A/N Ah well, you wonderful people, all good things must eventually come to an end. I want to thank everyone who has enjoyed this ride with me, it's been a blast! Thank you for all the kind words of encouragement, favourites, reviews, follows, and general all around good egginess on your part, it was most appreciated. Twenty six days ago when I started this little story I had no idea it would become such an epic, but I have so loved writing it. For now my muse is sated but... Red pole is a tricky customer and could well slip the net... Hannah is basically completely barking hatstand and I suspect she may have some issues with our heros... and of course there is a good chance other things may pop into my head. I so love writing for these two and I am so glad you have found my interpretation and characterisation did them justice.

So, I am taking a little Clintasha break for now, but I wanted to leave you feeling warm and fuzzy so here is the epilogue.

Thanks again, until the next time. Elf xx

'Vladivostok?' Natasha asked.

Clint shook his head. He lay on the hotel bed, his back propped against the pillows, taking another swig from the bottle of vodka he passed it to his partner. Natasha was lying on her stomach inspecting Hawkeyes various scars. They were both naked save for a discreet tangle of sheets.

She took a drink and passed the bottle back. Frowning she traced the neat scar on his leg. 'Are you sure it wasn't Vladivostok?' She asked, looking up at him questioningly.

'It's my leg and yes I'm sure.' He retorted.

'You never remember where you got these things anyway.' She snorted.

'I remember that one.' He said certainly, passing back the bottle. 'You should recognise it?' Returning her attention to the scar she waved her feet in the air thoughtfully.

'Minsk.' Clint said eventually. 'That's your handiwork. Very neat stitching.'

'Really? I thought it was higher?' With a mischievous smirk her hand began to creep up the inside of his leg under the sheet.

Clint cocked an eyebrow. 'You're playing with fire woman...' he warned.

'Woman is it now?'

'Yes...' He grabbed the wandering hand and rolled her over until he was lying on top of her.

She nipped playfully at his bottom lip with her teeth.

'I'm going to pay for that 'woman' at some point aren't I?' He said wearily.

'Only if you are very, very lucky.' She agreed changing positions so that she was uppermost and could rest her chin on her hands which in turn lay on his chest.

After a few minutes silence he gently tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. 'You ok?'

'Of course.' She said, looking up at him.

'Really?' He asked, eyebrows raised. This was always going to be a tricky moment. The defining point where their relationship would change forever, they would never be the same. Over the years they had built something from nothing, a connection that involved complete trust and Barton couldn't help but wonder if stepping over the line would change the way Natasha viewed him and he feared it might not be for the better.

Agent Natasha Romanoff strode back into the safe house, her high heeled sling backs swinging from her hand. It was four in the morning but she had no need to attempt to be quiet, she knew Clint would be up and waiting for her.

'You ok?' He'd asked as she closed the door behind her. Barton was sitting in the dark by the window, watching, in case she had been followed.

'Of course.' She'd replied, smiling. 'The дебил couldn't tell me fast enough!'

She dropped the shoes. 'What is it with men? The moment their член thinks it's going to get lucky it's like the brain stops working all together.'

'Hey!' Clint had said indignantly.

'Present company accepted.' She'd said charmingly before sniffing and wrinkling her nose in disgust. 'I need to take a shower, get the smell of that свинья off me.'

She had been in the shower for nearly an hour before she finally emerged dressed in a robe, her hair wrapped in a towel.

Barton had decamped to the sofa now she was back; he glanced up from the rifle he was cleaning. 'Better?'

'Much.' She said flopping down next to him. Tucking her knees up under her, Natasha lay down with her head on Barton's knee. Putting down the rifle he rubbed her wet hair with the towel. The bathrobe fell away from her neck and he could see where the skin had been scrubbed red and sore.

He edged the material back revealing more angry red skin; she winced as the cloth rubbed.

'Tash?' He began.

Sitting up sharply, she pulled the robe tightly around her.

'What the...?' He started.

Facing him she placed a finger on his lips. 'Don't!' She warned.

'At least let me put something on it?' he said, muffled.

She considered for a moment before finally nodding.

As he rubbed the moisturising cream into the reddened skin of her back and neck, it occurred to Barton he wouldn't have known what to say anyway.

'I'm ok,' Natasha insisted. 'although I think I could probably use a shower.' She added, frowning.

Something in Clint's stomach sunk as Natasha got to her feet and stretched. This was not a good sign and he didn't actually know what he was going to do about it.

It was a few seconds before he realised she was holding out her hand.

'Are you joining me or not?' She asked.

He was off the bed instantly and took her hand.

'So what are you going to remember most about this mission?' She was asking a very distracted Barton as she led him to the bathroom.

'What?'

'I mean you haven't gotten any injuries so what will you remember, fighting iron soldiers, exploding rooftops...?'

Barton grinned. 'I suspect I will always remember Budapest very differently.'