A:N - Sorry I've republished this as I totally didn't proof read and there's ton of grammar and spelling mistakes in the first one. Apologises! Thank you so much though everyone who has favourited this and reviewed this - it really means so much that my work is being enjoyed. Thank you everyone!
And by the way, The Avengers is such an AWESOME movie. Enjoy!
The battle had been both physically and mentally exhausting but finally, it was over. They had stopped the bickering and had actually become a team, a victorious team who had just saved New York City and possibly the world from destruction. And Natasha Romanoff was exhausted.
The shawarma that Stark had insisted on eating was good, satisfying after a tough battle that had been fought, and as she hungrily wolfed down the meal, she could feel Clint's foot gently against her hip. She turned and smiled at him, receiving a warm smile in return as they understood one another. Her stomach swooped and she knew it had nothing to do with the food. She cared about Clint. To her, he was the only one who truly understood her, the only one who would ever understand her. She knew she was a hard person to read yet, Clint managed it so easy, so effortlessly. She had seen it before just an understanding between two friends, a mutual agreement as so to speak. She had always thought of love as something for children, yet she couldn't quite register what it was she was feeling for him.
So when he'd taken her hand and suggested going separately from the rest of the team, (who Tony had insisted they stayed at the now mangled Stark Tower), she didn't hesitate.
They found themselves at a safe house in downtown New York which somehow hadn't been destroyed. After contacting Fury and being told to take time off, they had sat down on the battered couch that was within the apartment, both nursing strong drinks – of course she had Russian vodka. They sat in companionable silence, both just content in the fact they were with one another.
"How many people did I kill?"
The question came from nowhere, as Natasha turned her head to face Clint. She could see the sadness in his eyes, the blank expression on his face. It was almost as if she could see the conflicting emotions he was hiding within right there, and it hurt her.
"Clint…"
"How many people?" He asked her again, this time a little more forceful. She watched as he swallowed, before saying again.
"How many of our agents, our comrades did I kill?"
She shook her head, watching Clint carefully, watching him trying to keep his emotions hidden.
"You didn't Clint, it wasn-"
"God damn it Natasha!" He suddenly cried out, a fist slamming down on the coffee table in front of them, his gaze staring at his clenched fist. She watched him breathe heavily, trying to calm down but she knew it was no use.
"Just tell me! How many people?" He angrily cried, slamming his fist now again and again. It broke her, seeing him like this – she silently berated herself for allowing such emotions to eat away at her like this; god damn it, she was a spy for crying out loud! Then she decided – she didn't care anymore. He needed her.
She reached forward and without thinking, she placed her hand over his clenched fist. The contact seemed to shock them both; he stopped slamming his fist and was now focused on her petite hand resting on his hand. She had to hold back a gasp from the small shock she felt when her skin had touched his.
"Clint…" She breathed, trying to remain calm for his sake, "It wasn't you who killed them. You didn't at all. Loki was the one who did that."
He sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose as she just continued to watch him.
"I should have been stronger, I should have turned to stop him…"
"Clint!" She almost yelled at him, "please stop this. You couldn't have stopped him and you didn't kill those people. Stop beating yourself up over this – they know it wasn't you. It's all Loki." She had to calm herself, as he lowered his head, guilt written across his face. She subconsciously began to stroke his fist, still clenched in a soothing pattern.
"Even you said yourself, Loki was mainpulating you. Trust me, you have nothing to be guilty for." She could almost feel him relaxing, calming under her touch as she continued to stroke his hand, having no idea how much this was making him go crazy.
"Yes I do," he whispered, continuing to stare at her thumb which was stroking his hand. She sighed, though she should have known how stubborn he was.
"Clint…"
"Because I should have fought harder to come back to you." He was barely audible, barely a whisper as he spoke but she heard him alright. She swallowed – a part of her didn't want to reveal her feelings, how much she truly cared; she was Natasha Romanoff, The Black Widow; a spy that shouldn't have these feelings. She could have so easily have said nothing, but the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
"Then I should have been more honest when I said I'd been comprised." She breathed back, as his gaze rose to meet hers. The intensity at which he stared at her, those beautiful eyes which were now his own was incredible as she felt herself unable to tear her gaze away. He only broke it when he looked down to unclench his fist, and to slot his fingers with hers, interlacing them, as if he was binding them together. She gave a small intake of breath at the feel of hands laced together, and she wouldn't admit it out loud but it felt perfect.
She had followed his gaze down to their joining hands, both of them fascinated at the smallest of touch, his thumb now also stroking her skin.
"It seems like we have both been comprised," He said, with a small chuckle with drew a small smile from her. They continued to stare at their hands, each other stroking one another's hand with their thumbs, soothing each other, reassuring each other.
"Then you know, Nat," She smiled as he used his nick name for her, the last time he'd heard it she was on an alien craft and he'd been nervously watching – it had calmed her. It still did.
"That I'm always going to be here for you. Always."
And she understood. Hell, they were so good at understanding one another and now, she understood him perfectly. That whatever would happen tonight, whatever would happen tomorrow, they would always have one another. Whether they were partners, best friends, lovers. Whether they were Hawkeye and Black Widow, or Natasha and Clint. Whatever would happen in the future, he had her back and she had his.
And it made her feel wonderful, and as their gazes met once more, something shifted in the atmosphere. It was thick, making her feel hazy with whatever she was feeling but the only thing her mind could and would think to do was to slowly lead towards him. He did the same, as if they were being pulled to one another. She could only focus on his lips, moving towards her then the brush of them against one another. They both gasped slightly, before he captured hers more firmly. They both breathed a sigh as their lips moved in time, gradually getting more heated as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip, begging for access which she gladly complied. It was intoxicating – better than any Russian Vodka in her mind. His hands were somehow placed on her waist and her hands had now wound round his neck, her fingers running through his short cropped hair. They stayed like this for a while, amazed by one another before her legs were somehow wrapped around his waist and he was picking her up. They didn't break contact, still kissing each other with abandon as he slammed them into a wall. She loved the feel of his body pressed against hers – god it made her feel alive. She knew he felt the same because the next thing she knew, he was walking them to the bedroom, dropping her down on the bed with a delicious thud.
When she woke up the next morning, sunlight streaming into the room, she felt perfectly content as her head was lying on his bare chest. He was sound asleep, breathing gently as she just watched him. Maybe it was love but she didn't even know herself. All she knew was that they would always have one another, no matter who they may be when he woke.