A/N: Wow! Lots of story alerts and favorite story notifications! You guys are fabulous! 3 I apologize for how short this chapter is- it's actually half the size of the first one, but I wanted to leave it at a cliffhanger, so the length of the chapter took a pretty staggering blow. I'll begin Part Three ASAP, but I'm leaving on vacation tomorrow and internet access isn't going to be guaranteed. Hopefully I can finish and upload part three before I head out.

Thanks again guys, and enjoy 3

One months and three days. That's how long Agent Clint Barton, aka Hawkeye, has been under house arrest. He's only allowed out for (supervised) walks and to retrieve his meals from the kitchen. No one speaks with him. He doesn't attempt to make conversation. There was no need to. There was nothing to be said, anyway. So, Clint stayed confined to his room, ticking off the days on his little day calendar on his desk. All of his weapons had been confiscated, locked away where Clint could never hope to find them without being caught first, so he really had nothing to do during his imprisonment. Some days he would read, but they were all books he's read before. Others he would simply sit on his bed, motionless, thinking and thinking and worrying and he would appear as if in a trance whenever his guard would open the door to see why he was keeping so quiet. Then, there were the day he would silently crack open his window and sit on the roof. He didn't try to escape—oh, no, there was no point in that. Not only was it a twenty story drop to the ground without any reliable foot and hand holds, but Clint honestly found no reason to run. If anything, he found only reasons to stay. Many of those reasons concerned Natasha. She meant too much to him. He couldn't just leave her, especially after what he had done. He had to show her he was sorry. He had to make it up to her. The only reason he stayed and didn't just jump to his death was for Natasha. He thinks that Fury knew that, so that's why he never bothered to board up his window.

Today was the fourth day of Clint's second month in confinement and when he woke up that morning, he had a feeling something was different, and it wasn't just that all of the Avengers (minus Natasha and Thor) were currently in his room bustling about. The air seemed heavier in the room—an air of anticipation and anxiety. The man coughed, sitting up in bed. The men in his room jolted and turned to Barton with uneasy smiles. The archer slid his legs out from under his sheet and swung them over the side of his bed in awkward silence. He stood and shuffled over to his closet where he grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He pulled the pants on over his boxers and put on the shirt as he meandered over to his bathroom, ignoring everyone in his room. Of course, he was curious as to what they were doing in there but he wasn't in the mood to strike up a conversation. So, he just went about his morning routine as usual. Clothes, showers, teeth, hair, shave, et cetera. But, he was stopped short just of step two by a hand planted firmly on his chest. This hand belonged to Bruce Banner.

"Barton, we're allowing you to see Agent Romanoff today." Clint stopped short for a moment. He shuffled his feet, contemplating walking around Banner's hand and going to take his shower. Even though he thought of Natasha often, it still made him nervous to think of what would happen when he finally was allowed to visit her.

"Antsy?" Stark asked with a bit of a snicker. Clint cast a quick glare over his shoulder at the man who just shrugged and turned to Steve with a look that said, what did I do?

"I'm not sure if I'm ready to see her, Doc," Clint said honestly, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"I'm afraid you have no choice," Steve said with a sigh as he put a hand on Clint's shoulder. "She demands that she sees you." Clint blinked in rapid succession out of surprise. Natasha was demanding to see her shooter? Barton wasn't sure whether to think of that as a good or a bad thing.

"Well…if you insist," Hawkeye said, pulling his hands out of his jean pockets to wring them nervously. "How is she doing?" Bruce turned and ushered Clint towards the door as Clint asked the question. He completely missed the grim smiles exchanged between the Avengers behind him.

"She's recovering a lot quicker than I originally expected. Your shot was clean and perfectly aimed to kill, but Agent Romanoff's has been doing surprisingly well." Banner eyed Clint to see if his comments on the shot would affect him in any way. Thankfully, Barton didn't show any signs of being troubled.

