The calico cat trilled at Natasha as she tapped her security code into the door. The cat stretched her neck and managed to rub the top of her head on the spy's hip, and Natasha scratched between the calico's ears with her free hand. The door swung open, and the cat hopped inside and gazed up imploringly at Natasha. The redhead glared, but the calico just wound around her feet as the first fat drops of rain splattered on the tin porch roof. "Okay," the spy said out loud. "Just for the storm." Her admission in the house approved, the cat trotted up the stairs to explore. Once Natasha was ensconced on the sofa with the laptop and a steaming mug of tea, the calico cat materialized and curled up next to her.
Natasha used the jump drive information to access the secured Stark Industries network Hill was using. As soon as the system checked her credentials, a message popped up on her screen: "Another StarkNet user has sent you a message. Please select if you would like to continue this conversation by text or voice."
Natasha clicked voice, and a polite British-accented voice greeted her. "Good afternoon, Miss Romanoff. It is a pleasure to see you again, so to speak."
She recognized the voice instantly. "Good afternoon, Jarvis. I should have guessed that you would be part of any Stark Industries network."
"Indeed, Miss Romanoff. Most users on the system communicate with me via text-based searches, but as we are acquainted, I wanted to let you know I am at your disposal. We have videos, still photographs, voice recordings, and electronic messages culled from SHIELD's security network, as well as the files in the database. Mr. Stark, Captain Rogers, and Ms. Hill are attempting to reconstruct the timeline and determine the fate and allegiances of unaccounted-for SHIELD personnel." Jarvis paused. When Natasha said nothing, the AI continued. "I've been running facial recognition software to index videos and photographs. Captain Rogers suggested you might wish to start with Agent Barton's last mission. I can pull those materials if you like."
Natasha's heart pounded in her chest. If she hadn't received a message from her partner confirming his safety and more or less good health, she would have reviewed the files in a heartbeat. If she skimmed the files on Clint's last mission, she might be better prepared to handle him when he arrived. But Clint, like Natasha, was a very private person, and looking at his last mission rather than letting him tell her about it in his own words and good time felt like prying. She bit her lip before answering, "No, thank you. I probably have information to add to the list based on what I saw in the Triskelion." Natasha kept her voice level while she asked. "Jarvis, is there a way to lock Agent Barton's last mission file so that no one else can view it?"
Jarvis didn't answer for a full 15 seconds. "I will mark the file as checked out to you. That will prevent anyone else from viewing it."
An hour and a half later, Natasha's fingers finally stopped tapping on the keyboard. "I think that's enough for today," she said, not sure whether she was telling the cat, Jarvis, or herself. "Clint should be here soon." She logged out of the computer and removed the jump drive, replacing it in the lipstick case, which she then tucked into the pocket of her jeans. She ushered the cat outside to do its business and then leaned on the porch rail, watching the rutted road until it disappeared over the next hill. The few clouds in the sky were tinted pink and orange from the sunset. Natasha's slim fingers plucked her novel from the porch chair and opened it to the receipt she was using as a bookmark. She stared at the pages, unseeing, as the sound of a distant truck engine penetrated her consciousness. The rattling got closer, and louder, and she replaced the receipt. Her hand closed around the gun in the front pocket of Clint's sweatshirt, and she paused at the corner of the house as the truck rolled into the gravel drive and shuddered to a stop.
Clint sighed as he put in the truck in park, and even through the windshield, Natasha observed the dejected slump of his shoulders. His hair was mussed, and his entire appearance was disheveled and depressed. Of course he would take what happened hard, she realized. SHIELD was Clint's family. Clint glanced quickly around, assessing potential threats, and his lips curved into a slight smile when he spotted his partner on the porch. He pushed open the truck door, letting gravity slam it closed behind him, and trudged up the steps. Releasing the gun inside her pocket, Natasha met him with her feet on the top of the steps. Clint was two steps lower when he wrapped his muscular arms around her and crushed her to his chest. "Tasha," he murmured, inhaling the familiar scent of her. Natasha's arms encircled his abdomen. They held each other for a long minute. Finally, Clint leaned back enough that she could examine his face.
"You look like death warmed over," Natasha whispered. She brought her hand up to Clint's ashen cheek and examined the dark circles under his eyes. "Food first or sleep first?" Clint frowned, his lips parted, and she put her hand over his mouth. "No arguments, Barton. Food or sleep?" Before he could answer, he yawned under her fingers. "Sleep it is."
Natasha gently turned Clint towards the door and trailed behind her stumbling partner, locking the door and activating the security stem. Upstairs, Clint collapsed on the bed and then struggled to unlace his combat boots. Natasha kicked off her sneakers and then bent to help him, finally pushing away his hands and pulling his boots off his feet by herself. He crawled under the covers still fully clothed. She walked as far as the end of the bed when Clint's voice croaked, "Tash?" He held open the sheet in invitation. "I'm cold," he lied. Clint Barton was a human furnace.
The redhead allowed a ghost of a smile to cross her face. She pulled the sweatshirt over her head and draped it on the laundry basket. As soon as she had rolled onto the bed, Clint's open arms engulfed her, pulling her back against his chest. Natasha's right fingers entwined with Clint's over her stomach.
"Missed you," he mumbled into her hair, seconds before he began to snore softly. Natasha closed her eyes, sank back a little further into Clint's embrace, and allowed sleep to take her.