Their little pocket of peace wouldn't last long, and both of them knew it. People like them never could hold onto the quiet moments for forever, but Clint also knew they wouldn't want to. The morning let him forget it though as he listened the gentle creak of wood floor under Natasha's bare feet as she drifted through his apartment between window and couch with a cup of tea and a soft, private sort of smile.
"Your apartment is loud," she murmured low when she was certain he was looking at her face.
Clint could barely read the words against white light streaming in through the window, but the complaint was familiar and comfortable between them. He liked the comfort of sleeping without hearing aids but preferred the safety of a heads-up when a stranger walked through. He shrugged and leaned back against the couch to watch her lean into the light, his shirt bulky over her silhouette. Natasha knew where every creak and sigh lived in his floors and walls. She could be silent if she wished, and she was comfortable enough here, safe enough in her own skin, to let the sounds of her passage fill the spaces between light and shadow.
They didn't speak for a little while, just stayed near each other as the light shifted and the rain gently eased then ceased. Eventually, Natasha sighed and her shoulders drooped slightly.
It sent a faint shiver of tension through the air. Clint rocked forward but stopped himself from going to her. "What are you going to do?" he asked at last.
She looked at him, a frown creasing between her brows. "I don't know." She hesitated, and that bothered him more because Natasha didn't hesitate. Not really. "Nothing's the same," she said, voice quiet and small.
Breath came a little harder, shorter. His grip tightened on the back of the couch. "Nothing?" His tone held steady though.
Natasha stared at him, then leaned her head back against the pane. "I'm not."
Small consolations. He nodded to himself and went back into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.
Restlessness filled the space where peace had been. Natasha knew that people like her and Clint weren't made for peace and quiet moments, but she had hoped their reprieve from the world would last a little longer before their new lack of employment came up. It had changed Natasha to remove SHIELD from the equation, so she had assumed it would change Clint too.
Displeased with herself, stumbling in her most important relationship like it was somehow something new, she pushed off the glass and followed Clint into the kitchen. She watched the hint of tension in his shoulders as he poured himself another mugful of the disgusting black brew that smelled so much better than it tasted.
She stalked forward, uncertain of her ground but certain of this, and refilled her own teacup with some of his coffee.
His face was neutral and reserved, though she doubted he was unsurprised.
She sipped it and grimaced. She looked at him and kept drinking, not able to put into words this feeling itching under her skin. She was here because she wanted to be, because she wanted him whether they were the same or not.
There were a lot of things she wanted.
"So." He drew out the word while staring into his coffee cup as he swirled it gently for a moment. "We're still partners." His eyes came up. The fidgeting stopped. He was still and silent, studying her with the intensity of a sniper, and she could feel her hackles rise at the sensation of being in a scope.
She knew the feeling and made herself not react as she smiled briefly and agreed. "Partners."