"I'm glad to hear that…" Clint said quietly. He seemed to be completely buried in his own thoughts, so they walked the rest of the way to the infirmary in silence. Clint kept his thoughts mainly focused on what he was going to say to his partner when he approached her bedside. He couldn't just say, "Oh, yeah, hey, sorry for kind of shooting you through the stomach. Still friends, right?" He had to think of something sincere and honest—something that could somehow convey to Natasha that he was truly sorry for what he had done. She didn't have to forgive him if she chose not to—as long as she knew how Clint felt. He began to feel more and more nervous the closer they got, his mind spinning dizzily. Banner took the handle of the door in his hands and cast an expectant glance over at Clint, who nodded curtly for him to open the door, which he did. The door swung open to reveal Agent Romanoff on a hospital bed, IVs hooked to her skin while a heart monitor beeped quietly nearby. She turned her head towards the door and locked eyes with Clint, who almost stumbled backwards out of the door. Natasha, despite being in recovery for about a month, still looked a bit sickly. Her skin was pale and her eyes were slightly sunken in. She looked exhausted and her bright red hair had lost some of its shine. The agent gulped, inhaled deeply through his nose, and marched up to her bedside and sat down on the stool next to it.

"Hey there," Clint said quietly. Idiot, he thought to himself, is that the best you can come up with? 'Hey there'? You're pathetic.

"You look like shit," Natasha said. Her voice didn't seem to match her current physical state—it was still strong and a bit snarky and it caused the corner of Barton's mouth to turn up slightly.

"You do, too, you know."
"Yeah, but you weren't shot through the stomach, so what's your excuse?" Clint knew she was just joking around and trying to lighten the mood, but the jab still stung. He coughed awkwardly and shifted his eyes to look down at his hands. He had taken to looking at them often, ever since the incident. It was as if the blood was still there, forever staining his skin.

"I've been under house arrest," the archer said quietly. "Haven't been sleeping much, either." A hand covered his and he looked up at Natasha, who was smiling weakly.

"You've got to take care of yourself, Clint," she said. "And stop worrying. I'm okay now, see?" She gestured to the stable heart rate on the monitor and the fact that she was sitting up in her bed without any trouble. "Bruce said he's going to let me out tomorrow, too."

"That's good," Clint said as he took his hands away from Natasha's. "But they still haven't dealt with me yet. They're probably going to pull me out of SHIELD…" He looked away, staring blankly at one of the white walls.

"Clint, I've talked to Fury. I suggested counseling. We were all fools for not sending you to a therapist before, after what happened with Loki. We just need you to get your mind back and keep you away from the alcohol for a while." Her voice was soft and kind, but it just made Clint's heart hurt more.

"Why are you being so nice to me, Tasha?" he asked. "I tried to kill you. You should be angry with me."

"Oh, trust me, I spent a lot of my time here being pissed off," she said with a bark of laughter. "If I would have been able to move, I would have gone into your room and strangled you. But after a while, I realized that you were barely even yourself—just a broken shell. You need help."

"Oh, I know," Clint scoffed, "and I wanted some. But Stark told me just to drink. Drink and it'll take the edge off, he said. So I did. And I just kept drinking and drinking and this happened." The man swung a hand towards Natasha on the hospital bed and then sighed loudly. "I'm really, really sorry Nat."

"There's no need to apologize," Natasha said quietly and she put her hands on Clint's again. "We'll get you to see a therapist and remember—you always have me and the rest of the team, too. You're not alone."

"I know, Tasha, I know." Clint brought his and Natasha's conjoined hands up to his face and pressed hers against his cheek. "I'm glad you're doing better."

"Me, too…but, Clint, there's…something—" the man cut her off by holding up a hand and shook his head. Natasha sighed and leaned back into her pillows, looking a bit annoyed but did not object. Clint smiled and leaned against the female's hand. He closed his eyes and the two sat quietly together for some time, the only noise being each other's breath and the beep of the heart monitor. Clint thought about tomorrow, when Natasha would be released and what Fury would end up doing to him. Would he make him see a counselor? Would he keep him under house arrest or discharge him from SHIELD? He hoped that whatever happened, he was still able to see Natasha on occasion.

Among his thoughts, Clint became conscious of the heart monitor slowing. His eyes flew open in fear only to see that Natasha had simply fallen into a peaceful sleep, a small, content smile on her pale lips. Barton couldn't help but lean down and softly peck her cheek before releasing her hand and laid it daintily on her chest. He stood and turned to the door and saw Bruce Banner standing there, holding it open with a soft smile.

"She'll be asleep for a while. She's been awake all night because she's wanted to talk with you." He shut the door as Clint exited the room into the hall.

"Really? All night?" the archer asked in amazement and he set off towards his bedroom, Banner following behind. "She seems to be doing well, though."

"Yes, she is a real fighter. Gave us quite the scare the first week, though." There was a slight pause before Clint stopped and turned around.

"I'm really sorry," he said. "I'm sorry that you had to be the one to see me in that state. It must have been terrifying.

