It's not too bad of a hideout, all things considered. It was reasonably warm, surprisingly spacious and the periodic rush of the passing subway was strangely comforting.

They patch each other up as best as they can. Natasha's got a nasty gash on her leg that looks a prime candidate for infection, so Clint drowns it in vodka and soaks off the excess as best as he can before applying the gauze.

She barely grimaces as the alcohol goes on, even though he can tell it's excruciatingly painful.

'They can't hear us, you know,' he reassures her, even as the deafening clatter of another train passes by. 'You can make noise. Just maybe don't scream.'

Natasha grits her teeth and blinks away the tears of pain. 'It's fine,' she says resolutely. 'Pain only makes you stronger.'

Clint chuckles a little and busies himself with the dressing. 'Oh yeah? Who said that?'

'My mother.'

Clint frowns. Natasha hadn't told him much, but she had mentioned that her mother abandoned her when she was a baby.

'My fake mother,' she clarifies, as if this made any more sense.

'Right.'

Natasha pauses, wondering if she should say anything else. She'd come to trust Barton, somehow. Trust had been such a foreign concept for so many years, and yet, something made her want to open up to this strange archer who had plucked her out of her hopeless situation and opened the door to a whole new life.

'We went undercover in Ohio for 3 years. I had fake parents.' The words feel foreign on her tongue. She hadn't spoken of the family she had lost. She'd never even acknowledged them as family.

'Oh yeah?' Clint says again. His tone is casual, inviting her to continue to conversation. 'They give you any siblings?'

Natasha swallows, glad that Clint's focus is on her leg and not on the slowly crumbling expression on her face. 'I had a sister. Yelena.'

She winces when he presses down on the wound, applying pressure, and hisses a little in pain. He looks at her approvingly and apologises for hurting her. It's strange. He's helping her, and yet he's apologising. She hasn't felt this cared for in a very long time.

There's a long silence, and he finishes bandaging her leg. They shift positions, and she begins tending to the graze on his shoulder. He should really start wearing clothes with sleeves.

'She say anything else?'

'Hmm?'

'You fake mother. Sounds like a wise woman.'

Natasha ponders for a moment, then says. 'The last words she said to me were: "Don't let them take your heart."'

The air is heavy and the silence is broken only by the sound of Natasha ripping up bits of gauze. She's never shared this much with anyone. And all of a sudden, as if realising where she is and she's done, her hands begin to shake and the gauze brushes across Clint's tender skin.

'What- Nat?' He catches her hands, and suddenly she's trembling all over. 'Nat, what's going on?' His eyes are wide with worry and his words almost break her. Nat. No one had called her that since Ohio.

'Dreykov's daughter. I killed her.'

Clint nods. He knows what they had to do, and he didn't like it either. 'Nat, you know we had to. We've been over this. But it's done. Dreykov's dead. You're free.'

Natasha's voice is choked and her Russian accent becomes thicker when she's upset. 'No, you don't understand. I'm still a killer. I let them take my heart.'

Clint lets go of her hands and seizes her by the shoulders. His eyes find hers and gazes into them imploring. 'Listen, Nat. You feel bad, right? Guilty that his daughter became collateral?'

She nods, unsure of where this is going.

'That's your proof. You feel awful that this happened and we both know that you'll try your hardest never to do that again. That's your proof that your heart is still true. That's your proof.' His words is barely a whisper but it give her more comfort than she could ever have imagined.

She nods again, and when he sees in her eyes that she believes him, he thrusts the gauze back into her hands. 'Now fix up my shoulder. We've got a long list of injuries to get through.'