Natasha's eyes snapped open and she pushed Clint away. This could not be happening. "Get out," she said.

"I live here."

"What were you thinking?"

He climbed back through the window and went to stalk off into the bedroom. A few steps in, he paused and turned on his heel. "No, Natasha, I'm done with this. I'm done walking away."

She climbed back into the apartment and brushed past him. "Then I will."

Clint grabbed her shoulder. "What the hell is your problem Natasha?"

She brushed his hand away, wrenching his wrist in the process. "My problem? You're the one who just kissed me! This cannot be happening right now. Why would you do that?"

She tried to walk past him again, but he blocked her path. "I don't see what the big deal is," sad Clint.

"You have a girlfriend Clint! Or have you forgotten Barbie so quickly?"

"I knew you were jealous of Clara. You're just not a big enough person to admit it."

"I won't admit it?" said Natasha. "Would you like me to call her up and explain what just happened?"

"Are you going to include the part where you kissed me back?"

"That's not true."

"Funny, I seem to recall your tongue saying otherwise," said Clint. "Are you going to tell her you invited me to in the first place?"

Natasha's eyes narrowed. "I did no such thing."

"I'm so sad. My life is a lie. I wish this was real. Kiss me Clint," he mocked.

"I never said that."

"You didn't need to!"

"I think you should stop trying to read between the lines," said Natasha. "And you might need to have you eyes checked Hawkeye, because you're seeing things that aren't there."

"Things that aren't there? Natasha, every poignant conversation we've ever had was started by me reading between the lines. Maybe I wouldn't have to if you'd ever just tell me what was wrong!"

"Maybe I don't want you meddling in my life," said Natasha.

"If you weren't so emotionally stunted, I wouldn't have to!"

"Excuse me?" Natasha took a threatening step toward him.

"I wouldn't have to pry if you could ever just tell me what was wrong. We probably could have avoided this whole thing if you had just told me what was bothering you back in Montreal. I swear you're incapable of normal human emotion. Do you know how hard it is to deal with someone who's so . . . emotionally mute? What the hell is wrong with you Natasha?"

She froze. Her voice turned icy. "You bastard. You know damn well why I'm like this."

"You're not the only one with a rough childhood."

"You have no idea what I've been through, Clint. You have no idea what it's like to be stripped of yourself!"

"I have no idea because you won't tell me! You're too afraid to let me in!" Clint shouted.

"Have you ever considered that maybe I don't want you in my life? Go back to ogling at you emotionally stable girlfriend." Natasha dropped down on the couch, arms crossed and staring fixedly at a stain on the area rug. "Do you love her?"

"Yes."

"Then that's settled. Now we can get back to work." Clint didn't move. She glared over at him. "What?"

"We've had this fight before," said Clint.

"Again, I think you need you eyes checked."

"What if Clara wasn't part of this?"

"Are you hitting on me? Clint I swear to god -"

"What? No. I'm talking about Montreal."

"Why do you keep bringing that up?" said Natasha.

"Because you refuse to!"

"What?"

"Natasha, if I wasn't involved with Clara, would we still be having this fight?"

"Yes. Clint you can't seen to get it through your head, but we cannot be compromised. What happened out on the fire escape, what happened in Montreal, it puts our lives in danger."

"And this doesn't? Natasha being in a functional romantic relationship is safer than being at each other's throats. This is us being compromised."

"Go back to your girlfriend Clint."

"You're running."

"So don't follow me."

"Natasha, what are you so afraid of?"

She stood up, ready to walk away, but the words came out before she could stop them. "I'm afraid of loosing you!"

"What? That makes no sense," said Clint.

Natasha took a few steps away.

"Stop running away from me!" Clint shouted.

"Fine! Are you sure you want to play this game? I'm terrified of loosing you."

"So you push me away?"

"We have to stay partners Clint. We need to keep whatever messed up friendship we have. If we get involved, we'll breakup and maybe never speak to each other again!"

"Kind of like now?"

"This can get better!" she shouted. "You and I have been through worse. We'll fix it! But I absolutely cannot risk a fight we won't come back from. I need you Clint. You are the only reason I haven't drowned in all the blood yet. You are the only reason I don't wake up screaming every night. You're all that I've got. So yes, that's why I panicked after we had sex that night in Montreal, that's why I requested leave from you. Anything is better than you and I as a couple!"

"Get out," said Clint through gritted teeth.

"Go call Clara. I know you can reprogram the satellite phone."

Clint grabbed her by the arm and hauled her to the door. "I'm serious Natasha, get out."

Natasha didn't even need to think, her legs carried her down the hall and away from the apartment. When the elevator didn't respond immediately she flew down the stairs. She didn't even stop to wonder about the clamor she could hear behind the door of 4B.

About a minute earlier:

Boris and his poker buddies sat at the card table munching on cheese and cold meat. The deck of cards remained unshuffled and the colorful plastic chips sat in their box. The night was not without its share of bets however, and the stack of money on the table grew as Clint and Natasha's fight raged upstairs.

"Face it," said Lornic, "I win. Pay up."

"Not so fast. You said they's split up, not that they'd fight," said Boris.

