Author's Note: Hey guys! It's been a while. I've been crazy busy, but I'm going to follow this thing through, I promise.

So this one is Clint and Bruce centric the most, but it has a good dose of the others. I also did not look over this. Praying for no huge mistakes!

The song is "Warning Sign" by Coldplay.

Enjoy!

Warning Sign

"When the truth is… that I miss you."

When Natasha Romanoff came to Clint Barton, suitcase packed and ready to leave Stark Tower, she needed no words. Of course he went with her.

He had always known that she was never truly comfortable with the other Avengers; maybe it was because of her bloody past, the feeling that she had so much more to atone for than the rest of them. So much more red in her ledger.

So he gathered his clothes and his arrows, and avoiding the labs and gym, they left. Just like that.

SHIELD took them back with open arms. They immediately returned to their special ops team, and soon their masquerade as Avengers faded away, just like a dream.

A few of the other agents regarded them warily, but that was nothing new. It was always made clear that the Black Widow and Hawkeye were the best of the best at what they do, and weren't to be messed with if you valued your life, job, or reputation. No one ever sought them out romantically either, because it was always assumed that they were with each other. Neither assassin bothered to correct this; they were perfectly happy in their own solitude.

When Clint had the time, he liked to carve his own arrowheads. The steel, standard-issued arrows were brilliant and sharp enough to literally whistle through the air, but there was something familiar and comforting in the meticulous sound of his knife scraping the wood with long, sure strokes. So six days after their "escape", the two assassins filled one of the basement gyms, typically unused, with Natasha firing round after round into the targets across the room and the sounds of Clint's knife hitting wood filling the room.

The silence grew heavier and heavier until Clint finally decided he had to break it. Natasha's sudden decision that she could no longer stay with the Avengers had been haunting him day and night, to the point where he couldn't even sleep. He had thought she had been happy there; they had both been happy.

"Tasha?" He began cautiously, like one would treat a sleepy tigress. He knew he was her best friend, but if he phrased this wrong, she would up and leave. He didn't doubt it for a minute.

"Hm?" She replied absent-mindedly, but he saw the tension line her strong shoulders. She, of course, had picked up on the trepidation in his voice.

Clint took a deep breath, setting his arrow and knife aside before plowing forward. "Why did we have to leave?"

The archer only detected a minute amount of uncertainly flash in her body language before she fired at the target again, simply replying: "You didn't have to leave, Hawkeye. You could've stayed."

He knew "Hawkeye" was his warning to 'back the hell off or the next bullet I fire will be through your brain'. However, Clint did not get to where he was now by taking a hint. "You know I wouldn't have stayed without you, Tasha," he retorted affectionately. The redhead simply snorted at his words, and the gunshots sounded to him as the archer plowed forward. "Natasha…" he began again after a few seconds. "You still haven't answered my question."

The assassin paused. "Can't we just leave it there?" she sighed, sounding not at all like Natasha Romanoff. "Come on, let's spar," she ordered, placing her guns on the bench he was sitting on. She held out a hand, offering to help him up.

Clint ignored it. "Don't think I'm falling for that again," he laughed, remembering how, the last time he had taken her hand, she had flipped him on his back and reminded him slyly that he always needed to be on guard. The redhead retracted her outstretched limb, before sinking into a crouch.

"All right, then," she prodded. "Let's go."

Clint raised an eyebrow, charging at the assassin. Natasha reached up, but he sidestepped at the last second, evading her. She swiped a leg out, tripping him, but not before he had an arm on her wrist, tossing her halfway across the room. They both took a second to recover, and then they were on each other again.

"You never… answered… my question!" Clint gritted out. Natasha slipped out of his grip and wrapped her legs around his waist, climbing onto his back. She said nothing, a single drop of liquid dropping from her face and sizzling onto his bare shoulder.

Clint thought it was sweat, and Natasha would never correct him.

She kicked him hard in the stomach, not even staying to watch him sink to the floor at the agony. There would be a bruise tomorrow, he knew. He also knew she didn't regret it: not one bit. It wasn't in her nature.

"Tasha, wait!" He gasped, staggering to his feet and running after her despite the pain coming from his stomach. He didn't even stop to get his bow and his quiver, knowing that no one would dare touch them anyway. The archer took off down the hall, passing a junior agent when he reached the elevator. "Romanoff?" He questioned breathlessly, though it came out as more of a demand. The girl quivered underneath his blue-eyed stare. She tried to speak, but it came out as a stutter. Clint tried to soften his gaze. "Please," he beseeched.

"L-level t-ten," the girl managed. "I saw her push the b-button."

