For notes and disclaimer, please see part one.

Previously: Natasha escapes her captors in the middle of the SHIELD rescue operation. Reunited with Clint, they take down Anton Volodin.

While Fury had wanted to write her up for disobeying orders, Clint argued—valiantly and rightly—that Natasha had been through enough. After all, she'd been kidnapped and tortured. After thirty minutes of blustering, Fury relented, leaving her with an order not to leave without permission ever again, and that she was to take the next two weeks off… mostly because the SHIELD doctors wouldn't let Clint come back to active duty until then, and there was no point in breaking up one of the most successful teams they had.

Natasha was glad that Clint had insisted on having the briefing before they left Russia. She wasn't sure how Fury would've reacted in person but, over the computer, it wasn't too bad. And afterward, there was a long flight back to the States.

Clint settled into his chair early, ensuring that his throbbing leg was propped up and comfortable. He felt—finally—at ease. His partner, on the other hand, didn't look it. "What is it?"

She glanced at him from across the aisle, blinking. "What?"

He nodded to the empty seat beside him, thankful that Fury had at least opted to send them back in style, on a private jet.

Reluctantly, she moved to sit beside him. "Why did you come?"

"Because you're my partner. That's what partners do."

"But, your leg…"

He shrugged. "So I get yelled at by the docs at my next check up. Fury's yelling at you was much worse."

"You could've hurt yourself worse."

"You could've died out there by yourself."

She fell silent.

"By the way, I appreciate your being kind on the alias. While it wasn't one of your typical ones, 'Black, Willow,' was kind of cool."

She looked at him curiously.

"What?"

"That wasn't… that wasn't the alias I used to fly out."

"Don't pull my leg, 'spider, it's broken."

"I'm not. I used Sharon Clinton."

Clint's eyes grew wide. "No way."

"Sharon has parts of Natasha and Romanoff in it, and Clinton… well…"

Clint was easily able to tell it was his first and part of his last name. "Nat," he breathed. "You're telling me it was sheer, dumb luck that I found you?"

She smiled a little. "I still contend that's how you found me in Budapest."

"Just… do me a favor, all right? So I don't have to press my luck anymore… Next time you think you have to go off, for whatever reason, take me with you." He paused, realizing that Fury hadn't even asked the question he was about to ask. "Why did you leave anyway?"

She settled into the seat, leaning against him lightly, with her head on his shoulder. "I thought that… that someone I had wrongly, accidentally harmed before needed help. I was trying to balance my ledger."

"I can help you with that," he told her for what felt like the millionth time.

"The more you help me, the more I owe you, the more out of balance it becomes."

Clint let his fingers get lost in her soft hair. "I'm your partner. You don't have to write down what I do for you in your ledger."

"You know I can't do that."

"I know," he murmured. Sighing slightly, he chastely kissed the top of her head. "Owing me is better than the alternatives, though, right?"

She was silent for a moment. "I don't know… you keep pressing that dumb luck, you may need more of my help."

"See? Exactly."

"Get some rest, Barton."

"You, too, Nat," he said, wrapping her up in his arms, keeping her close.

While she thought about moving, she didn't. In all her years of moving about, of going wherever work took her, he was starting to feel like home. And besides, maybe he was right.

Maybe.

End.