Disclaimer: I own none of these characters, have no affiliation with the Marvel Universe and whatsoever. If I did, there would already be a Clintasha movie out there (how I wish).

A/N: Hello dearest readers, I've recently reread my story, made some changes to it and hopefully improved it. It's been a while since I first started writing this story and I realised that my style of writing have also changed (hopefully for the better), so I decided to adjust bits in the first few chapters to suit my current writing style. I'm writing this while contemplating how to put together Chapter 7 - just so you know.

This is a story inspired by the book and movie 'The Vow'. Without further ado, please enjoy and remember to tell me what you think :)

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It was just another mission accomplished, and they were driving back to their apartment in the outskirts of New York, both extremely exhausted with their adrenaline wearing off. The night was beautiful, the sky showering down raindrops that sounded like a percussion band as they hit the windows of their car. A beautiful smile had worked itself across her worn out face, a smile that she only ever reserved for him and during intimate moments outside work when there was no one around. It was very late into the night and there weren't any cars on the street except theirs. Neither of them said anything, savouring the night and enjoying the peaceful serenity.

Natasha was the one who broke the silence, 'Have you ever imagined what it would be like if we've never met?' she asked Clint as the car stopped at a red light, only a few streets away from their apartment.

'I would probably be dead,' he replied with a grin, watching her fondly. Part of what he said was true, because since the day he met her, his suicidal thoughts that had followed him since the day his parents died slowly faded away. She was his anchor, the sole reason why he was still alive. Natasha, too eager to get out of her cat suit and perfect that moment, unbuckled her seat belt and leaned in to kiss Clint. At that very moment, a truck rammed into their car from behind and she crashed through the windshield. Both of them were rushed into the emergency room, then immediately transferred to SHIELD's medical department after Coulson received signal. The pair of master assassins was kept in the same room in his order. He knew they would want to see the other when one of them awakes.

Clint was the first to regain consciousness after 48 hours. He blinked his eyes opened, squinting a little from the blinding white light on the ceiling. He had no idea where he was and what happened and frowned, when all of a sudden, memories flooded back into his head – Slovakia, rain, kiss, Natasha, crash. Natasha. His eyes flew open at the thought of his partner and sat up looking around for her, then loosened a breath when he saw her lying on the bed next to him. But she was connected with tubes and there were bandages all over her head, arms and body.

'Welcome back, Clint,' he heard a very familiar voice say, and whipped his head back and saw Phil, their handler, sitting on a small black couch looking very tired.

'Natasha,' he croaked out, looking at his handler, 'what happened? Is she okay?'

'Barton, you've been out for 2 days, get some rest first, I'll tell you later,' he said sighing, and then asked the nearest nurse to bring them both a cup of warm water.

'Phil,' Clint said, his voice persistent as if he was warning him. He just tiredly rubbed his eyes, 'you two are going to be the death of me.' He paused, the silence suffocating them, and then continued closing his eyes and facing the ceiling, 'you were driving home, remember? A truck ran into your car. You had your seatbelt on, but she didn't. She flew out of the windshield. You suffered some minor injuries, bruises and cuts but she has some major brain damage. She should be awake in less than 48 hours, but anything can happen. So…just… be careful, okay?' he finished, and sighed again, then left the room.

Anything can happen. Be careful. Major brain damage. A truck. Flew out. Seat belt. Anything can happen…

Coulson's words repeated themselves in his mind as he threw himself back down onto the bed with a thump and promptly fell asleep.

Eight months ago:

'Screw you, Clint Barton! Stop following me! When I tell you I need space, you better give it to me. I am not some damsel in distress and I don't need a knight in shining armour!' she screamed at him as she threw magazine that lied innocently on a coffee table beside her, he of course, expertly dodged it.

'I just wanted to help you! That bastard's hands were on you! Do you expect me to just sit back and enjoy him touching you while your eyes flashed with anger and annoyance?' He shouted back as he followed her into their small kitchen.

'Fuck you,' she growled, her hands holding the sink so hard it might break anytime, 'I wanted to drink away the shit I just went through and you just gave me more. Fuck you for ruining my fucking life, as if it isn't fucked up enough already.'

He sighed and ran a hand through his ruffled hair. They had just come back to their apartment from SHIELD base after their first failed mission. He had compromised their mission to go after her when she was captured and held hostage in their enemy's underground base. They argued, and she had stomped off telling him to leave her alone, but instead, he followed her into the nearest bar.

