You listened as the federal agents talked with Clint and did whatever they needed to do to get everything set up. It took nearly a week before everything had gone through and they actually cleared you to allow his house arrest to be here. Your condo was large, really it was too big for a single person. But you had inherited it from your grandmother, and only an idiot would turn down living somewhere they didn't need to pay rent, taxes, or a mortgage on.

At one point, you heard one agent make a comment about Clint getting lucky to have such a nicely gilded cage instead of what he actually deserved. It took a lot for you to not stalk over to the man and punch him in the face.

The intercom had buzzed as they were finishing up, and the front desk informed you that Laura and the kids had arrived with Clint's things. You cleared them to come up and went to open the door for them. Within several minutes, your place was ringing with noise and you felt the beginnings of a headache. Retreating to your office, you searched for the documents you needed to fill out so you could get Clint added to the building security.

"It's nice of you to do this for him."

Straightening from where you had been bent over a drawer, you found Laura standing in the doorway. You took a minute to bite down on the flicker of annoyance that ran through you at her words. While you weren't exactly mad at her, it bothered you she was putting Clint through this.

"I'm doing what any good friend would do," you say carefully.

There was a sad smile on her face as she shook her head, "Letting someone live with you, stuck in your place 24/7 for over three years, is something I think even a good friend would normally hesitate over doing."

Sucking your teeth, you closed the drawer you were looking through with your foot and said, "Yeah, well, I'm the friend who wouldn't."

She made a soft humming sound and then turned away when one of the kids called for her. Laura had brought them with her when she brought his stuff.

Later that night, you were cleaning up the kitchen when you realized that the place was extremely quiet. Curious, you dried your hands and dropped the towel on the counter and wandered out of the kitchen.

"Clint?" You called out. The only thing you got back was silence. Wandering up the steps, you stuck your head into the bedroom you'd given Clint and saw that it was empty. Standing in the hallway, you tapped your foot as you considered things. An idea occurred to you after a minute and you made your way up to the fourth floor and pushed through the door to the rooftop terrace area.

Clint was crouched on the parapet in the far corner, arms braced on his legs as his hands dangled between his knees while he watched the ground hundreds of feet below. If you didn't know him as well as you did, seeing him perched like that would have scared you shitless. But you knew him.

You walked over and leaned your elbows on the parapet next to him, "I sincerely hope you aren't planning on jumping. That would be so much paperwork to deal with."

He snorted softly, "You've had to deal with enough paperwork on my account. I'll refrain."

"That's a good point. I'm pretty sure I have carpal tunnel now. I'll send you the bill."

Clint didn't respond. He just continued to watch the ground. You leaned forward enough so that you could try to see what he was watching. It was getting pretty late, but this was New York, so there was still movement below. The two of you remained like that for a while. Then you bumped your shoulder lightly against his leg, "You gonna be okay?"

"Don't know," was the quiet answer.

You hummed as you shivered with the sudden shift of the wind. Patting his leg, you turned away and told him you were heading in to go to bed. He didn't respond, or move his position. Just continued to perch and watch the city moved below.

"What are you doing?"

You jolted in surprise, whirling around to find Clint leaning against the door frame of your office. It had been nearly a month, but you were still getting used to the fact that another person lived with you. You'd forgotten about him completely as you got sucked into your current case, so sucked in you had been muttering a non-stop stream of curses for the past twenty minutes, which is what had gotten Clint's attention.

Rolling your neck and shoulders, you turned back to your screens and said, "I'm working."

"No shit Sherlock. I meant what are you working on," Clint said as he moseyed into the room and leaned over the back of your chair to study your screens, "These look like financial documents."

"That's because they are financial documents, genius. Client suspects fraud," you mumbled.

"Did you hack these?"

Your shoulders hunch defensively, "No. Maybe. What's it to you?"

"Wouldn't that kinda be a 'fruit of the poisonous tree' thing?"

You whirled in your chair and Clint backed up, "That only matters if it would go to court. Which I'm pretty sure this won't."

Clint's tongue clicked, and he said, "Well, I don't know about fraud, but I'm pretty sure whoever those documents belong to is having an affair."

You spun back to your screens and squinted at them, "What? It's not possible to know that. You looked at them for like two fucking minutes."

He stepped up to lean over your chair again, his finger pointing to several lines as he said, "See these here? This is one of those 'hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil' type hotels outside of DC. The kind that caters to high-end sex workers and people having illicit affairs."

"That doesn't prove…"

He tugged on the ends of your hair and pointed to several more lines and said, "And these? This is an expensive flower shop. This is a high-class jewelry store. And this chocolate shop that sells truffles literally wrapped in gold."

