Hi again! Sorry about the wait, but I've been busy with work, revising and working on my final assignments for the year at uni. It's pretty stressful, which is why I've taken some time to write this. I've decided that this part will be split into two, although the second part may be a while before I manage to write it down and upload it, due to the things that are keeping me occupied at the moment. I'm sorry about this, but come May 21st you can expect a very relieved history student to be whipping up more chapters for you. It also gives time for everyone to see AoU now that it's out in the USA. Thanks, everyone, here's chapter 4.

The Farm.

Clint piloted the quinjet with an intense concentration on his face. His blue vision stared at the sky on the other side of the reinforced glass window with intensity as the fluffy white clouds pass over them. A small crease etched itself on his brow, the result in a mixture of concentration and worry for Natasha.

She had been silent for the entire journey, as had the rest of the team, though he knew instinctively that she would be worse due to her past.

"Want me to take the wheel?" Tony, the only one of the team who could muster up any few words still, asked as he stood next to the archer.

"Nah, I got it, thanks," Clint answered, never tearing his eyes from the sky. Tony nodded and walked off to the back of the qunjet, his hands clenched not in frustration, but because he was deeply unnerved, as the rest of the team were.

Clint felt the incessant tugging in his heart to get up, approach Natasha and put his arms around her, but he knew that she wouldn't want to talk about it now. The topic of her past had always been discussed between them and no one else, not even Coulson or Fury. The pair had their own way. Natasha would either take her motorcycle out or would train, usually with Clint volunteering to be her punching bag. The fight would release her demons from their cages, fuelling her venom so that when one of her various punches or kicks made their mark after a perfectly times quip from Clint came, she would feel some satisfaction. Clint would be her hope, her salvation; he would take the hits so that she felt as though she was still worthy to fight for good.

A golden cloud of dust swept around the landing gear as he masterfully descended to the ground.

Not wasting a beat, he opened the ramp and spun around in his chair, pushing himself up and walking over to the still immobile Natasha, taking her in his arms. He looked at her vacant face, the crease between her thin, red eyebrows, and the tortured glow in her eyes. She followed him fluidly when he began to slowly pull them both up, her head falling to settle against his shoulder.

Her red curls tickled his neck as they walked across the dirt path towards the white, wooden panelled house. Steve was not far behind, his head hung low. Tony's fists were still clenched. Thor's hammer looked as though it were about to slip from his grasp. Banner meandered in the back, his face a picture of distraught and his arms encircling him in a cocoon like manner, as though he were shielding himself from all of the world.

Clint wasted no time in pulling out the key that dangled on a chain around his neck and unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping in after Natasha.

The rest of the team shortly followed and gathered in the hall, their eyes roaming over every detail with interest. No one but himself, Natasha, Fury and Coulson knew of this place's existence, keeping it off of S.H.I.E.L.D records, and they preferred to keep it that way. In the end it had paid off, for H.Y.D.R.A had never discovered it throughout their infiltration.

A warm feeling inflated inside his chest at the familiar feeling of safety and security. Of all places in the world, a simple farm house was the most secure place Clint had always felt he had ever been in.

"What is this place?" Tony asked out of the blue. Four pairs of inquisitive eyes stared at them, awaiting an answer.

"A safe house," Natasha answered before the archer could; the first time she had spoken in hours.

"Fury and Coulson helped set it up for us back in the early days of our partnership," Clint added.

Steve had a serious look on his face, but did not say anything, content to just accept the spy's answers, as did the others.

"So…" Tony started, pursing his lips as though he had just popped a sour sweet into his mouth. "You two play house?"

"Don't say it, Stark," Natasha's husky voice cut in swiftly as she levelled him with a deadly stare, promising him a world of pain if he let another one of his many insinuations slip. The message was clear to Tony, for everyone knew that when the Black Widow made a move against someone, it was a promise that they were in for the worst imaginable pain or torment.

"I wasn't going to say anything!" The genius cried, raising his hands quickly in surrender.

"Sure you weren't," the red head deadpanned, not even looking over her shoulder at him whilst she made for the stairs.

The five men watched her leave, none daring to whisper a word, for knowing her, she would likely hear it and knock each and every one of them out before they could even say 'run'.

"Help yourselves to anything you need, guys," Clint sighed, rubbing the back of his neck to work out a sore crick there. "Bedrooms are in the hall upstairs, there's plenty of food in the kitchen. Thor, you better damn well save us something or I will personally see to it that you become the new stand for an apple during shooting practice. Oh, yeah…. And you may need to bunk up."

With a wicked smirk the hawk dashed up the stairs, filled with glee at the sound of Tony panting as though he had just been kicked in the gut.

Following the soft sound of light footsteps, Clint slowly entered the room that Natasha was in and closed the door behind him with a nearly inaudible click. The Russian had stripped herself of her cat suit and was now wrapped up in a fine white bath robe made of silk, very fitting for a spider such as herself.

The sight of the robe clinging to her in just all of the right places, from her wide hips and perfect waist, to the near plunging neckline that almost revealed her cleavage was incredibly alluring to him, enough to unlock all of his secret thoughts of her from the cage he had built in his mind long ago. He focused on his breathing, making sure to keep heartbeat slow. If she were to place her hand on his chest now it would speed up to the rate of a humming bird's, and the memories of everything that they had once had would come rushing back to her and scare her into thinking he only wanted her for what many others before him had, even though she knew it was him. It was too risky. It was not something he wanted whilst she was still in a vulnerable state.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Her bright emerald eyes looked up into his blue and for what felt like eternity they just stared. No words could come to either of their minds, nothing about them or of what had happened a few hours ago. Eventually the spell broke with Natasha blinking fervently.

"Will you dance with me later?"

And he knew her answer: yes, they would talk about it. They would deal with this as they had a number of times before. They would train.

"You know I would love to," he smiled, giving her a theatrical bow and earning a small chuckle from her.

She smiled softly at him before turning around and entering the small bathroom, closing the white door behind her.

Clint stood there smiling to himself, not even bothered that he would be enduring a freezing cold shower by the time she was done.

It has occurred to me that these two aren't really in character, especially after going over the third chapter. This may just be me overreacting after reading some other fantastic fics about these two, or I may actually not be doing a very good job with handling them. I'd really appreciate it if you all gave me your thoughts about that. Be honest, yeah? I don't mind the criticism. I want to improve and do these two complex and brilliant characters justice. As always, review. I'll see you around soon. ;)