His foot tapped against the ceramic tile. Over and over and over it tapped. Loud enough so it could be heard from all corners from the packed, yet homey, coffee shop. Loud enough that everyone, even the rather friendly barista, stayed away from him.

Sometimes, he wondered how she found these little places. What strange adventure led her to a quaint little town in the middle of nowhere. What battle brought her limping, bruised, and bloodied, all the way down some cobblestoned road to this particular coffee shop. Ready to put up one last fight against some unseen enemy.

But Natasha Romanoff was Natasha Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff would always be Natasha Romanoff. And nobody kept secrets better than she did.

Even as her best friend, if she did not want him to know a particular fact, he would not know it. That was just how it went with her.

But he often wondered how she remembered the little crevices that she brought him to. Always a different one. (It was bad to ever be in the same location more than once.) Yet, she shared them with him. Her pocket-sized homes. Her minuscule safe houses. Her crevices that littered the world like stars did the night sky.

A sign of her affection towards him.

A sign, through everything that had ever happened between them, and everything that would ever happen between them; that she still cared. She still loved him. In the strongest-most-best-friendliest-Natasha-Romanoff-iest way she knew how.

He glanced out the window.

The scenery was neat. Incredibly tidy. The street, though littered with small cars, had not a single piece of garbage on them. Perfectly cemented stones made the little vehicles shake slightly as they zipped past, going to wherever they were needed. Equally tall, symmetrical trees (though from this distance, he could not tell what type of trees they were) lined the space, about a meter apart from the last, between the road and the sidewalk. Very suburban, yet none the less cozy.

Yet also, it gave off the same feeling that one gets during one of those movies where everything seems perfect in a little town but, in actuality, everything is incredibly messed up. And the further one discovers into said town, the more insane the whole town seems. And the less one can escape from it.

Natasha loved those movies.

And in less hectic times, the two of them would curl up on a sofa together and watch those types of movies. Suspense and horror mixed into one beautifully shot film.

Of course, Natasha would yell at the characters on the screen. She always did. She would tell them that they were about to discover something that they would not like to discover. Or that they were being incredibly stupid. Or that they were walking right into a trap. She would dig her her nails into his forearm until the suspense died down. But she was always right.

Sometimes, he admitted to himself that he missed those times.

Before Linda, before the kids. When he was carefree. And not afraid that he was going to leave Laura without a husband, or a father for the kids. And that they would never know what happened to him.

With Natasha, he was reckless. They were reckless. And they loved it.

But times changed. He got married. She fell for Banner. And then he fell out of her life. Just as quickly too. They had lost too many fighting Ultron. Pietro and Banner. It felt as if half of their team was gone. And even after she—

"You're thinking too much, Barton." She was somehow sitting in the chair across from him. How had he not noticed her walk in? "Did I ever tell you how weird you look when you think too much? 'Cause you look really weird."

"I'll keep it in mind to think less in the future." A pause. "Do you want something to drink?"

The friendly barista called (in an annoyingly singsongy manner) a name that sounded remotely spy-esque. Lisa? Lianne? Something along those lines.

"I already ordered." She raised an eyebrow curiously. "What were you thinking about?" Not waiting for an answer, she got up to retrieve her drink.

Her hair was straight now. Red still, yes, but straight. He thought it made her look more sad. Or more grown up. Maybe both. Perhaps her curls reminded her too much of Banner? He wouldn't ask. At least, not until she was ready.

She was wearing a long black trench coat. It had a hood attached to the back, which gave her a kind of Little Red Riding Hood look. Though in her case, she would have not been eaten; she would have killed the wolf herself. She had on a pair of dark jeans and converse sneakers just as dark. The whole outfit just let her fiery locks standout like a sore thumb.

She said something to the barista, making the girl blush, and then pressed a ten dollar bill into the tip jar. She walks back to him and sat down.

He finally responded, "Nothing. Everything. They kind of mush into one after awhile."

She sipped her drink carefully. It said on the side that it was "Hot Chocolate for Linda!" with a heart dotting the "i". Cute. "That's all I'm going to get, Barton? You're awfully shy today."

