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Author's Note: Happy reading!

Chapter 12

Natasha wandered around the property with ease and familiarity. Not much has changed in the house besides the finished rooms, there were side projects such as the paint and smaller decorations that needed to be done, but Clint did a great job restoring the house as they planned it when they were married. It surprised her to see that he went with the floor tiles that she chose and the rest of the designs that they compromised on instead of going back to what he wanted, but she refused to read too much into it. The rest of the house was just as she had left her, Clint had not even touched the clothes that she left including her spare hiking boots that she was thankful was there so she could take a walk around the property and enjoy the scenery.

On her first day, she expected a visit from Clint who without a doubt would be alerted by the security network that she arrived and the house was in use. It was a visit she wanted to actively avoid so she spent the day re-discovering her favorite places in the farm, the places that were not tinted with the memories of her love for a man who found refuge in the arms of someone else. There were smaller places where she hiked by herself and sat to think, about nothing and everything. About SHIELD – or what once was SHIELD – and the role she played in aiding Hydra's return to power.

A week came and went without a word from Clint, until she came back from the grocery store and he was sitting in the kitchen, putting up the decorative tiles that she picked out for the kitchen.

"Clint?" she called out. He left traces of himself all over the house, his boots were by the door, where she preferred them to be because she did not appreciate dirt on her hardwood flooring. His tool kit was evident against the door that led to the kitchen to announce his presence. Still she had her sidearm out, just in case it was Hydra and they found where she was leveling out.

"Just me," he announced in the kitchen. She followed the sound, groceries in tow, dropping the re-usable bags onto the counter.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him watching as he applied plaster on the decorative tile and placed it neatly, and precisely, on the wall.

"I, uh, I come by to finish the house," he stated, as if it was the most simple answer in the world.

The redhead nodded, watching her ex-husband work. After a few beats, she picked up the courage to tell him. According to their divorce papers, she was trespassing on his property because the house was never hers to begin with. "I didn't know where else to go."

Clint shook his head. "No, I'm glad… I'm glad you're here. That you felt – that you're ok."

"I need to level out," she admitted. "I thought - I thought I knew who I was, that my ledger…"

He stood up from his position and set the tools down. He met her eyes. "Just because Hydra was pulling Pierce's puppet strings, does not mean that what you did, what we did was wrong."

"Pierce was pulling SHIELD's strings, Clint. They were the ones who were telling us who to kill. Who's to say that we never killed for them."

Clint paused. Those were the same concerns that he had when he first heard about Hydra taking over SHIELD. That half, if not more than half of SHIELD was undercover for the organization that Red Skull founded under anger and thirst of power.

"I can't tell you that I know for sure we never killed for Hydra," Clint started. "But I can tell you that all those times we called the shot off because it didn't feel right – we were our own agents. We were more independent than a lot of those agents, and that made all the difference."

He did not need to voice his suspicion that Hydra may be the one that gave the order and intel that led to the Black Widow who betrayed them. He knew that his choice was not a popular one and the reason why Strike Team Delta was formed in the first place was because Pierce hoped that Natasha would turn on him and kill him for disobeying and order. He was wrong, as Phil would say, he lacked conviction.

"I put it all out there," she whispered.

"I know, I saw. Stark said he was working on scrubbing it all out, from even the deep webs from existing."

She nodded. "I don't know – I don't know who I am anymore, Clint."

He leaned against the breakfast nook he set up months ago, the one that they compromised on because he liked how this one looked in their (his?) homely kitchen. He leaned next to her, careful not to touch her, because he no longer had that right. Because he did not want to bring back the feelings that he had every time their skin connected. It would be a lie if he said he was no longer in love with her, he admitted to himself as he finished the living room that he would always love her. He was trying his best to love Laura as much, as passionately, but he knew he would never love another as he loved Natasha.

"You are Natasha," he said after a long pause. Because Hydra or SHIELD, even the Red Room, regardless of what evils she faced in the past, she was always her. Resilient, courageous, witty, brilliant – the hardships she's faced did not make her resilient or courageous, it brought those existing traits out of her. The shadows of her past did not bring her down, instead she had a unique sense of humor that he missed because he knew her enough to know the joke she would crack about something and even anticipated, he would laugh. He missed her a lot during the days, and during the nights.

He never thought he was a man who would settle down, and it was harder than he thought after the first few months when the novelty wore off. He craved adrenaline and adventure; it was all he knew from a young age. He never told Stark to deactivate his status as an Avenger because he knew that if they called, he would drop the life that was slowly turning into a facade for a chance to feel like himself again. If Natasha was lost because SHIELD fell, he was lost because Natasha left him.

She looked up at him, vulnerable. A look he was not used to seeing on her. "I don't know who I am anymore."

His heart broke a little at her vulnerability. She was lost, and it seemed at that moment, she was looking at him to find her. So he vowed, just as he had many years ago, to help her find herself.

"You're my best friend," Clint admitted earning a surprised look from Natasha. "You are Natasha."

"Do you," she paused trying to search for the words. "Would you like to go for a walk?"

Without hesitation, he nodded, wiped his dirty hands on his worn out jeans. (Laura would berate him later on for marking up another pair of jeans because of his renovation work, but he pushed that thought aside. This was bigger than everything in his world. This was Natasha.)

"Yeah."

They walked along familiar paths that they have done many a times when they stayed of the farm. Paths that Natasha refused to take in the past week that she's been staying because those were their paths. Clint was content in the silent presence of Natasha and the normalcy of it all. His heart still ached when he thought of her, but he understood her reasons, or what he thought were her reasons for ending their marriage – contract – as she called it. On the other hand, Natasha was content with Clint's support, that although he's moved on, he was still there for her. After what seemed like hours, the two sat on the highest elevation point of the property, on top of a tree and just watched the world around them. Iowa seemed so far from the terrors of New York and Washington. It was untouched by the world of espionage and the reds of their ledgers. The people there thought about the farm, their food, and how to get to the next day. Sure, there were nosy neighbors and feuds, but in the grand scheme of things, it was nothing compared to the weight that Clint and Natasha were used to dealing with.

It was a welcome change for them.

"How long do you plan on staying?" he asked her.

"I don't know," she admitted. "If you want me gone I –"

He shook his head vigorously. "No, I just wanted to know, how long you would be staying. I miss you."

She leaned on the tree that separated the branches between the two of them. He was two branches higher than her to the left, she was to the right.

"I miss you too, Clint. I'm sorry."

He extended his feet down and landed gracefully beside her, the trunk dipping a bit, but holding their weight. Clint met her green eyes with a small smile on his face.

"Friends?"

He extended his had out.

She nodded her head and met his hand. "Friends."

It was a start.

And so it begins (again). I hope you guys liked this chapter! More Clintasha to come :)

Comments and criticisms are desired.