Sooo…it's been three months since I've updated. I know, I'm awful. In my defense, work and school have been grueling. Still, there's no excuse. I only hope that because this chapter is a little long you'll forgive me!

Thank you guys so much for your patience! I love you all dearly! Thanks also for your kind reviews and for sticking with this story. For those of you who are new to the fic, welcome aboard! We're glad to have you.

This one picks up right after Chapter 2 – that's the one where Clint goes missing for five months. It's kinda smutty and, as always, I hope you enjoy!

September 5th, 2015

Five months was entirely too long for Georgia and Clint to go without seeing one another. Three months was too long to go without speaking. And four days was too long to go not knowing if her husband was alive or not.

Her fingers tightened in his hair. It was so much longer than when he'd left, almost boy band length now. She arched against him, whimpering, whining, practically on the verge of tears. They'd been making love for the last seven hours now, passionately trying to get back some of that lost time, and Georgia found herself incapable of forming a rational thought passed: He's home. He's alive. He's home. He's alive. He's hom-

"Fuck, G." The words were growled, a steady hum in the back of Clint's throat accompanying them. He attacked her neck and collar and breasts and stomach with his lips, teeth, tongue. He wanted her all around him, wanted to feel her undeniable softness, wanted to smell only the sweetness of her tanned skin. Hips grinding together, they came one final time before collapsing back on their bed, a sweaty tangle of limbs.

All was silent in their bedroom for several moments before Clint's quiet whisper split the air. "I'm sorry," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. Georgia's breathless reply came a moment later as her fingers intertwined with his, "You should be. Where were you, Clint? What happened?"

Clint's arms tightened around his wife. Eyes clamping shut, he burrowed his face further into her neck and the soft curls of her hair. He breathed her in and his lips parted, the explanation spilling from his mouth like a confession. "I was never lost."

Georgia tensed. "What?"

"Let me explain," Clint immediately muttered, anxious to stop Georgia's hasty anger. "Two months into the job I was forced to cease all contact. With you, with S.H.I.E.L.D., with everyone outside of my cover."

"What was the job? Can you say?"

"I was…infiltrating a very powerful organization in southeast Asia." His answered was vague. But it was the best reply he could give and Georgia knew that. She nodded for him to continue. "I was able to get involved with the group pretty quickly but soon enough they grew suspicious. I was being followed everywhere I went. They monitored all contact I had. If I spoke to a man at a food cart, he was kidnapped the next day and interrogated. Fury knew it wasn't worth the risk keeping in touch."

"Oh my God, so you weren't really missing at all? Fury knew where you were?" gasp Georgia. She turned to face him in his arms, her slender fingers cupping his prickly cheek. "So they pulled you out of an active job? What'll happen?"

"The mission will be scraped. We'll take the intell I gathered and go from there. They might send in another agent in a year or so…anything sooner would be suicide."

"Will you be in trouble…? And that…organization…they won't come looking for you?"

"They'll assume that I was a spy or that I was killed. They'll look for a while, double up their security, and eventually I'll be forgotten about."

"You sure about that?"

Clint gave a half-shrug. "We'll see."

"You can't honestly already be making jokes about this…I'm…fuck, Clint, I thought you were-" Georgia cut herself off, her chest tightening with that familiar sting of pain and panic. He was fine. He's home. He's alive.

Guilt slapped Clint clear across the face and his eyes stung at the thought of the pain she'd gone through. He couldn't imagine, couldn't fathom, not knowing if she were safe or not. Simply knowing if she was alive. Once more, his hold on her increased and he kissed her firmly. "I know. I'm sorry, G; I'm so sorry."

She wanted to be angry, but it wasn't right taking her anguish out on him. He was simply doing his job. She knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. would always be his home, that this was the type of life he would always lead. She'd known that from the beginning. How could she hold that against him now? So, she wanted to be mad at Fury. But, then, Fury only ceased contact to keep Clint safe.

Groaning, Georgia cradled her face in her hands, twisting to burrow into Clint's chest. "I'm just glad you're safe and home and I can touch you and feel that you're really here."

