Edited version of chapter 2. Again, excuse any mistakes. I am trying hard but I have a feeling I am missing a few. Thanks for reading and drop a review. 3 will be posted tomorrow!

Clint wasn't sure how long he had been running. As soon as he had slammed Natasha's door a bomb had went off inside of him. The flood of emotions was too much to handle. He had hit the pavement running blind, no idea where he was going. He had ran straight past his own hotel and into the park, ignoring the children crying their greetings. Thankfully he was in perfect physical condition, so he could run as long as he pleased. Clint knew he couldn't begin to out run his problems, but he could sure as hell try.

As he completed his fifth lap around the parks track his breath became to come in short rapid burst, his chest heaving. He knew he was pushing himself, but he didn't care at this point. All he could think about was Natasha. How could she turn her back on him like that? He knew they had been put in an interesting position, but it wasn't the first time something had come up between them. She had always stuck around to make sure he was ok. and he had done the same for her. Clint hated himself for coming to rely on the simple questions and comfort they provided for each other. That thought made his chest hurt a little more as he slowed to a walk, trying to put a filter his thoughts.

Clint wasn't sure what he had been thinking when he came to Italy in the first. He should have known she had a reason for distancing herself from him. Had he seriously been stupid enough to fall for her? He was an assassin, he was supposed to keep his feelings pushed away, hidden beneath a thick layer; they weren't supposed to arise and effect his work. But she had breached his mental defenses, and from her reaction earlier, he knew he had done the same to her. Once more they had found a way to compromise each other without meaning to.

With a sigh Clint realized his feet had taken him to his hotel. He entered the lobby, keeping his eyes down as he headed straight for the elevator, ignoring the stares. He could only imagine what he looked like, drenched in sweat and his hair plastered to his head, but he honestly didn't care. He was a mess and that was becoming a frequent thing. The elevator doors opened when he arrived at the top floor and he trudged down the hall to his room. He swiped the card and pushed the door open, letting himself inside.

Any other time he would have appreciated his hotel room. It was like his own person apartment and reminded him of home. But today he just kicked his shoes off at the door, not even bothering to put them up. He headed towards the bathroom, stripping as he went. His shirt landed on the arm of the couch, his socks thrown on the bedroom floor. His jeans and boxers hit the bathroom floor as he turned the cold water knob as far as it would go. Clint waited a moment before stepping into the ice cold water.

The temperature shocked his nerves, causing his stomach muscles to clamp up. Goosebumps danced across his skin and he grounded his teeth, waiting to regain control of his paralyzed muscles. When he finally began to relax he turned on the hot water, sighing as the temperature evened out into a warm stream. He just stood there letting the water run down his neck and face as he watched the water circle towards the drain.

Clint wished that the water would do more than wash away dirt and sweat. He wished it could sweep all of his problems away, that it could wash them down the drain. Maybe he could go down the drain witht them and stop caring. He shook his head at that thought before grabbing a bar of soap and scrubbing at his neck and hair. Maybe, just maybe, he could sleep without dreaming for once. Maybe he could forget his problems for a while and escape into oblivion, but he doubted that would happen. Lately his dreams were full of long dead faces and and Natasha.

Clint stayed under the steam of water until every last drop ran cold, feeling like needle pricks on his arms and back. He turned the water off before stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He dragged a smaller one through his hair before tossing it aside and turning to look into the mirror. Clint frowned at his reflection, realizing he still looked like hell. His wet hair stood up hectically, like someone had shocked him senseless. His eyes were becoming blood shot, the veins in his neck still standing out. How did he miss the fact that he was so stressed?

With another sigh he went made his way into his bedroom, pulling on a pair of boxers before throwing himself across the bed, tossing the towel into a corner. He would pick it up later, but now wasn't the time. Right now he wanted to wallow in self pity, give into the less desirable side of himself. Everyone deserved to sulk every now and then, to feel like the whole world was against them,right? Clint knew Natasha would say no but he forced that thought away as he closed his eyes, his breathing evening out as he slowly sunk into oblivion.

. . . . . .

Clint groaned as he began to regain control of his brain and muscles. He felt as if a truck had parked on top of his body after running over him. He grunted as he tried to move his legs, the sore muscels burning. After a minute he finally peeled his eyes open as he sat up with a yawn and forced himself to stretch. He relaxed for a brief moment before going into full alert mode, his eyes snapping towards the door. Something wasn't right.

