A/N: I had another story I was working on but it's kind of stalled out at the moment and this one was just begging to be written so here we are! As always, I own nothing.

"Do you really believe that? That love is for children?" She hadn't heard him approach and would have been startled enough by his presence, let alone the question.

"How did you…?"

"I watched the security footage."

"You what? Why?" She had meant to ask how he managed to sneak up on her but ok, she thought, let's start with this.

"I had to, Nat, I had to know."

"You should have just let things be, Clint."

"Don't tell me you wouldn't want to know if it were you. You would want to know every little detail."

"Ok fine," she conceded, "but that doesn't mean it'd be the right thing to do."

"But you'd do it anyway."

"Yes I would."

"Ok then. So tell me. Do you really believe that?"

"Hold up."

"What now?"

"You weren't part of that. It was just me and Loki. You were off… somewhere else."

"Well technically I was part of it seeing as I was a topic of discussion."

"Clint," she said dangerously, and he knew he wouldn't get any response out of her unless he was honest, too.

"Fine. Well. There was something off about you, after everything with Loki and even after the battle, even now still. And that comment about being compromised. I had to know what he said to you, what could have that effect on you. I know you well enough to know that it had to be something major to shake you at all, let alone as much as it did."

She was silent. Sometimes she hated how well they knew each other, how in tune they were. Not only was it impossible to hide anything from him, but his honesty meant she had no choice but to be honest, as well, no matter how much she didn't want to. He had opened up, so she had to, too. She owed him that.

"It wasn't some… teacher or trainer or anything like that, that first taught me that. It was my own father. He was tucking me in one night and I told him I loved him and he told me love is for children. I was confused because I was still a child and angry because I thought it meant he didn't love me. Within a week he was dead. It wasn't until after that that I fully realized what he meant by it. He must have known even then he was going to die soon, and he was trying to teach me one last lesson before the end, no matter how painful. He was trying to warn me that love is a liability and will hold you back, that love is for those who have the luxury of a safe and happy and normal life, that loving him would hurt me so it was better if I simply didn't even if it destroyed him to see me so angry at him. And he was trying to tell me that soon I wouldn't get to be a child anymore, that I was going to have to learn how to be an adult and take care of myself, which meant giving up things like love in order to survive. So it became my mantra. Every time I hesitated about a kill because look, he has a family or seems like in another world he might be a decent person, I told myself love is for children. Every time I felt myself getting attached to a beautiful or exotic location or routine, I told myself love is for children. And every time I think back to what my life might have been if my parents had had different lives, or even had just managed to survive the ones they did have, I tell myself love is for children. My father could never give me much but when he said that he gave me the most important gift – something to keep me going even when I don't have anything or anyone else to rely on. I know he was protecting me in the only way he could, gave me the best shield I could ever have."

She hadn't intended to say all that, just to say it was something her father told her and leave it at that. But once she started speaking it all came flowing out, things she had never told anyone but herself and even then just barely. And now that she had let it out she wasn't quite sure how she felt. It was like she had lost something of herself by letting all those unspoken thoughts free, but she had gained something, too, even if she wasn't quite sure what yet. Somewhere along the way she had sat down on her bed, but she was breathing heavily and still very tense, ready to spring into action in a second. Clint sat beside her now and at the touch of his hand on her arms she relaxed slightly. She looked into his eyes and saw that though he would never really understand he still understood better than anyone else ever would.

"Natasha."

She turned away at the sound of her name and was fighting with the urge to leave, to run away, even though it was her room. But he wouldn't let her go so easily. He turned her body toward him and took her other arm in his free hand.

"Natasha," he said again, "I love you."

She looked into his eyes again and she knew he was telling the truth, and part of her hated him for it. But part of her wanted more than anything to be able to say it back.

Instead she said, in a barely audible whisper, "I can't give it up just like that."

"I know."

"I wish that I could, sometimes. But it's been part of me for so long and in a way it's who I am. I don't know if I'll ever be able to let go of it, not completely. Maybe someday, but not yet, not now."

"If that day ever comes, I'll be here."

"I know."