And sometimes…they need each other.
For obvious reasons.
There's a night, long after New York, after Clint and Natasha get back from their "vacation," after everyone has gone under extensive psychoanalysis (except Stark, who claims he's fine and disappears with a full bottle of Jack Daniel's only to reappear with an empty one on a nightly basis), where Natasha is reading in her bed and hears the world's softest "fuck" above her. She sighs, closes her Nook case, and looks up at the vent.
"I've asked you not to do that."
A soft plink of glass on metal answers her.
"Jack or Jose?" she ventures. Clint snorts.
"Crown." Natasha sucks her teeth.
Phil's favorite. That's worse.
"C'mon down," she says gently, placing her Nook on the bedside table. The vent swings open, Clint catching it so it doesn't hit him on the way down. He lowers himself down legs first, forearms straining, ever the vigilant assassin.
He lands softly on Nat's bed, so softly, that the mattress doesn't even squeak in protest. Natasha looks at Clint, who grabs her leg and tugs it towards him. He lays his head on her thigh, arms snaking around the remainder of her leg.
"I had a bad dream," he mutters against her skin, stubble scraping.
Natasha plays with his hair.
"Sweetie, don't –"
"Phil died," Clint continues. "Phil died and I was under mind control." One small tear falls from his right eye, traveling down his nose to eventually rest on Nat's leg. "Phil died," he whispers," and I couldn't do anything to stop it."
Clint's voice starts to shake a bit and Natasha knows that there are only a few more second before Hawkeye becomes Clint, before all the facades, the masks, the walls come down.
"Phil died and I h-helped."
Clint looks up at Natasha, eyes wide with tears. "Nat," he whispers, "please tell me it was just a nightmare, please, please –" He fully falls apart, tears mixing with the fabric of both their shirts as Natasha yanks Clint to her and grips him as he sobs into her neck.
"Please, Nat, please tell me he's not really –"
The wail is muffled, by Natasha's shoulder and she rocks Clint a little as he calms.
Eventually, the shudders stop.
The tears cease.
Clint sniffles to compose himself before shivering.
Natasha smiles and pulls back the left side of the covers.
"In you get."
Clint shoots her a shadowy grin and slips silently between the sheets.
"Just for tonight, okay?" Natasha scolds, tugging her blankets up to her shoulders.
Clint nods.
"Tonight only."
And yet…at least once a week, Clint sneaks into Nat's room via the vents.
Or Natasha sneaks into Clint's room after everyone has gone to bed.
Because…sometimes…they need each other.