Clint's arms became a steel cage around her, his thigh resting between her legs against her moist heat. Five months without her…what had he been thinking? Five months without feeling her lips, her breasts, her gentle caress? Five months without seeing her smile. Then, three months without even hearing her voice. It had been hard. And distracting. But the thought that she was waiting for him was enough to push him through. But she was right, it didn't matter now. He was home and, as he held her in his arms, he was finally at peace for the first time in nearly half a year.

Distraught from so many nights apart, Clint and Georgia found a long missed solace in each other's embrace. They made love two more times that night before hunger set in. Georgia stroked Clint's scruffy cheek, the stubble familiar to her fingertips, ignoring the gnawing hunger in her stomach. "I don't wanna leave the bed…"

Clint drew back the covers, preparing to swing a leg off the side, "So don't. I'll cook us som-"

"Absolutely not." She yanked him back down. Throwing her leg over his own, she captured his torso in her arms and spoke into his chest, her voice muffled, "You aren't going anywhere. Ever again. Ever."

Clint brushed his fingers over her bare shoulder. "Ever? Not even to shower?"

"No, not without me."

He kissed her forehead, reaching for his cell phone on the nightstand. "Deal." Hugging her to his chest, he dialed their favorite Chinese place, having memorized the number a month after knowing Georgia, and ordered them take-out. They ate in bed, naked and entangled, and once her appetite for food was sated, Georgia set out to try and satisfy her appetite for her husband. She kissed the inside of his wrist, his fingers lightly brushing her temple. Her lips peppered a path of kisses up his arm until she reached the words tattooed on the inside of his left bicep. Kissing each word, she smiled to herself. They'd only been married seven months when he got the tattoo…

July 29th, 2014

"Clint, what are we doing here? Oh, God, it's like the beginning to a bad horror movie," groaned Georgia as she clutched tightly at her husband's arm. They were walking through one of the less than friendly back neighborhoods of Brooklyn, nothing but alleys, stray cats, and dirty hobos sleeping against dumpsters. Georgia's gaze darted around the deserted streets just waiting for something to jump out. She knew Clint could handle himself, even without his trusty bow and arrow, but defending himself against a masked mugger with a gun while simultaneously trying to protect her?

They stopped outside of a two story brick building with a broken fire escape and a half-lit neon sign reading "Ink 54".

Georgia's eyes narrowed. "You must be joking."

Clint shot her his perfectly crooked smile. "Afraid not."

The tattoo parlor was vacant when they entered save for a teenage girl with purple hair and tattooed sleeves on both arms. She was leaning over the register popping bright pink bubble gum and reading a magazine. She barely glanced up when they entered but shouted over her shoulder, "Tido! They're here!"

"Please tell me you're not getting tattooed by jailbait?" Georgia whispered. "She looks like she's an extra in a Quentin Tarantino film."

Chuckling, Clint shook his head, slipping an arm around her waist. "No. I'm getting a tattoo from her older brother, Tido."

"You are not getting a tattoo. I refuse to believe it."

"Believe it, G."

"Why would you bring me? You know how I feel about needles."

There came an indistinguishable shout from the back and suddenly a large, bald man appeared through the hanging red curtains. He, too, was covered head to toe in tattoos and also sported a lip ring. He extended his hand to Clint. "You must be the guy that called earlier. Hey, man, I'm Tido. That's Aimee. Welcome. You have your sketch?"

Clint pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He passed it to the tattoo artist. Tido eyed the paper and commented, "Song lyrics, nice. Where you want 'em?"

Georgia snorted. "I'm sorry, song lyrics? What are you a sixteen year old girl?"

Her husband's face contorted in mock hurt. "They're meaningful."

"What's the song? I'll kill you if it's something stupid like Sweet Cherry Pie. May I see that?" The tattoo artist handed her the paper. A slow, shy smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she read the lyrics twice. "Still in peaceful dreams I see, The road leads back to you…that sounds so familiar. What's the song?"

It was the tattoo artist who responded, "It's a song by Ray Charles. It's called Georgia on My Mind."

Clint smiled softly at his wife, a tad bashful, and mumbled, "Like I said…it's meaningful."

