That evening at dinner, Clint sat at the end of the table again, watching with an empty feeling as Natasha chattered and laughed with Steve. Once again, he had no appetite, and only pushed his food around his plate without interest.

It was no use. Natasha would never regain her memories; in fact, the fake ones were probably permanent already. Nothing he could do would ever change that.

He thought back to that day in the hotel when she had told him how much she trusted him. How she knew he always had her back, and never gave up trying.

She was wrong.

Sadness threatening to drown him, Clint pushed back his chair and walked quickly out of the kitchen. Being with her was too painful. He would just go to bed.

He was halfway down the hall when a voice stopped him.

"Wait, Barton."

She sounded so much like herself that he turned around eagerly, but she winced when he looked at her and took a step back. His heart sank again.

"What is it?" he asked, disappointed.

She hesitated and bit her lip, looking confused. "Just… where are you going?"

"To bed."

"But don't you want to…" She gestured towards the kitchen.

Clint shook his head. "No." He held her gaze for a moment longer before turning again and continuing down the hall. She didn't try to stop him, but he could feel her eyes on his back as he stepped into the elevator.

As he rode down to his floor, an ember of hope glowed inside him. She had stopped him, she had wanted him to stay. Surely that meant she was starting to remember?

But the ember burned out as quickly as it was lit. Even if she gradually started to remember bits and pieces, there was no way she could remember everything in just two weeks. That is, if the memories hadn't set in already.

Clint went into his room, changed, and crawled into bed. As he lay there in silence, he thought back on all his memories of Natasha. How they'd been a team. And even more than that.

And he knew they could never have that again. Even if she eventually learned to tolerate him, she would never want to spend time with him, let alone go on missions with him. Not after everything she thought he'd done.

Clint closed his eyes and let exhaustion wash over him, glad to escape from his gloomy reflections and go to sleep.

olxlo

He suddenly jerked awake at a knock at his door. He rolled over heavily and looked at his clock. It was just past midnight.

"Come in," Clint called hoarsely.

His door swung open, and Natasha walked into the room.

Clint sat bolt upright. "What is it?" he asked quickly.

She didn't answer right away. Then she took a deep breath. "I was just – in my room and I found this."

She held out her hand, and the moonlight glinted off a silver arrow necklace.

Clint gazed at it, remembering when he'd given it to Natasha; just before she'd left for a mission with Steve in DC. A good memory.

Suddenly, Natasha covered her face with her hands. "I remember everything," she said brokenly. "I don't know what to say, Clint. I'm so, so sorry." She fell silent, her shoulders heaving with emotion.

Clint stood up, looking at her in disbelief. He vaguely wondered if he was dreaming.

"You… you really remember?" he found himself saying.

A tiny sob escaped her.

Clint stepped forward. Carefully, he lifted his hands and took hold of her shoulders.

She didn't flinch.

It was as if a wall had been broken down, and all his emotions came flooding through. He pulled her to him and hugged her tightly. She wrapped her arms securely around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder.

Clint squeezed his eyes shut and raised a hand to his face as tears began to stream out of his eyes.

Natasha turned her face into his neck. "Don't cry," he felt her murmur, even as her own tear dropped onto his shoulder.

"You're back," was all he could say.

After several minutes, Clint pulled back, studying her face anxiously. "Are you okay? I mean, all those memories… that's pretty major, do you feel okay? Do you have a headache? Do you-?"

His words were cut off suddenly as Natasha pressed her mouth to his. He froze in surprise, then responded with enthusiasm, moving his hands down to her waist as she raked her fingers through his hair.

Natasha pulled away, smiling up at him. "I've never been better."

Clint grinned back and pulled Natasha onto his bed. He leaned against the headboard and put his arm around her as she curled up at his side.

Natasha looked up into his face. "You're smiling," she said mischievously. "Haven't seen that in a while."

Clint tried to remember the last time he'd smiled. He was pretty sure it had been in the hotel, before they'd found Mayer in the warehouse.

"So, your false memories. What was it like?" he coaxed.

Natasha furrowed her brow in concentration. "It was like… whenever I thought of a time when I was hurt, I thought of you, like you were… synonymous with pain, somehow. And I can still remember the false memories, but they seem dimmer now. And they're getting fainter the longer I'm with you."

