A/N: Thanks for all the follows and favorites and reviews. It's all very encouraging. Again, any constructive criticism is welcome. Sorry that it is usually a week between updates. I have a slew of kids, and work, and life so I don't want to neglect all that...though I'd rather be writing. :D

Clint sat with his feet dangling over the edge of the cliff. One hundred feet below, the ocean gently lapped the rocks in the small bay. He would have preferred a strong surf so the sound could block out all his thoughts. He knew he had upset Natasha. His anger over his skill set, or lack thereof, slowly dissipated and a feeling of guilt was increasingly replacing it. He never should have lashed out at her. She was trying to help him. In spite of everything he had done to her during his time under Loki's control, she was here, with him. She didn't have to come along with him. He'd told her he understood if she needed time away from him. She'd responded that she'd had enough time away from him in the last two years to last her a lifetime.

He'd raised an eyebrow and asked, "Is that supposed to make sense?"

She'd smiled at him and laughed.

"No, not really," she said. "I just want to be with you."

She'd known what that would mean to him. He'd said the same thing to her several years earlier when an op had gone terribly bad and she'd ended up accidentally killing an innocent bystander. She had told him that she understood if he couldn't stand to work with her again.

Maybe he should have put it a different way. Maybe she had taken it to mean more than what he meant, because after that she let him touch her. He had hesitantly placed his hand on her shoulder and she had stepped closer to him as he put his arms around her. It had felt good to finally hold her, to finally have broken through her defenses, to be trusted implicitly by her. Natasha didn't give trust to anyone, but she had given it to him.

Clint sighed and closed his eyes. The breeze washed over him, still with a chill of Spring, but warming now that they were headed into Summer. He wondered if he'd feel better once the weather warmed. Maybe they should have headed south instead. Soon the heat would be stifling there, and the humidity would weigh like a heavy mail vest. Natasha hated that weather though. She preferred the north, with its cooler weather and it's long summer days. It reminded her more of home. He supposed that, no matter what had happened to her in Russia, there was always a sense in which it would be a home to her. Just as it didn't matter to her what he'd done, she would always consider him her friend.

A noise in the distance stopped him mid-thought. He listened only briefly before a small smile came to his lips. He didn't need to look to know it was her footsteps. He had them memorized in every possible situation, whether here in a wooded setting, or on the SHIELD helicarrier, he would know her. Even under Loki's spell he'd known. It's how he'd realized she was right behind him on the catwalk and then turned to fight her.

Before he had a chance to allow that thought to drag him further into is despondency, he heard a sound that was familiar, but that he didn't associate with Widow. It was the slight dragging sound an arrow made when it was pulled from his specially specially designed quiver. He heard her nock the arrow into his bow and pull back. Clint's curiosity was staring to get the best of him and he held his breath, wondering what she was planning. Suddenly, he heard the release. He didn't need to turn to look in order to guess where it was headed. Before it made impact, he knew it would hit the tree that stood a foot behind him and that it would land level with the back of his head.

After the impact he said, "Did you miss?"

"Depends," came her reply. "What did you think I was aiming at?"

She walked over and pulled the arrow out of the tree. After replacing it in the quiver, she lay the quiver and the bow next to the tree.

"This seat taken?" Natasha asked, motioning at the cliff side next to him.

Clint shook his head and Natasha sat down.

They sat, shoulders touching, in silence for a long time, staring out across the bay. Finally Clint turned and looked at her. Natasha was looking out across the water. She looked like she was here on business, her face serious and her eyes calculating. He wondered if she already knew what she'd say or if she was winging it. Clint sighed and was beginning to feel a bit selfish for putting her in such a difficult position. She'd been through hell too. She'd had to worry about him. Her concern for him over-riding her fear of The Hulk. Clint knew Natasha needed to feel like she in control in every situation but The Hulk had always been viewed as an unknown variable. Then, only a few days after that, Clint had intentionally unleashed her greatest, maybe her only, fear on her.

