Budapest had been a shit-storm. It was Clint and Natasha's third mission together, and everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong. They were made. They were injured. They were captured. There were fire breathing flamingo monsters. The intel was wrong. To put it shortly, it sucked.

Phil had been pissed. Natasha had been worried about that, but Clint had told her he wasn't mad at them, he was mad at the people who'd screwed this up for them. When they got back to the base, they'd gone to medical, debriefed, and then Clint was pulling her after him. She stumbled along, exhausted, and trusting him to be taking her somewhere she needed to go. They ended up at his quarters. He pushed her down onto the sofa and went over to the kitchen part of the small open plan quarters. The kitchen had an oven, two cupboards, a sink and a fridge/freezer. Her quarters didn't have a kitchen at all. She didn't know any other asset of their level who had a private kitchen. He caught her questioning look and correctly interpreted it.

"Phil pulled some strings for me. Well, he says it's because I was hogging the canteen kitchen and the other assets were getting annoyed." He smiled. "Hey, you're good with a knife. Get over here." She pulled a face. She didn't want to get up. In fact, she kind of just wanted to curl up and sleep. "Come on, with both of us it'll be ready quicker."

Natasha sighed and dragged herself up to her feet. She went over to stand beside Clint and he dropped an apron over her head, and then handed her a knife. He pushed a pile of carrots, potatoes and onions in front of her.

"Dice them up, the onions quite small, but everything else in nice big chunks," he told her. He put a knob of butter into a large pan and then chopped some beef up. He added it to the pan. They worked in silence. The beef got browned, the onions added along with some garlic. Then a little flour to thicken it. Red wine, beef stock (Clint had a flask of this in his fridge that he'd made at some point from scratch). Carrots and potatoes added last.

"Is it done?" she asked, leaning over the pot.

"No, it needs to cook down some. Go clean up, I'll put some bread on." He pushed her towards the bedroom with its small en suite. She looked down at herself. Her hands were clean, she'd washed them, but her clothes were still stained with mud and blood. Good job Clint had made them both wear aprons.

She glanced around the bedroom, curious, but there were no personal touches. In fact, the only personal thing she'd seen in the quarters was the blanket folded over the back of the sofa.

She grabbed some sweats from his drawers, knowing he wouldn't mind, and took a shower. She came back out clean and damp and warm. Her hair was wet, she was barefoot, no make-up, but she knew Clint wouldn't care about that.

He was in the kitchen area still, leaning heavily against the wall, his head back and his eyes closed. She dragged her feet on the carpet so he would hear her and he opened his eyes.

"Hey," he smiled. "Breads in. Keep an eye that the pan doesn't boil over." He headed through to the bedroom and Natasha took a seat on the couch. Her arm brushed against an old, threadbare blanket. It felt soft and she was so tired. She pulled it around her and dragged one leg up onto the couch. She fastened her eyes on the pot on the stove and waited for Clint to come back.

He came back, damp and clean, after about twenty minute and when he saw her he froze for a split second, then blinked and shook his head.

"Come on, let's eat." He dragged her up off the sofa and pulled her over to the stove, letting the blanket drop back to the sofa. The pan on the stove was bubbling gently away. It smelled great; she leaned over it, taking a deep breath and looking at what they'd made. Some meat, a few veggies, some wine... Together, it all made a rich dark stew, thick with potatoes.

He poured the stew into two large bowls, stuck them on trays with a fork and a spoon in each. Then he pulled the bread from the oven, almost forgetting the oven gloves until Natasha poked him in the ribs, and tore it in half. He buttered them both a chunk and stuck it on the trays with the bowls. He handed one of the trays to her and headed over to the sofa. He paused for a moment, then shifted the tray to a one handed hold. He grabbed the blanket, shook it out and spread it over the back of the sofa. He sat down, and Natasha followed suit. The blanket shifted with their body weight so that the edges draped down over their shoulders and they were both enclosed in its warmth.

They both ate hungrily, devouring the stew and bread in short measure. They even used the crust of the bread to soak up the dregs.

"That," Natasha said, speaking for the first time in hours, "was better than sex." Clint laughed.

"Then you're not doing it right."

"Where did you learn to cook?"

"It doesn't matter." His laughter faded to a bittersweet smile and Natasha stood and took both the trays and put them on the kitchen counter. When she turned around, Clint had lain down with the blanket pulled across him. She smiled. They'd saved each others' lives. They'd trained together. Fought together. But this was different. More intimate.

Natasha sat back down on the edge of the sofa and Clint pulled her firmly down onto him, wrapping the blanket over both of them. She froze.

"Hey, nothing like that. Promise." He shifted so that he was lying against the back of the sofa on his side and she was facing him on the outside edge. This way she could easily get away if she needed to. "I'm tired. You're tired. We just spent three days in hell, and I just want to curl up and sleep." She nodded. "But I won't sleep. Not without someone watching my back."

"Okay," she said, because she knew she wouldn't sleep alone either. "Any reason why we're in here and not in your bed?" Clint flushed and his fingers twitched around the blanket edge. "Ah. Aren't you a bit old to have a blankie?"

"Shut up, it's warm!"

She smiled and rolled her eyes because it was expected. She knew what it was like to need something real and present to keep you in the moment, to keep you feeling safe. She also knew that while the blanket was for him, the couch was for her, letting her know she was safe with him. Bedrooms have different meanings.

She was grateful, and didn't tease him. Well, not too much.