"You're awake," Clint murmurs, pressing his body tighter into the back of hers until she can feel the reassuringly strong thud of his heart. She loves the feeling of his heart beating against her own, loves the feeling of his skin against hers. One arm slides around her waist, fingers splaying out across the skin of her stomach as if he would stop her from running away from him. There is nothing overtly sexual in his movement, although the feeling of his hands on her is enough to speed her pulse, the contact is all about comfort and a connection that still has the ability to take them by surprise.
They always sleep together now, they haven't spent a night apart since he was released from the hospital after the blast in Kabul, each needing to know that the other is close by in case of trouble. So far it has been relatively easy to maintain their proximity to one another without questions being raised. Everyone knows that when one of them is injured they won't be parted, it's the rule they've had since shortly after they became partners when Natasha was shot during a mission in Bolivia. Fury is footing the bill for this rather nice two bedroom apartment while Clint recuperates and it has given them time to deal with the fact that he could have died. Natasha Romanoff never wants to feel the way she did that day as long as she lives.
"I can't think of a nicer way to wake up," she teases, turning her face towards his and laying a gentle kiss on his mouth. Clint grins at her, eyes flashing with colour as he tightens his arm around her and pulls her back even tighter to his body.
"You can't think of a better wake up call than me lying behind you?" he chuckles. "I'm hurt Nat, I might have to try harder."
Natasha smiles at him. "You might just have to do that," she informs him. It is a result of the closeness they share that she can poke fun at him about such things without hurting his feelings. The man has a healthy ego and she knows that he can take a joke or three without crumbling, especially since she is sure that he can see that she adores him whenever her eyes meet his own. She knows that she can say that about him.
Clint's smile is that of a lover, filled with the dark knowledge of dozens of nights they have spent wrapped around one another in the dark. He turns her chin up to his with his fingertips and kisses her softly. Smiling against his mouth, Natasha arches her body against his own, earning a sharp inhalation of breath from his lips as he pulls away to look down at her in surprise. With any other man she wouldn't play games like this, pushing the buttons of someone who could potentially overpower her if the game gets out of hand, but this is Clint. They both know where the boundaries are and she hasn't gone anywhere near them.
He catches her wrist, bringing his face close enough to her own that a breath will press his lips to hers. "Keep on stretching like that and you'll give me other ideas Natasha," he whispers.
She shivers with anticipation as she considers the possibilities but then forces herself to fix him with a serious look. "You're still healing," she reminds him softly, turning in the circle of his arms so that she can trace her fingers over the fresh red scar that follows the line of his ribs.
This time when she shivers it is for a different reason entirely. The medics did an amazing job on him after the blast, fixing a punctured lung and removing shrapnel from his chest and abdomen and all that is left of those wounds now is fresh scar tissue and lingering pain. Scars that will always remind her of that terrifying moment when his eyes slipped closed during the journey to the medical base, of the way that his hand had felt so limp in hers. They will always remind her of the moment that she nearly lost him.
He senses the change in her at once, pulling her closer to him, wrapping his arms around her to stop the shaking that she cannot stop herself. Foreheads touching, they wait out the worst of it, Natasha breathing in the scent of him, pulling his essence deep into her lungs and trying to hold him there. He doesn't offer her platitudes or tell her that she should forget what happened and she is grateful because the life that they lead has no room for complacency. They both know that each day could be their last, that knowledge is the weight that they carry everywhere with them.
"I'm going to be just fine, stronger every day." He tells her firmly, offering reassurance that this most recent incident is over. He is still beside her, always beside her. "Dry your eyes," he says quietly, brushing away her tears with his thumbs, "we got nothing to be sad for you and me."
Natasha sniffs and offers him a smile, locking away her fears by force of will. He has not survived so long by being careless. Clint is careful, plans out every possibility before he walks into any situation, he does everything that he can to make sure that they come back to one another at the end of the day. She can't ask for more than that.
"You okay?" he asks, when she calms herself sufficiently to answer without her voice quivering. "Anything I can do?"
She curls into his arms again, letting his body spoon hers, wrapping her arms around his. "Just stay," she replies, echoing words said to him after the blast, "just hold me for a minute and promise me you'll always find your way back to me."
His tightening arms are response enough for her.