As much as he was trying to control his outward reaction to his inward thoughts, Clint must have let it show because Natasha reached over and took his hand in hers. He relaxed slightly at her touch. He didn't want to think about how he suspected it meant more to her than he could let it mean to him.

"Your shot's improving," he said, looking at their entwined hands.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her turn and look up at him.

"Thanks," she said, simply. Then turned and looked back out across the bay.

He'd thought she'd say more. Maybe about how she'd rarely touched a bow before she met him and how practice made perfect, all in an attempt to tie her act to how he would be great for The Avengers. But she was silent. He wasn't sure what she was getting at by shooting the arrow...maybe she wanted to force him to draw his own conclusions. That would certainly be like her.

They sat another half-hour before Clint finally spoke.

"I'm sorry," he told her, and looked at her as she turned and gave him a questioning look.

"I shouldn't have taken all my anger out on you back there," he explained.

She smiled and replied, "I don't think it was all your anger. After all, neither of us required medical attention."

He laughed with her.

He was still staring into her eyes when he said, "I remember the first time I heard you laugh."

Her features softened as she remembered as well. Clint loved it when he could make her look like that. He recalled her face early after they met was always set in a scowl. Drawing out other looks in a natural setting, not undercover, had been a personal mission of his. She'd been so young when he'd found her and brought her in. Younger than he had been when Coulson had done the same for him. It bothered him to realize she'd never had a real childhood at all. Even for all the difficulties Clint had faced, he still had bright spots in his life. She was only 16 and she should have been getting her driver's liscense and worrying about whether she was going to get asked to prom. Instead she had a kill list longer than his, including his professional career, and ledger so red she was certain she'd never wipe it clean.

It had been her 18th birthday and, while Clint had been able to get her to smile over the previous year and a half, what he wanted was a real laugh from her. He didn't expect her to laugh long, but something more than a snort and a roll of the eyes would be a huge boost to his ego.

Phil had argued with him from the beginning that it would never work, that his plan was too contrived, that Widow would see right through it. Normally, Clint listened to his handler's advice. The man could read people like no one else could and Clint usually deferred to the man's judgment. But Clint had been in the circus. He knew how to make a pratfall look real. He knew how to draw a reaction out of a crowd, even if he was a bit out of practice now. He would get her to laugh. He was sure of it.

Everything had gone according to plan. Natasha arrived for lunch at the mess hall at her normal time. He was in line waiting with his tray. He ordered as much of the messiest food he could then he turned to make sure Natasha was watching him. When she looked up he pretended to trip and proceeded to knock the contents of his tray all over the female agent behind him. Then he pretended to slip and to shove her tray against the others in the tray line, thereby knocking everyone's food all over anyone who was in the line. Then he pretended to fall, summarily knocking down the female agent and succeeding in taking down a few behind her as well. It had been a beautiful catastrophe. Clint was fairly proud of himself. He could hear the roars of laughter from the other diners around the mess and snuck a peek at his partner as he offered false apologies to the agent he'd used to fulfill his plan. Natasha just gave him a blank look. It was if she'd known he had done it all on purpose.

Damn, Phil was right again.

As he got up and offered a hand that was refused to the female agent whose name started with 'Mek,' he couldn't see her full name because her badge, and a great deal of her uniform, was covered with his mashed potatoes and gravy, he noticed the room had become eerily silent. He followed the gaze of one of the food line workers to the back corner of the mess.

Oh, man, when had Fury started slumming it with the rest of them? Didn't he have his own dining room?

Clint swallowed hard and masked his face to appear as innocent and surprised as he should have been if this had been an actual accident, which was very difficult as he watched the Director slowly made his way toward the archer. Clint's heart was beating a mile a minute. He didn't really see any way this was going to turn out in his favor.

Fury finally stopped right in front of Hawk, his tall figure looming over him and making him feel like he was about 10 years old. He had not been forced to remember just how tall his superior was for quite a number of years.

