AN: Again, so, so many thanks for the reviews for last chapter, please keep it up, they are appreciated and motivating. This chapter is a bit short, but the last one, which is the next one, will be much longer to make up for it.

And yes, the song is "Battle Scars" by Lupe Fiasco.

I wish I couldn't feel, I wish I couldn't love
I wish that I could stop cause it hurts so much
And I'm the only one that's trying to keep us together
When all of the signs say that I should forget her
I wish you weren't the best, the best I ever had
I wish that the good outweighed the bad
Cause it'll never be over, until you tell me it's over

These battle scars, don't look like they're fading
Don't look like they're ever going away
They ain't never gonna change
These battle

Helicarrier, off the coast of Brazil – 14 months before

The third time they have sex is because they both need comfort.

They had returned to the helicarrier the night before, after a grueling mission that had both of them a little off-center.

SHIELD had gotten wind of a human smuggling operation based in Rio and had quickly dispatched its best team to take care of it. Unfortunately when they got there it was far, far worse than anyone had realized. They were smuggling women and girls, some as slaves, some as mules, the rest for things Clint didn't care to think about unless he wanted to lose his mind.

When they'd finally gotten a look in the warehouse, both agents had been shocked to find the youngest girls looked to be 11, maybe 12. Natasha had nearly lost it right there, it was far too similar to her own time with the Red Room. Clint had seen the rage in her eyes and had to settle her down before she did something supremely stupid and went off halfcocked and got herself killed.

In the end they had killed the men in charge, but not before said men had set the warehouse ablaze, willing to lose their "commodity" to spare their own pathetic lives. It hadn't worked. They were dead.

But so were half the girls.

They had done their best, called Coulson who had a team in place to take the women to safety after Clint and Natasha had killed the leaders.

It was the explosives hidden in the drywall around the warehouse they hadn't accounted for.

In the end they had been commended by Coulson and Fury for taking the ring down and saving fifty-five lives, but it didn't seem like enough. His partner had been completely silent unless spoken to the entire debriefing. Not that he was much better; Clint was having a hard time not hearing the screams of those that didn't make it. Those they couldn't save.

Lying in his bunk, one arm under his head, the other resting on his chest, he tried to sleep but just couldn't, the images of those girls, screaming for help kept playing in his head. Just as he was debating getting up and going to the gym, the code was punched into his lock and she slipped in the room, closing and locking the door behind her.

The room was completely dark except the little bit of moonlight that got through the shade on his very small window (he was lucky enough as a senior agent and part of a named team to have an outside room), but he could see the distress on her face.

Without speaking she padded over to the bed and slipped under the covers beside him, curling on her side into his body, one hand finding the one on his chest and linking their fingers. Natasha was not a touchy-feely person, so while the action surprised him, Clint said nothing about it.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked into the dark and felt her nod. "We did all we could, Nat."

"I know," she croaked out and he cringed, she had been crying. And Natasha Romanoff didn't cry. At least not in front of him.

Sighing he pulled the arm out from under his head and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her even closer to him, forcing her head into the crook of his neck. They laid that way in silence for a while, long enough that he thought she had fallen asleep.

Until her warm mouth planted an open kiss on his neck and the hand that had been entwined with his slipped away and moved under his shirt, fingers gliding across the skin of his abdomen. Seemingly aimlessly she moved back and forth across his abs before sliding up toward his chest, where her fingers continued to explore him slowly.

It confused him so Clint remained stock still, unsure exactly where her head was at and what she was aiming for, he was content to let her lead.

After a while her hand pulled out from under his shirt and moved up the material on the outside before coming to a rest on his face – he was still staring at the ceiling – fingers dancing across his jawline and cheek. It was almost like she was trying to memorize him by touch. It was oddly intimate.

Then she applied light pressure and turned his head toward her and she stared at him a long moment before tentatively kissing him on the mouth.

As she pulled away her fingers moved up into his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp.

Clint shifted onto his side so he could face her, reaching out and touching her face, running the tips of his fingers across her smooth skin, first her jaw, then cheek, over her temple before pushing some of her long hair back out of her eyes. Their two previous encounters had been sex for sex's sake, a release of tension, quick and to the point. This was…intimate, feelings, emotions. This was opening doors better left firmly closed. This was what he was afraid of.

"Nat…"

She shook her head to silence him and one hand gripped his t-shirt, speaking lowly. "I can still hear them…screaming."

"I know," he whispered back. "Me too."

Reaching up she kissed him again, this time more passionately and spoke against his lips. "Make it stop, Clint. Please…make it stop."

Against his better judgment he kissed her back, pulling her body flush against his. Because he needed to stop hearing the screaming too.

The hand resting on her lower back slipped under her tank top and his fingers starting tracing up and down her spine, pulling a low moan from her.

Then he slowly, ever so slowly, pulled the tank over her head, tossing it into the corner of the room, his fingers tracing back down her still outstretched arms.

His lips attacked her neck and shoulders, kissing and nipping as he went while her arms wrapped around his neck.

"Clint," she moaned as he worked his way across her collarbone and her fingers gripped his neck, nails digging into the skin. When he dipped his tongue into the hollow at her throat she threw her head back and he gripped onto the hair that brushed his fingers, exposing her neck to him.

He kissed up the exposed column before pressing his lips to hers again, pushing open her mouth with his tongue. The second his tongue met hers the pace quickened, her hands scrabbling at the hem of his t-shirt and as she gripped it Clint pulled away from her, allowing Natasha to pull the material off and toss it in the same general direction hers had gone.

Looking at him a moment she dipped her head down and kissed his chest, her fingers moving over the fine hair she found there.

"Nat…" he whispered again and she looked up at him, fire dancing in her eyes. But behind that was a woman who was slowly breaking at the seams; this mission had done that to her.

He lowered his head and kissed her again before she slipped down his body, hooking her thumbs into the basketball shorts and underwear he wore, pulling both down and slipping them off his body.

As she came back up Natasha let her fingers linger over the strong muscles of his legs before firmly gripping his already hard cock in her hand.

Clint let out a very inelegant grunt as she slowly pumped him, her lips finding his neck and shoulders.

She'd never touched him like this before.

Suddenly she stopped and Clint nearly let out a whine of disappointment until he realized she was pulling off her own cotton shorts and underwear.

Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and slid her onto her back, hovering over her a moment before pressing himself into her.

His name fell from her lips as he started a slow, easy pace.

Clint expected her to buck against him, attempt to speed his motions, but she didn't, instead seemingly content to let him take his time with her.

Pushing his luck, Clint bent down and lapped at one pert nipple, pleased when she arched into him and moaned. He repeated with the action with the other one, this time sucking as well, which practically had her mewling under him.

Her hands found their way to his shoulder blades, pulling him closer and kissing him deeply as she did.

With every kiss, every slow, intimate thrust, Clint could feel something shifting between them.

And it was dangerous, God was it dangerous, but he couldn't bring himself to stop either.

So he buried his face in her neck, breathed her in deeply and pushed harder, faster, bringing her to the edge and then careening over; Clint following quickly after. As he came down, Clint slid off her body, lying on his side next to her.

Without a word she curled into him again, face pressed into his chest, one arm slung around his waist. His arms wrapped around her, hands rubbing slowly up and down her naked back.

"Sleep, Nat." He practically commanded and felt her body relax against him, her breathing slowing.

This was something else they never did - fall asleep wrapped naked in each other.

It was too intimate; previously they'd redressed and slept on their own sides of the bed.

This was not good.

This was the very definition of compromised.

tbc…