Closer

Summary: Set directly after the end of the film: Natasha follows Clint back to his apartment to discuss the past couple of days.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, Hawkeye or Black Widow.

A/N: I have a very, very bad obsession with Clint and Natasha at the moment. Well, not just that but I have an obsession with Jeremy Renner and Scarlett Johansson and believe that they should just get married now! Anyway, this was a sudden burst of inspiration after watching The Avengers for the second time in cinema – definitely much better the second time than the first. But yeah, hope you like it.

They stood side by side for a moment, watching as Steve saddled up his motorbike and Bruce got into Tony's flash convertible. Thor had disappeared with Loki in a flash of blue light leaving the desolate destruction of Manhattan behind them. Watching as their remaining team members drove away they knew this wouldn't be the end – there would be times in the future where the Avengers were needed to help fight, defend, the world from whatever lay out there. But as of now, there were no Avengers. They didn't work for SHIELD, they didn't owe them anything. They would go back to their own lives, Tony to his tall billionaire, playboy skyscraper, Bruce would find a way of not reverting to the Hulk and use his powers to help people and Steve would finally take the next step into the world, seeing what was out there and how much it had changed – he had a whole new adventure ahead of him. That left Natasha and Clint, standing there alone in Central Park, the last reminding members of the team, left to serve SHIELD until disaster struck again. After a moment of silence, they finally turned to each other.

'Well, this has been one hell of an experience,' said Clint.

'It has,' Nat replied turning to SHIELD's black sedan waiting for them. 'Where are you heading to now?'

Clint walked to the other side of the car, 'I was thinking you and I head back to mine. Maybe have a couple of drinks, relax, mull over everything we've been through in the past few days? What do you think?'

He watched as she gave him a smile and nodded at his suggestion. He, better than anyone, noticed the small differences in her during moments like these, such as the way her face would light up when she gave a genuine, heart-warming smile. But he also might have known her too well because she was so deceptive sometimes he could never be sure. He lowered his shades and peered above them seeing her in the clear daylight, he asked, 'Was that a smile, Nat?' Opening the door on her side, she glared at him across the roof of the car. He smiled at himself but carried on, teasing her none the less, 'It was wasn't it. I got a smile out of Natasha Romanoff. Nice.'

She smiled again but this time it was playful, light-hearted, a response to his mockery, 'Just get in, Barton.'

They arrived at Clint's apartment as the day grew late. His loft was spacious, a penthouse taking up the top floor of a converted warehouse, it over looked the lower east side in all its glory. It was nothing fancy, open planned, empty, except for the assorted furniture that was dotted around. It wasn't the first time Natasha was here either, after missions they would normally retire here to mull over the events past and enjoy the lights of New York that shone brightly against the harsh darkness.

Making herself at home, she perched on the edge of Clint's battered leather couch as she peeled off her tan jacket. Clint made his way to a wooden unit, opening the bottom cupboard before pulling out a bottle of clear liquor.

'Russian Vodka?' he asked. It was typical, maybe a little stereotypical but it made her feel at home and he enjoyed its strong, harsh taste. After a mission, like the previous day's events, he relished in being able to feel something. The physical pain from battle turned everything into a blur, the fighting, the hardship, everything merged into one but the quenching taste of the vodka pulled him into reality reminding him he was still here - alive.

Pouring himself and Natasha a half full glass, he handed one to her. She took a swig of it and he could see the tension from her body proving the harsh alcohol was working. He took a seat on the couch next to her, starring at her profile as she gazed out of his window as the sun dipped behind the buildings of New York. Across her face, he could see the faint hints of a blue bruise against her cheekbone. It was masked under a heavy coat of foundation but he could still see the outline pressed against her otherwise flawless features.

He could see she was agitated and that something had been praying on her mind for a while now. Since the end of the mission yesterday she was quiet around him, distant, this was the first time they were alone together since his 'cognitive recalibration' in the aircraft carrier.

She finally stood up and began walking around his apartment, the glass of vodka cupped between her hands, the slow setting sun created a shadow silhouette of her as she walked away from him towards the window, 'I came back for you, you know?'

Clint sat back against the couch, head tilted to one side. 'What do you mean?'

She stood still for a moment, the air around them silent and waiting, 'I was in Russia… in the middle of a mission. There was a call from Coulson… All he said was that you had been compromised. I dropped everything,' she paused for a moment and he could see her body tense up, 'and I came back. '

He watched her, alone, isolated from everything as she stood, the sun's glow created a yellow trace around her shadowed outline. 'You came back for me?' He knew her better than that. They had been partners for years – she would never abandon a mission for any reason what so ever. And he definitely would never have expected her to abandon a mission just for him.

'Yeah,' her reply finally came. It was soft, almost like a whisper in the cool night's air that surrounded them, 'Just for you.'

