Bonus? Yes!

A Word: Clint/Nat and Tangled. If you're familiar with me you should know why I chose to take this the direction I did. *coughHawkeyeInitiativecough*

.

.

Natasha runs her fingers through short, bristly hair and marvels over the fact that it's still soft even if it has darkened from the bright gold it once was. "You know this means you have no excuse not to wear a shirt, right?"

"Lies," Clint says, not moving at all from his position. Sprawled out on the ground and face smashed into the side of her thigh in a way that looks uncomfortable. For a man who lived in a tower made of stone for most of his life, and only had his ridiculously long hair to sleep on, it probably is the height of comfort to him. "Shirts and shoes are evil things invented by evil people for evil purposes. I will not give into their villainy."

"You will if you want to get your crown," Natasha says and follows a tuft of hair that looks like it's going to turn into a permanent cowlick with her finger.

The side of Clint's mouth she can see turns up in a grin. "You mean your crown."

"Semantics," Natasha says and slides down to lie on the ground next to Clint. Squirming until his arm drapes over her and his nose comfortably finds the dip between her neck and shoulder. The steady movement of his breath on her skin is relaxing. "What's yours is mine."

"And what's yours is mine," Clint hums and then chuckles. He cracks one eye open as he pulls back enough to look her in the face. "Alright, I guess I can put some boots and a shirt on long enough to get our crown. Just swear you won't leave me there with those people. I swear they don't sound any better as a family than Father Buck."

"I won't," Natasha promises and Clint settles back down around her. He fits her. Physically and mentally in a way that terrifies her more than a little when she thinks about it. Leaving Clint behind anywhere stopped being an option almost as soon as they first left the tower he was imprisoned in. More than the crown and her dreams, Clint has become hers just as much as she is now his.

It's a strangely satisfying thought that chases her into a peaceful sleep.

.

.