Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel.

These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update.

I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!

The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!

The points brought up in this chapter will be addressed later - fear not! Just a little interlude between the missions!

There was separate accommodation in the form of small, one bedroom apartments within the walls of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s base and Natasha had considered it an ideal situation. She was an agent now after all, and the job was really all she had. When he was working, Clint always slept on the base too. He knew Fury would respect his decision if he chose to go home, but there was little chance of him doing so regularly without arousing suspicion. And so it was that Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff became next-door neighbours.

Natasha was better at sleeping on her own now. The security of the S.H.I.E.L.D. base and the triple deadlock on her door definitely helped, as did the thought that her first and only friend was on the other side of the wall. Although she was fairly certain that Director Fury, Agent Hill, and Agent Coulson all liked her well enough, she would not call any of them her friends. Clint was the only one who knew her, and even he didn't know many of her secrets.

It was on particularly bad days – ones where Clint was training or doing surveillance somewhere else, or when she just didn't have enough to do - that she noticed it most. The stares from people, the way they avoided her. They were afraid, and although she didn't blame them, she didn't like being isolated in so crowded a place. It made her think of the Red Room. It was on the nights following these kinds of days that Natasha did not sleep. Even Clint, who often tapped morse code messages through the wall to her, had not made her feel better tonight. Unable to bear being in the room a minute more, she dressed, grabbed her ID and slipped out the door. Once outside, she headed East towards the exit. She waved her pass in front of the ID reader, slipping out as soon as the door slid open.

It was November and the nights were cooling down considerably. She climbed onto the retaining wall and sat with her knees pulled up to her chest. Natasha shivered and breathed the cold air deeply into her lungs. It made her feel slightly numb, and she relished in it. That was what she needed. Perhaps Madame B had been right; perhaps not feeling anything was the key. A pang shot through Natasha's stomach and she swallowed, holding her knees tighter and breathing deeply again.

Natasha looked around when she heard the door sliding open, immediately recognising Clint's silhouette. She turned away from him, giving herself a few moments to wipe any vulnerability off her features before he leapt onto the wall beside her.

"Hey," he offered her a mug and she accepted it. "I noticed you were missing. Your door was unlocked."

She said nothing but looked down at the mug. There were marshmallows floating in it. To put off having to say anything, she took a sip and her eyebrow raised. "Is that cinnamon? In hot chocolate?"

Clint smiled but kept looking straight ahead, "Laura always says that cinnamon makes most things better."

Natasha sipped again, and let the warm liquid heat her up a little. She was grateful to Clint for trying to make her feel better, but it didn't solve the problem.

"They'll come around, you know. The other agents. You're still new, you're still a mystery," he paused and looked at her, "and much like you, they're trained not to trust easily."

A look of mild surprise flickered across the redhead's face. She hadn't expected him to know that's what was bothering her. It made her uncomfortable that he had observed it and she inwardly chastised herself for letting her guard down. There was always a risk when you got familiar with someone - that was why she had never had friends.

Clint sat in silence with Natasha for some time, letting her think. He knew that she needed to talk in her own time and that if he pushed her, she would completely shut down. He had learned that the hard way. Although their partnership was easy – he trusted her and her skills in the field as much as he trusted his own – their conversations consisted mostly of mission strategies or witty banter. She had given nothing more away about her past since she had told him about her ballet training. The thought of that word "unbreakable" still made him shiver a little. He pictured a tiny redheaded girl being forced to practice until she collapsed, her green eyes wide and tearless, afraid of what would happen to her if she cried.

"Did I ever tell you, I was an orphan?" The words tumbled out of Clint's mouth before he could stop them and he immediately wished he could snatch them back. This wasn't something he talked about with anyone. He felt Natasha's eyes on him for the first time since they'd been sitting there. He did not look back at her, even as her fingertips touched his hand.

"Me too."

There was a small quality to her voice, a flicker of emotion that he hadn't heard since she'd first told him about the Red Room. He looked at her then and there was an understanding in her eyes. They didn't have to talk about it anymore at that moment. It was enough to sit there and be with someone who understood what it felt like.

Neither Natasha nor Clint slept much that night. They had gone back to their rooms only two hours before dawn and Natasha had tapped two words through the wall in morse code, "Thank you." Clint had smiled and rolled over, closing his eyes and praying for sleep to come.