Disclaimer: Any recognizable characters, dialogue, lyrics, and/or situations are not my own. I repeat: I do not own anything.

"…call right now and get a second pair absolutely free!"

Natasha Romanoff grumbled to herself in exasperation, angrily grabbing the high-tech universal remote—a "because you need it" gift from Tony that controlled everything from the stereo to the blackout blinds—and turned off the TV. It had been three weeks since the Avengers went their separate ways for a much needed vacation, and it had been two and a half weeks since she had begun to lose her mind. Natasha was bored. Her first few days free of S.H.I.E.L.D. had been enjoyable; she had been able to catch up on what seemed like a decade of sleep and had read the book she constantly saw in the hands of civilians, but it wasn't long before the novelty of her freedom began to wear off with boredom quickly taking its place.

Natasha hated boredom. It meant she had nothing to distract her from the thoughts she fought so hard to keep away.

Agent Coulson was dead, gone forever.

Fury had brought in a grief counselor to aid the team in their acceptance of his death, but she had never been one to share her feelings. Natasha had easily manipulated the baby-faced man into believing she had not only accepted the tragedy but moved on as well. Truthfully, she had been surprised Fury made the therapy session mandatory. It had been destined from the start to be nothing but useless. She preferred to push through Coulson's death on her own (even if it meant turning to infomercials for distraction), silently dreading the day she returned to work where he would no longer be waiting to bug her with his never ending persistence and boyish disposition. She wished she could say they had been better friends, but the truth was Natasha had never been good with relationships of any kind.

A sudden knocking on her door broke her from her somber thoughts, and Natasha immediately went on alert, angling her position on the couch to better hear who was lurking outside. She detected a barely perceptible shuffling of heavy feet—boots, she thought to herself—and a muffled male voice. Slowly she moved off the couch, swiftly moving across the room to the door. She looked through the peephole and mentally let out a sigh of relief.

"Nat, I can hear you on the other side. Aren't you going to let me in?" The gruff and slightly impatient voice of fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent Clint Barton filtered through the door.

Natasha rolled her eyes, opening the door to reveal him carrying a case of beer and a large pizza. The cheesy smell was intoxicating, her last meal having been more than twelve hours before.

"You brought food, smart man," she said, taking the cardboard box off his hands.

He greeted her with a small smile, making his weathered face look years younger. It was then that Natasha noticed he had a shallow yet long cut along his jaw line and a faint bruise across his cheekbone.

"What happened to you?"

"Oh, you know. Same thing that always happens," he replied nonchalantly, walking into her small apartment, needing no invitation.

"You went back already? What happened to taking some time off?"

"Yeah I went back. I couldn't stand sitting on my ass all day. I felt ready to snap my bow in two," he stated simply as opened two beer bottles, handing her one as he made himself comfortable on her leather couch."It didn't feel right. There was something missing."

"I know what you mean," she added, joining him. "It felt like I couldn't breathe properly."

They spent the rest of the evening polishing off the pizza, talking about nothing in particular between generous swigs of beer. Clint told her of his unsuccessful attempt to enjoy his vacation before finally giving up and returning to Fury after less than a week. She told him of the evening she spent with Tony and Bruce in an attempt to break free of her boredom. She had gone to help with their improvement of the weapons system in the Iron Man suit and had ended up witnessing the destruction of several of Tony's precious cars at the hands of a very green Bruce. In Bruce's defense it had been Tony's own fault for provoking him with jabs at everything from his mother to his manhood. Her story had them both laughing. Natasha felt more at ease with Clint than she had during her entire three weeks off. She hadn't realized how much she missed the company of the man sitting next to her.

"How have you been holding up?"

"What?" His question had caught her off guard, a rare thing for her.

"You know what I mean," he said softly.

"I've been fine," she responded. It came out a little too coolly and she saw the disbelief in Clint's face. She should have known better than to lie to him. He had witnessed too many of her interrogations to fall for her poker face.

"Okay, I'll pretend I believe that for now, but just know I'm here if you need me," he responded sincerely.

Natasha felt guilty for lying to him. She was used to manipulating without a second thought yet she always found it incredibly difficult to deceive Clint. She felt the hot pangs of remorse begin to flare in the pit of her stomach.

A few minutes passed before Natasha reluctantly relented. Clint had always been so open with her. Now it was her turn. Only Clint would be the one to bring some of her iron walls down.

"I'm not fine, not even close," she began, staring at geometric pattern on her carpet, unable to meet his eyes. "He's always been there. He was there when I started. When you brought me in," she added. "He supported your decision, but I never took the time to show my appreciation and get to know him. Now he's gone, and that could just as easily been any one of us." Natasha took a deep breath, shuddering slightly. "It could have been you." There was a moment of tense silence that filled her, making it difficult to breathe. She couldn't remember the last time she had been so rattled.

Natasha felt a warm hand tuck her vibrant hair behind her ear. "Nat, please look at me."

Slowly she raised her head to look at Clint. She felt ashamed for letting a single person's life get to her. Natasha was a trained assassin; she was used to death. But not of innocent people I know, she thought in an effort to rationalize her emotions.

Clint brushed a calloused thumb along her cheekbone as he cradled the side of her face in his hand. "I'm not going to promise you that I'm not going anywhere, but I want you to know I'm not going to leave you without a fight."

Natasha let out a small laugh. The way they fought meant it would be one hell of a fight.

"This is the life we chose for ourselves. Coulson's death is probably not going to be the last one, but we need to deal with it, learn from it. He wouldn't have wanted his death to break you."

"I know. I just feel as if we were all dangling from the edge of a cliff. I was so angry over being put in that position and now there's nothing for me to take that anger out on."

Clint gripped her face more fiercely, looking into her round blue eyes. "I trusted you to help me through what I did. Now I need you to trust me to help you."

"You won't always be there to help me."

"The important thing," he continued, "is that I am here now. We shouldn't waste it."

Natasha felt a wave of nervous excitement at the "we" in his response.

Clint continued to rub circles across her cheekbones as he held her face. Natasha couldn't help but stare at him, unable to properly read his expression. She was an expert at reading people including Clint, but for the first time she couldn't fathom his expression.

Suddenly he took her face in both of his rough hands, his thumbs working their way down to her lips. Natasha was powerless to do anything but respond by parting her lips, granting him access. There was a sharp intake of breath as she took his thumb in her mouth, and then as suddenly as he had grabbed her face Clint was kissing her.

Natasha had kissed many in her life, both men and women for both business and pleasure, but she had never felt the strange combination of euphoria and fear she felt when Clint kissed her. It was gentle, passionate, and so right that she never wanted it to end, but it did as they both ran out of air and had to break apart.

"Well that was… whoa," Clint said as he attempted to regulate his breathing.

Natasha favored him with a smile in response. It was one of the few she had given in her life that sprouted from genuine happiness. Natasha certainly was not healed from the events of the past few weeks but she knew she had Clint by her side and for her that was more than enough to make her happy and make the grieving process bearable.

"What would you say to me asking if we should take this to the other room?" Natasha asked seductively.

"I say I better ask for my vacation back."

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