Georgia returned the paper to the tattoo artist, her stomach fluttering lightly, and she followed when the bald man led Clint to a room in the back. She wrung her hands nervously as Clint took off his jacket and fell into a seat. "If you're doing this for me, don't," she murmured, despite the fact that she was very much so flattered by the clever idea.

"I'm not," Clint murmured. "I'm doing it for me."

"But why?" she persisted, biting her lip. "You've never mentioned getting a tattoo before. Clint, this is going to be on your body for the rest of your life."

"Hey, man, if you aren't sur-" began Tido but Clint held up his hand, "I'm sure."

Georgia stood at Clint's side as the tattoo artist cleaned the skin on the inside of Clint's left bicep, shaving the area with a thin razor. He was going to get the lyrics written in two lines in a slanted script. They would be about four inches long and as Tido began to stencil the tattoo on a thin piece of wax paper, preparing to transfer the imprint to Clint's skin, Georgia's stomach churned. "Please don't do this. I think I'm going to pass out…"

Clint took her hand in his, grazing his thumb across her knuckles, "Baby, you'll be fine."

Tido paused and glanced at the couple. He gave a short laugh and shook his head. "Hey, you wanna grab you a chair from the next room? Sitting down might help your nerves out."

Georgia did as he suggested, pulling her chair right next to Clint's, her side to the tattoo artist. "I can't watch," she murmured. "Are you really sure? I mean, it's a beautiful gesture and I'm touched but there's no way Fury's going to be okay with this."

"It would be a beautiful gesture if I were doing it for you. But I'm not. G, I want to do this. When I…" Clint trailed off, his gaze shifting sideways at Tido. He sent his wife a meaningful stare. "When I'm…out of town on my business trips…"

You mean when you're saving the world as a usually undercover super secret bad ass? She thought, fighting a grin.

"When I'm gone, I miss you, G. And that's what keeps me going most of the time, knowing that the sooner I get the job done, the sooner I can get back to you." Clint squeezed her hand and gave a tight smile. He looked at the half-stenciled words on his arm and licked his lips thoughtfully, "It'll be a constant reminder of what I have waiting for me at home."

"But won't it compromise your…um, uniform?" Georgia knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. preferred it when their agents didn't have tattoos. But it wasn't just tattoos; the agency frowned upon piercings and unusual birthmarks or scars, anything that was easily identifiable and risked blowing an agents cover.

"That's part of the perks of being on the team," smirked Clint, referring to his position as an Avenger. "The rules don't really apply with me. Not anymore."

September 6th, 2016

He woke to a loud but lazy knock on the door of their apartment. Blinking hard, he squeezed the bridge of his nose and wiped the remnants of sleep from the corners of his eyes. His wife was curled into his side, her dark hair splayed across his arm and the pillow. Again, there came a knock. This time it was followed immediately by a shout, "Hey, Mrs. Barton!"

Removing himself from the bed, careful not to wake Georgia, Clint answered the door to find Calvin, the kid from Fed Ex, standing in their doorway. The kid tugged on his baseball cap. "Oh, hey, Mr. B. Didn't know you were back in town. If you could just sign…"

Clint signed the packing slip and took the flat, rectangular box from him. "What's this?"

Calvin shrugged a single shoulder. "Dunno, but that's the third one this month."

Weighing the packing in his hand, Cling thanked Calvin and closed the door. He tossed the packing receipt aside and ripped open the box. The mystery item was wrapped in two sheets of bubble wrap. Peeling the wrapping away, Clint realized he was holding a canvas. The wooden frame was supporting a stretched portrait of him and Georgia. He recognized the photo instantly. Georgia had taken the picture on her phone the night he'd proposed. A sentimental smile lifted his lips and he grazed the canvas where the sun was setting on the beach behind them.

