I've been writing this ever since I saw The Winter Soldier. It was supposed to be a fluffy few hundred words and then got complicated. I'm not really sure what it is now. Unbetaed, feel free to point out any mistakes.

'You have twenty-four hours to decide, and then I want an answer. Dismissed, agents.'

She glances at Clint as they leave Fury's office. They both know how lucky they are, that Fury lets them choose their assignments these days. This one is setting off all sorts of warning lights in Natasha's head. It's not often Fury shows weakness. He's not saying anything, but he doesn't need to. He's so obviously worried, waiting for something to break, she can smell it.

So she'll say yes, because she never says no to gathering up a few more dirty secrets S.H.I.E.L.D. would rather stay buried. A girl's got to have insurance, right?

Clint… Clint will say yes because he's loyal to her, loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.. If something's been compromised he'll want to weed it out. He only pretends not to be righteous. But they won't talk about it at work. At home, they know where all the bugs are.

So she goes to teach her Russian culture class and he goes to teach his "everything is a weapon if you're desperate enough, and trust me, one day you will be" class, and they don't see each other again until after hours.

Natasha gets home first, showers, drinks coffee. Clint comes in an hour later and he's still in agent mode, she can tell by the way he's walking. And he's tense.

He sits down opposite her, leans forward. 'So. He wants us to work with S.T.R.I.K.E. now?' He opens his mouth to continue but doesn't, staring at her. She blinks back. She doesn't hide anything from Clint, not at home. 'Nat,' he says, and he sounds surprised, taken aback, 'you're not seriously thinking about doing it?'

'Of course, why not?' Okay, so they don't have the best history with S.T.R.I.K.E., but the pros well outweigh that. And Rogers is a good teammate.

Clint gets up, paces behind his chair. 'It's not in our job description, Nat.'

She unfolds herself from the armchair. 'And when has that ever stopped you? Just last week you were calling us "Fury's attack dogs."'

'We're spies, assassins, not his personal cleaning squad!' And he's angry, angrier than this should be making him, even if he thinks Fury's offer is an insult. They've both been angry for no real reason the last few weeks. Funny. Natasha Romanoff can read people in the blink of an eye, but she can't get a good hold on her own relationship. 'We get rid of threats, we don't clean up Fury's messes.'

'You heard him. Something big's coming, he needs all the help he can get.'

'And you really believe that? He's the fucking God of manipulation and spin, Nat.'

But she does. She never quite trusted Fury. Like Stark says, his secrets have secrets. A whole life of being lied to makes you excellent at spotting it. Fury wasn't lying in that meeting.

Clint's been following his own chain of thought. 'Are you a spy, Natasha, or Fury's personal fucking cleaning lady? Because I know which one I am.'

It's like he said before New York. They've never been the type to wage war. They're opportunists at heart. She used to pride herself on knowing that if she wanted to leave S.H.I.E.L.D., she wouldn't need to take anything with her, not even the clothes on her back. Three year ago, if she'd heard there was trouble brewing she'd get out straight away. Clint's right: Fury's mistakes aren't theirs to fix.

Three years ago, Clint would have been trying to convince her to do a job like this, reminding her that she'd defected, she wasn't a stateless mercenary any more. If nothing else worked, he'd pull the last, bitterest card: Natasha owed S.H.I.E.L.D..

But Clint's not trying to convince her this time. They look at each other across the room. 'So that's it. You're doing it.' It's not a question. He's been able to read her for years. 'Well it's your funeral.' The bitterness in his voice is unexpected. Where's that come from? Something she'd said, or Fury? His knuckles on the back of the chair are white. 'I'm not waiting around for the shit to hit the fan. You want me, you come find me for once.' And, just like that, he picks up his travel case and walks out.

It shouldn't be that easy to just walk away. His relationship with Nat is by far the longest, most complicated and best he's ever had, which sort of just highlights how shitty his history is. Getting up and leaving Nat standing alone in the apartment they've been calling home for nearly a year should feel wrong, painful even, but all it does is leave Clint feeling strangely empty.

He's kidding himself if he thinks that was just about Fury, because it wasn't. They've been fighting more lately. Just a few months ago everything was going so well. Maybe a break will do them good.

Oh, who is he kidding.

The woman sitting across from him is watching him. Clint belatedly starts looking for exits, calculating angles, before he realises she's only staring at his hands because he's been fiddling with the watch the whole damn train ride.

Working with Rogers is fine, but not the same. He calls her Nat on assignments, for God's sake.