"Barton," Fury said in a voice that might sound calm to anyone who didn't know him. "I don't suppose you know where the cleaning closet is."

Clint shook his head, "No, sir."

"Well, why don't you have one of the mess workers show you, and, instead of eating, you can spend the next hour cleaning this mess you've made."

Clint was inwardly relieved. That wasn't that bad a punishment. But he should have known Fury wasn't done with him yet.

"After that," the Director went on. "You can spit shine the shoes of all these people behind you in the line."

Clint looked back at the mess he'd worked so hard to create. There must have been 20 people there. This time he sighed audibly.

"What was that, Agent Barton?" Fury barked.

"Yes, sir," Clint said.

"When you finish that, whatever hour that may be, you come to my office," Fury finished before turning on his heel and marching out the door.

Great, Clint thought. There was more punishment to come.

He looked over to the cashier who was summoning him and pointing to a mop and bucket and huge pile of towels someone had brought out for him. His shoulders sagged. This was going to take hours. It was certainly not the way he'd planned Natasha's birthday. He looked over at her expecting to see her frowning and shaking her head at him. She had moved to a table and was sitting on a chair. Her elbows rested on the table and her head was in her hands. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably and Clint wondered if he hadn't made her cry instead. Then she looked up. Her face was pink and she had the biggest smile he'd ever seen on it. She was laughing so hard Clint thought she might cry. She glanced at him and fell into greater hysterics. All the tension of that past few moments drained from him and he felt the corners of his mouth turn up in a grin. If he'd had to clean the shoes of ever man and woman on the base that day, it would have been worth it to see this.

Later, very much later, Clint walked the quiet and evening lit halls to Fury's office to find out the rest of his punishment. Taking a side hall he decided he went to see if Coulson was still in his office. Work-a-holic that he was, as if Clint wasn't himself, Phil was at his desk, peering at something on his computer. He looked up when Clint cleared his throat.

"You set me up," Clint accused, but not harshly.

A smile came over his handler's face.

"Of course," he replied.

"Thanks," Clint told him.

Coulson looked confused. He certainly didn't seem to expect Clint's reaction. But then he realized what Hawkeye was really saying.

"You're welcome," Phil said. "But, in the future, why don't you try sitcoms if you want her to laugh. I could recommend a few, you know."

Clint shook his head and turned to leave. As he walked down the hall, he hollered behind him, "Don't think this lets you off the hook. I'm still going to get you back, bastard."

Phil's laughter followed him.

In Fury's office, Clint was directed to sit in a chair opposite his boss. This surprised Clint. Normally a reprimand didn't warrant the comfort of a seat. As Hawkeye sat the normally broody man stared Barton down with his one eye.

"Did you get what you wanted?" Fury asked.

"What?" Clint asked, his turn to be confused.

"That whole show in the mess," Fury said. "I doubt you did that just because you had nothing better to do all day than clean the cafeteria and practice your spit shine skills.'

Clint wasn't sure what to say. How much had Coulson told their superior?

Fury opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out a disk. Reaching to Clint, he handed it to the archer.

"Off the record," Fury smiled, and that really surprised Clint. "I think it was a nice plan. But in the future, leave the humor to Agent Coulson. He's better at it than you."

Fury dismissed Clint who walked back to his room shaking his head. This certainly wasn't the way he'd planned the day to go. Arriving at his quarters, he found Natasha waiting for him sitting cross-legged on his bed. The present he'd left on his nightstand was in her hands and a playful grin on her face. He smiled back and quickly, without bringing attention to it, slipped the disc Fury had given him into the top drawer of his dresser before walking over to her. He sat across from her and waited for her to open her gift, a hair pin with a shaft so she could pull the inner part out and poison the tip. It had taken him almost all year to come up with that. It was hard to buy a gift for an assassin as practical as Natasha.