"Are you saying I should reveal all my secrets? That would not make me a very interesting person, Linda." He smirked.

"Oh shut up." And she meant it.

At that moment, the barista walked over and carefully placed a warm drink down in front of me. She mumbled something about the drink being "on the house" in a high pitched voice, smiled at Nat and went back behind the counter.

"Thank you?"

"There's no need. You heard her: it's on the house." She smiled sadly at him before tucking a strand of bright red behind her ear.

"Nat…"

"Don't 'Nat' me, Barton."

"Fine." He looked down at the drink, which was steaming softly. It was probably another hot chocolate for Linda. She had to stop this, he didn't need her to take care of him. "How are you doing lately then."

"I'm alright." She didn't meet my eyes.

"No you're not."

"No I'm not." She put her head in her hands.

"Nat, you know you can talk to me, right?" He debated about reaching over and putting his hand over hers, but thought better of it. "I'm here for you no matter what."

There was a long pause after that. She might have been thinking over her words, and he might have been wondering if he had said the right thing. Or maybe it was just awkward. Maybe the two of them had just been apart for too long. The spark… Their spark, the one that had been with them as she was scouring the globe looking for him, was gone.

Or very soon to be gone.

He cared about her. He did. But he hadn't been there when she needed him most. And it would take awhile for them to build their friendship back up to what it had been before.

But she wasn't ready to give up hope just yet. "Will you stay with me? To train a part of the team, I mean."

"Nat I…"

"Clint, I need you with me. Just for a little while." She looked at him, trying to stay as strong as she could will herself to be. "Please."

There was an even longer pause as he thought over his options.

He had Laura to go back to. And his kids. Laura, with her beautiful flowing brown hair, and her deep puppy-dog eyes. He loved her to pieces. He would do anything for her. He should do anything for her, she was his wife after all. Natasha was just… His friend. His best friend.

And as much as he hated to admit it: his wife was much more important than his best friend.

And he hated to say it. He really hated to.

He and Natasha had been through everything together. Thick and thin, everything. She had sewn him up when he thought he was bleeding straight to his own demise. She had been there for him when nobody else was. And he was deeply grateful. Deeply in debt of what she had done for him. But…

She knew it was coming.

"I can't." He couldn't meet her eyes. "You know I can't."

Her whole demeanor changed. Her jaw tightened, lips thinning to stiff line, shoulders tensing. She was preparing for battle. No… Her heart was preparing for battle, putting its defenses up. He could feel everything that they had worked towards. Everything that the two of them had started to build. He could feel it slipping away.

And it hurt as much as any bullet wound. If not more.

"Right."

They finished the rest of their hot chocolates in silence.

She put her empty cup down on the table.

He tried to break the tension. "Do you want a ride?"

"I'm alright." She responded as cold as ice.

He did not want to leave their relationship in the shambles that it was in now. He couldn't bare it. To know that she was upset with him…

"I'll visit, Nat. I promise." He struggled to meet her eyes. "I'm a part of the team too, you know." She looked away.

"I know." A brief pause. "The Avengers would be nothing without you, Clint."

He shook his head sadly, "No Natasha. The Avengers would be nothing without you." And both of them knew it was the truth.

At that, she stood up, exited the building, got into her sleek car and drove off. Her car bumped and bounced down the street. Her hair blowing softly in the wind as she drove past. Not looking back at him once.

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. The dialogue of the people sitting around him seemed to have picked up again, as if they were all listening in on their conversation. He hoped they weren't. It was embarrassing enough knowing that Natasha Romanoff was mad at him. He didn't need the whole world knowing.

Her cup sat on the table abandoned. Reminding him of everything he needed to fix. Everything that she needed help with. The help that he could not give her.

In one fluid motion, he grabbed their cups, walked to garbage can, tossed them in and left. He walked to his car, got in and drove down the cobbled street. Trying desperately to picture the look on Laura's face when he told her he would be staying for a very long while.

Trying desperately to push Natasha's stiff expression out of his mind.

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Matt (theshippingprince)