Prompt: sweet clintasha car moment after CATWS battle
"So looks like I missed the memo on the friendship necklaces." Natasha smiled a little and glanced at Clint. Hawkeye, of course he'd noticed. He was smirking to himself, eyes set firmly on the long stretch of interstate. "I want one."
"You want an arrow, too?" she asked, playing dumb because she wanted to hear him say it.
"Please, I'm not Tony. Bet he'd get a replica of the Arc Reactor."
"Bet it'd light up," she added.
"Text him," Clint suggested, and bit off half his candy bar. She did.
You're buying a friendship necklace to symbolize you bff. What do you get?
"I need your Black Widow symbol. Or we could forget the jewelry and get tattoos. I'm thinkin' big spider, right across one ass cheek. You can have an arrow heart with my name in it."
"Does it have to be on my ass, too?"
"Nah. Tramp stamp."
"Classy, Barton," she said with an eye roll.
She passed him the 72oz Slurpee cup and tore open a bag of gummy worms from the last gas station haul.
She hadn't asked where they were going. Clint had showed up two days ago, pressed a Starbucks into her hand, badgered her into taking half a Vicodin for her shoulder, and packed a bag for her. Turned out the senators on Capitol Hill wouldn't know where to find her, after all.
They were going South, and that was enough. The day was warm enough to shed their jackets and ride with the windows down, and Natasha felt herself truly relaxing for the first time in weeks. She reclined the seat and kicked her feet up on the dash.
"Tash, come on!" Clint reached over and swatted her leg. "I just had her detailed. It's okay baby, I won't let her do it again," he added in a soft tone, patting the steering wheel with one hand.
"Maybe you should get this car tattooed across your ass," she suggested, but obligingly kicked her shoes off before returning her feet to the dash.
"How do you know I haven't?" he retorted.
The traffic slowed by degrees until they were at a standstill, boxed in by SUVs and eighteen-wheelers. Natasha sat up and leaned out the window, nervous energy thrumming taut in her chest. Nothing but gridlock for at least a mile, but no emergency lights visible up ahead.
"Easy," Clint muttered. She realized her hand was on the latch of the glove box, where she'd stashed her Glock that morning. "We're okay. I'll go check it out."
He left the engine running and walked a few car lengths up the highway. She watched him wave to one of the truck drivers, marveling at his ability to turn on the Midwestern charm and make friends.
"Chickens," he told her as he slid back into the driver side. It was such an odd thing to say, she forgot to be nervous as she arched an eyebrow. Probably why he'd chosen that as his opening statement.
"One of those guys flipped his trailer full of chickens," Clint explained. "They're trying to catch them all. We're backed up for three miles."
He shut the car off and fiddled with his phone until he pulled up a live feed from a news helicopter. Natasha reluctantly sank back into her seat and propped her feet up again.
They finished the snacks and flipped through the radio stations, watching the cars stack up behind them. Clint began to fidget, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.
"You don't have to get a matching one," he said suddenly, and removed the leather cuff from his wrist. Up until now she had thought it was just a bizarre fashion statement, but she saw that underneath, on the underside of his wrist, was a tiny black hourglass symbol.
"That better be Sharpie," she warned, anxiety twisting in her gut. Identifying marks were dangerous, moreso now, with Hydra openly gunning for them.
"You don't like it?" he asked, feigning hurt feelings. "After all the pain I endured? You're killin' me, Tash."
"Clint-"
"Relax," he chided. "The bracer covers it when I'm shooting. You can't see it on missions. Besides, our entire history's out there. Pretty sure Hydra knows we're…whatever, by now."
"That's what we're calling it? Whatever?"
"Didn't think you liked labels,"he challenged, a sly little grin pulling his lips up at one corner.
Maybe it was time to give them a label. Whatever stung more than it should have, especially after months apart and finally giving in and buying the stupid necklace for comfort.
"We can be…."
She cast her mind around for an appropriate term. 'Friends with benefits' cheapened what was between them, and 'soul mates' was too cheesy. 'Boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' too juvenile.
"Together," she said at last.
"We're always together," Clint pointed out. "Even when we're not, apparently. We've got this weird ESP thing."
He gave her necklace a tug and she caught his hand, tracing her finger over the familiar shape etched into his skin.
"Guess it fits," he said, and leaned across the center console. "I can live with together."
She should tell him that together was months - years - overdue. She should tell him that together would have made the pasts few weeks more painful but also somehow easier. She should explain the necklace beyond 'It reminded me of you.'
"Just together," she stressed instead, because she'd never been good at relationships. "If any of the guys ask."
He tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her forward into a kiss, hard and deep, their first since his return. She could feel him smiling.
"Finally gotcha, Red," he said softly as he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers. "Only took me eight years."
She bit her lip, but couldn't stop the stupid sappy grin at Clint's declaration. Together wasn't so bad.
Her phone bleeped a text.
Arc reactor. LEDs behind the diamonds. I'm the best person I know.
In true Tony fashion, he'd killed their moment.
"You know he isn't serious," she said, and passed Clint her phone. It was the expected Stark answer, meant to deflect any real discussion about feelings.
"Its Tony, he'll never admit he likes us that much. We'll get him a charm bracelet with everyone's thing on it for Christmas."
Apparently together meant joint Christmas gifts.