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Natasha Romanoff jerked awake, sitting upright in bed with both hands clutching her pistol, pointing it across the empty room at an invisible enemy. Her chest heaved as she scanned the shadows, trying to remember what it was that caused her to react as she did. It didn't take her long to remember the dreams. She'd had them constantly for the past week, ever since Loki had been returned to Asgard. Ever since her body and mind had had a chance to slow down and relax. Natasha didn't like to relax. Relaxing was a bad thing for a spy. It made you go off guard…made you vulnerable.

Natasha swung her legs over the edge of the bed, placing the pistol back under her pillow. She rubbed her hands over her face as if the motion would wipe away the images in her mind. She couldn't forget them, though. Couldn't forget him. Loki. The prince of Asgard. The psychopath who had tried to take over her world…tried to destroy her and every one of the Avengers. It wasn't something easily forgotten.

The nightmares had startled her the first time they happened. The Black Widow didn't have nightmares; she wasn't afraid of anything – not pain, war, or even death. She'd been a spy since she was a child, and she'd seen many horrifying things during her life. She'd learned early on to get used to such horrors, learning to quash the memories and dreams until she barely knew what it was to fear any more. Fear was weakness, and weakness would get you killed.

But this…this brush with Loki…this had her frightened. Not for herself, but for someone else. When Coulson had called her and told her that Clint had been compromised, she felt fear for the first time in years. When Loki had stood behind the glass of his prison and told her exactly what he had planned for Clint's fate, she felt fear. And now, in the prison of her dreams, she felt fear. The fearless Black Widow was afraid.

Natasha stood, walking out of her small bedroom into the kitchen of her apartment in SHIELD's base, not even bothering to turn on the lights. Opening a cupboard above the kitchen counter, she reached in and pulled out a small bottle of vodka.

She sat wearily at her tiny table and opened the bottle, choosing to forgo the use of a glass and drinking straight from the container. The familiar tingle of the drink going down her throat made Natasha relax slightly. Once the drink took effect, she knew she would have a dreamless sleep for the rest of the night.

Not five minutes later, she was startled out of her morose state by a soft knock at her apartment door. She stood, placed the bottle noiselessly on the table, and opened a small drawer, pulling out a sharp knife from her silverware. It was unlikely that an attacker would announce his or her presence, but it never hurt to be cautious.

She crept over to the door, placing herself to the side of the doorframe and peering out a small peephole. Familiar grey-blue eyes looking back at her made her relax and lower her weapon.

Natasha undid the four different locks on her door and opened it, allowing her visitor to step inside.

"Clint," Natasha was proud of herself for keeping her voice steady. Just seeing him again brought back a twist of fear, reminding her of what she'd almost lost. "Is something wrong?"

Clint peered at her through the darkness. "Does something have to be wrong for me to visit?"

"Most of the people who show up at my door in the middle of the night are either trying to kill me or bringing bad news." she answered bluntly.

Clint nodded in the darkness. "True." Natasha saw him glance around, then reach for the nearest light switch. "May I?"

"Go ahead." She turned and walked back to the kitchen, now partly lit by the light Clint had turned on. She felt Clint's eyes on her as she replaced the knife in the drawer, then turned to face him, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. "So." she said expectantly, waiting for him to explain the reason of his visit.

"So?"

"What's going on?"

He seemed to study her briefly before his eyes flicked to the open bottle of vodka, then back to her face. "I just thought I'd stop by."

"At two in the morning?"

Clint shrugged. "Couldn't sleep, I guess." He tilted his head in the direction of the bottle. "You were up as well?" The comment was phrased as a question, but Natasha sensed that it was more of a statement than an inquiry.

Natasha moved her head in a slight nod, then stepped forward and picked up the bottle. "Want some?" she offered.

Clint snorted. "You know I can't stand that crap."

Natasha smiled slightly as she raised the bottle to her lips again. Vodka was definitely an acquired taste, and Clint had yet to learn to like the Russian drink.

Clint's eyes followed her movements as she drank and leaned back against the counter, bottle in hand. After a few seconds, he crossed the kitchen and propped himself against the counter next to her.

He reached out and took the bottle from her hand and placed it on the counter out of her reach. Mimicking her stance, he crossed his arms and looked at her expectantly.

Natasha avoided his gaze, staring down at her folded arms instead. She knew he sensed something was wrong, and he was waiting for her to tell him, but there was no way that she could admit that it was his own close call with Loki that had her truly frightened.

"Tasha." Clint said softly, gently nudging her with his arm. "What's wrong?" When she didn't answer, he tried again. "You don't resort to that stuff unless something's wrong. What happened?"