Clint nodded his thanks, rushing past the girl and into the open elevator. He waited impatiently until the doors slid open, and then he was running out. The elevator had been a blessing in hindsight, allowing him to gather his thoughts. The only place on Level Ten that Natasha could possibly need to go to would be Director Fury's office. Before, he would've had two options: Fury or Coul-

Clint stopped short, shaking his head swiftly and choking back the lump in his throat. He wouldn't… couldn't go there. Not now. Not today.

Clearing his thoughts, as any good assassin would be able to do, he skidded into Fury's office and found his quarry. The Black Widow was leaning over the Director's desk, both hands gripping the glass so tightly, it was if the redhead thought if she let go she'd punch something. And considering the nearest "thing" was the Director, it was probably a good move to grip the desk.

"I don't know if that's the best idea, Agent," Fury was saying, taking in Natasha's obvious anger with a coolly surprised face.

"Of course it is," Natasha clipped coldly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I will go pack."

She spun on her heel, but Clint had moved to block the door. He stared at her for a minute, uncertain. "What's not the best idea, Director? If you don't mind," he added, his eyes never leaving Natasha's face. She wouldn't meet his eyes, her green ones fixed impatiently at a spot beyond his shoulder.

Fury looked at him curiously for a minute, before consenting. "Agent Romanoff asked for a leave of absence to pursue a mission of her own. And as long as she assures me she is doing nothing that I wouldn't do," he turned his gaze to Natasha, "I'm going to give it to her."

Natasha turned to face her boss, and although she didn't show it, Clint knew she was glad to turn away from his unwavering stare. "I'm not sure what your limits are, Director," she began wryly, "but I won't be breaking any laws, if that's what you are asking." Then she left, ducking under his arm.

And for some reason, Clint didn't have the strength, or the heart, to stop her.

AAA

Bruce was trying to type the results of Tony's and his most recent experiment, but his fingers kept skipping keys. This wasn't right. He glanced at the doorway, looking across the hall at Clint's usual gym. There was no thump of an arrow smoothly hitting the target, and some reason, this hindered the scientist's focus instead of helping it. He finally shut the laptop down, quietly telling Jarvis to turn out the light as he left the room.

He passed Tony's lab, wincing as he heard the sound of shattering glass and swearing. He didn't even have to look inside, knowing the billionaire was probably surrounded by empty bottles of Scotch and pieces of twisted metal. Bruce shook his head; even Tony Stark couldn't build something right now.

He traveled through the main living area quietly, trying not to disturb Steve. The Captain was sitting with his head in his hands, surrounded by books and movies and newspapers. The scientist wanted to do something, but surprisingly, it was Natasha who usually handled the super soldier when he was like this. Besides, he typically wasn't this bad. Bruce had no idea how to talk to him, and he kind of hated himself for it. Tony usually did all his talking for him, and now even the billionaire was silent when in Steve's presence. Bruce sort of missed the barbs they would shoot at each other; anything was better than this silence.

Finally, he reached the kitchen, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl. They were getting low, he noticed. Maybe it was time for one of them to leave the tower. Bruce glanced at Thor, who was sitting quietly and staring at an unwrapped Pop-tart. Their glances awkwardly met, before they looked away.

Maybe it wasn't quite time. Not yet.

Sometimes, Bruce would turn on the TV and watch recordings of their saving of New York. But recently, he had to turn it off almost as soon as he turned it on, because it wouldn't be long before one of the many reporters commentating would mention the four remaining at the tower. They would almost always brush over the master assassins, clearly pointing out their so-called worth to the Avengers Team.

And then Bruce would seriously want to Hulk out on them. Repeatedly. More than he had wanted the big guy to make an appearance for Loki.

And that was saying something.

Because no one, no one, could dare tell Bruce, or any of the others, that Natasha and Clint were not important, vital… fundamental to the team. Over the past week, the four had experienced firsthand what it was like without the assassins, and suffice to say none of them wanted to experience any more of it.

Of course, Tony was to first to suggest they go after them, and Thor was right behind him, but Steve and Bruce said no. If Natasha and Clint had left the team voluntarily, then there was nothing they could do.

It was a monumental argument, in which Bruce had turned green multiple times, lightning had flashed outside with no signs of rain, and Tony and Steve were a few cruel words away from a prizefight. After "The Argument", they had entered this terrible silence. Bruce was sick of it, though he knew there was nothing he could do.

"Doctor Banner?"

Jarvis' voice seemed to echo throughout the empty, noiseless house, and Bruce was quick to respond because of that, clearing his throat first. "Yes, Jarvis?"

Jarvis seemed to hesitate. "I would normally tell Mr. Stark this, but he is… not well." The AI paused again. "Mr. Barton is at the door," it finished.

Before Bruce could even respond in his shocked state, a Pop-Tart hit the ground, and Thor was already in the elevator. "Hurry!" He urged the scientist, a wide grin splitting across his face. Suddenly, there was a rush of wind past him, and Steve had grabbed his arm, yanking him into the elevator.

