He always came for her. Whether he was rescuing her from an enemy in the night, an unseen foe or even herself, he always came. This time was no different.
Natasha Romanoff was sitting in her bathroom in-between the toilet and shower thinking to hide from the world for a little while when a large shadow came over her, it was her partner Clint Barton. She looked up at him and realized he had taken a shower like her. His hair was damp and somehow his brown eyes looked softer than they had a few hours ago. They stayed like that for a few moments, staring at each other, until she looked down and realized she was holding one of her guns limply in her hand. Clint crouched down and gently took the weapon from her hand and slid it across the bathroom. Natasha heard it hit the far wall and tried to remember going to get the gun after her shower but she could not. She looked back up and found him staring intently at her; she looked back at her hands. Natasha could not bring herself to speak, she felt so broken, so utterly damaged.
The mission had gone horribly wrong. It was supposed to be an easy hostage rescue for S.H.E.I.L.D. but in their line of work she should know that nothing is ever as it seems.
Natasha wanted to speak to him, to tell Clint that she was barely holding on to what sanity she had left, but she couldn't form the words. Somehow, he understood, he always did, Clint had an uncanny ability of always knowing what she was thinking, because when she looked up at him again, he nodded at her.
It was at this nod that all the walls came down for Natasha. She opened her mouth to try and speak again but all that came out was a sob and once the tears started flowing, she could not stop them. When Clint saw that Natasha was crying he lifted her up and swiftly took her place on the bathroom floor and settled her against his chest and started gently rocking her. She buried her face into his neck as the sobs overwhelmed her, she hated that he saw her like this, but he had to, it was the only way he could rescue her. Natasha lightly pounded his shoulder with her fist but it did not faze him, he kept rocking her.
When her sobs quieted down to silent tears and his shirt was thoroughly soaked, Clint softly whispered, "It's okay Tasha, I've got you. Its past."
And suddenly everything was alright. She could go on. The mission was safely tucked in the past where Clint had put it. Nothing mattered except him and their safety, not that horrible mission gone wrong and not the mission tomorrow but the man who always came to rescue her.