"Then you should never go away from me again," Clint said, leaning his head against hers.

Suddenly, she sat up, looking at him anxiously. "Clint… about Chicago. You were right. They told me I had to make you believe me, or they would kill you. So I did, but… you didn't really believe me, did you?" She searched his face worriedly.

Clint pulled her back to him again. "Not for one second," he said reassuringly; and he felt her relax. "I was acting because I could tell how much you needed me to believe you. But now I wish I hadn't, because then they wouldn't have taken you back to Russia."

"Well, it turned out alright, didn't it?" Natasha murmured contentedly.

Clint looked down at her as she relaxed calmly against him, her hair tumbling across his chest. And not afraid of him. Wanting to be with him. He was still worried that he would wake up and realize it was all a dream.

"Yes," he replied. "It did turn out alright."

And he swore to himself that he would never take Natasha for granted again.

Several minutes passed in silence. Clint savored the time with her, time he'd thought he would never have again.

Eventually he looked down and saw that her eyes were closed.

"Tasha?" he mumbled sleepily.

She didn't reply.

Clint gently brushed her hair off her forehead. "I love you," he whispered, as drowsiness settled over him.

olxlo

When Clint woke up, it took him a moment to remember why he was so happy. Then he opened his eyes and saw Natasha, and he remembered.

They were lying in his bed, back to front, with Clint's arms wrapped protectively around Natasha's waist. The memories of the conversation from the night came flooding back, and Clint was relieved to find that it hadn't been a dream.

He lifted his head and looked at Natasha. She was still asleep, and breathing deeply. She looked utterly relaxed and peaceful, and as Clint watched, a tiny smile played at her lips.

He smiled blissfully to himself, then decided to get up and change into his clothes. He started to extricate himself from Natasha, but as soon as he moved his arms, her grip on them tightened.

Clint chuckled under his breath and managed to slip his arms out of her grasp. Then he slid out from under the warm covers and changed in the brisk room.

Just as he finished, there was movement from the bed. Clint looked over, and saw Natasha roll onto her back and reach to the other side of the bed. Suddenly, she sat upright, her eyes wide with fright.

When she saw Clint, she sighed in relief and flopped onto her back again. "Don't scare me like that, Clint," she groaned.

"Sorry," Clint said with a grin. "You hungry?" His stomach growled, and he realized he was truly hungry for the first time in days.

"You bet." Natasha sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, stretching. Then she stood up. "I'm gonna go get dressed. You go ahead, I'll be upstairs in a sec."

His reluctance must have shown in his face, because she laughed. "Wow, don't look so excited about it," she joked, drawing closer to him. "It's just right down the hall. I'll be up in like thirty seconds."

"I know," Clint said, moving his hands up her arms. "I just feel like… if I let you out of my sight, something will happen, like you'll forget."

"I'm not going to forget," Natasha said with conviction. "And if I did, you could just wave my necklace in front of my eyes."

She smiled impishly at him as she ducked out of his arms and exited the room.

Clint was glad she was so confident, but he couldn't help feeling doubtful as she vanished down the hallway. He'd only just found her, and he didn't want to lose her again.

olxlo

Clint paced nervously around the kitchen, repeatedly glancing at the door. Tony, Steve, and Bruce watched his movements in confusion, but refrained from commenting.

Then Clint heard footsteps coming towards the door He stopped pacing and watched the doorway expectantly.

Seconds later, Natasha walked into the room. Clint took one look at her face and sighed in relief. He knew then that he wouldn't have to worry about her regaining those false memories ever again.

"Sleep well, Natasha?" Bruce asked as she slid into a seat.

"Actually, yeah, I did," she replied.

"No nightmares, then?" Bruce added.

"Nope," Natasha said. "No nightmares."

She and Clint exchanged a secret smile, both knowing that last night had not been a night for bad dreams. It had been a night for good memories.

If you made it all the way to the end of this story, go you! That was a fun ride! I hope the ending was okay - hope it didn't seem rushed, or lackluster.

Also, whether you've been here since I posted Chapter One or you just found this story yesterday, I would love to hear from you! What did you think of 'Reclaimed'? :)