Synopsis: After the Chitauri Invasion, the Avengers go back to what's left of Stark Tower. Each retires to their own rooms, except for Clint and Natasha, who share a room. As is to be expected, problems to arise.

Clint and Natasha limped into their temporary room in Stark Tower, which the billionaire had so graciously provided. The archer stumbled into the bathroom, grabbing the first aid-kit, while the Russian assassin sat on the edge of the bed. She pulled off her clothing, until she was left only in her bra and underwear. It was at that moment that Clint walked back out, and sat down beside her. He himself undressed, leaving on his boxers alone.

Natasha turned to him smiling, her ever present guard dropping as she allowed the true extent of her weariness to show. Clint made a weak attempt to smile back at her, but failed. She sighed.

"Clint..." She murmured, and turned to face him. "What is it?"

"Nothing, Tasha. I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me, Barton. I know you better than anyone."

"...I can't get him him out of my head. The things he made me do..."

The archer trailed off, unable to continue. He closed his eyes tightly, growling. Natasha sighed, gently cupping his cheek.

"It isn't your fault, Clint."

"It is. My body, my weapon. It's my fault."

"No, it isn't. Loki made you do all that."

"And I couldn't fight him. I tried, Tasha. God, I tried so hard. But I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough."

His voice was bitter and angry, and it made his partner's heart hurt. She kissed his jaw gently, giving him a fond look.

"But your were. You could've killed Fury, gone for his head. But you shot him in the chest instead, where you knew he was wearing a vest." she told him.

"I nearly killed you."

"But you didn't." she sighed.

"Tasha..."

"It wasn't you, Clint! This is just like what the Red Room did to me! Do you blame me for what I did under their control?"

He froze, and stared at her with wide eyes. Of course he didn't. She had no other choice. She hadn't known any better. She hadn't known anything else.

"Of course not, Tasha..."

"Then stop blaming yourself." she said firmly.

He took a deep breath. Her words got to him, he'd admit that. And she was right. This was like what the Red Room did to her. He smiled, looking at her warmly, and nodding, a silent promise that he believed her. She smiled back, and kissed his cheek.

"C'mon, let m patch you up." she chuckled, which he obliged to.

She picked out the glass imbedded in his back,then disinfected the cuts. After she applied antibiotic cream, she wrapped his torso in bandages, then got to work on his leg. Realizing that his ankle was sprained, she wrapped it tightly, then scooted away, moving so he could return the favor. He did. After checking her head, he gave her some pills to help with the headache she'd developed, then placed a bandage over the cut on her abdomen, and stitched up the small cut on her cheek.

After packing up the first-aid supplies and returning them to the first-aid kit, he put it away, and limped back to the bed. Together, they crawled under the blankets. He pulled her close to his chest, closing his eyes, and she hugged him tightly, but was careful of his back.

"Love you, Tasha." he murmured softly.

"Love you, too, Clint." she replied, smiling.

Then, together again at last, they fell asleep, safe in each other's arms.