How was it possible to not go after her knowing full well that she was being tortured? He knew emotions had to be kept out of missions, but surely, there had to be exceptions? Those were what he had in mind when he decided to go after her rather than finishing their mission. When he got to her, she was chained to a wall in a dark and empty room, her head hung down, and blazing red hair forming a curtain in front of her face.

'Whoever the hell you are, I won't give you what you want from me and you will never get it,' she growled, her voice dangerous yet downright sexy.

'Tasha,' he whispered, silently blaming himself for not having gone for her any earlier, any faster, 'Tasha, Tasha, Tasha…'

'Clint?' she called out for him, her voice small and barely audible, raising her head to meet his eyes.

'Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Tasha…' he said as he tried to break the chain off the wall. His heart ached at what he saw, Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, beat up and battered, so fragile, so brittle.

'Did you get the information?' she asked, still putting their mission before her life. He swallowed hard and shook his head. She wouldn't like it, but he would have regretted his whole life if something happened to her here while he was finishing their mission off and when he could have done something to ease her pain.

'Barton, how could you? There are rules out there!' she raised her voice, almost shouting but too tired to fight anymore.

'How could I leave you here, Natasha? How could I continue the job not caring that my partner, my partner was somewhere being tortured?' he asked, outraged, but she just shook her head.

They got out just in time before the base was blown into pieces by a timed bomb Clint had set when he came in to get his partner out. They got back to SHIELD base by a helicopter Coulson sent, was ordered to go through stupid medical check-ups and went through an intense debrief session with Fury till they were finally allowed to go back to their apartment.

Then she started the argument. It wasn't a first. They had always argued about that topic, but that time, it was too close to home. Natasha was brutally tortured. Their missions never had gone so wrong… or at least never in Natasha's part…

'Look, Natasha, hear me out first then kill me after. I know you hate dealing with emotions, and I have for six damn long years, hid most if not all my emotions from you. I don't want to fuck this up. I don't want to lose you. But I can't go on like this anymore. I have loved you from the first second I laid eyes upon you, I just never truly realised till later on. I tried, I swear I've tried to distract myself from you, look at what happened between me and Bobbi? How silly of me, to think that you would fall in love with someone like me. But I've waited all these years and no, I can't anymore. Natasha I love you okay? I don't think anyone partnering with you for this long won't fall for you. I know, yes, I know that I'm just another man, just another stupid asshole in love with you, in love with an unlovable Russian assassin. I love you and I will turn the earth over if it means I will somehow be enough for you, make the feelings mutual. But no, it will never happen. So fuck me for spilling this out to you all of a sudden,' he ended abruptly, walked out of the kitchen and she heard the door to their apartment slam shut.

He was berating himself for letting his emotions get the better of him in those long suffocating moments between his abrupt confession and suddenly being slammed again the wall of the corridor. Natasha was kissing him hungrily, as if their lives depended on it. It was anything but sweet and romantic, but a mixture of want, and hunger, and anger, and desperation, and the six long years of waiting. It was Clint and Natasha. It was fire and earth. It was glorious. It wasn't their first kiss, they had kissed before, as lovers, as couples, all for covers, but this, this was them, this was Clint and Natasha, the Hawkeye and the Black Widow, partners in crime, SHIELD's best team, a couple of master assassins.

'Damn you Barton,' she hissed, panting for breath as she broke away, her lungs desperate for oxygen. His breathing was ragged too, and he had no idea what was going on in her head right now and he had no idea how to react. She just kissed him. She just kissed him!

'Nat..?' he asked, hesitantly.

'Shut up,' she said and sealed their lips together again, this time, a lot slower, her tongue demanding entrance into his mouth and he obeyed with much pleasure. If that was what she wanted, he had nothing to prevent him on giving it to her. Their tongues intertwined, tasting each other, exploring each other, devouring each other. He moved a hand to the small of her back and the other cupped her face, deepening the kiss. They broke apart for air again, blue and green eyes blazing as they realised what had just happened.

'I guess we're both children,' she said, licking her lips, 'I do too, asshole.'

He watched her intently; still too shocked to respond, did she just admit that she too, felt the same for him in her own awkward and annoying way? Then she grinned at him, and knew he wasn't dreaming.