AN: Holy crap, guys. I didn't think people would like that fic! Thanks so much for the reviews. I'll try to update this and keep it decent, but since I had no intentions of writing it as a series I don't really know where I'm going with it. Hope I don't disappoint.

"NO!" Clint bolted upright, drenched in cold sweat, his eyes flying open to escape the nightmares that tormented him every time he dozed off. His hands searched the sheets beside him, reaching desperately for a body that wasn't there. How could she not be there? Had it all been a dream? That thought alone overwhelmed the already fragile archer. He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the short locks and sliding his knees up to his chest. Clint's eyes shut tightly in an attempt to stave off the inevitable tears. "Nat… Nat…" He just repeated her name over and over. Maybe if he said it enough times, she'd be there. Maybe he could have her back. His eyes finally adjusting to the dark, he noticed that this was his room at the mansion, not his holding cell. He really was home. And just then, the door creaked open and Natasha tip toed into the room, clad only in the pale blue shirt she'd practically ripped from his torso the evening before, and holding a cup of tea. Clint's face broke into the biggest grin she had ever seen as he swiped a hand across each cheek, trying to make it look like he was just rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Standing to meet Natasha in the middle of the room, Clint wrapped her in his arms and refused to let go, managing to sweep her up off of her feet and carry her back to the bed without spilling a drop of her drink.

"Clint?" Should I ask? Probably best not to… It's his choice to tell me about what happened…

"Hmm?" he mumbled, barely pulling his lips away from her neck.

"Never mind…" Answers could wait 'til morning. She settled instead for running her fingers along his bare chest, setting her mug on the bedside table and snuggling up next to him. This was a much better way to stay warm.

The next morning, Nat awoke to the sounds of Tony and Steve arguing over how to deal with the latest threat on the city and Bruce trying his best to make peace between them. She repositioned herself, sitting up and planting a kiss right in the middle of Clint's forehead.

The archer's eyes shot open, teeming with fear until everything came into focus and he recognized the face above him. "Morning, darling," he mumbled, trying to disguise his reaction as sleep deprivation or something. He wasn't really sure.

"What was that?" Natasha stood, her eyes wavering between concern and demand.

"I don't know what you're talking about…" He rolled over, face-down in the mess of pillows and blankets.

"Really, Clint? I'm not blind."

"This is not an interrogation, Nat. This is sleep-time." Pulling the covers back over his head, Clint started to doze off again, hoping she'd join him for his post-sleep nap. Instead, Nat yanked the covers off of him. Yelping at the unwelcomed cold, Clint scrambled for something to cover himself up with. Nat cocked an eyebrow at him. She'd missed him like hell, but now she needed answers. Clint avoided her eyes, looking rather uncomfortable with the fact that he was being questioned in his own room, on his own bed, with nothing but a pillow keeping him decent. "Fine…"

"Good. So, what was that reaction about?"

Clint crossed his legs, hugging his pillow and mumbling into it. "wtr trtr…"

"What?"

"I said it was wtr trtr…" Clint stumbled over to the far corner of the room, retrieving his boxers and slipping them on before searching fruitlessly his jeans.

"Clinton Francis Bart-"

"WATER TORTURE, OKAY?" This time he held her eyes, seeing them flash from horror to anger to pain and then back to anger.

"Who." It was not a question. It was not a request. It was a demand.

"I won't tell you, Nat. You know that already. Because if I do, you're going to do something stupid and I'm going to have to live without you again and I'm not going to go through that another time."

"Clint, I-"

"No. Listen to me for once, Nat. Just once. Listen to me. I am never, never going to live without you again." He was standing in front of her, hands on her shoulders, eyes locked with hers. "Never…" What is he doing? "Ever…" No, no, no. He can't be. Stand up, Clint. Stand up. "Again…" And from God-knows-where, Clint produced a small black box, opening it to reveal a perfect ring set with a perfect ruby. "I know it's not the most romantic way to do it, seeing as I'm not even half-dressed… But I couldn't wait." Nat could barely breathe. Forming a coherent sentence was absolutely out of the question and Clint was enjoying that way too much. "Natalia Romanova… I love you. Will you please… Shut up and take this ring because I bought it a while ago and I think it would look nice on you."

"Clint… Clint are you…?"

"Oh, God no!" he laughed. "No, no, no. I mean, not that I haven't, erm, thought about that or, um… Nevermind." His face flushed a red almost as bright as the stone in the ring. "No, I'm not. I just wanted to scare you."

"I think you've done enough of that."