She stops wearing the necklace occasionally, and starts wearing it whenever she's not in uniform. She feels like she owes him for choosing Fury over Clint. And dammit, she misses Clint. She keeps turning and stuttering to a halt because he's not there.

She was naïve (or maybe stupid) enough to think Nick Fury was invincible. She's even less immortal than him. She doesn't want to die, and certainly not like this.

He reaches out to his contacts, finds himself a freelance job in Greece and settles down for the long haul. He doesn't contact Natasha, she doesn't contact him. He keeps expecting a sarcastic text, finds himself scanning the village square for a glimpse of her face.

When one of his contacts reports that something's happened to Fury, something bad, suddenly being on the other side of the world when the shit goes down sounds like the stupidest idea he's had in years.

Fury has a list of people he's one hundred percent sure aren't HYDRA. It's pretty short, but Clint Barton is on it. She finds herself more relieved about that than that Fury is alive.

If she'd been wrong about him –

She never would have trusted anyone again.

Later he realises it's a miracle he didn't get caught getting off the plane at Kennedy. He stops off at their New York safe house and if trying to decide what to do when the shit really does hit the fan. Half an hour later someone has uploaded a video to youtube with photos of all S.H.I.E.L.D. deep cover agents and their real names. He and Natasha are both in it.

He gets the hell out of dodge straight away, because there's no question that that safe house is compromised. He's got a few of his own off the grid, so he heads down south.

He sits around for the next month feeling, essentially, like an absolute bastard, because Nat is everywhere, in every newspaper and on every website, her ledger finally out there for the whole world to see. He knows how hard this must be for her: they trade in secrets, live off anonymity. Every cover she ever had is well and truly blown.

He tells himself he's keeping well away from D.C. because he doesn't want to be swept up into that whirlwind, but it's really because he's pretty damn ashamed of himself, and Nat's not one to forgive easily.

She arrives exactly when she said she would. From the roof he watches the dust cloud she's kicking up get closer and closer.

When she gets out of the car she looks at him as if she has no idea what to say. Fuck it if he knows, either, but at least they're on the same page now.

As far as the powers that be are concerned, S.H.I.E.L.D. is finished. She doesn't tell them otherwise. They'll work it out eventually, when there's a crisis the government can't deal with.

S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't an agency anymore. It's a network, it's agents split up: the CIA, Stark industries, the FBI. There are other companies that will find places suddenly available for ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. The more conspicuous members, the ones with the attention-grabbing uniforms and "super" powers, have gone underground.

And Natasha Romanoff? She's in Miami, looking for a beach house.

She finds it eventually. Isolated, right on the water, archer on the roof.

Clint drops to the ground, lowers his bow. He doesn't ask if she's been followed, just gestures to the front door and follows her in. He's looking at her like if he looks away, he'll collapse in a heap. Maybe he will. He clearly hasn't been sleeping.

'Still pissed at me?' she asks, for want of something better to say. What can you say, in a situation like this? He shakes his head, pulls back the collar of her shirt, brushes a finger over the gauze still strapped there. She squeezes his free hand. She'll heal.

'I shouldn't have left in such a hurry, I –' she shushes him with a finger, because it's over now. Realistically, there was nothing he could have done.

'Don't beat yourself up about it, Clint.' He pulls her into his arms, and she buries her face in his neck, breathing him in.

Later they'll talk about their options. Stark offered her a job. The CIA would never admit it, but they'd kill to get their hands on experts like Clint and Natasha. She doubts Clint will want to choose either option.

She'll agree with him. They've never liked the CIA, and working closely with Stark for extended periods of time would send a patient person mad.

There's another option, of course. Go underground; wage their own war against HYDRA and anyone else who thinks that just because S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone, means they can try world domination out for size. Take jobs from Hill occasionally.

They'll talk about it later. For now she'll kiss him, and pretend they're the only people left in the world.

He kisses her in Bangkok, in Perth, in Prague and Malawi. They pose as lovers, partners, adulterers, best friends.

They fight, they fuck, they kill the bad guys, they patch each other up. They break into Stark tower one day just for the hell of it, and nearly give Tony a heart attack. For every cover they lost, they create two more.

Clint never mentions the necklace, just like she never mentions the watch he wears whenever he's not in his gear. Rings are overrated, anyway.

I'm not really sure Clint and Natasha are capable of a fully functioning relationship but it seems to work for them. I hope I got that across.

I sort of see S.T.R.I.K.E. as a bit like those Black Forrest guys from The A-Team movie. Yeah? No? Okay, fine.