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Natasha had no way of knowing if Peggy had taken her advice, but she liked to think she had. When Clint hung up, he looked better, but there was something lurking in his eyes that told her that he was not okay.

Not even close.

"She okay?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah, she's fine," Clint said, getting to his feet. "Thanks for the patch-up."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "You don't need to thank me for that, Clint."

"Well, I did nearly kill you today," Clint said, fidgeting a little. "I'll just …"

"Don't even think about it," Natasha said flatly, seeing him start edging towards the door. "You are staying here."

"Nat …"

"Staying here," Natasha repeated.

Clint sighed. "Nat … We need to talk about what's going to happen tomorrow."

"Peggy's going to debrief us, Thor's taking everything bad back to Asgard, and you and I are taking a vacation," Natasha said.

"Nat, I planned a terrorist attack in Stuttgart, orchestrated an attack on the helicarrier that killed people, and tried to kill you!"

"That was Loki …" Natasha began.

"No, that was me," Clint said shortly. "He made me want to do it, Nat, alright? I wasn't fighting it, I wasn't trapped in my body, screaming, I was right there, and I wanted it. The Council are going to want answers, and we can't just …"

"The Council fired a nuclear bomb at a civilian population and nearly doomed the entire planet," Natasha snapped. "They don't get a vote, Clint. You really think Peggy's going to let them get away with using you as a scapegoat when this whole cluster-fuck was their fault in the first place?"

Clint seemed to deflate in front of her, sinking back on to the mattress. "I can't just leave town, Nat. I need to help; I need to try and make up for what I did. You of all people should understand that."

Natasha felt her own body relax in response to his, and she sat down beside him. "I do," she said softly. "And because I understand that, I'm not going to point out how many times you've told me that my ledger is an unhealthy coping mechanism."

Clint managed a tiny smile, which she counted as a win. "You just did."

Natasha rested a hand over his. "They are going to have no shortage of volunteers for clean-up, Clint. In a few weeks time, everyone will go back to their normal lives. That's when you'll make the most difference."

Clint was quiet for a few moments. "Try again."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"That's not a reason not to stay and help tomorrow," Clint said.

"This is about you," Natasha said. "Not me."

Clint turned his hand over beneath hers, lacing their fingers together.

It wasn't something they did.

Clint had never shied away from physical affection, something that had bewildered her when she first joined SHIELD - she wasn't used to anyone touching her in a way that wasn't violent or sexual - but she soon got used to him slinging an arm around her shoulders after training, or sprawling out with his feet in her lap when they were watching a movie.

When they began sleeping together, that didn't change; he seemed to understand without words that a romantic relationship terrified her in ways she didn't want to admit, and so, unless they were fucking (or about to), the contact between them remained as platonic as ever.

Her earlier kiss to his cheek had broken that pattern, and he seemed to be running with it.

"It's not just me," Clint said softly. "I tried to kill you."

Natasha sighed. "We're not talking about that now."

"Okay," Clint said, far too easily, but presumably he didn't want to unpick it either. "I still want to know why we're leaving town. I'd guess the Council, but you can make me disappear from Manhattan as easily as you can from anywhere else."

There was a faint note of disapproval in his voice that told Natasha that he still didn't agree with her assessment that he shouldn't be held accountable, but she wasn't going to get into that again.

Not yet, at any rate.

"I can," she admitted. "And I'd be disappearing with you."

"Nat …"

"He took you," Natasha said stiffly, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall.

His fingers contracted on hers almost impulsively, but relaxed immediately. "I don't follow."

Natasha didn't answer immediately. "You saved my life," she said finally, her voice just loud enough for him to hear. "Ever since that day, you've been there. You're one of the few things in my world that I can rely on entirely. The sun rises in the east, a compass points north, you're always there. I always know where you are, whether it's the other side of the world, the other side of town, or a sniper's nest six feet above me. When Phil called and told me you'd been compromised … for the first time since we met, I didn't know where you were. All I knew was that if I didn't get to you before anyone else, you'd be dead." She forced herself to look at him. "I know you want to stay and help. I do. But can I have two weeks away from New York when I know where you are? Please?"

