"You're going to kill me now?" Their bodies were tangled in a rather compromising position on the floor – the result of a struggle. Clint, who'd gotten a hold on his knife again, had just rolled them over so he was on top, making for a better angle to hold said knife to his opponent's throat.

Their heavy panting was the only sound that filled the otherwise quiet night. Clint thought about her question while she stared at him intensely, waiting out his answer. The red of her split lip matched the red of her hair and her eyes were a stormy mix of different colors just like his. He realized that he didn't want to see the light leave those eyes.

"No." It was dangerous and reckless but he pocketed his knife and slowly released the hold he had on her body. As expected he was on his back in an instant. Having reversed their positions, she reached for his knife next but Clint stopped her short by grabbing her wrist just in time. "Come with me."

"Why would I?" she asked.

"Are you not tired of running?"

Although it had been worse during his fallout with Tony, Clint hadn't been in top form for longer than that. That's why he'd been surprised that Coulson would let him take on an assassination mission – the target being a highly skilled Russian spy, no less – so soon.

Surprised but not complaining. Anything could have helped him keep his mind off of things, but chasing the Black Widow through half of Europe had reignited a fire in him that hadn't been there since... well, since some time.

Natasha had reminded him of himself – alone and on the run for so long. There was no telling what would have happened if she hadn't accepted his offer because, looking into her eyes, he'd felt a strange sense of protectiveness towards her. Even after he and Natashas had touched down in New York he'd had no intention of leaving her side and he most certainly wouldn't have if Fury hadn't ordered him into his office first thing on arrival.

"You're suspended," informed the director as soon as Clint had taken a seat. The archer wasn't sure if he was hearing him right.

"Why am I suspended?" he asked, trying to conceal his irritation.

"You disobeyed orders, ignored protocol, brought an enemy spy into our headquarters – should I go on?" replied Fury, arching the brow above his good eye.

Clint gritted his teeth. "No, Sir."

"Didn't think so," said Fury, busying himself with some papers. "You can go now."

"Sir-" Clint fell silent by another arch of the directors brow. He wanted to argue with him, to argue and disagree, but he knew out of experience that he would only make matters worse for himself. Resisting the urge to ball his fists, he got up and turned to leave.

As Clint left the office he saw that Coulson had waited in the hall. The older man approached him and placed a hand on the archer's shoulder. "I'll talk to him. You go home and get some rest," he said, keeping his voice low. Clint nodded, grateful to have Phil as his handler.

Coulson had come through for him countless of times. It was a handler's job to come through for their agents but Coulson did so exceptionally well. Usually...

Coulson made sure the door behind him was closed before he turned to Fury. "She's a great asset."

"This isn't about her, Phil," replied the director, the papers on his desk forgotten.

"I know," said Coulson stepping closer to the desk.

"You can't keep making exceptions and bending the rules for him. He needs to deal with what happened if he wants to continue this job."

"But going as far as suspending him? What do you think will happen if you take away his work from him?" protested Coulson.

"If Barton agrees to see Dr. Kendall again, we can talk about minor missions. Until then he's suspended from any and all activities including the use of the shooting range. Are we clear?"

"Clear, Sir."

Desperate for something more than the four hours shut-eye he'd caught on their flight back from Europe, Clint had taken Coulson's advice and gone home. They wouldn't be done with Natasha's interrogation any time soon anyway.

...Maybe it was because he'd slowly been coming to rest, maybe it was because he'd been back in his apartment again, but thoughts of Tony had started to fill his head.

It was as if the distance – both physical and time-wise – had done nothing for him. As if he was just picking up where he'd left off.

Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling he wondered for the briefest of moments if he should make contact. Tony might just have had enough time to come to terms with his newfound sexuality. They could wipe the slate clean and start anew.

No, thought Clint. As tempting as that sounded, Phil had been right when he'd said that he and Tony would have never worked out for a number of reasons (Yes, they'd talked about it again. Right before Clint had left for Europe.):

Firstly, their worlds were too different. They were too different. While Tony was a famous billionaire playboy and the CEO of his own weapons company, Clint had nothing besides his job as a SHIELD agent.

Secondly, even if they were to try and overcome that first hurdle, how was he supposed to explain his profession to Tony? He had been on leave when they met but usually his job required him to be all over the globe for long periods of time. And then there was the killing or even the very real possibility of being killed himself. He certainly hadn't thought anything through when he went ahead and fell in lo- ...fell for that stupid jerk.

Almost certain Coulson had come through for him again, he wasted no time heading back to SHIELD headquarters the next morning.

"Why didn't you kill me?" They were on their flight back to New York. It was the first thing that came out of the assassin's mouth since she'd agreed to come with him.

"Killing" - Clint paused - "It's not something you can take back."

"So you got soft," said Natasha.

"Maybe. Maybe I just killed one too many people..." He didn't elaborate and she didn't pry.