The ride down was interesting, to say the least. Thor seemed to believe that jumping up and down would make the elevator go faster, and Steve refused to let go of Bruce's arm. The older man nervously adjusted his glasses, fidgeting uncomfortably.

Finally, the doors opened and Thor tore out of the "moving box", nearly running into a gasping Tony Stark who seemed in a strange state between drunk and completely sober. He had come flying out of the door to the left that Bruce had never noticed, the door that was emblazoned 'STAIRS'. Bruce chuckled softly, noting Tony's wide-eyed look. It had to be the first time the billionaire had ever taken the stairs more than two or three flights.

Tony shrugged, grinning. "The elevator was moving too slow," he explained. "We're going to address that later," he added, winking at Bruce before the three of them ran behind Thor as the demigod nearly ripped the front door off its hinges.

Sure enough, there stood an out-of-breath Clint Barton, all decked out in his suit with a full quiver resting on his back. Bruce didn't get to look at him for long, however, because he was almost immediately engulfed in the arms of Thor, who with his superior height lifted the archer clear off his feet. "Clint Barton! You were dearly missed, my friend," Thor exclaimed. "I could not even bring myself to eat my Pop-Tarts without you and Lady Natasha with us!"

Tony stepped forward. "Welcome home, Robin Hood," he greeted wryly. "I see you're not wearing the tights I bought you, though." Clint rolled his eyes at the thought of the little impromptu gag gift of "Robin Hood tights" Tony had given him a few weeks ago.

"Trust me," he began dryly, "I'm doing you a favor by not wearing the tights. If I did, you wouldn't be able to keep the ladies off these shapely legs." Tony laughed aloud, and even though Clint's expression stayed completely serious, he couldn't hide the twinkle in his eye.

"Except for Agent Romanoff," Bruce said lightly, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. The twinkle immediately died out in the archer's eyes.

"Yes," Clint finally replied after a long silence. "I suppose I couldn't get Natasha with only a pair of tights."

"Speaking of…" Tony trailed off mildly, but in his eyes, Bruce could see a different story, and the scientist was surprised. There was a certain amount of desperation in the chocolate depths, desperation that he had never really seen in Tony before.

"Natasha is who I came here to speak with you about," Clint replied seriously.

It was here that Steve spoke for the first time. "Oh. I thought you were here to stay," he assumed, and the disappointment in his tone was obvious.

"I think we all did," Thor boomed, looking inquisitively at Barton.

The assassin smiled grimly. "Hopefully," he said vaguely.

They all went inside, taking the elevator up to the top floor. Where the main sitting area was located. "What's going on with Natasha?" Steve asked as soon as they got there, not even bothering to sit down.

"She's gone," Clint replied simply. "Took leave from SHIELD, and I need to find her."

They sat silently for half a second before Tony made for the elevator. "I'm suiting up. I'll meet you guys in the Quinjet."

Steve watched the doors close on the billionaire, before turning to the others and nodding.

They had a teammate to retrieve.

AAA

Lucky for the men, Natasha had taken her guns on her trip - not that anyone was very surprised. And also lucky for the men, Tony had been a prying jerk and had placed trackers on them, which apparently Natasha had not found.

"Russia," Tony announced with conviction, reading the monitor on his phone. "Volgograd, Russia," he clarified, turning to Clint. "Ring any bells?"

The archer set the course, and then he spun around in his chair. He seemed perplexed. "No," he admitted, "but Natasha never gave me any details about where she grew up; she's always been extremely vague about her childhood. She did give me some descriptions, but nothing concrete."

Bruce had already pulled up everything he could get on Volgograd, including a holographic map and some general facts. "Shoot," he told Clint.

Clint furrowed his brow. "Something about a river that she used to play in. And a lot of smog. It was probably industrial."

Bruce nodded. "Let's see… Volgograd is an industrial city… the Volga River runs along about half of the entire area." He paused, considering. "It seems to match up pretty well, I think."

Steve jumped in. "Let's not jump to conclusions," he warned wisely.

The billionaire rolled his eyes. "Cool it, Granny," he retorted, before turning to the entire group. "Clearly, this place isn't a threat. I'm going into the cockpit and taking this suit off."

"Why can't you just take it off out here?" Steve shot back.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Is that your way of asking me for a strip-tease, Cap?"

Steve blushed, murmuring something unintelligibly.

"That's what I thought."

A few generally awkward hours later, they were landing. Bruce picked up the tracker, noting that they were nearly on top of the blinking red dot that signaled Natasha's guns. Not one of the five men considered that it was November in Russia, and that it was bound to be relatively cold outside. Not to mention, the most anyone had on was a hoodie, and that was Bruce.

They left the Quinjet by the river, following the tracker up a hill to an old decrepit house. Tony ran up to push the door open, but Steve stopped him, knocking politely instead. An old, smiling man with a plethora of frown lines let them in, saying hello in Russian before asking them their business in his house.

