Hey guys! The idea for this story came to me at midnight last night. So instead of sleeping, I gave in to the temptress that is my imagination.

Designed to be a oneshot but who knows, I might be inclined to continue it. The rating may change as we go along as well.

I don't own Marvel or The Avengers, etc etc.

She sat on the side of the road. Legs out, head back, reclining other elbows. Beams of sunlight trickled down and danced around her, over her, though her. She had nowhere to go, so she stayed by the side of the road. Occasionally, a car would pass, slowing as they did to get a good glimpse at her, before speeding away and never looking back.

The pocket of her dark denim shorts vibrated. Sitting up, she slid her phone into the palm of her hand and shielded it with the other; the glare from the hard sun made it almost impossible to read. She smirked at the screen.

Heard you were homeless now. I've got a spare bed if your interested. -C

Her fingers typed away on the touchscreen briskly and nimbly. After she pocketed her phone, she stretched her appendages. They were tired and sore from motionless hours. She reached behind her for the black backpack that held the few possessions she valued enough to pack. It had served as a less than satisfactory resting platform but it was sufficient enough. At least she wouldn't be using it as a pillow again tonight on some creaky park bench. She slung the straps loosely over her shoulders and the backpack rested against her lower back.

The hike to his house took longer than usual. Her normal shortcut through the woods was blocked by damned roadside construction. The sun continued to beat down on her as she walked. Eventually she elected to put her hair up. She collected the fiery mess of curls that fell to her waist and twisted them into a fireball that sat peacefully on the top of her head, exposing her raw neck and shoulders to the bombardment of the heated light.

Water. She could use a drink of water. Too bad she finished up her last bottle this morning. Dehydration was starting to set in, she knew. But she was almost to her destination. With new purpose, her feet carried her through the bustling streets the remainder of the seven miles.

Mercifully, the sun began to retreat behind the tree line as she arrived at her journeys end. The pale pinks swirled with the rich oranges high above her head.

He had been expecting her. Though the window on the second floor over the garage, she saw an arm gesture towards the backyard. Stealthily, she scaled the chain-linked fence that stood a foot taller than her 5'4 stature and landed gracefully on the other side.

She sauntered to the back door and it opened for her as she approached it. When she entered, she glanced around the kitchen slowly. Even though the room was only lit by the dim remains of sunlight, she knew every detail to it, down to the placement of the knives and forks. Then she spun to meet him. He stood beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest, studying her.

"How long?" his voice was cool but she could hear an edge behind it.

"Two weeks," she admitted quietly.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Dammit," he yelled, "Dammit Nat, why didn't you come here the second the rat-bastard kicked you out?"

She stayed silent. Only he was allowed to call her 'Nat'. Anyone else who tried wasn't able to speak for much longer afterwards.

"Where have you been sleeping?" he asked after a moment, his voice somewhat calmer.

"I stayed at Starks the first few nights," she answered placidly, shrugging her shoulders, "but now I've got a bench at the park reserved for me."

He dragged his hand down his face frustratedly. "Seriously? Why was I the last to know!" He was angry now. Angry that she kept her situation from him. Angry that she didn't let him help her.

"Where's your brother?" she inquired, ignoring his last question. She peered through the rest of the silent and now darkened house.

"Drunk and asleep," he answered her impatiently, "Now tell me why I had to hear about this from some gossiping cashier at the goddamn grocery store!"

"When'd you find out?" she asked walking to the sink and grabbing a clean glass in an overhead cabinet, again ignoring his demands.

"This morning," he gave up on trying to get any answers out if his oldest friend.

With her back to him, she let her pokerface fall. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. "So you contacted me as soon as you found out?" she hastily gulped down the water. The cool liquid cascaded down her throat and pooled comfortably in her stomach.

"I hadn't even left the store," he said, striding over to her across the room.

She couldn't turn around to face him. The mask hadn't come back up yet. The mask that she spent years perfecting. The mask that protected her from silly emotions like this, A lone tear welled up and spilled over onto her cheek.

He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and spun her so they stood face to face. The same hand lifted to her face to wipe away the saltwater streaking down her cheek. That surprised him to find. The only other time he had ever seen her cry was when they were five and she scraped her knee after he not so kindly pushed her off the slide. It was frightening, but in a weird way it was comforting; she wouldn't let her guard down in front of just anybody. He leaned her into him and pressed his lips to her forehead.

"You'll take my bed," he told her, wrapping his arms protectively around her, "I'll sleep on the couch. We'll figure out something more permanent tomorrow."

They stood together in the darkness of twilight. She could hear the ka-thump of his heart and moved with the rise and fall of his chest.

"Thanks Clint," he whispered, biting her lip.

Let me know what you think!

Also, I was having some trouble deciding how old they were here but I think I settled on 17 for Natasha and 19 for Clint.