Something flickered in his eyes, and he sighed, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers.

This was something he'd started doing after their relationship changed. Sometimes it was the prelude to something sexual; sometimes it wasn't.

To an outsider, it would have looked affectionate, but not necessarily romantic, but Natasha had a feeling it was Clint's way of kissing her when he wasn't entirely sure if she wanted him to, or when it maybe wasn't appropriate for their … situation.

"Alright," he said finally. "Two weeks. And then we come back."

"Two weeks," she echoed.

"Are you sure you don't want me to take another room?" Clint asked, drawing away from her. "I know Stark's got the space."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Don't be an idiot."

Clint and Natasha had shared beds long before they started sleeping together, and they had a set routine by now.

Even after sex, they started on separate sides of the bed - Natasha wasn't really a cuddler.

Sometimes she was happy for him to hold her for a while afterwards, but she always eventually needed her own space before she could fall asleep.

During the night, inevitably, he would migrate towards her, and they almost always woke up with him curled around her.

Sometimes, if she didn't wake up properly, that could freak her out, but for the most part she was used to it now.

Tonight, however, things were different.

With the lights off, the room was almost pitch black, and Natasha lay awake for quite some time, even after Clint's breathing evened out into the easy rhythm of sleep.

She knew his breathing intimately, could pick it out from a crowd blindfolded.

He was here.

He had been himself again during the battle, all snark and fire and deadly (beautiful) efficiency, but she knew him better.

She might have Clint back, but she didn't have Clint back.

Not yet.

The sound of his breathing should be enough to reassure her that he was alright for the time being.

Internally she rolled her eyes at herself.

This was her partner, her best friend.

He wasn't going to judge her.

For the first time in their relationship, she moved closer, re-situating herself so her head was resting over his heart.

His arms closed around her, apparently automatically, as his breathing didn't so much as hitch, and, lulled by the steady beat of his heart, she finally closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

When she woke, it was sudden, startled out of sleep by a sudden burst of light.

"My apologies, Agent Romanov," JARVIS said, "but I believe Agent Barton is in some distress and I cannot wake him."

It took Natasha a few seconds to catch up, to realise that the lights turning on was the AI's way of waking her, and that it was still the middle of the night.

Beside her, Clint was still asleep, but certainly not peacefully. If JARVIS hadn't woken her, she would have certainly woken in a matter of moments.

Sweat was beginning to bead on his brow, and as she watched, he began to murmur under his breath.

"Clint," she said firmly. "Wake up."

He began to shake, so violently she would have thought he was having a seizure if she didn't know better.

"Clint! Wake up!"

"No!"

His cry startled her, but he wasn't awake, fighting his way out of the blankets to reach for something that wasn't there.

Natasha moved with him, knowing from experience that if he lashed out in his sleep and hurt her, it would only make things worse when he did wake up. "Clint!"

The more he thrashed, the clearer his words became, and she realised, with a thrill of horror, that he was dreaming about their fight on the helicarrier - only this time, it seemed, he was trapped and screaming.

All she could do was call his name to try and wake him, as he cried out for her and begged her to wake up - and honestly what was the point of SHIELD giving him the sub-dermal hearing aids if he couldn't hear her when it mattered the most?

Finally, he woke, gasping for air as he bolted upright, and she reached for him immediately, taking his hands to press them against her heart.

"It's alright, Clint," she said softly. "I'm right here."

His gaze flickered from their hands to her face, and then he crumbled.

Natasha had never seen Clint cry before, but now he did, heaving sobs that shook his entire body. For a second, she froze, unsure what, if anything, to do, but then she wrapped him in her arms, letting his head rest on her chest so he could feel her heart beating and know that the dream was just that.

He clung to her like a child, murmuring apologies and promises and words she couldn't even make out into her skin, and she rocked them both back and forth, words of her own spilling from her lips, promises she couldn't possibly keep but anything that might possibly soothe him.

When they finally fell asleep, it wasn't just Clint whose face was stained with tears.