He proposed to Georgia in late September 2013. One weekend, he'd asked her to take a trip with him and refused to tell her where they were going or what for. Blind to their destination, Georgia put her faith in him and climbed aboard the private aircraft Clint had borrowed from S.H.I.E.L.D. He took her to Greece to a little, secluded beach in the Aegean. To say that Georgia had been blown away would be a gross understatement. When he'd asked her to go away with him, she expected a weekend in the Hamptons or maybe the mountains somewhere, but never did it cross her mind that she was being taken out of the country. He'd packed them a picnic and after frolicking for hours in the crystal blue waters, he'd popped the question. She'd said yes immediately.

Clint took the canvas over to the mantle beneath their TV in the living room. He cleared a spot on the mantle, moving aside a few candles, and propped the photo up front and center. He took a minute, then, to look around his home. It had been five months since he'd set foot in his home and he took a brief tour, re-familiarizing himself with their home and noting the few subtle changes Georgia had made while he'd been gone.

There was a new rug on the terrace, a few new potted plants as well. His wife had also rearranged the end tables in the living room and a new toaster sat on the kitchen counter. She'd bought another throw, a deep burgundy blanket, that she'd draped over the back of the couch. Then, finally, he spotted the other two packages Calvin had mentioned. Hanging above the kitchen table was another portrait of him and Georgia. This one had been taken the day of their wedding. In the photo, her arms were around his neck, her flowers in her hand, and he was kissing her cheek. Both were wide-eyed and smiling. The other photo was one of him, Georgia, and Natasha at a costume party Tony threw last year. It hung in the front hall by the door next to a sign that read "Friends May Come and Go, But You Can't Get Rid of Family".

The changes were minimal and there were none he disagreed with, but the sight of these differences pained him. He hated that he'd been gone long enough for these changes to occur.

With a sigh, Clint trudged back to their bedroom to see Georgia still sound asleep. They'd gotten to bed late, sometime after three that morning, and as it was just after nine a.m., he knew she would remain sleeping for another two or three hours if left undisturbed. He stood at the foot of their bed for several long moments. His eyes trailed over his wife's body, memorizing the soft curve of her shoulders, the slender dip of her back, and, of course, her long, gorgeous legs he loved so much. He would've been content to stand there for eternity, but a ringing phone drew his attention.

"Hey, Nat."

"Clint," the Widow's tone was light, almost casual. But Natasha Romaoff was not one for small talk.

"I'm fine, Nat. You don't have to call and check up."

"It's not you I'm checking up on."

Clint's chest tightened. "She hasn't cried since we left the Helicarrier. She's…she's good."

"She's strong," replied Natasha. "I'm sure you two still need some alone time, but Stark's got it in his head that she's throwing you a welcome home diner tomorrow at the Tower. Think you guys can come if G's up to it?"

"Sort of defeats the purpose if we don't show, right?"

"Basically."

Clint smirked. "We'll be there."

And with that, he clicked the end button and slid his phone back onto the nightstand. Once more, Clint rubbed the sleep from his eyes, running his hand through his hair, and gazed longingly at his wife. Suddenly getting an idea, he dressed quickly in a simple pair of dark jeans, a black shirt, and his boots. Snagging his wallet off the dresser, he pocketed his keys and grabbed his sunglasses. He took a second to kiss Georgia's cheek goodbye before disappearing into the kitchen.

He snatched the grocery pad off the fridge and scribbled a quick note. Then, he was gone.

She was running furiously, her legs pumping as if her life depended on it. But she didn't exactly know where she was running to, or what she was running from. Georgia only knew that she needed to keep running. She could feel the imminent danger, feel the desperate need propelling her body forward. She could feel it in the hairs that were raised on her arms and in the sweat dripping from her brow.

That's when she saw him.

"Clint!"

Pushing herself even harder, Georgia ignored the ache in her lungs and legs, frantically attempting to reach her husband. Then, just as she came upon him, he vanished. "Clint!"

Georgia shot up in bed, her heart racing. "Shit." It had only been a dream. She ran a shaky hand through her hair and turned to find the bed empty beside her. She touched the mattress where her husband should lay. "Clint?"

She checked their bathroom but that, too, was empty, before slipping on a bathrobe and searching the remainder of the apartment. Unfortunately, Clint was nowhere to be found. Panic began to rise within her and she did her best to calm the nasty, swelling emotion. "Think rationally, G," she told herself.

