So hey there. This is my first Avengers fanfic, I'm a mad Clintasha fan and I had this idea listening to the fall out boy song 'Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown on a Bad Bet'. I hope you like, it's not very cheery but whatever :)

Does He Know

Clint/Natasha

Does your husband know the way that the sunshine gleams from your wedding band?

Natasha had never seriously considered marriage, but in the rare moments she had entertained the idea, Clint had been her ideal husband. In her mind, she would never marry anybody but him. He knew her so well, knew how she thought and how she moved. He knew what made her laugh and what made her angry – in fact, he would tease and annoy her to make her angry and then laugh at her when she would hit him.

And after she had finished kicking his ass, Natasha would smile and know that she'd never be happy with anybody else, and Clint knew it too. They would stay together forever, even if they didn't get married. And that made it all seem okay.

Until she got married to somebody who wasn't Clint. His name was Agent Henderson, he worked for SHIELD and they had met on a project and were engaged after a few months. Natasha hadn't fallen into love, she had fallen into a relationship.

When Natasha told Clint she was engaged, she wouldn't have minded if he had flipped the table, smashed her things, punched a wall. Hell, she wouldn't have cared if he had punched her. She knew she deserved it. He didn't, though. She saw him clench his jaw and he seemed to go rigid, but then he smiled and he said, "Congratulations," kissing her on the cheek before he went about ordering their food.

She didn't know why but it made her want to love him instead. Just before her one year wedding anniversary, Clint and Natasha ended up in the same room together at SHIELD, doing research on a task together.

"So how's your husband?" Clint had asked rather casually.

"I don't love him," Natasha replied just as coolly.

Clint didn't even blink at her odd response. He knew her well enough to know that she was telling the truth. They had always told each other the truth and even now, it was no different.

Clint continued flipping through his file as he asked, "That's probably not ideal. Does he know?"

"That I don't love him? No," she said. "He doesn't know me at all." She wandered across the room to turn on the computer, and she could see his reflection in the monitor. She saw his eyes glance up to look at her for a moment before he looked back down.

"So why did you marry him?"

Natasha's eyebrows pulled together as she frowned. "I – I don't know."

When Clint stood and walked towards her, she saw it in the monitor and turned. His green grey eyes were sharp and focused on her when he said, "There has to be a reason. You don't just marry people for no reason."

Natasha resisted the urge to sigh at him and she instead replied smoothly, "He makes me feel safe."

"You don't need safety. You can look after yourself," said Clint, as he stepped closer.

"He makes me feel beautiful."

"You already know you're beautiful."

"He makes me happy."

"I can make you happy," said Clint, and by this point he was right in front of her, having moved closer with every word. He stood just above her, staring down at her, close enough for Natasha to see the slight stubble on his tanned skin, to see the patterns of his iris, to see he was still telling the truth.

She swallowed her nervousness, and realised that this was what made it different. She felt nervous around Clint. Nervous because she never wanted to disappoint him, never wanted to be less than perfect for him. And he was here now, staring at her, and she felt small.

Nobody else made her feel small.

So she put her hands around his neck and pulled him down to her, and she kissed him. He responded immediately, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her body against his, curves pressed against hard muscle, and Natasha felt her heart beat faster than it ever had, and she didn't know why she hadn't ever kissed him before.

Oh wait, she thought. Love is for children.

He kissed her neck and she writhed at the feeling, one hand in his hair and another on his bicep, pressed against the bench as he devoured her, and she felt her stomach twist as she realised that she was cheating. She wasn't concerned about betrayal – she was an assassin, she didn't care.

What made her sick was the fact that she was enjoying it so much. That it made her so unbelievably happy, made her feel so alive.

When Clint heard the knock on his front door, he felt a strange emotion, like the excitement and the hurt were battling to win top spot. He was always happy to see her, and he always wanted to make her happy, but it hurt him to know that he could never be with her. Not in the way he wanted.

For some reason, the relationship worked this way. Natasha being a wife, Clint being her lover. It was like an unspoken contract in which he served one purpose. Sometimes that one purpose made him happier than anybody on the planet, and sometimes it made him reach for the alcohol cupboard. But he never let her see it because she needed to be happy.

He opened the door and he saw her there, red hair curled and perfect and a small smile on her lips, and he couldn't help but smile back, ignoring the twist like a knife in his spine when he embraced her knowing that she was, all at once, entirely his and entirely not.

Because when they kissed and made love it was like nothing else could come between them and they could be happy together and Clint felt like they would be able to run away together, do anything together – and then it was over and after a few hours of holding her close under his sheets, she would get up and leave, unable to look him in the eye.

Tonight, after they finished eating, Clint made the first move. He kissed her, twisting his hand in her hair and grasping onto her waist, tighter than he knew he should, and when she pulled away and asked if he was okay, he shook his head.

"What's wrong?" she asked, frowning in her worry.

Clint didn't know how to express how he felt, so he simply told her what he knew he wanted. "You should be mine," he said quietly, brushing her hair back into its place.

Her eyes fell instantly. "Clint –"

"You don't want to be with me," he cut her off, brushing her cheek with the back of his hand gently, "But you can't live without me. And I don't know what to do. I don't know whether to tell you to leave, I don't know if I should kill your husband."

"Clint," she whispered, holding his cheek in her hand, "Clint, you make me so happy."

He breathed out, kissing her wrist as though they weren't even having the argument and he replied, "What about my happiness? Do I have to just be a part of yours?"

"You don't have to be with me," she said, and he almost pulled away when he saw a stray tear spill from the corner of her eye. "You can tell me to stop and I will stop. I'll leave."

"But you make me happy," he said, feeling his frustration bubble to the surface as he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his forehead against hers. "I – I just don't want to be a footnote in someone else's happiness. I want us to be happy together."

Unable to find a middle ground, they spent the night together anyway, and Clint knew that even if he was unhappy, being unhappy with Natasha was better than being in love with anybody else.

And somehow that made him even more sad.

Does he know the way of the crickets that would convince me to call it a night?