Hello! Like many of you, I have recently given myself over to an Avengers obsession. I loved the movie, but I was especially intrigued by the Black Widow/ Hawkeye relationship. There is so much to it that we don't know, which makes for great fanfiction! Since I can't think of anything else until this story is out of my head, here it is! Just filling in a few blanks. Not sure how long it will go, but there will definitely be BlackHawk romance or potential romance in the future. I, like a well trained assassin, didn't want to rush things.

Oh, and nothing belongs to me. Otherwise you would have seen all this played out in theaters. IF only...

Ch. 1

Natasha only had to glance at Clint to know he was hurt. As the assassin aimed his arrow directly at Loki's face, there was a slight tremor to his hand. Hawkeye wasn't the type to show pain, so his partner knew it had to be severe. That, combined with the ever-decreasing levels of adrenaline in their systems now that the battle was winding down, made all the injuries from earlier rise to the surface.

But they won. Against all odds, they somehow pulled it off and defeated Loki's army. Oddly enough, no one was in the mood to celebrate. By the time SHIELD arrived to collect the demigod, not even Stark had the energy to joke around. Yet despite all they had been through, or perhaps because of it, they could only seem to think about food. Thor was starving, Bruce said the other guy had a pretty good appetite after a fight, and Stark wouldn't stop throwing the word Shawarma around like there was nothing in the world that could matter more.

Then there was Clint, the stubborn bastard, nodding and chuckling like he couldn't agree more. But she saw the way he leaned to the left, trying to keep pressure off his ribs on the right. She could see the pale sheen on his skin, his first physical sign of blood loss. He couldn't even hide the shuffle in his step from God-knows what injury to his leg. He needed to be patched up, but there he was trudging off with the others to see if the little restaurant was destroyed by the alien army. 'Men,' was all she could think before following Captain out of Stark Towers.

After a good deal of bribing, Tony managed to get that Shawarma he had been dreaming of. They sat in silence because, really, what was there to say? Clint kept his leg up on Natasha's chair, trying to play it off as a casual gesture, but he could see she wasn't buying it. In reality, he wanted to keep the swelling to a minimum, and was hoping to prevent some of his deeper cuts from reopening. Any blood he had left really needed to stay in his body.

While the others focused on their food, he focused on her. So much of their communication was non verbal in the field, and it was no different in their free time. She was making it clear that she thought he was an idiot, that he should cut the crap and get himself checked by a medical team. Since he didn't have a great argument against that, he just looked back, more than a little amused at her concern. His Black Widow, the one human being who could take him in a fight, the assassin who always had his back, was worried about a couple cuts and bruises.

Natasha saw the humor dancing in Clint's storm-grey eyes. She was not impressed. Her thoughts quickly switched from concern for her partner's injuries to a few she'd like to add. Instead, she put her food down and flashed a smile to her teammates- a dangerous thing if they knew her better.

"Well boys, it's been fun. Really, I don't think I've ever had a night in the city quite like this one. But I need to get back to base and get some sleep- we don't all have super strength and run on battery packs. Barton, you coming?"

Clint gave her his sweetest smile, thinking how nice it was of her to pose it as a question. After years by her side, he knew better than to think he had a choice. She was letting him be a big boy and leave on his own two feet if he wanted. Otherwise, he'd be leaving in a body bag.

"Love to Nat- I could use a good night's sleep." He slowly got to his feet, playing it off as getting one more bite of Shawarma, so that he knew he had his balance before putting any weight on his bad leg.

Natasha, for all her reputation as a heartless spy, could always be counted upon to have his back. She moved next to him, putting her arm around his waist as he slung an arm around her shoulders. It helped hide the limp and kept his ribcage up, making it a little easier to breathe. But before they even made it out the door he could hear the Russian swears she was muttering under her breathe. He was really in for it this time.

What did you think?