Steve, Thor, and Clint had confused looks on their faces. Bruce relatively understood Russian, but let Tony, who was fluent, step forward and do the talking.

"We are looking for a woman," he began in the harsh language. "A bit shorter than I, long red hair-"

"Oh, Natalia!" He exclaimed. "She is by the river. Go east."

"Spasibo," Tony thanked, before motioning that everyone follow him. "She is down by the river."

"But we came from the river," Steve put in, confused.

Bruce looked up from the tracker app that Tony had downloaded on the ride here, slipping it into his pocket. Natasha's guns were obviously in the cottage, so the machine was now useless. "The man said she was east, right Tony?" The billionaire nodded. "We came from west of this cottage."

The five men trekked through the light snow, Bruce and Tony shivering. Thor and Steve had abnormal body heat to keep them warm, and Clint was used to braving harsh conditions.

Thor was the first to catch a glimpse of blood red in the flawlessly white snow, and broke into a run, shouting: "Lady Natasha!" The rest followed suit.

The Black Widow, who had been lying on her back in the snow, was on her feet in a split second when she heard Thor's booming voice. Her face registered sheer shock when she saw them all running toward her, but she quickly schooled it back into the stony expression that she usually wore by the time they reached her.

Thor, who contrary to popular belief, did have a sense of self-preservation, decided not embrace Natasha like he did Clint. They all came to a stop a few feet from the dangerous redhead.

"How did you find me?" She questioned coolly, eyes brushing over Tony and Clint before the green orbs landed directly on Bruce.

Bruce stepped forward about half a foot, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses. "Erm… Well… Someone put a tracker in your guns. Then that old man pointed us here."

To everyone's surprise, Natasha did not seem angry. Instead, she seemed to be fighting a smile as she sighed exasperatedly in Tony's direction. "Stark…"

The billionaire grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, Tash."

Clint cut into the conversation, because he had to admit, Natasha and Tony's sudden familiarity disturbed him. Deeply. "What were you doing in the snow? You're in a tank top and jeans," he observed disapprovingly.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm Russian… Or was." There was an awkward silence. "Anyway, I never get cold."

The redhead wasn't stupid; she knew that every single man in front of her, especially Clint, was dying to ask her why she left. Why she wanted to leave.

"I was making snow angels," she admitted, trying to put off that question for a little longer.

Tony fake-gasped. "Snow angels? Why, Romanoff, there is hope for your fun side yet!"

Natasha ignored the billionaire, turning to Steve when he made to walk up to her. "You used to make them as a child, didn't you?" The super soldier asked. "I remember you telling me that."

Natasha nodded, sitting down in the snow. Steve cautiously walked the rest of the way forward, lying down next to her. When Steve wasn't maimed or killed for doing so, the rest of the boys rushed over and dropped into the cold comfort of winter.

Over the strange loudness of the flurries of snow, no one noticed Tony Stark sit up and quickly peel off his suit jacket. Crawling over, and not at all cautious, he slid a gentle, warm hand between a cold neck and curls of blood red, lifting Natasha Romanoff's upper body so he could help push her arms through the jacket. It encased her in warmth and the familiar smell of metal and expensive cologne, and she smiled gently at the crown of Tony's head, thankful that no one could see her moment of weakness. Of fondness for this man she had hated.

Tony raised himself on his elbows, beginning to move away before suddenly coming to a decision. Hesitantly, he reached over, dragging Natasha a bit closer to the warmth of his body and pressing his lips to her temple with a sigh of relief. She hadn't stopped him. He held her there, eyes shut tightly against the dark world outside, welcoming a white world within.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he whispered raggedly against the smooth skin of her temple, kissing it once more before rolling away to rest a foot or two from her. His fingertips still lightly touched hers.

Natasha's smile again went unseen. Tony had not needed to apologize. The second she had set foot on Russian soil, she had forgiven him.

"Clint?"

"Yeah, Tash?" The archer replied.

"You wanted to know the truth?"

Natasha could feel all the curious gazes that swiveled in her direction, as well as the subdued, resigned stare of Tony. "Yeah, Natasha," Clint replied. "I would."

"Don't feel pressured, Natasha," Steve soothed. "You don't have to-"

However, he was cut off. "Yes, you do," Tony interrupted, and through the snowflakes, brown met green in an instant. But the connection was quickly lost, and Natasha returned to her thoughts.

"The truth is… not relevant. It doesn't matter anymore, because I… well…"

"Lady Natasha?" Thor prompted.

"I missed you guys. I really did."

AAA

I'M SORRY I CAN'T HELP THE TONY/TASHA FEELS I NEVER WILL BE ABLE TO CONTROL THEM!

Other than that, I hope you enjoyed.

Review, pretty please!

-Lala