Unable to bear the silent tension between them, he finally stood from the couch and walked towards her, crossing the space between them. He drank the rest of the vodka, feeling the cool yet burning sensation as it went down, and left the glass on the table as he passed it.

He stood behind her for a moment, examining her, the way she held herself. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest protectively, the glass hanging from the tips of her fingers. Her red hair hung limply around her face framing her in a fire-y glow. Finally, he reached out and placed his hand lightly on the back of her neck. His cool fingers caused her to shiver for a moment, but she soon relaxed under his grip and rolled her head back against him.

'Thank you,' he finally said.

'For what?' He looked down at her, her head still leaning back against his hand, her eyes closed, embracing the moment between them.

'Coming back for me,' he paused, contemplating to himself for a moment. 'And saving me.'

She opened her eyes and turned to look up at him smiling, 'I owed you.'

'And now you don't any longer – thank you.'

She turned to face him, his hand slipping off the back of her neck. 'I will still always be there for you. We're partners, you and I – a team.' She leant forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. It was a comfort hug more than anything but she still nuzzled against his chest breathing him in.

'I am sorry I hurt you.' He began wrapping his arms around her and rested his chin on top of her head. It already hurt him inside remember what he'd done to her and it hurt even more talking about it. 'I didn't want to. I could see what I was doing and… I remember not wanting to…. I remember trying to stop myself but I couldn't and that scared me. The thought of hurting you, scared me.'

The air suddenly grew still around them. She tensed her body in his arms, frightened for a moment as the memories came flooding back. Her and Clint alone, on the bottom levels of the aircraft carrier, his eyes a demonic blue, cold and heartless, nothing like the Clint she came to know and love. They had trained together for so long, they knew each other's weaknesses and strengths but this was different. Before it was training, it was for fun, it was a game but the moment he took his first swing at her she knew this was different. There was suddenly determination in his punch that she'd never seen or felt before – for a brief moment she thought he would actually kill her and that frightened her more than anything.

'Did you tell him?' she finally said, muffled against him as they held each other in the, now, darkness of his apartment. The sun had set fully in the distance and only the dim glow of the other apartment buildings created a halo of light around them.

'Who?'

'Loki, did you tell him about me?'

He paused for a moment, thinking, staring off into the distance contemplating. There were moments from when he was under he could remember and there were others that drew a blank. He could remember fighting Natasha; he could remember it vividly, because it was the last thing that happened but before that he couldn't be sure. There were distant memories of a dark cavern, a bunker of some kind, maybe and Germany but he couldn't be sure. 'I… can't remember. I am not sure. Why?'

She tilted her head up to look at him and he lifted a hand to brush away a strand of her red hair. Their eyes were locked, gazing into each other. He could see fear and sadness behind her green eyes. Her face gave nothing away, he knew she hid her emotions; it was part of the job, to not let your emotions get to you, to not let them be used against you. But this once, she gave away everything – her fear for him, her feelings for him. 'He threatened you. He threatened me with you, he used you against me. He said that he wouldn't kill you. Only not until he let you kill me… 'slowly and intimately', and then he'd set you free but only so that you could see what you'd done.'

'I could never do that.' He wrapped his arms around her tighter, showing he'd never let her go. 'I would never hurt you.'

'But you weren't you.' He could hear her voice echoing and shaking with fear.

'But I am now and he's gone – there is no one controlling me which means I could never hurt you. You mean too much to me… as a partner and as a friend.'

He could feel her smile against him as she dropped her head. He tilted his head down to kiss to top of her head. There was a moment of calm between them. They were finally on the same level again. They trusted each other and they knew that other cared about them. Their whole relationship was built around trust. He held all of his trust in her the moment he defied direct orders not to kill her and from then on she owe him – owed him her life, her loyalty, her trust and they worked well together because of it. There was no secret between them, they had fought each other, they knew each other and they respected each other because of it.

'I should get going,' she finally broke the silence between them, breaking their embrace as she moved away.

He watched as she moved across the threshold to the couch where she'd left her coat. He suddenly felt lost and empty without her in his arms, like there was something missing.

'It's late, why don't you stay here?' he called out after her.

She turned, her hair a blur of red, as she looked over her shoulder, a sly smile pulling across her face. 'I do have my own place you know'

He relaxed and walked over to her, 'Yeah but it's on the other side of town.' He put a hand on her arm, lighting pulling her back towards him stopping her from leaving. 'Stay here tonight.'

She stared back at him for a moment, a sudden turmoil filling up inside of her. She wanted to stay, she wanted to be with him tonight but as friends, there was too much unstable ground between them she didn't want to disturb. 'You do know that what happened in Budapest was a onetime thing right?'

'Yeah I know,' he said reluctantly. 'I… I just don't want you to go.'

She looked up at him, his sweet, innocent features. He'd been through a lot recently, more than she had – she had almost lost a friend, he had almost lost his mind. Submitting herself was the least she could do, help a friend, be there for him, comfort him as friends do.

