The Black Widow was never one for tears. She didn't cry unless there was a damn good reason too. And Clint knew every single one of them. He knew Tasha like the back of his hand, what made her scared, what effected her the worst, and how to make her feel better. So when the Avengers came back from a particularly hard mission, Clint had no doubt in his mind that he'd have to pay a visit to the Widow's room this evening.
"Tash?" Clint called through her closed door. He heard a small whimper, and took that as a cue to enter. He slowly opened the door, calling her name again.
Natasha's room was very plain, like the rest of their rooms. Her bed was pushed up to her wall, her dresser was opposite of that, and a desk faced the wall with the chair pushed in.
The widow herself was sitting up on her bed, her back in the corner of her wall, and her knees pulled up to her chest, arms curled around them. The Black Widow never looked so tiny, so fragile, unless she was afraid.
"Oh, Tash…" Clint said sadly, closing the door behind him and walking over to the shivering assassin. Her sobs started the minute Clint had his arms around her, like she was waiting just for him. She buried her head into his chest, tears rolling down onto his T-shirt. Her body wracked with her sobs, Clint whispering comforting words into her ear.
"Clint! All those people, all of them…" she repeated over and over. Clint soon couldn't take it anymore. He pulled her from the safety, the security of his chest, forcing her to look at him.
"Natasha," Clint started, making Romanov flinch. He knew she didn't like it when he used her full name. No one did anymore, so when he did, it made her feel like she was in trouble.
"Natasha, none of that, none of that, was your fault! Do you understand? He was a manipulating, ass-hole! Understand?" Clint said, shaking her slightly. She tried to not look at him, afraid and ashamed, like a child being scolded by a parent. Romanov bit her lip and fidgeted with the quilt on her bed. Her sobs had subsided, but her tears still flowed down her ivory cheeks, gracefully curling under her chin and dropping onto her leather outfit.
Clint sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. Deeming he'd gotten through to Tash, he patted her outer thigh slightly.
"C'mon, change out of your battle stuff. You have sweats, right?" Silently, Natasha obeyed, nodding in answer to Clint's question.
Clint didn't leave when Tash changed. They were like brother and sister, or more, like husband and wife. He'd seen her lacey underwear, and she'd seen his plaid boxers.
He watched as she pulled on an old T-shirt and grey sweats, tying her hair up in a rare-sighted ponytail. When she was done, she looked at Clint, as if asking permission to get back onto the bed. Clint nodded, patting the part of the bed that was between him and the wall. Tash didn't like having her back exposed because she was afraid of being kidnapped, like she had been so many times before. So she was snuggled in, sandwiched between Clint and her plain wall.
Clint grabbed a novel off of Tash's bed side table. His back was up against the head board, Natasha under his arm, her slender hand on his chest, as he read aloud. She had her head in the crook of his shoulder, listening to his calming voice.
"Okay, I say its time for bed, seeing as its after midnight." Clint marked his place in the book and put it back on the table.
Clint looked at Romanov, and saw that as soon as he'd stopped reading, anxiety had crept back into her eyes, her mind. So instead of turning out the light, he wrapped his hand around Tash's waist and, feather-lightly, stroked her exposed tummy.
Romanov, surprised and, secretly, extremely ticklish, burst into a fit of rarely seen giggles. Clint soon joined her, as she thrashed around, laughing and trying to get away from Clint's devilish fingers.
After about a minute, Clint stopped, letting Tash catch her breath. She sent him a mock glare, lightly slapping his arm.
"That was not fun, Clint!" She told him.
"I beg to differ. It was extremely fun!"
"For you!" Romanov countered. Clint chuckled.
"Yes, it was." He said as he turned out the light. He pulled the blanket over the both of them, his strong arms wrapping around Natasha, making her feel safe. She welcomed that, snuggling closer to him, her face and head resting against his strong chest, his scent washing over her. She hated it when she had to go more than two days without smelling his, pine, oaky scent.
"Night Hawky." Natasha said playfully.
"Night Tash."
"Clint?" Natasha asked, her voice small and shy.
"Don't…don't leave me. Please." She said, even more quiet.
"Natasha, I will never, never, leave you. I will always protect you. I will always be there for you. I will never hurt you. Never."
Clint bent his head to kiss Natasha's cheek.
"Never." He whispered again into her ear. He heard her breathing hitch, and a sniffle, before he hugged her close to his chest, rubbing her back.
"Sleep, Tasha." He cooed, rocking back and forth ever so slightly. Little did her know, his promise would soon be put to the test.