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A few days passed and Bruce didn't see Barton. He knew if Barton wanted to talk, he'd come back. What Bruce didn't know was that Barton unconsciously decided, as soon as he'd walked out of the lab, to actively avoid him. An anger had flared up towards himself that had been previously buried. The embers bursted into flame as soon as Banner had gently blown on them with his words. Until now Clint hadn't allowed himself to actually think about Loki. He had only reacted to feelings over the events as they came and hoped they would ease. All the while considerations of Loki and his actions towards himself were held just under the surface. Clearly they hadn't drowned. Now thoughts had busted down the door and were running through his mind. He was angry. He was angry at Loki, angry at himself, angry that Natasha had ever talked to Banner and that he had listened to either one of them. That night after he and Bruce talked, he tried to sleep alone. It still wasn't working. Pride and anger kept him from going to Natasha's room and she felt no need to question that choice. So, for a few nights he just didn't sleep at all. Natasha tried to talk to him in the day time, but he either evaded her as only he could do or just didn't open his door in the morning. She didn't press him when he did the latter. After a few days he began to feel very unstable. His anger compounded with his fear of sleep and subsequent exhaustion gave him a light headed sensation and jumbled his thoughts.

OooOopOooOooO

It was predawn. Clint lay staring at the ceiling. He was thinking about Loki, the ghost that haunted him.

"Loki." he said out loud to nobody.

He listened. There was nothing, just him.

"Sir." Clint said, his whole being recoiling at the sound of the word. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He didn't expect his words to conjure anything.

He steeped for a moment in the implications of that word. Then, he broke the silence with one more word.

"F**ker." He spat it out bitterly and with it came a laugh that was almost a sob. He smiled sadly to himself, then rolled over. His face sunk into the pillow, and a very light sleep descended on him.

OooOooOooO

As he did on so many occasions, he stood atop the roof of Stark Tower overlooking the city. To be up high, to nest on a ledge was a physical experience that always provided mental relief. Each breeze he could decipher, each distant activity he could examine. Clint knew why he was called the hawk. His keen gaze swept across the sky, the city and eventually straight down at the street far below. Miniature vehicles and people moved back and forth, back and forth against the black and grey surface.

So easy. His mind whispered to him like a breeze.

Immediately he took a step back, realizing what he had just considered. His thoughts turned to Natasha's face. They were all each other had. She would never do it and he wouldn't either. Clint turned back and hopped down from the ledge. He look around him. Sleeping was out of the equation, so he left the roof and went to the weapons range. Nobody was there. It was probably a little after midnight. He began to fire arrows, hitting target after target. Even in his exhausted state his aim was perfect. But soon, as his mind began to expand beyond the task at hand, his aim faltered. The fear and anger began to cloud his focus. Arrow after arrow missed. Just barely, but for Clint Barton it was significant. He never missed.

"We talked about this." Natasha's voice was calm and very close behind him.

Another of his arrows flew and missed the target. It was only enough that one familiar with his skill would notice it.

"What?" he barked coldly.

"You're not responsible."

"Oh yeah?"

Another arrow flew from his bow.

"Is that why my arrows were in their chests? My shots weren't what blew the engines on the carrier? Is that why Banner almost crushed you to death? It wasn't me who tried to kill you? Because I wasn't responsible? I wasn't responsible for letting Loki put that spear on my heart? I f**king let him do it." All of this was said without looking at her. His voice was low, like a snarl.

What he was saying did not make sense. She knew it and so did he, but he needed to say it.

"I'll keep reminding you until you believe it."

"You know what, Natasha. Just back off." Clint fired off another shot.

"You know that I won't." She said calmly.

With lightening speed Clint drew another arrow which now pointed directly between her eyes. Behind it were his eyes, fiercely burning and full of fear. Natasha did not flinch, but looked right into his eyes, hers perfectly calm. A few seconds passed and Clint said nothing. His terrified eyes continuing to hold her gaze.

"Am I supposed to cry now?" She asked dryly.

He didn't smile. He didn't even blink. Natasha could hear the faint sound of the arrow shaft tapping against the bow.

"You're not afraid." He said. It was an observation more than an question.

"You're shaking, Clint."

Natasha placed her hands on his hands. Gently she removed the bow and the arrow from his hands and let them fall, clattering onto the floor. Clint stood, his arms hanging at his sides. His expression had taken an aimless appearance. Natasha then kissed his cheek and left him standing there without another word.

OooOooOooOooO

There was a knock on her door. It was 3:20 am. Natasha knew it was Clint. He appeared from around the door. Neither of them said anything. Natasha simply moved to make space for him in her bed. He padded over in silence and climbed in. Barton curled himself up protectively. She wrapped her soft hand around one of his. "It's ok." Was all she said. Beside her, listening to his breathing and hers, blessed sleep finally descended on him.