"Oh, trust me, it was. You were so far gone—to the point of insanity. I don't know if you remember when I came back to check on you after I made sure Natasha was in stable condition that night…"

"You came back?" Barton asked, eyes wide. Banner nodded and put a hand on his shoulder and started leading him down the hall again.

"Yes, I did. You were completely insane by then, sobbing and sobbing and staring at your hands and putting them to your face. I only stayed long enough to collect your bow and make sure you didn't hurt yourself, but it was very frightening."

"I'm sorry," Clint whispered and Bruce just shook his head.

"It's okay. I know how it feels to be insane and saying you're sorry to everyone isn't going to help the situation. Just listen to Natasha and get better."

"I will. I promise."

"They've been gone for a while now. About thirty minutes," Steve said, staring down at his watch. He looked up at Tony, who just shrugged. Both of them were still in Agent Barton's room, Steve doing a bit of inspecting while Tony sat on the floor with a magazine. Rogers had discovered Hawkeye's window unsecured and had gone on a long rant about that as he attempted to lock it and keep it shut and Stark ignored him, only grunting a few times to make it seem like he was listening.

"Yeah, the two have a lot to catch up on," Tony said, setting down his magazine. "They'll be back soon, I bet. I wonder how the guy is handling everything."

"He's an emotional wreck, Stark. He's probably not handling things very well. We should have gotten him help from the start." The blonde stared knowingly at the man sitting on the floor.

"Stop looking at me like that, Cap," Tony said as he got to his feet and stretched. "I already apologized profusely for getting him so drunk."

"That doesn't matter, the damage is already done." Steve sighed and sat down on Clint's bed, putting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. "Now we just need to fix it somehow."

"We're going to have a lot more fixing to do after this visit." Tony strode over to the bed and sat down next to the captain. He reclined back on his hands.

"Hopefully it isn't too bad…I still don't know why Natasha would tell him right now, anyway, after everything that's happened."

"That woman has her reasons, so we might as well let her roll with them. Unless you want to get in her way, then be my guest, but I'm not that stupid."

"You'd be stupid enough if you had your suit."

"…Yeah, you're right."

"When am I not?"

"Shut up."

The door clicked as it opened and the two men shot to their feet as Bruce and Clint entered the room. Bruce smiled nervously at the two, who exchanged confused glances when they saw Clint's content expression. This was the complete opposite of what they had expected.

"What are you two still doing here?" Clint asked as he approached them. Bruce stood by the door, giving the men warning looks.

"Just waiting for you two to return is all," Steve replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "How was your visit with Agent Romanoff?"

"It went very well. It was comforting to see she's recovering well and I've decided to see a counselor, if Director Fury will allow me to," Clint said with a half-smile.

"That's a good idea." Steve returned the expression. "I'm glad to see that you're coming around. Seeing her must have really helped you."

"Yes, it did." The man turned to Tony, catching his confused expression. "What's wrong, Stark? Is there a problem?"

"Yes, there is," the man said. "There's something wrong here."

"Stark…" Steve voice held a note of warning.

"Is there now?" Clint asked, taking his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms. "And what is the problem, exactly?"

"You mean she didn't tell you?" Steve's eyes grew to the size of saucers and Bruce jumped around behind Clint, waving his arms desperately and mouthing the word "STOP!" over and over.

"…Tell me…what?" The archer's arms uncrossed and fell to his sides, his mind spinning, replaying everything in his mind that Natasha had told him. He then remembered cutting her off and his eyes grew wide. "What did she want to tell me?"

"About—" Steve clapped a hand over Tony's mouth and Bruce rushed forward, too.

"Keep your mouth shut, Stark," Steve hissed. But he already knew it was too late. Clint was curious now and there was no use keeping it under wraps anymore.

"Let him tell me," Barton begged. "I-She was going to tell me but I cut her off. What's going on?" Bruce and Steve stared wildly at Clint for a moment before their shoulders sagged. Rogers released Tony and stepped back before gesturing at the archer.

"Go on, tell him."

"You might want to sit down," Bruce said, gently pushing the man back onto the bed where he sat and he looked up at Tony in panic.

"She…really didn't tell you?" Stark asked, his voice quiet and actually sympathetic for once.

"She tried to," Clint said, a silent cry in his voice. "Just tell me, please." The room was silent for a minute before Steve sighed and put a hand on the archer's shoulder.

"Clint…Clint, Natasha was pregnant."

A/N: Reviews are always great, guys! Hopefully I'm able to wrap this all up in one more part. See you all later!