Clint rolled out of bed, realizing all his clothes were picked up, the towel no longer in the corner where he had thrown it. He didn't order a room cleaning until tomorrow, and they knew better than to enter his room unauthorized. With a frown he grabbed his pistol from under the bed, snatching a pair of jeans as he went. Clint yanked them of and buttoned them before heading for the door; there was no point for him to have a shoot out in his boxers. As he entered the living room he stiffened and debated on returning to his room and slamming the door.

"What are you doing here?" Clint asked coldly.

"Why does this seem familiar?" Natasha asked sarcastically as she stood up, crossing her arms.

"What are you doing here?" He repeated, silently sitting the gun down on the table.

"I...I'm not really sure," she admitted with a sigh. "I guess to talk."

"Oh, really? It's not like I have tried that or anything."

"Clint," she frowned, her eyes narrowing. "I need to talk."

"I needed to talk too. I've needed to talk for the last six months," Clint snapped but he knew he would listen to her. If there was any chance he could make things right between them he would sit there and listen to her for days. They were not just partners, they were friends. And he last thing he wanted to do was lose his best friend, even if she had hurt him.

"I know and I am sorry," Natasha took a deep breath. She promised herself she wasn't going to cry while doing this. She was going to plow through her little speech and take his rejection like it was no big deal and then she could go on with her life. Or at least that is what she kept telling herself. "You asked why I ran..."

"Yeah," Clint folded his arms across his chest, letting her know he was listening.

"I ran because I was scared-"

"Scared of what?"

"I am getting to that," she glared. "I was scared because I felt...human. Everyone thinks the tears were a ruse, Clint. That I manipulated Loki into telling me what we needed. But that was a mistake. The tears were real; Loki actually got to me. For the first time in years I felt like someone had looked right into my brain and figured me out. It scared me more than it should have. For the first time since I was young I felt my emotional defenses shatter. I was vulnerable. I knew I had to get away, had to hide, until I could try to figure things out. I thought maybe a week or two would do but I am still fighting my own brain. I don't know what to do anymore. Then I realized how much I hurt you, how I left you feeling the same way I do now, and it finally made me crack. I gave up on trying to bury everything- it is ok to feel like this I guess. Maybe it will help in the long run. But my point is that I am sorry Clint. I never meant to hurt you. I was already confused and vulnerable, but then I realized something else after we got you back," Natasha closed her eyes for a brief moment. "It really threw me off, and that's when I knew for sure I had to run. Up there on that catwalk when there was the possibility I might have had to kill you...I realized you weren't just a friend or a partner anymore. You mean a lot more than that to me," she finished in a quiet voice,looking down. Natasha wasn't quiet ready to voice her exact thoughts, not yet, but she knew he would understand. Or at least she hoped that he would.

Clint stared at her for what seemed like hours, processing everything she had said, as he replayed her confession over and over again in his head. He hadn't thought about what she might have been feeling after everything that had happened. They were both left raw and exposed by Loki. Instead of being there for one another they had each tried to cast the blame on the other person instead of facing the problem. Clint slowly shook his head before stepping forward and pulling her into a tight hug, not caring that she wasn't one for much physical contact. She surprised him when her arms wrapped around his torso, pulling herself tighter against him.

"I'm sorry Clint," Natasha whispered again,her voice rough. He frowned as he felt something wet his shirt and he tilted her chin up using a calloused thumb to wipe away the tears.

"I'm sorry, too. But don't cry on me now," Clint tried to keep his tone light as he tucked a stand of hair behind her ear. "I'd rather you punch me than cry," he said in a serious tone. It made her smile slightly as she laid her head back against his chest. He pressed his lips against her redcurls, kissing the top of her head. "Sorry I yelled at you."

She just shrugged before looking up to meet his blue eyes, feeling better than she had all in a long time. Her eyes took on a determined look as she reached up to kiss him lightly, wrapping her arms around his neck. Clint closed his eyes, kissing her back with more enthusiasm than she had expected. "You haveno idea how long I have wanted to do that," he explained as she pulled away from him, smiling.

"Well then, we have a lot of time to make up for," she murmured before kissing him again, pushing him back towards his room. Clint's heart leaped into overdrive as he let her lead him, his trying to process what was happening, what was about to happen. He had to think about the fact that this was Natasha, that she was the one that had kissed him. As she shut the door behind them he couldn't help the big goofy grin that split across his face, his eyes watching her every move. If he was a asleep, if he was dreaming, then this was about to be one hell of a dream. Natasha smiled back at him before kissing him once more.

"I need you," She murmured against his lips and Clint's heart skipped a beat as he suddenly became serious. He dropped another kiss to her lips as he held her close, afraid to let go. This wasn't a dream and it was rude to keep a lady waiting.