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Her apartment was dark when she arrived home but she didn’t turn on the lights, just closed the door, locking it silently behind her, and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She didn’t need to, she knew the place by heart; she knew where she had left every item, knew every squeaky floorboard, but she let her eyes adjust because something wasn’t quite right.
She wasn’t alone.
There was a blanket thrown haphazardly over the back of the sofa, not folded neatly as she had left it; the remote was on one of the cushions instead of its usual place beside the television; and an empty beer bottle sat on the coffee table. These were just the most obvious changes in the living room, she was sure to find more if she ventured into the other rooms of her apartment, but they didn’t matter, not tonight. She swore she could feel his presence, surrounding her like a comforting embrace, and her lips curved up slowly into what felt like the first time she had genuinely smiled in weeks.
Abandoning her boots and jacket by the door, Natasha made no sound as she moved swiftly through the apartment to the bedroom, but even so the second she stepped through the door she heard a voice in the darkness.
“About time you got back,” it said, low and rough from sleep. She felt her whole body tingle just from his voice, every emotion she had been bottling up since she had seen him last bubbling to the surface.
“The mission didn’t exactly go as planned,” Natasha replied, stripping her shirt off over her head and throwing it into the chair in the corner. She could see his clothes already occupying the space and smiled again. She had gotten after him once about leaving his clothes all over the floor when he spent the night and apparently he had taken her words to heart.
“Yeah, I saw you on the news,” he said, and she heard the sheets rustle as he sat up. “I... couldn’t get away. I woulda only made things worse.”
She could hear the emotion in his voice, the regret that he hadn’t been with her, the underlying fear of what could have happened, and the clear relief that none of it had. She didn’t let herself look at him yet, not yet, but she knew what she would see when she did. “I know,” she said. Her bra joined the shirt and she stooped to wriggle out of her jeans and socks.
There was a moment of silence when she finished undressing where she just lingered by the chair, looking at the pile of their abandoned clothes. Then she heard his voice again, so quiet despite the silence. “Tasha...” was all he said, but in her name she heard a question, an offer, and so much more. If she needed to talk he would listen, if she needed a distraction he would provide it. She could have his ear, his body, his shoulder to cry on. Anything she asked of him he would give her, and though it had taken her a little longer to realise it they both knew she would do the same for him.
Finally she turned to face him. The streetlights outside filtered in through the window, bathing Clint in a pale yellow glow. His hair was mussed from sleep and stood up at all angles, his body just as inviting as ever and not sporting any new scars that she could see at first glance, and his expression was a mix of concern, uncertainty, and more affection than she had ever seen directed toward her by another person in her life. The steel and ice she had wrapped herself with the past few weeks faltered and she felt her shoulders sag.
“Not tonight,” she said, finally moving toward the bed. Her answer was vague, but he knew exactly what she meant. He drew back the covers for her as she slipped in beside him but did nothing else, letting her make all the moves. As much as she wanted to she didn’t kiss him, knowing she couldn’t handle such an outpouring of emotion, not tonight. Instead she turned her back on him and laid down, and despite everything she couldn’t help another faint smile when he sighed in disappointment behind her. He would give her anything, even space if that was what she wanted, but she knew he wanted to offer her some comfort in any way he could, and she knew how much he had missed her and wanted to touch her to assure himself that she was real. It was one of their things, one of their rituals after any length of time apart. It could be the simplest of touches, even just a handshake to keep up pretenses, but the physical contact was an anchor, and without it neither of them could truly relax.
“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, settling down again.
Once she felt him stop moving Natasha shifted back until she pressed against him and reached behind her, groping until she found his arm. Wrapping her fingers around his wrist she gave him a tug and he didn’t need any more prompting. Rolling onto his side Clint pressed his chest against her back, his arm going around her to hold her close for a moment. She felt his breath against her neck as he nuzzled into her hair, breathing her in, and he placed a few quick kisses along her shoulder before he finally relaxed with a noise of contentment.
“So am I,” she said, grasping his hand and bringing it to her lips to place a lingering kiss upon his fingers.
Yesterday was a memory and tomorrow a dream, so for tonight all that mattered was the moment. It wasn’t long before they both fell asleep, safe and whole again in each other’s arms.