After she'd gone back to her room, Clint took the disc out and put it into his laptop. It turned out to be the video feed from the mess hall. He could see Natasha clearly in it and enjoyed being able to watch her through the whole thing. He could honestly say that he'd never been happier to mess up so big.

Clint shook himself from the happy memory and lifted his arm around Natasha's shoulder. She leaned into him and reached over to take his other hand in hers.

"If you don't want to join The Avengers," she said. "I won't try to convince you."

Clint was surprised, but not more than when she concluded. "And I will stay with you, whatever your decision."

For a moment he didn't know what to say. He knew this was not some sort of manipulation. He'd seen her manipulate before. She was sincere and Clint was shaken.

"Why?" he managed to choke out.

When she looked up at him, her face told him that she thought the answer should be obvious.

"You've never left me," she said softly. In her eyes he saw conviction and he knew there was no argument to be made.

Clint released her hand and reached his other arm around her to hold her to him. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. He couldn't find the words to thank her, couldn't find a way to say he understood what she was saying, that their friendship meant as much to her as to him. That it was more important to her than her independence and that he had come to mean something to her more than her job, almost more than clearing her ledger. He felt her arms go around his chest and back and he relaxed into her embrace. He had no idea how he would deal with the possibility of facing something like Loki again. He had no idea how to protect himself, or her, from anything that big in the future. But it almost didn't seem to matter now. All the comforting words she'd spoken since he'd come back to her from Loki's control finally sank deep into his soul. If they had made it through this, they could make it through anything else in the future.

Finally they released each other so they could go back to the cabin and eat. It had been before lunchtime when Clint had left earlier, and now it was nearly time for dinner. Clint put his quiver on his back and retracted his bow. Holding out his hand to her, he led her back down the slope toward their rental. They had only held hands like this, and for this long, when they had played a couple for a cover. It was a nice feeling, Clint thought, having her hand in his, walking silently through the woods. A strange peace had come over him, a feeling he had never even had before the whole incident with Loki. Right now he didn't want to think what it might mean, he just wanted to enjoy it, to enjoy her, and their time alone together.

After dinner they'd walked along the beach, her hand in his as if it had always been there. But when they went to bed that night, Clint was very glad he'd found a place with twin beds. The way he was feeling right now, it would have been too great a temptation to slip into bed with her. He didn't think he'd try anything, but he wasn't sure. He had never felt so close to anyone before, not even his wife. It should have unnerved him, but it only left him with an immense feeling of contentment.

Hawkeye was fairly certain he'd have slept the whole night through if a sudden but terribly quiet noise inside the house hadn't startled him awake. He lay in the bed a moment and could tell by Natasha's breathing that she had also heard it and was awake. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness and they both eased out of their beds, the guns they kept under their pillows now held at the ready in their hands. Natasha was the closest to the door and led the way out into the hall. She checked the bathroom under the cover of the darkness while Clint stood at the ready outside the door. Coming out she shook her head. It was clear.

Clint then turned toward the living room. Light from the moon streamed in through the lace curtain covered windows. Both he and Widow were still as they listened for any movement or breathing in the small house. There was nothing. Finally Clint walked into the kitchen and flipped up the light switch. The rooms were drenched in the glare. Still at the ready, they looked around but could not only not find anyone, they at first couldn't see anything out of place. The dishes they'd washed after dinner were in the dishdrain, the doors were both locked and bolted shut. Natasha went to check the living room windows while Clint checked the one over the kitchen sink.

He turned quickly as he heard her sudden intake of breath from the other room. Looking at her he saw a worried look on her face. He followed her gaze to the table by the window. On it was a book that hadn't been there when they'd gone to bed, in fact, hadn't been in the cabin anywhere at all as he didn't recognize the color. Natasha reached out with a shaking hand, which surprised Clint, until she lifted the book to show him the cover, "To Kill a Mockingbird."

A/N: Mockingbird was Clint's wife's codename in the comic book series.