sat down right in front of me. Neither of us said a word. Some people would have trouble making out the sculpted, slender body in the low light that strained most interns' eyes. The night shift interns at least. But over the years, being situated in this exact room, with the same desk and chair, I have grown accustomed to the weary light source. I can't believe Fury wanted me to toss it. It is, for your information, a limited edition Captain America issued one. I mean, how many lamps have you seen that has a base as Cap's shield? None. Zero. Zip.

Not many people are allowed into my office, or even know where it is for that matter. So seeing her silently drift in wasn't much of a surprise.

I couldn't tell what she wanted by her expression, it was much too dark with the weak bulb. That's the other thing that Fury wanted me to replace. But how could I? It's the same bulb that first came with it. After a few choice words on my part and even more on his, Fury agreed that I could only use the lamp after hours. It's dim glow bugged the shit out of him. Sometimes I 'forget' to turn it off only for that purpose. Even though her face was overshadowed by the light and made her skin look yellow, I knew what she wanted. She wanted to talk. To pass time. Our conversations were never particularly lengthy, they only lasted a few minutes. There was always something else to do, go to debriefings, yell at some newbies, visit agents in the infirmary among other important things. However, I will admit our little talks were vigorous.

Her fingers skimmed, brushed, and toyed with the objects on my desk. She fixed my nameplate, traced the edge of my desk and lightly tapped her nails in a musical fashion on the dark wood. It's moments like these that make me remember who I am.

To most people I am their coworker. To Fury I am a leader. To the Avengers I am—well, me. Phil. But to the young women who sat in front of me, who was outlining my pathetic collection of picture frames, I was a—a father? Was that it? Maybe. But maybe more like a guardian. A guardian who cared. An appointed someone who loved her like a dad, but wasn't. She was the complex, adopted, killer niece I never had. Or never will have. God, I don't think my health could withstand another Natasha.

I finally closed my case folder after a good few minutes. There was no point in trying to get some work done with a set of vigilant eyes upon you. I was on my way out of the office anyway. She caught me at the right time, as she usually tends to do. I started to pack my suitcase. I could still feel her gaze lingering on my face, waiting for me to sit still. I wasn't ignoring her. I was just postponing the exchange a little further. There came a point where I couldn't anymore. Damn.

"Agent Romanoff?" I asked, my voice sounded very tired. What time was it?

"Where did you send him?" was all she replied evenly.

I looked at my watch, "God, Natasha. It's 1:00 in the morning and you're asking me that? Send who? I send tons of people off every day. You're going to have to—"

"Where did you send him?" she repeated. This time more forceful. It was clear by the way she spaced her words that she had just woken up. I blinked. Who?! Who is she talking… and then I remembered who I was talking to so late in the night.

It was Clint. Wasn't it always about him?

I sighed, "Barton's in Cape Town. There was a discrepancy between some executives over there that needed to be resolved." That was pretty much the extremely glittery, sugar-coated version. But she knew that.

"And I wasn't on that plane because…"

"Because we didn't need you." Natasha's finger tapping stopped. Wow, that came out harsher than I intended.

"What I meant was that it was a one man job-"

"Got it, Coulson. I was snubbed again." She cut in bitterly. She pushed herself out of the chair noisily. Her arms were tightly crossed as she turned to leave the room.

"Natasha, look, I didn't send you because you were sleeping."

Natasha laughed with disbelief. "Sleeping? Sleeping? Cut the crap, Coulson. Why didn't you let really me go?"

I rolled my eyes, "You haven't slept in weeks, Natasha. Weeks. I wasn't about to jeopardize your health. You've already been sent to the infirmary three times last month."

"Coulson! I haven't been on an assignment in weeks. I've been here doing nothing but paperwork and mentoring idiotic interns! Do you know how hard that is for someone like me?" she asked, slamming her hands on the table.

I stood up from my seat and switched off the lamp. We were in complete darkness.

"I understand how difficult it is for you to sit still and not blow shit up every other day," Natasha snorted, "but trust me on this one. You didn't need to go."

"Then why the fuck did Clint get to go? I'm actually starting to resent him for this." Even in the dark, I could make out how much she meant it. Neither one of us moved. I can't have this team broken up. So I told her something I wanted to keep secret. Hopefully she would understand.

"I send Clint on these trivial missions because he…," I hesitated to figure out the best way to say it, "because he needs it."

"He needs it? Coulson, I've seen him at the shooting range, he's the same as always."

"No, I mean he mentally needs it."

I heard Natasha stepping forward a little as if she didn't hear me.

"What's wrong with him?" she asks in a low voice.

I shook my head in the dark, "Ever since the whole Loki incident, he's been out of it. In his sleep at least."

Natasha doesn't say anything in reply. I don't think she understood, so I tried again.

"Have you ever seen Barton sleep?"

"Not lately, no. You won't let me near his room anymore."

"Exactly. He can't go a night without thrashing about and yelling while sleeping alone. When he's closer to you, just when he's sleeping, it gets worse. I don't know what happened between you and Loki, or what went on between you and him while he was controlled by Loki, or even what happened between him and Loki, but it all plays out in his dreams. You trigger something in his subconscious mind that just—sets him off."

I reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, "I send him on these assignments alone to not only stay away from you, but to let him figure all this dream stuff out. So he could cool down. I promise I'm not picking favorites." I said gently.

Natasha sighed deeply. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

That made me think. Why didn't I? I knew she would be able to handle it, but I just kept it to myself. Then it dawned on me, to protect her. Of course Natasha didn't need protection, not physically. But everyone seems to regard as some ice princess. As if she has a cold heart that thawed itself out with danger and adventure. Now, her heart isn't the biggest of all and it certainly wasn't the most loving, but that's what people don't realize. Natasha is just as frail and delicate as anyone—on the inside. And with what she's been through, with what her hands have done, with who her weapons have silenced, she could be the frailest of them all. I suppose I didn't have the heart to tell her that she couldn't comfort her best friend at night because she would only make it worse. That's pretty cold. I didn't have the guts to pile more shit on her already fucked up life.

"To protect you." I said simply.

"Coulson, I think I could have coped." The faint strain in her voice made me want to hug her. So I did.

Surprised at the sudden gesture, I felt Natasha tense up in my arms.

"As much as I like you Coulson, please get off of me."

I chuckled at that. Leave it to Natasha to ruin a moment.

I pulled away. Who was I kidding? She had it all under control, like she always does. But the other side of me disagrees. Do deadly assassins need hugs? Do they need someone to look after them? Do their hearts have to have extra protection? I dunno. It's what I've been trying to figure out for years. I should write a paper on it, maybe I'll make a new discovery. I could get a medal. The Effects of Hugs on World Class Assassins. Sounds good to me.

"The good news is that Barton's nightmares are not as frequent. This should be his last mission alone," I said. "Then you could cuddle with him all you want."

My arm goes numb in response to Natasha's punch. God, maybe being in the dark with an infamous killer wasn't the best idea.

"That hurt."

"It's what you get," I could hear Natasha smirk. She then exited the room silently, her footsteps gradually faded out.

I reminded myself to make sure I give Clint a hug when he returned tomorrow. It will surprise the shit out of him. I'm so looking forward to it.

Soooo... did you like it? or did ya hate it? Thanks so much for reading and reviewers get an awkward hug from Coulson.

-ltr