Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of its characters.

A/N: Chapter two yay! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed. Hope you like it! Please read and review, sorry if anyone is a little OOC. :)

Chapter 2 - The Shooting Range.

Clint rolled over in bed an opened his eyes. He winced as the harsh light streaming through his curtains pierced his vision. In an attempt to go back to sleep the archer rolled over again, only to come face-to-face with the floor.

"Ow. Shit," he groaned.

Disgruntled, he sat up and leaned against the side of his bed. He rubbed his eyes and tried to wake himself up. It was futile. The man needed coffee. He could feel a faint pounding in his temples but he shrugged it off. Headaches had become a regular occurrence ever since the big fight against Loki. Natasha had insisted it was because he drank too many Americanos. She was probably right.

He dragged himself to his feet and pulled on a t-shirt that had previously lay discarded on a small chair next to his door. Stepping into the corridor he almost ran head first into a certain red-haired Russian.

"What – Nat-" He couldn't clear his head enough to finish his sentence however as she had sent his head spinning by zipping off around the corner.

Clint sighed. Ever since her impromptu hug, his partner had been avoiding him like the plague. It seemed that no matter how patient he was, they always seemed to be moving too fast for her. Hawkeye couldn't bring himself to care right now though, he seriously needed to wake up and standing in the corridor attempting to figure out how Natasha's brain worked was only going to make his brain foggier.

Stumbling into the kitchen, he found Steve making toast.

"Hey, Cap. Want some coffee?"

"Oh. Hey, Barton. Um, sure if there's some going that would be great. Tony's been driving me mad this morning. I could sure use something strong to clear my head."

Clint chuckled. He liked Steve. Granted, the man was fairly old school but it was just his way, even if it was slightly inconvenient at times. Grabbing a pair of mismatching mugs from the cupboard, the archer poured out the steaming black coffee. He followed the Captain over to a large round table and set the mugs down before them, thanking Steve for the toast that had been set before him.

"Hey, Cap... Have you seen Natasha this morning? Actually, make that this whole week. I haven't seen her at all recently."

Steve paled slightly. He'd come to his own conclusions as to why Natasha was avoiding Clint, but he knew the archer would most likely pin him to the ceiling with exploding arrows if he mentioned them. He looked down at his toast, avoiding eye contact.

"Not really, Clint. She's been going out a lot during the day recently, or to the gym. I think she's feeling a bit overwhelmed. She's only used to having you around, not all of us as well."

Clint nodded, smiling wryly. He bit down his toast and slurped his coffee before standing up. He was fed up of chasing after Natasha all the time and so, today he was going down to the training floor. More specifically, the archery range.

Ten minutes later, he was strolling through the large glass doors and down to his allotted area for archery practice, whistling quietly as he went. He faltered as he rounded the corner and his chipper whistling faded away. There standing in his archery range, bow poised haphazardly, was Natasha Romanoff, a determined look etched on her face. Before he could stop himself, he burst out laughing. The sudden burst of sound sent his headache rocketing through his skull.

The Russian spy whirled around and the bow she was holding clattered to the ground. Clint looked at it and furrowed his brow.

"Hey, be careful with that!" he exclaimed in mock outrage. Sobering up slightly, he turned to face her.

"What are you doing here, Nat?"

Natasha looked away from him, averting her gaze to her feet. "I'm no good at this, Clint," she said softly. If he noticed the double meaning in her words, he didn't show it. He smiled at her kindly.

"I'll teach you."

The archer stood close behind her and handed her his own bow and arrow. She looked at him in confusion but he just waved her away. "You can use it. Its fine," he reassured her.

The surprising gesture made the tightness in her chest appear once more. Clint doesn't like anyone touching his bow, but here he is, letting her use it. It was a silent display of the immense trust the pair shared.

Clearing his throat, He lifted her arms up high, steadied the arm that was supporting the bow with his own and signalled to her to pull the bowstring back tightly, right up to her jaw. He ducked his head so that it was right against hers, and closed one eye, lining up the shot. Natasha grew still beside him. His breath tickled her ear as he began to talk.

"Take a deep breath, Tasha," he whispered.

The spy did as she was told. Sucking in a deep breath and squinting, she tried to concentrate on the target in front of her. But damn it was hard with Clint leaning on her shoulder like that. Shaking her head slightly, she released the shot, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it almost hit the dead centre of the target.

Clint stood back and smiled, clapping her on the back. Natasha tried to ignore the chill that she was now feeling running down her right shoulder. She reasoned with herself that it was only due to the loss of heat that her partner provided that she was feeling chilly. She was lying. Her partner smiled and handed her another arrow.

He watched her standing exactly like he had told her too, drawing the bowstring up to her jaw, trying to suppress the headache that had been creeping up on him all morning. He smirked slightly when she faltered by accidentally letting go of the bow string too quickly. The arrow shot off course. Huffing, she threw the bow down to the ground and stretched out her shoulders, wincing when she remembered that it was Clint's favourite bow.

"God, Clint. How do you do this all day without getting this horrible ache in your shoulders? It's annoying as hell."

The only reply she got was a pained grunt coming from behind her. Whipping around, she saw the archer leaning heavily against the wall clutching at his head.

"Clint," she spoke tentatively, her voice tinged with worry. "Clint, look at me."

She pulled gently at his hunched shoulders, trying to get him to face her, but he shrugged her off roughly. Narrowing her eyebrows, Natasha tried again. She slammed his back against the wall and jerked his jaw up so that he was looking directly at her. When she saw his eyes, she froze.

They were shining bright blue.