This is one of those stories where I sit back and think "What the heck am I writing?" but here it is. Enjoy!
Natasha felt horrible. She was tired, she was dirty, and she was covered in cuts and blood, not all of which was her own. She had just got back from killing someone in Morocco, and, truth be told, she felt like killing the next person who stepped into her line of sight – unless it was him, which, of course, it was. Clint almost always came to collect her once she had completed a mission for SHIELD.
There he was, leaning with his back comfortably against one of Tony's cars, sunglasses on, arms crossed over his chest. So completely Clint. Natasha was suddenly convinced that he was the most beautiful thing that she had ever seen. She met him at the car, smiling lightly when he opened the door to the back seat and allowed her in before he slid in beside her.
"Take us home, Happy," Clint requested of the chauffer.
How nice of Tony to have lent the chauffer out with the car.
Once Happy pulled away from SHIELD headquarters and put up the darkened, soundproof barrier between the front and back seats, Clint put an arm around Natasha's shoulders and pulled her closer to him, asking quietly, "How are you doing?"
"Fine," she answered, giving him a kiss before she burrowed into his shoulder.
"You sure?"
This had been a hard mission, and they both knew it, which meant they also both knew that she was lying to him.
Natasha opened her mouth to say "yes," but stopped, telling the truth when she wordlessly shook her head against his shoulder instead. Clint didn't say anything – they both knew there was nothing that he could say. He just pulled her even tighter into the circle of his arms and rubbed her back as the tears started flowing freely.
She hissed when he ran his hand over a particularly big gash, and he brushed a kiss against her temple in apology.
"We'll get you home and all fixed up, okay?"
"Okay," she whispered, content to sound like a child.
She needed this – she always needed this – when she came back from a hard mission. A purge of tears with her man before she went back to the Avengers Tower. Sometimes Steve came to get her, and sometimes Bruce came to get her. Sometimes, when the mission hadn't been too absolutely horrible, she just drove herself home all on her own. But for the really bad ones – ones like this one – it was always Clint, and, as much as she loved the others that she lived with, there was just no replacing Clint when she really needed to cry. At least not quite yet – although she was pretty sure that the others that she lived with loved her as much as Clint did, there was just no equal substitute for him quite yet. He didn't judge, he didn't talk, he didn't try to get her to talk to him, he just held her and let her emotions run their course. He was great like that.
Eventually, they got to the Avengers Tower, and although Natasha was already feeling a bit better after her ride with Clint, opening the door of the car to see Steve standing there waiting for her and the archer only made her feel that much more soothed.
"Hey," Natasha greeted the super-soldier, climbing carefully from the car as she remained mindful of her injuries.
Steve smiled at her in a way that didn't quite reach the concern in his eyes as he stepped up to her and brushed away the last of her tears before giving her a gentle kiss.
"You okay, beautiful?"
She snorted at the pet name, answering, "Better now; thanks."
Steve smiled again, wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked with Clint towards the elevator.
"Careful of her back, Steve," Clint warned. "She's got a bad cut there, I think."
"Then let's go get you cleaned up so that Bruce can take a look at you," Steve said to Natasha.
And then they were off on the second part of returning home that almost always met "post-mission Natasha." Clint disappeared into the elevator to inform Bruce of her return home and most likely the condition in which she had returned, and Natasha leaned her head contentedly over onto Steve's shoulder as he guided her into the bathroom. Together the two of them rid her of all of her weapons before she turned her back to him, letting him unzip her skintight black uniform without a word. He guided the cloth off of her shoulders and carefully helped her undress the rest of the way before she stepped into the huge shower that Tony had installed. She reveled in the scalding hot water as it hit her shoulders, and groaned aloud when Steve stepped into the shower behind her a minute later, massaging the tension out of her shoulders.
"You could've been a great masseur, you know," Natasha said, her eyes drifting closed.
"So you've told me," he answered in a light voice, kissing her shoulder.
He took a washcloth and carefully began to wash the blood, dust and grime off of her tired body as she said, "I'm really glad you're here, Steve."
"Me, too," he murmured.
Captain America had been the last one to join Natasha's unconventional little group, and at first she had quite frankly been surprised at how well he had fit – like the piece of the puzzle that finally made her life totally complete. Ever since then, they had been dragging him out of his shell a little more at a time, even going so far as to get him to be a willing participant in, say, co-ed showers, for an example.
He had changed, yes, but so had she. Her guys had softened her up a little, but if Steve didn't mind being modernized, then she had learned not to mind being humanized. She had even learned to like it – at least where her guys were concerned.
"Better?" Steve asked after a few more minutes.
She nodded. "Thanks."
"Anytime," he said with a wink and a smile just for her, grabbing towels for the both of them.
Natasha toweled off, truly feeling much more relaxed by then. Steve got dressed and so she reached for the other outfit that had already been set out, presumably for her. Her under things, of course, but then there were Clint's boxers and Bruce's shirt. Steve must've gotten her outfit this time; the other two made sure they got to see her in their things, if they did it.
That's where Steve fit in amongst her guys, really; he was a great peacekeeper when it was needed, and selfless enough to put others' needs before his own, even in the little things like what he chose for her to wear. Natasha grinned and gave him a chaste kiss of thanks and just because she could before padding in her bare feet into the elevator.
"To the doctor, I presume, Agent Romanoff?" Jarvis asked her as the doors shut behind her.
"You know the drill, Jarvis."
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