They were dirty. No matter how hard he scrubbed them, they still reeked of dried blood. Clint moved the cleaning cloth along the arrow, but it never seemed clean. The arrows had been stained with innocent blood, and it was something that would never go away. Clint clicked his tongue and angrily stuffed the arrow back into the quiver. He pulled another one out of the stack of arrows he had beside him and began shining it again. He had to get rid of the dirt somehow, but nothing seemed to work!

The door creaked, and Clint looked up from his work to see the silhouette of Natasha in the doorway. She was leaned up against the frame with her arms crossed and was looking at Clint with an eyebrow raised. "Why aren't you in the main room with all of the others? Tony's counting down the minutes until it is Christmas, and he wants you in there as well."

"I could ask the same for you. Why aren't you in there?" Clint said, turning back to his work. The spotless arrow still looked dirty to him, but nothing he would clean it.

"You're dodging the question, Clint. And I was in there before I came to look for you. The real question is why are you trying to avoid everyone? No one has seen you for more than five minutes for the past week," Natasha said shortly. She was worried about Clint. Ever since he had come back from his last mission, he had seemed different. He seemed sad, but he refused to tell anyone why. She knew that bottling it up couldn't be healthy, but Clint had seemed to vehemently refuse all help offered to him.

"I just don't get the point. Christmas doesn't have to be celebrated by counting down minutes or giving fits. Anyways, it's a waste of time. I have things to do that don't include sitting around and talking with others about pointless things." Clint stopped shining the arrow and let his hand drop down beside him. "I don't deserve to be around them anyways. I'm the one who is a murderer here," he said quietly.

Natasha frowned. "You aren't a murderer, Clint. A murderer is someone who kill someone else because they wanted to. You didn't. That's why you're a soldier. And even if you stay by your incorrect definition of murder, all of the Avengers would forgive you. They care about you, Clint. We all do."

"There is no such thing as forgiveness, Nat!" Clint threw the arrow on his lap across the room. The arrow clattered to the floor as Clint breathed heavily. He shook before grunting and turning away from Natasha. A few seconds later he mumbled, "There is only temporary forgetfulness. There's no way that something like what I did could be forgiven. It was all for the mission, but I killed uninvolved children! I couldn't leave any witnesses, but I had to kill them just because they happened to live in that tiny little flea bitten village. Forgiveness... What a joke." Clint gave a wistful laugh and ran his hand through his hair.

Natasha's frown deepened and she walked further into the room. She sat down on the bed beside him. "Clint, do you know why winter is supposed to be the season of giving?" Clint blinked disbelievingly, and Natasha growled. "Just answer the question."

"No, but I don't see how it even matters," Clint replied, looking back to the arrow that was crumpled on the ground. He'd probably have to check it for any malformations or dents later. Clint sighed.

"Giving hadn't been a Christmas tradition until a man named Saint Nicholas came around. He originated from a rich family, but gave his inheritance to the poor and ill even though he had no reason to do so," Natasha explained.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Clint demanded impatiently. He was already in a bad mood, and he found the entire lecture completely pointless. It didn't resolve him of killing dozens of people for their sin of "existing at the wrong time."

"Shut up and let me talk," Natasha snapped back. "One of the stories of Nicholas is when he gave money to prostitutes in order to save them from having to continue on in their business. He didn't disdain them or call them filth because they did disgusting things for a living. He still cared for them and wanted them to be well." Natasha flicked Clint on the side of the head and stood up from the bed. She stood in front of Clint with his arms crossed and shook her head.

"If you don't understand why I said that, then you're slower than I thought you were." Natasha turned away and walked towards the door. She stood in the doorway and paused. Natasha glanced over her shoulder and said, "We'll be waiting for you. There isn't much time left, so don't be late."

Clint stared after her as she exited the room. The door slowly began to swing shut, and Clint bolted up from the bed. He knocked the door open and ran after Natasha. She had just turned down the hallway when Clint caught up to her, grabbing her by the arm. She looked back at him with an eyebrow raised. "Thank you for coming to get me, Nat."

Natasha smirked. It was just like Clint to pretend like nothing had happened. "If you're going to thank me, then thank me by keeping me company. I need someone to help me keep my sanity if I'm going to be stuck in the same room as Tony."

Clint nodded and said dramatically, "Your wish is my command, Madame."

Author's Note: As requested by TXJ.

I hope you enjoyed the one-shot! A lot of the one-shots so far have been fluffy, so I thought this one was a good change of pace. There are a lot of hurt people in the world, but Christmas is a reminder for us to reach out and help others even if they don't seem like they need it.