More hits of romance in this one, and it's very much Clintasha centric at the end. Also got a little tidbit of the comic universe in this one. :)

Come Back.

This was a nightmare.

The ship Clint and the rest of his team were in had the perfect setting for one. They were confined in a tube, so to speak, with its tall and menacing copper coloured walls surrounding them and rusty catwalks above and below their heads. With each pounding step one of the duelling Avengers or Ultron and his allies, Pietro and Wanda Maximoff made, the bone chilling sound of rusting metal screeched.

The sound was something akin to a piece of chalk being scraped slowly across a blackboard. It made his spine tingle and his body to cringe in response.

But this was a nightmare. And a nightmare did things worse to you than send spine tingling chills down a person's back.

It froze fear inside of a person's heart, forcing it to beat faster to try and thaw the encroaching terror. It caused the body to sweat as it worked to draw out the anxiety creeping under the skin.

A nightmare brought someone's fear to life, even if only momentarily.

One of Clint Barton's fears had been brought to life the moment he rounded the corner and laid eyes on a wandering Natasha Romanoff.

The deadly Russian assassin turned hero was taking meagre steps down the flight of stairs just to his right, the delicate fingers of her right hand barely gliding along the coarse railing. Her entrapping crimson eyes – having lost their sharp emerald under the Scarlet Witch's influence - were glassy and vacant, her mind having been caught in a faraway world – a memory, or several. The haunted expression sketched on her face was enough for him to determine just which memory she was reliving.

His heart cracked at the sight.

"Nat!" He cried, surging towards her, the battle forgotten, and slamming his hands down against her arms, holding her in place before she could lose her footing or wander any further.

No signs of recognition appeared to shatter the terrified look on her face, and a growing ball of anger sparked to life in Clint's chest, twirling and flaring dangerously. His face hardened and his eyes darkened, no longer the sapphire tinted with grey colour, but now a pencil shade of grey altogether. A low, feral growl tore its way out of his throat.

'I'm going to stick an arrow through that witch's eye socket.'

The hypnotised Natasha had now stopped trying to continue walking and now merely stood just a head taller than him on the stairs. Her lips quivered, and her throat managed to tear out low whimpers and incoherent noises, as though she were trying to speak to him, yet the only thing that slipped past her full lips was a shallow 'no'.

"No." Again and again. She was like a broken record, and another crack splintered Clint's heart, getting closer to cracking his glass soul. In her current state her own soul shone through, naked and vulnerable to everyone. It was made of glass as well. That was one major thing that connected them, for they were the same, having both done terrible things. Abominations they could be called. They did the dirty things so that other people wouldn't have to, all to make the world a better place.

Yet they were also intertwined. The two spies were inseparable and yet so similar. Their relationship was unparalleled, but they could be torn apart, as they had been before on multiple occasions. And despite that they always somehow managed to meld together again and shape themselves into what they wanted to be. They couldn't have everything, but each other was enough.

"Nat, look at me," he coached softly, cupping her round face in his hands, trying his best to remember a time when her skin had felt as soft as it was right now, for he had felt it in his hands more than once in the past. "Eyes on me."

"Hurts…" She moaned, grimacing painfully.

He shook his head quickly, eyes now burning with…. Tears? When was the last time he even shed one?

"No, no, Natasha, it doesn't hurt. You're OK, you're not there you're here, you're OK, you're with me, Clint."

Something shifted in her eyes slightly; a flicker of green. Was it recognition – "Clint…?" – It was! The breath left his body in a monumental sigh of relief. Joy flooded his being, drowning him in its waves. He gladly allowed it to.

"Yeah, it's me!" He whispered, a shaky grin spreading across and parting his lips. "Tasha, I'm here."

Something soft touched his wrist, sending fire across and under his skin. From the corner of his eye he saw something that was black, but solid. A glove.

Her gloved hand was resting on his wrist, her fingers lying on the back of his hand.

His heart skipped a beat and his throat swelled. He could barely swallow air without difficulty. His heart was a jumping Jack inside of his ribcage, banging against its bone walls savagely as though it were about to burst from his chest, in which he compared to being like the Xenemorph from the Alien films. Those scenes had always made him cringe, but in this moment, he didn't want to feel something else. The woman in front of him had recognised him. She had recognised him.

The world had evaporated, leaving just them. There was no other feeling other than pure, consummate joy pulsing inside of him.

Natasha was coming back slowly, the crimson now dissipating from her eyes like paint mixed with water. He watched his own face mirrored in the shine of her eyes, and her pupils dilate as they focused on his face.

By now she was trembling uncontrollably that he had to dig his fingers into her arms slightly more so that she didn't escape his grasp and tumble down the stairs. In her bewildered state she would soon become startled by her sudden change of surroundings and fall down the stairs, likely to cause herself injury.

"Clint." His name again. It came out in a strangled sob. A lone, traitorous tear was leaving a quickly drying trail down her left cheek, and without even thinking, he had reached up to smudge the crystal drop from her face ever so gently with his thumb. The motion appeared to be more of a loving caress, and he had entirely meant for it to mean so.

His heart turned towards her in the way that it hadn't done for a long time. It had been years since they dated, yet with a simple touch it felt as though it had only been yesterday when he had last kissed her.

Their faces were so close, breath mingling, eyes half closed yet locked on to each other's. They both swallowed. They were on a tightrope which was taut and threatened to snap at any moment and send them wheeling down into the pools below. Two glass souls shaped again, still fragile, but building slight strength.

"Tasha…"

She trembled again, but this time it wasn't because of her nightmares. He looked into her eyes and saw what he had dared to hope beyond hope for years now: her heart.

It was rising, full and purple before him. It was turning to him. She had been struggling, in secret, with the same desires for as long as he had, now to finally make her choice in the same moment as he.

She had always held control over what they would do or become; whether they went back to that place they had refused to return to for such a long time. He could never force her to make a decision such as where they stood with haste. She was slightly more unstable than him with the things the Red Room did to her, finding it more difficult to trust someone. To not be scared of herself.

Her eyes were tired, but her heart remained there, looking right into his. His heart swelled, and he was still stunned by the adoring look in her eyes.

"любовь искрится в ваших глазах," he murmured, relaxed, his eyes still on hers.

Despite the trauma that was still sketched on her face and her shaking, she still managed a tiny smile.

"я знаю."

Just like that, the tightrope that they had been balancing on for years finally snapped by her hand. With just those simple words they fell together, plummeting towards the pools below.

And then her arms encircled him, and she pulled him to her, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

He closed his eyes at the feel of her breath tickling his neck, her lips touching his skin and staying there; the wetness that soaked him and his vest as she silently released her emotions. He settled for burying his face in her short, fiery curls and simply breathed in the scent of her, feeling whole at the prospect of being able to hold her like this again after so long apart.

"любовь искрится в ваших глазах," - Love sparkles in your eyes.

"я знаю." - I know.

I always felt Clint could pull off being a romantic if he wanted! He is quite charming I think. ;) xD

Next chapter will be up soon!