PTSD

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoy this one shot. Please review, it means a lot.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel or the characters, obviously. Or else why would I be here?

Natasha Romanoff woke up in the middle of the night, arms trembling, body covered with a thin layer of sweat. Another nightmare. This time it was one of the bad ones. She gingerly got out of the covers and slipped on sweatpants and a t-shirt. Still slightly shivering, she gently made her way out of her room, careful to not bother any of the other Avengers or wake them up. The last thing she wanted to do was to create a fuss.

Opting for the stairs, she made her way up silently. Natasha just needed to go up a floor. Once she got there, she crept down the long hall, cloaked in the shadows and the darkness of the night.

Reaching Clint's door, she opened it soundlessly, not wanting to disturb him. Natasha continued walking down his hall, until she reached his bedroom door and entered, wincing slightly when the door creaked. Examining the room, Natasha noticed that the walls were still covered with posters of various things, from bands to movies. There were stray pieces of clothing on the plush carpeted floor, and a bookshelf half filled with books and half filled with movies. Natasha rolled her eyes at the sight of all the movies. When she'd just joined SHIELD, Clint had made her sit through one of those per night, claiming to having to educate her on the Western culture to help her blend in, until they'd went through them all. In reality, she thinks he just wanted someone to watch a movie with.

The books though, didn't look too bad. Unlike her collection, which was rather well cared for, despite the amount of travelling she did, and was littered with novels in various languages, Clint's were all english, and most of them revolved around archery and fantasy. There were a few novels though, and she noted with a smirk that he did in fact, despite his many protests, own The Lord of the Rings.

Before she did anything else, Natasha scanned the room for any cameras, microphones or bugs that Stark may have hidden. For some reason, he was determined to prove that Clint and Natasha were sleeping together. She'd already cleansed her room last night. After getting rid of the seven cameras located in various places around Clint's room (Geez, Tony had no understanding of personal space or privacy), Natasha glanced over at Clint's sleeping form. She headed to the large chair in the corner, removed the blue blanket and sat down, curling into a ball, covered by the blanket. After a while, Clint woke up, glancing at the chair in the corner where Natasha resided in.

"Nightmare?" he asked.

She just nodded.

"What happened?" he questioned.

Natasha shook her head, not wanting to tell him. In truth it was about when he was controlled by Loki, but in the dream, Clint had been about to kill her before she had woken up. She couldn't tell him, it'll just make him feel more guilty about the brainwashing.

"Tasha," he pressed.

She shrugged her shoulders, "same old same old," she lied.

"It's not," Clint was adamant, "it's about Loki, isn't it?"

Natasha nodded slowly, "when you were under his control, and you were about to-" her voice cracked, unable to finish, and burst into at the thought of losing her best friend once again.

Clint swore under his breath. It was at times like this when he really regretted not putting an arrow through Loki's eye.

"It's alright Tasha, Loki's gone and I'm back," he comforted, "here, you can come over if you like."

Natasha timidly came over to the bed, mad at herself for burdening Clint. He was the brainwashed one, yet here they were, him comforting her, not vice versa. What kind of friend was she? She was supposed to stay strong for Clint, not have mental breakdowns once in a while with no warning.

But the thoughts disappeared when she climbed onto the bed, Clint's arms wrapped around her, comforting her. Natasha snuggled deeper into his chest, feeling the safest she had before Loki happened. And for once, she fell into a dreamless sleep.

-oOo-

The next morning, Clint woke up to bright red hair, and remembered the events of last night. He wanted to kick himself, Natasha was scared of him. Even though she didn't admit it, he'd noticed in her body language, and the way she occasionally flinched when he touched her unsuspectingly. Yet Natasha still comforted him whenever his nightmares became too much to bear, still participated in their mindless chatter, and managed to make sarcastic comments every now and then.

Natasha snuggled deeper into Clint's chest, too tired to break free or make a retort when Clint pulled her closer. For the first time in so long, she felt safe.

Eventually getting up and dragging herself out of bed, she asked Clint, "coffee?"

He nodded, and pulled on a pair of pants and a t-shirt.

They made their way to the elevator, heading higher and higher, surrounded basking in the comfortable silence.

Clint finally broke the tranquility, "are you still scared?" he didn't add 'of me,' but he knew Natasha understood.

"No, not any more," she replied truthfully, sinking back into his arms.

They jolted apart as the elevator pulled to a halt, and made their way to the kitchen, where the rest of the Avengers were. Tony, Bruce and Steve were sitting at the counter in the middle of the room, discussing the events of the battle. It'd been two days since the battle of New York, and it was clear to even a stranger that the Avengers were pretty shaken. Thor was off world, at Asgard with Loki, but had promised to return soon.

"Hi Legolas, Natasha," Tony acknowledged.

"Hey, why doesn't Tasha here have a nickname?" Clint exclaimed.

"Because she'll probably kill me if I give her one," Tony retorted, "she's scary."

Natasha just smirked, but without her usual energy, and headed over to the coffee machine.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked, the bags under her eyes were still there, and she was rather gaunt.

"Peachy," she replied, grabbing her coffee, "I'm going back to my room."

It didn't fail to escape any of the Avengers that the hand holding her coffee was shaking, and the other in her pocket, probably gripping on to a gun or weapon of sort.

Once she was out of ear shot, they bombarded Clint with questions, "what happened? Is she alright? Why has she been like this since the battle?"

He sighed, "calm down, I'll explain, but you can't tell her I told you."

Everyone stopped talking, even Tony, as Clint grabbed a chair and slid into a seat.

"Natasha has been suffering from nightmares and PTSD ever since the battle of New York. She doesn't get much sleep, and is, though she won't admit it, really shaken at how close we were to losing, and the fact that I was going to kill her," he explained.

"Wait, I just want to know, and she'll probably never answer this question if I ask her, but how old is she exactly?" Tony asked.

"Twenty one," Clint replied smoothly.

Steve exclaimed, "twenty one? She shouldn't be losing sleeping because of PTSD, she should be pulling an all nighter for college or something!"

Bruce nodded in agreement, "I knew she was probably the youngest among us, but twenty one?"

Clint shrugged, "she's been through a lot, and I did recruit her when she was eighteen, so it's been three years, give or take. Don't treat her any different though, she'll probably kill you if you give her special treatment. And Tony, no birthday parties. She hates celebrating her birthday."

"Why?" he asked, annoyed.

"It's an awkward time of the year. She's usually in a bad mood, because it marks her surviving the red room for another year. Treat it like any normal day and you'll be fine. Perhaps not unscathed, but fine. I'm leaving," he made his way to the elevator, probably off to find his partner.

The rest of the Avengers just sat there, shocked. Then started discussing the enigma that was Natasha Romanoff.