Natasha had a love/hate relationship with her hair. On one hand, the rich red color was intimidating and it's thickness and natural curl not to mention the length made her feel sexy and deadly (which is a painfully accurate picture of herself). On the other hand the above mentioned thickness,curl, and length made every morning a struggle. Especially showers. Showers created a war between her and her unruly auburn locks. Today was no different but Natasha was determined. Battle or not she was GOING TO SHOWER.

Clint and her had just returned from their latest SHIELD mission and Natasha could barely walk straight. An unexpected extra few guards had thrown the whole plan off and she ended up getting captured. It took her team a number of hours before they could get to her. Clint was always been pretty stiff but she could tell from the tense shoulders and the fast pace of his steps as they walked toward their building on the base that he was more upset about the whole incident then she was. That was to be expected. Clint was savagely protective of her which Natasha thought was highly amusing but never told him so. They finally made it up to the penthouse they shared and Clint visibly relaxed at the sight of the familiar rooms.

Natasha headed straight for the shower and was in pure bliss...until she got out and saw the state of her hair. Ugh. She sat in front of the T.V in the living room watching Dick Van Dyke reruns in yoga pants and a tank top. She quietly cussed in Russian as she attempted to comb out her hair. She was wincing and quietly grunting at the pain that her arms were creating. They were still sore from being hoisted up and holding all of her body weight for hours when she was waiting for her team.

Her small monologue of foreign expletives was cut off by Clint's voice and entrance into the room.

"Hey...Tasha?"

"Yeah?

"How are your arms?"

"Their fine."

"Let me help"

"It's ok I can do it."

Clint smirked at her stubbornness and walked over to where she was sitting on the floor in front of the couch. In one swift movement he sat down behind her and settled his legs on either side of her. He gently took the brush from her hand and leaned down close to her.

"That wasn't a question. I've got this, you can just relax." he stated softly and simply. Clint wasn't one for long winded eloquent speeches. Natasha gave him a small smile and focused her attention on the comedy show. Clint's hands moved slowly over her hair, working out the knots so gently she didn't even feel them. Thinking she picked the perfect program, Natasha smiled every time she heard Clint's soft, deep, chuckle at each joke that came from the speakers.

She rested the side of her head on Clint's knee as she waited for him to finish the braid he was putting her hair into. Though exhausted, she was content. Clint tied a band around the end of the french braid, and though his face gave nothing away he was proud of his work. He stood up and Natasha looked at him with her special, barely visible smile. She held up her hands to him, silently asking him to help her up. Clint's heart wrenched when he saw the flicker of pain that crossed her face when she moved. He bent down and, ignoring her hands, put one arm under her legs and the other around her back. Slowly he walked down the hall to Natasha's room, her head resting on his shoulder.

Though they both knew that there would come a day where they would loose one another they also knew that the memories of little moments like this would keep them going.