"Wait!" called Marika from the other side of the room.

"Darling, what are you doing?" Boris asked. His wife stood balanced on the arm of the sofa, her ear cupped to the brass vent.

"Tying to hear better."

"It won't matter. You don't speak two words of English."

"Shut up," said Marika.

"Don't you go speaking to me like -"

"I'm serious, I think that was the . . ." She was interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of a slamming door.

"That's twenty to me!" said Lornic. "That's a split if I ever heard one."

"Someone's coming down the stairs!" cried Marika. She bounded off the couch, skidding to a stop at the door as the poker boys fumbled out of their chairs and crowded behind her.

"Which one is it?" asked a man named Nándor.

"Hush up boys," said Marika, "someone's coming!"

Out the peephole she watched the redheaded women dash by.

"It's the girl!" she shouted.

"I don't believe you," Boris grumbled. He threw the door open in time to see Natasha running down the stairs. "Crap."

"Pay up, all of ya," said Marika. Then men begrudgingly took out their wallets. "You all just wanted the hot girl to stay upstairs."

"You just wanted the guy!" said Boris.

"Yes, darling, but I won."

Natasha ran out onto the street. A few of the street lamps flickered, and another was out all together. The street was all but deserted. Misty rain made her shiver. A few of the nearby restaurants and convenience stores still glowed with halogen lights and neon OPEN signs, but she ignored them.

They had only been in the neighborhood for a week, but Natasha knew exactly where she wanted to go. A few blocks from the apartment, she came to a stop at the Karcsi and Prioska Gyramati Primary School. The paper-chain and scribble-covered windows were dark, but it wasn't the school she was interested in.

Natasha hopped the fence and landed in the wood-chip covered bed of the playground. She had noticed this place of their first cab ride to the apartment and made a mental note of it in case she needed to clear her head. She hadn't imagined she'd need it so soon.

Ignoring the swings and the playhouse and the slide, Natasha stepped up to the two metal pull-up bars suspended between warn wooden polls. Wiping the taller bar dry she grabbed on with both hands and hoisted herself up. Natasha spun herself over and pulled herself up into a handstand. Her muscles quivered, it had been a long time since she'd done gymnastics like this. She refused to stop, spinning around and around the metal bar, in every spin she could think of, balancing on the cold metal and the wooden polls that held it up until she'd lost herself in the dizzying blur around her.

When Natasha finally touched back down on the wood-chips, she could think straight. She walked to the swing set and took a seat, careful not to touch the chains with her palms. Even in the dim light on the playground, she could see the blisters that had opened on her hands. She winced as the misty rain stung at them.

She had finally said it, finally confronted Clint about their relationship. He got everything he wanted: she stopped running from him, and actually told him to ignore her and go back to his girlfriend. Of course he hadn't understood her argument though. He had other people keeping him from drowning; Natasha only had him. This was the only way they could work. She knew that. Only here, alone in the rain, she was having more trouble than usual swallowing her feelings. If she was somehow back on the fire escape in this very moment, she didn't think she would be able to push him away again.

In the apartment, Clint shammed the door behind Natasha and let his head fall against it. Why did she have to be like that? He flopped down on the couch, staring at nothing. She had made it very clear she thought they couldn't be together, but she never said she didn't want to. She might as well have said the opposite. Clint let he head fall into his hands. She could be so infuriating! He was with Clara, he loved Clara. Natasha was afraid of loosing him so she pushed him away? That made no sense! She had been right about one thing though; he could reprogram the satellite phone to talk to Clara.

Clint stood up and pushed the couch aside. He kicked the corner of the rug away and pried up the two loose floorboards. From under the floor, he hoisted out a black plastic case with the Shield insignia painted on it with gray paint. Dropping the floorboards, he brushed the rug back in place and took the case over to the kitchen table. He took out the chunky phone and unfolded the antenna. It looked more like a glorified walkie talkie than a cell phone.

Clint pried the plastic case off the phone. It was programed to send a signal directly to Director Fury and bridge of the Helicarrier. They were supposed to use it when they were ready to take down the Szabo brothers, or if they fell into more trouble than they could handle by themselves. With a little luck though, Clint could reconnect it's dialing function and use it to call Clara. As he worked, this last fight with Natasha kept replaying in his mind. Something about it was bothering him. Well, one thing was bothering him more than the rest. She had finally opened up to him. Wasn't that what he'd wanted for years? Wasn't that why he kept pushing her? Of all the things he'd imagined she might say, what she'd actually said had never crossed his mind.

He dialed Clara's number and waited as the call went through.

He should be happy. She finally told him what was bothering her, and she told him to talk to his girlfriend. Wasn't that the best outcome he could hope for?

He had kissed her though, there was no getting around that. And there was that fact that he hadn't kicked Natasha out until she told him that anything was better than the two of them as a couple.

The phone buzzed to life. "Hello?"

"Clara?"

"Clint! I didn't think I would be hearing from you in a while. Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine here, I just wanted to say. . ." Up until the words came out of his mouth, Clint wasn't sure which sentence he was going to end up saying. "Clara we're over."