Inspired by regular requests from the Be Compromised community for Natasha falls first and also by the song "Share Your Air" by Kate Miller-Heidke (feat. Passenger).
She was sleepy and warm, a firm arm draped over her waist under the covers. Perhaps too warm.
"I swear, Clint Barton, you're a furnace," Natasha muttered gently.
He didn't even stir, cocooned by the safety of his partner's watchfulness and the silence of his hearing aids on the bedside table. He wore his active duty set to bed whenever she wasn't with him. But she was with him, awake and listening to the patter of rain on the window of his apartment, the flutter of wings as a pigeon adjusted itself in a nest under the eaves, and the faint panting breath of Lucky asleep in the corner of the bedroom.
Clint had been hesitant with their relationship, backing up emotionally and throwing up the walls any time it seemed to be getting serious, but as she lay tucked under his arm, she thought she'd like it if they got serious.
Natasha stirred and worked out from under him, ignoring the faint whine of discontent, pausing only when the rhythm of his breathing broke and she thought he might wake. He didn't. She slid out of the bed and pulled on his shirt before heading into the kitchen.
Clint woke in the dark before sun-up and blinked in the darkness until his eyes adjusted. The covers were still warm but empty, and he half-swallowed her name before realizing she couldn't have gone far.
He rolled over for his hearing aids and listened. Hazy white noise fell like static, then resolved into the familiar patter of rain and softly clanking pots in the kitchen. He followed the noise out of bed, searched for his shirt, couldn't find it, and had to dig out a new one from the drawer. Natasha was always griping at him to hang them up, but he didn't really care all that much about wrinkles.
"Tasha," he called softly as he came out.
She was there, red hair haloed in the yellow microwave light as she hummed some soft melody to herself over breakfast. She was wearing his shirt.
He blinked and watched her for a long moment. She had to have heard him, but she didn't turn around until she finished scraping a third pancake off the griddle and setting it atop her plate.
"You're staring," she told him as she dropped the griddle into the sink and turned on the water. It sizzled and hissed on contact.
"You're worth staring at."
She looked up surprised at that, and Clint took the opportunity to slide his arms around her while her guard was down and tuck his chin against her shoulder.
"Missed you this morning."
"I didn't mean to wake you," she said ruefully. She didn't shrug him off though, so he held on as she washed the dishes and stacked them neatly beside the sink to dry. She turned around in his arms and kissed him, then lay her head on his shoulder. "I missed you too."
There was something hiding under her words and tone, but Clint didn't tease it out, too grateful for the peace of Natasha warm in his arms, the smell of pancakes filling the kitchen, and the sound of gentle rain.