Georgia snagged her purse off their bathroom counter, fishing for her cellphone. She hit speeddail number one. Not five seconds after the ringing began in her ear, did she hear Clint's ringtone for her – AC/DC's You Shook Me All Night Long. Dashing into the bedroom, she spotted his cell on the nightstand by the bed. "Fuck."

Before she allowed herself to freak out, she did the next best thing she knew to do and called the Black Widow. Natasha picked up on the first ring. "I see someone finally woke up. Afternoon, G."

"Do you know where Clint is?"

"He's not there? I just spoke to him an hour ago."

"What'd he say?"

"I was extending an invite to a welcome home dinner at Tony's tomorrow. The way he spoke I assumed he was home."

Georgia's throat tightened. "When I fell asleep, he was." It was a bad omen that Tasha didn't know where Clint was either. There were few things that the Widow didn't know and those few things usually didn't involve Clint. She knew that man inside and out; in some ways, she knew him even better than Georgia. "Tasha, what do I do?"

"First off, don't assume that something's wrong," advised the famed assassin.

"But why wouldn't he have told me where he was going? Why would he just leave? You know that's not like him. Besides, his phone is still here."

"I'll run face recognition around your block. Maybe he stepped out fo-"

Georgia froze as she heard the front door open. Clint entered the apartment, two large, white, paper sacks in hand. "Oh, thank God," Georgia sighed with relief. "Natasha, he's here. He just walked in. I'll call you back."

"Go easy on him."

"That's unlikely," Georgia replied, snapping her phone shut and tossing it carelessly aside. She stormed into the kitchen. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

Placing the bags on the counter, Clint rounded on his wife with a charming smile. "Hey, you're up." He reached for her but she slapped his hand away, her face drawn in anger, "G, what's..?"

"Why the fuck didn't you let me know you were leaving? After everything that's just happened, you're gonna up and leave while I'm asleep? What the fuck, Clint?"

Clint's face crumbled. "Well, I-"

"And why didn't you at least take your phone? Or leave a note? Christ, I thought something might've happened. And then Tasha didn't know where you were and just…I mean, what the actual fuck?"

Sheepishly, Clint walked over to the bar and picked up a ripped piece of yellow paper. He held it out to her. "I did leave a note."

G,

Go back to sleep. I'll be home with breakfast soon. I love you.

-Clint

Georgia read his words twice, each one like a slap in the face, her skin flaming red from embarrassment. "I didn't…I didn't see it."

"I'm sorry," said Clint softly. He slowly took her in his arms and cradled firmly to his chest. "You just looked so peaceful this morning. I didn't want to wake you. I assumed I'd be back before you woke up."

"No, you're fine. I'm sorry…I just, I panicked."

Clint cupped her face, his gaze piercing. His thumbs swept over the tops of her pink cheeks. "That's understandable. Next time I'll wake you, peacefulness and rest be damned."

Georgia gave a shaky, half-hearted laugh. "Or at the very least take your phone."

Clint nodded in agreement. "That, too."

Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his own. Her fingers stroked the sandy blonde hair at the nape of his neck while he playfully caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nipping softly. His hands found the tie of her robe and made swift work of loosening the knot. Her cover fell open and Clint's hands began to explore the smooth planes of her bare stomach. Trapping her against the counter, his hands trailed down her hips to grip the backs of her thighs and hoist her up. Her lean legs wrapped around his waist and, as their lips continued their work, he carried her easily to their bedroom. Laying her atop the mountain of pillows at the head of their bed, he drew back and licked his lips. His breathing was heavy, a smirk twisting his mouth. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

Georgia mirrored his grin. "Breakfast in bed?"

"Naked breakfast in bed."

Georgia's eyebrows rose. She motioned her bare body. "Well, I'm naked. Catch up."

Kicking off his boots, Clint peeled his shirt over his head. He gave a wicked grin. "You know I love it when you're bossy."

I would love to have naked breakfast in bed with Clint Barton. Wouldn't you, ladies?

Review and tell me what you think! Or, tell me want to you want to see next!