A/N: Hey! Sorry that I haven't updated in forever, life's been a bit hard on me. But I'm back! And I've gotten some new inspiration for this story, so hopefully there will be some more chapters to come. This came about after I watched The Winter Soldier. Hope you like it.

Enjoy :)

"Barton, it's Romanoff. Give me your whereabouts."

"Clint. It's me. Call me back."

"Clint? Where are you? Are you alright? You need to call me back, okay Barton?"

"Goddammit Clint, why aren't you returning my calls? Where the hell are you Barton? Call me. Asap."

"I swear Clint you better answer your phone soon, you hear? If you're not dead I'm going to kill you...please don't be dead."

"Barton, pick up the damn phone!"

"Clint? Please, Clint? Where are you? Please be alright. Please please answer your phone."

She's moving to call him for the eighth or maybe ninth time when her phone buzzes. She picks up the device before the first ring has ended.

"Barton?"

"Nat," he voice is clear, and strong, and definitely alive on the other end.

All the air escapes her in a large exhale, breath pushing out of her in a whoosh. "You're okay."

"I got your calls."

She grows angry then. "And why the hell didn't you return them any sooner?" she questions quickly

"Nat, listen, I wa-"

"No," she cuts him off sharply, nostrils flaring. "Where could you have possibly been where you couldn't even bother to call me back?" she asks, even though she knows that there are a million valid answers that he could have.

"I was helping others get out," he explains, and she can practically see him run a hand through his hair. "Nat, SHIELD, it's.."

"Done," she finishes for him. "I know."

"Are you okay?" he asks, worry creeping into his voice.

She curtly, even though he can see her. "I'm fine."

"And Rodgers?"

"He's alive," she responds, but knows that he will understand that that means he isn't good. Alive, yes. Well, no exactly.

There is a long pause. Neither of them speak for a while, and Natasha just listens to his breathing on the other end of the line for a moment, strong and steady. They are loud, timed, and she wonders for a second if he is doing that just for her, because he knows that she needs to hear it.

"Clint?" she says after a couple minutes of silence.

His voice is quite, her name in a breath. "Natasha."

Her voice almost breaks. "I thought you were dead."

There is a pause. He sounds sad when he answers. "I'm sorry."

She swallows. "My place. Twenty minutes," she demands, hanging up before he can give her an answer.

She gets back to her small apartment in ten minutes, and he is already there waiting for her. He hasn't gone inside -which is strange, because he has a key, but she appreciates the gesture- so she let's him in, and he closes the door behind him, enveloping her in his arms before the bolt can even click into place.

He smells of smoke and battle and looks like hell, just like she probably does as well. And at this moment, of all moments, she doesn't want to be weak, but she let's him hug her anyways, and she hugs him back. She hugs him back hard, hands pawing at his shirt and face buried in the crook of his neck.

"I was so worried," she murmurs against his skin, breath tickling his neck.

"Shh," he soothes, stroking her hair. "I'm never going to leave you, Tasha," he says, like he was reading her mind. But he has always been able to do that. He knows what Natasha is really saying, and what she isn't saying.

She doesn't respond, just holds him closer, so he says is again, "I'm never going to leave you."

The arrow hanging around her neck feels as if it weights a million pounds , but of course, she would never take it off. As heavy as it feels, she would be much heavier without it. She swallows. "I know," she whispers, almost inaudible, then louder. "You better not," she responds, trying to sound stronger than she is right now.

He only kissers her forehead and holds her tighter. "I'm never going to leave you," he says again.

That time, she almost believes it.