Natasha was very skilled in manipulation and seduction, but she never used those skills against Clint. This was different, this wasn’t to get information or anything malicious; this was to get his mind off of everything, to remind him of everything he had, and she knew he knew exactly what she was doing. He could have easily brushed her off but he accepted the comfort and distraction she offered gladly, and even seemed to appreciate her efforts.

She leaned into his touch, opening her eyes to look at him so close. His eyes were closed but he didn’t need them to see her, to trace the planes of her face with the rough pad of his thumb. She knew that, like her, he had it memorized.

She had removed her jacket but she still wore her boots and his scarf when he walked them over to the sofa. Laying down with him she curled up much as she had at one point last evening, her face buried against his chest and the rest of her body pressed close against him. She said nothing, just listened to the sound of his breathing, his heartbeat. She liked this space, this old house that Clint had saved and was remodeling. It didn’t matter where they were, though, because it was in his arms that she was home.