The Parts I Can Tell You

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A/N: For the anonymous prompt on Tumblr: "Clintasha (Clint/Natasha); his return after she (figuratively) blew up S.H.I.E.L.D. Battered, but not broken, there's still some loose ends that need to be tied up and a long story that needs to be told."

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When Natasha returned to her hotel room with a bottle of cranapple juice and a bag of salted peanuts from the vending machine, Clint was lounging on her bed.

"So I come back to report in from my mission, but it turns out there's no one to report to." He grinned flippantly then pointed to the items in her hands. "Tell me that isn't your dinner, babe."

Rolling her eyes, Natasha kicked the door shut behind her and dropped the room key on top of the TV. "You don't get to lecture me about food, since I know you live primarily on candy bars and coffee, and don't call me 'babe.'" She flopped down next to him and uncapped the juice, taking a swig. Raising an eyebrow at him, she tilted the bottle in his direction. "It's good for you—lots of vitamin C."

He took the bottle and took a sip. "Worried I'll get scurvy?"

"I always worry about you," she said softly.

He set the bottle of juice on the nightstand and regarded her, his expression sober. "I know you do. And I know I shouldn't, but I worry about you too. Sometimes." He sighed. "Like when all of SHIELD has been infiltrated by Hydra and the whole world's going to hell. Times like that."

"Hey." She laid her hand over his and laced their fingers together. "It wasn't exactly easy, but we got through it."

"Yeah." His smile was soft. "I'm a bit sorry I missed out on all the fun, to be honest."

"With Cap and the Winter Soldier and all that?" She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. "I guess it was pretty exciting. Lots of explosions, anyway."

"And with Fury not actually being dead…"

She frowned, turning her head to raise one eyebrow at him. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugged. "Guy's too smart not to have a backup plan. But you don't have to confirm or deny. I imagine he gave you some pretty strict orders not to."

She snorted. "He's not in the position to be giving anyone orders."

"Guess we're both out of a job." He smiled lopsidedly. "I should get a job at a diner waiting tables—I could probably make pretty decent tips."

"Well, yeah, with those arms and that ass." She gave him an appreciative look. "But what about me? Think I should be waiting tables alongside you?"

He shook his head. "You should get a job at the docks or something. Moving big boxes around so I can come by and watch your muscles ripple under your skin and the sweat running down the back of your neck…"

"Oh, so glamorous." She grinned, showing him her teeth. "But you'll be too busy waiting tables—maybe I'll just come by your little diner when I'm still all sweaty and grimy from my shift and order something like a steak with mushrooms and onions and you can bring me a nice tall glass of iced tea."

He smiled, warm little crinkles appearing around his eyes. "I'd be happy to see you be eating well." He kissed her forehead.

She blew air out through her lips and shifted closer to him on the bed, tearing open the package of peanuts and shoving a few into her mouth—they were salty but slightly stale. "Want me to tell you the story?" She didn't need to say, 'The parts I can tell you'—it was just understood. "Or you could tell yours first, if you want."

He shook his head, eyes warm with amusement. "Yours has pirates, Captain America, and a sentient Nazi AI; I'm sure it's a much better story." He looked away and his voice was softer when he spoke again. "I think I liked the story we were just telling a bit better, though."

She smiled sadly, offering him a handful of peanuts. "I liked it too."

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A/N: This fic is part of my "Let me write something for you" Marvel prompt request on Tumblr.

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