"It's nothing I can't handle."

"Obviously."

Natasha gave him a dirty look, but the genuine concern on his face made her expression fade as quickly as it had appeared.

"Clint," she sighed and ran a hand through her already tousled hair. "Just let me handle it. You know I can take care of myself."

"I know that."

"Good."

"But I'm not going to let you suffer alone." Clint smiled slightly as Natasha let out a frustrated sigh. "Tell me what's going on in that stubborn head of yours, and maybe between the two of us, we can fix whatever it is that has you so upset."

"It's nothing you can fix, Clint. You can't change anything now."

"So it's something that's already happened."

Natasha glared at him again. He sounded too satisfied with his deduction for his own good.

Clint tilted his head slightly, watching her as she stared stubbornly at the wall across the kitchen.

"It's what happened last week, isn't it?" he asked softly.

Natasha didn't so much as flinch, but Clint was far too good at reading her to let her stoic expression fool him.

"That's it." he said decisively. "It's SHIELD and the Avengers and this whole damn mess we were thrown into. It's having the pressure of saving the world on our shoulders, losing Coulson, and playing Fury's game. That's what's bothering you."

"No." Her voice came out more cracked than she had expected. Natasha turned her gaze to Clint as she continued. "You know that I can handle war. I can handle the thought of Earth being overthrown. I can handle death. Pressure. Lies."

"Then what can't you handle?"

His voice was so soft, so concerned, that it made her say one final word. "Loki."

"Tasha," he whispered. "What did he do to you?"

Natasha took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "Nothing. He never touched me."

"That doesn't mean anything." Clint said dryly. "He did a whole lot to me without actually laying a hand on me."

She couldn't help flinching when he said that, and she knew that he caught the small motion.

Clint pushed himself away from the counter and stood in front of her, grasping her by the shoulders. "Natasha, look at me."

Natasha wearily raised her eyes to meet his.

"What. Did. Loki. Do?"

"He compromised you." Natasha didn't know where the words came from or why they sounded so soft and scared.

From the expression on Clint's face, her answer was obviously not what he had expected to hear. "What did Loki tell you about me?"

"I won't touch Barton, not until I make him kill you." Loki's words, replayed in her dreams every night, echoed in her mind as she stared at the man in front of her. "Slowly, intimately, in every way he knows you fear. And then he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull. This is my bargain…"

"Tasha!"

Natasha hadn't even realized that she was trembling until she heard Clint's voice. She blinked rapidly, trying to banish the tremors and the feeling of horror and fear that she had felt at Loki's words. She may have been sent to Loki's cell to put on an act for him, but the act had ended up turning into a reflection of her true feelings.

"Tasha, what…?"

"It's better if you don't know." She interrupted, answering his previous question.

It took Clint a moment to understand what she meant, and even then, he didn't look convinced.

She hoped he wouldn't press her for more details. She didn't want to recount what Loki had said to her…what it had been like to see the emptiness in Clint's eyes as she fought him. She didn't want to have to admit she had been afraid that he would be lost to Loki forever. She didn't want to admit that he was more than just a debt to be repaid.

"Alright." Clint kept his grip on her shoulders, but spoke softly and steadily. "You don't have to tell me."

Natasha could tell that he was working things out for himself as he studied her. She'd told him enough, and he knew her well enough that he could fill in most of the pieces.

She met his searching gaze with what she hoped was confidence, waiting for him to decide that she was going to be alright. What he did next was completely unexpected.

Natasha barely had time to take a breath before she found herself wrapped in Clint's arms. She instinctively stiffened against him, unused to such close physical contact. But somehow the warmth and strength of her friend's arms around her made her feel just a little bit safer, as if perhaps the memories wouldn't matter so much.

She found herself relaxing into the embrace, unusual as it was. Neither of them was the type of person to be fond of physical contact, but for this moment, it was ok to be like other people. Natasha found herself wrapping her arms around Clint's waist, laying her head against his chest.

She closed her eyes when he began to stroke her hair, running his fingers through her tangled curls, tentatively at first, then with more confidence when she didn't stop him.

"It's alright," she heard him whisper. "We'll get through this, Tasha. Loki…Loki doesn't matter anymore. What he did doesn't matter. Both of us came out of this alive, and we're gonna be ok."

Natasha didn't reply, but tightened her arms around him slightly, somehow trying to put all of her unspoken emotions into that one movement. She knew he understood when he tucked her head under his chin and wrapped both arms fully around her, comforting her and reminding her that everything was alright.

Things weren't perfect, and in their line of work, it never would be. They would face danger time and time again, but for the moment, they were safe. Clint was safe, and for now, Loki was nothing more than a memory.