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!

Thirteen days and twenty-two hours into Natasha's active duty ban, Clint sat on his bed unable to sleep. He had missed working with his friend and had missed training with her even more. Director Fury had caught them sparring in the middle of the night on day seven, and had forbade them from any further sparring outside the training field. As Natasha wasn't allowed on the training field, that meant they couldn't spar at all.

Clint hadn't actually been able to find Natasha on the base in the last week. After he'd gone into Director Fury's office and yelled at him about banning Natasha from the training field in addition to active duty, Fury had made him train junior agents. Aside from their failed attempt at sneaky sparring, he hadn't seen his friend since she had gone into Fury's office after him. Clint had even asked Hill where Natasha was, and given that his friend was supposed to be under Hill's instruction; he was more than a little frustrated when the woman had insisted she didn't know. Leaning over on his bed, Clint rapped his knuckles on the wall.

.- -.- . / -.- - ..- / ..- .-. ..-..

"Are you up?"

The code was tapped through the wall and Natasha, lying upside down on her bed, sat up immediately and tapped back.

.. .-. - / .- .-.. .- .- -.- ... / ..- .-. .-.-.-

"I'm always up."

- . . - / - ..- - ... .. -.. . .-.-.-

"Meet outside."

Natasha scrambled up and pulled on a jacket and boots, rushing out the door.

Clint was waiting for her in a thick coat and scarf; he smiled at her pyjama shorts, boots, and fleece jacket. He raised an eyebrow and asked, "You do know it's the middle of the night in December, right? Don't you think you're gonna be cold?"

She laughed softly, "I'm Russian; this isn't cold."

He chuckled at her response but shivered just looking at her, "Fair call. Wanna go for a walk?"

Natasha nodded and followed him over the wall, walking along the perimeter with him. They were silent for a few minutes as they made their way around the perimeter towards S.H.I.E.L.D.'s base.

Natasha's ban from the field was over at midnight, and Clint knew she couldn't wait to be back. He broke the silence, "I haven't seen you all week, where were you?"

"I was here," she said offhandedly, "Fury said I had to stay on base, remember?"

"I looked for you. I couldn't find you anywhere," Clint was curious as to where she had hidden herself away.

She smiled with her brow slightly furrowed. "Really, Hawkeye?" Natasha shook her head before speaking again, "Did you know that S.H.I.E.L.D. has a library?" Natasha took his silence as a 'no' and continued, "Well, there is one. I got permission from Fury to stay in there so I could work on skills that would make me a better member of the team."

Clint frowned, more than a little confused. "The team," he questioned, "But the team is just us. And we work fine together!"

Natasha quickened her pace and stepped in front of him with a grin. She held her hand up and he looked at it; a wide smile crossing his face as she finger-spelled "I know."

"You learned sign language," He was so impressed, he was almost bouncing. "You learned in a week?"

"I'm a quick learner,"Natasha signed, smiling at how happy he was.

Clint looked at his watch and counted aloud, "5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and the ban is lifted! Welcome back, Widow."

Natasha smiled at him, allowing him to hug her briefly.

"Alright, swipe that card and let's go," Clint urged her forward.

She swiped her ID and pushed the door to the training field open. "God, I missed this place."

After sparring a little – two wins apiece – Clint reached into the pockets of his discarded coat and pulled out two beers. He handed one to her and they sat on the ground back to back, leaning on each other.

"So, I wanted to talk to you about something," Natasha began, not entirely sure what she was going to say but forging ahead anyway, "When I went after your foster father, I didn't really think about what I was doing. I didn't actually realise that I'd done it until I got back and had to change my clothes." She sighed and took a long drink of her beer. "In- in the Red Room, the woman there – we called her Madame B – she told us that emotions got in the way."

"Well," Clint said, "She wasn't wrong." Natasha opened her mouth to respond but he interrupted, "But emotions are what make us human. Feeling things - compassion, remorse, love – that makes you a better person. It's what makes it easier to do this job, to make good choices." He hadn't considered the reasons behind why Natasha had gone after his foster father. It hadn't even surprised him when she told him what she had done. It sounded like any other mission; only this one hadn't been given to them.

Natasha couldn't think of anything to say immediately, so she took another drink of her beer. It was a peaceful kind of quiet that surrounded them and they sat in silence for a few moments, drinking.

"She made us shoot live targets."

Natasha's voice came out of the silence and Clint had to replay the words in his head a few times to make sure he understood her correctly. The same sick feeling he felt the last time Natasha had talked about her training surged up in him again.

Natasha gripped the beer bottle as she spoke, "She told us that we needed to kill without remorse. We had to be machines. Just shoot. How could we be assassins if we felt sorry for our targets?"

Clint sat there for a moment, the bitterness of her voice cutting through him, "And what do you think now?"

"It made sense at the time. We did as we were told and it made it easier if we didn't feel; if there were no distractions. It's why they sterilised us, too. They called it a graduation ceremony."

She had said it as an after thought, as though it was just another training tactic. It took her a moment to register Clint's reaction.

He had started coughing and spluttering, having taken a sip of his beer at precisely the moment she had uttered her last couple of sentences. "They- what?"

Natasha realised the impact of what she had told him when she turned to face him and noted the look of horror on his face. Her blood felt like it was turning to ice in her veins. Setting her beer bottle aside, she let the reality of her words sink in for the first time in what seemed like forever.

Clint thought of Natasha and how she had been with his son. She had been confused about what to do with him; she hadn't been around a baby before, it occurred to him now that she had never had the opportunity to think about having children; that she would never have that choice. His heart ached. When he looked back up, he saw tears trickling down Natasha's face. Clint reached out and pulled Natasha into his arms, hugging her tightly as she cried for children she would never have; she did not resist his embrace.