You squinted at the lines he pointed out as he said, "Now, sure, perhaps they are buying those things because they really love their partner. But look at the dates. See how every charge at one of those places occurred within four days of the charge at the hotel? My guess is that this person is having an affair and every time they meet up with their lover, they get something expensive for their spouse to ease the guilt."

Pausing in the act of writing your notes, you tapped the end of your pen against it as you said, "Huh. Maybe it will actually be useful having a spy living with me."

"I was a covert special agent, not a spy." Clint said.

"Pft, tomato potato. You were a spy."

He ruffled your hair as he stepped away with a laugh, "That's not how that saying goes, cupcake. Let me know if I was right."

Clint was right. The client's husband had been having an affair, and he had been using their shared company's funds to fuel it. Coming home that night, you dumped your bag on the floor by the entry closet and called out for him.

"Clint!"

He came from the kitchen, towel in hand as he eyed you, "What?"

"Your spy tingle was right."

He scoffed, "I don't have a spy tingle…"

"Shut up, yes you do. Anyway, turns out he was having an affair. With his wife's sister and using their company's money to fund it."

Clint clicked his tongue, "He's gonna get creamed in the divorce settlement, ain't he?"

Walking past him to head upstairs, you called back, "If she is smart, she will use what I gave her to do just that."

Stripping your clothes off as you went, you stood in your shower and let the hot water beat over you. It had been another long week. Your job took a lot out of you, but it would be a lie if you said you didn't love it. Well, most of the time you loved it. There were times it got terrible and it left you feeling all hollowed out but this was not a case that did that.

You stayed in the shower until you were basically a prune before shutting the water off and stepping back out. Wrapped in your towel, you stopped dead as you caught the pile of neatly folded clothes on your bed.

Putting them away and dressing, you hunted up Clint. You found him on the roof in the spot that you had referred to as his nest.

"Did you do my laundry?" You asked.

His head turned towards you for a moment before returning to survey the ground, "Yes."

"Why the fuck did you do that?"

Clint sighed, "Because it needed to be done."

"Look, Clint, I don't need you doing my laundry."

He shifted, turning around towards you and sitting down, "I know you don't. You've been pretty busy. I figured I'd do you a favor. It's not like I have a lot going on right now. But if it really bothers you, I won't do it again."

You bit your lip. You hadn't considered that.

Clint was a man who had worked a high risk, high-action job for most his life. And before that, he was a literal circus performer who ran with a criminal circus. Even when he wasn't working, he had a habit of doing project after project. He was a doer, a man of action, and here he forced into sitting around and doing nothing. It had to be killing him.

He was watching you as he waited to hear what you would say. Finally you said, "I get it. Guess I'm not used to someone willing to do chores."

"We live together. It would be pretty shitty of me to expect you to do everything. Especially considering the fact that you are working so much."

An idea popped into your head and you blurted it out without thinking about it first, "I've been thinking of building a home gym."

"A gym?"

"Yeah, I mean, I have a membership to a club but I almost never use it and perhaps if I had a setup here, I'd be more likely to work out like I need to."

"I see."

"C'mon I'll show you." You turn around and head back on, not bothering to check to see if he's following you. On the third floor, you push open the door to the second living room. Clint steps in with you, his gray-blue eyes already assessing the room as you walk to the middle and spun in a circle.

"So, I'm thinking this room will be perfect, but I know absolutely nothing about remodeling or what to even put into a good home gym. I was planning on getting around to hiring a contractor, but well, I've been pretty busy."

Clint's eyes settled on you and you plastered a winning smile on your face, "I know you're pretty handy. Perhaps you'd be interested in taking this project on?"

You knew he was seeing right through you, but he didn't call you out on it. He just studied you for a moment longer before moving into the room and walking around it. You could practically hear the wheels turning in his head and had to work to keep the smirk from crossing your face.

He tucked his hands in his pockets as he came back over to you and said, "I guess I could see what I come up with."

"Great! I'll get you access to the house account."

Clint's eyebrows drew in, "House account?"

You waved your hand, "It's the account that was set up to take care of things like taxes, repairs, updates, that kind of thing."

A funny look crossed his face, and you stopped talking, "What?"

"Just how rich are you?"

Your face heated, "I'm not rich."

An eyebrow rose, "You live in a four story, penthouse, condo in Manhattan. Seem pretty rich to me."

"Pft, my grandmother was the rich one. I just benefited from it because she liked me the best."

"Right. Well, I'll see what I can come up. You got something you absolutely don't want to see happen?"

With a shake of your head, you tell him to make any changes he thought were proper and to buy any equipment he wanted. Leaving him in the room, you headed into your office to work.