They night grew late and they were both worn out, physically and mentally, and they found themselves moving from his living room to the bedroom. They'd slept together before – not in a physical sense but in the same bed. They had been on missions together which forced them to go undercover or after a mission they've have done as they had tonight and sat and talked about everything before falling asleep.

'I found it strange that you brought up Budapest,' Clint said from the one side of his spacious bedroom.

'Really?' Nat replied, 'because it doesn't surprise me that you and I don't remember it the same.'

He laughed to himself as the memories came back to him, 'It was our first proper mission together wasn't it? We had to pretend we were a married couple and get information out of this guy.'

'And what did you think a good undercover name was, again?'

He glared at her from across the room shaking his head in shame. 'Mr and Mrs Smith,' he mumbled softly, hoping that the moment of shame would soon pass over.

'Yeah, and that wasn't conspicuous enough,' she replied sarcastically.

'I thought it was funny at the time.'

Nat was sat down on her side of the bed looking over her shoulder at him, 'You still think it's funny, Clint.'

He shrugged to himself, smiling, 'true.'

As she took off her shirt, she winced as it came up to her shoulder. From the other side of the bed Clint could see the red cut across her shoulder blade. It wasn't bleeding but was a bright red surrounded by a bruising blue. Crawling across the bed he sat behind her, took the shirt out of her hands and helped her ease it off, lifting it from the bottom until it slid off her smooth skin, up over her arms.

'Thank you,' she said courteously not realising he wasn't moving from behind her. He was kneeling on the bed, legs either side of her hips. Bending down, slowly, he placed a light kiss at the crook of her neck, his hands resting lightly on her waist.

'Don't,' she protested quietly, uncertainty lingering on her lips. She wanted it but she knew she shouldn't. She hadn't stayed because she knew this was going to happen, she might have had an inkling that the stress would cause them to pull at each other but she expected herself to be more disciplined.

'Please,' he whispered lifting his lips up to her ear, a hand brushing aside her red hair. Her bare back pressed against his chest and he could feel the warmth between them. He was cautious that her body was bruised and battered but so was his, with every small movement he could feel his muscles tighten under his skin. He didn't care though, he wanted to put all his worries aside and be with her. He wanted to blame the stress but he knew that wasn't it. He had almost lost her and she had almost lost him. Together they made a team, apart they were lost, unsure of their surroundings, open and exposed. Together they made each other feel safe and he wanted to make her to feel safe, here and now, let her know that he was himself, that he would never hurt her and that he was here to protect her.

They sat there, together, still, for a moment. Thoughts running through her head contemplating the situation but unable to resist any longer she tilted her head to the side meeting his, her nose brushing against the side of his cheek. Lifting a hand up she turned his head and pulled his lips down onto hers kissing him lightly at first, questioning the moment, until it didn't matter any longer. She turned to mirror him, kneeling on the bed in front of him. Her arms traced his bare shoulder and snaked their way around his neck to the back of his head, hands trailing into his short, cropped hair. His hands, resting on her waist, moved graciously across the lines of her back, one hand dipping down to the curve of her arse.

The last time they were in a situation like this it was four years ago in Budapest. That time they hadn't anticipated anything would happen, they were on a mission, a task set out for them by SHEILD. They were to pull a long con, infiltrate a Hungarian underground operation as foreign investors – a couple named Mr and Mrs Smith. They were reaching the end of their mission, having collected enough information to call for backup and take down the operation, instead, the leader of the opposition invited Mr and Mrs Smith to his country mansion for drinks, a 'celebratory party' he called it. There was dinner, drinking, socialising and no way of hiding the fact that they were slowly convincing themselves that their fake relationship was in fact real. It was late, they had drunk too much and it was a one off thing. A night of pure passion and bliss which they had to convince each other was merely the roles they were playing and not real emotions.

But as of this moment between them - they were unsure. Everything felt real and genuine – every kiss, every caress, every moment between them brought them closer. Not just as partners, but as people. She wanted this, she wanted to feel his arms around her, she wanted to feel protected for once in her life. For once she didn't want to be in control, she wanted to take the back seat and embrace the moment. He would be lying if he ever said he never wanted her again since then, wanted to kiss her deeply and mean it, trace the outline of every curve and dip of her body. He wanted to make her feel the way she made him feel – weak at the knees and helpless in her presence.

And in the dim glowing light of New York, they slept together, in each other's arms, comforting each other, embracing each other. The moment lasted as long as they could make it. For a couple of master assassins they had learnt to live in the moment, never knowing when would be your last, and they treated this moment no differently. As of then they were Clint and Natasha but when the sun rose on a new day and they were forced to carry on with their lives they would turn back into Hawkeye and Black Widow and finally have to deal with this situation between them. But for now, they were happy to live in the moment, in each other's moment.