Viktoriya Abakumov walked into her room at Stark Tower, expecting to find it empty, but being pleasantly surprised to find Clint Barton sitting on her bed. She was excited to see him. However, when turned around to face her, the let side of his shirt was soaked with blood and there was a grimace on his face. She dropped her bag in surprise and rushed over to sit on the bed beside him.

"What happened?" She asked worriedly. He tried to smile, but it didn't last long.

"Training mishap." He didn't elaborate any further, so she didn't press anymore. He would tell her if he wanted to or thought she needed to know.

"Well, why didn't you go to the hospital or something?!" She exclaimed, tempted to hit his arm like she always did, but remembering that he had been hurt so thought better of it.

"Because I didn't want a big fuss made out of it. It's really not that serious..." He trailed off, looking over at it.

"Obviously it's not. You're grimacing and the entire left side of your shirt is soaked in your blood! That is not simply what one calls 'not serious.'" I stated sarcastically, putting finger quotes around the last couple of words. He chuckled at our joke.

"It does hurt, I must admit. I just need for you to help clean it and shit." She had taken a first aid class, so she knew how to clean wounds and 'shit.'

She nodded and went to the bathroom to get the First Aid kit she kept in there and wet a washcloth. When she went back into her room, Clint was trying to maneuver his shirt over his head without hurting himself. She walked over to him and helped him get it the rest of it off. She blushed as this happened, which he responded to with a laugh.

She sat down by him again, careful not to stare, but instead, focusing on the wound on his shoulder.

"I have no idea how you did this, and quite frankly, I don't wanna know, but you should be more careful." She chided, beginning to clean the wound with the washcloth.

He gasped when Juliet touched it, no matter how lightly she did. It was still painful, even if it would help. After she finished cleaning it, she began to dress it.

She looked up, only to be met with Clint's stormy gray eyes. She stopped wrapping the bandage around his shoulder as the stare got more and more intense. Her breath hitched in her throat. Finally, he started to lean down, so she leaned up. Their lips met in their first kiss.

It was soft, gentle, tentative. He reached up with his good arm to tangle his hand in her wavy blonde hair, so she placed her hand on his right shoulder. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open and she pulled away, placing a hand over her mouth.

"What's wrong?" He asked, looking slightly rejected.

"Um, nothing." She finished wrapping up his shoulder and gave him a smile. "All done here!" She exclaimed, her voice high and squeaky.

He watched as she jumped up, grabbed her bag from off the floor, and hightailed it out of there. He sat there for a moment, confused, before jumping up himself, grabbing his shirt, and running after her. She had run down the long hallway and was in the elevator, frantically pushing the 'door close' button. By the time he had reached her, the door had closed and she was heading to God knows where.

"Why did you run?" Clint asked, coming up directly behind her.

She was in the park with her Polaroid camera, having an impromptu photo shoot of awesomeness, as she called them. When she heard his voice, she spun around, only to be met with his favorite black t-shirt.

"Because that shouldn't have happened." She said quietly, playing around with the camera in her hands, but not backing away.

"Is there a reason why?" When she didn't answer, he grabbed her chin and pulled her head up so she could look back at him. "Why?"

"Because you were never supposed to mean this much to me. I was never supposed to fall so hard. But you know what? I did and that's the truth. That's what keeps me holding on, because it hurts like hell to try and let you go." She started to tear up, so he pulled her into a hug.

"Why is it such a bad thing if we love each other?" She started to sob openly, so he rubbed her back.

"Because you don't really love me. Nobody has ever loved me, and I can't imagine anyone doing as such." This shocked him slightly; why didn't she believe him?

"You're wrong. I love you, and I want you to accept that." He requested. She only cried harder.

They just stood there, holding each other, for a long time. When she finally calmed down, he pulled back and wiped the remaining tears from her face. He kissed her again, cradling her head in his hands. She didn't pull away this time.

She finally spoke up, "If you're going to fall in love with me, it's only fair for you to know what you're falling in love with. You are falling in love with my insecurities. You are falling in love with my immaturity, my constant need to feel loved and appreciated, my constant tears, my internet obsession. You fall in love with my troubled past and my hopes and dreams, and how I'm a hopeless romantic at heart. If you fall in love with me, you fall in love with my self-hate and all my imperfections and my perception that no one could ever love me.

"But, you're also falling in love with the way my eyes and smile look when I'm with you. You're falling in love with the occasionally hilarious and thought-provoking things I say, and the way I blush when people ask me about you. But to me, the most important thing will be you falling in love with me, despite me thinking that it's impossible." She finished up with a deep breath, like a weight was suddenly lifted off of her shoulders.

He just smiled. "Good. That's exactly what I fell in love with in the first place."