Somewhere in the course of the last minutes Clint's arm had crept around Natasha's waist, he found, when he shook off his melancholy. The streets below were slowly filling with the first habitants running their errands and a few joggers down by the beaches. They should be getting on their way back if he didn't want Natasha to catch a sunburn on the first day already.

Some things there always had to be time for, though, like leaning to her to rest his lips tenderly against her temple. She hadn't said anything and he didn't need to either. He just wanted her to know.

"That shower sounds pretty nice now", he just murmured into her ear, maybe a little rougher and deeper than absolutely necessary, and brought himself to leave his little nest then and head back to the stairs.

The sidewalks around the viewing terrace were filling with tourist market stands by now and curious eyes followed their steps. A few men tried to sell them music cassettes, china made jewelry, supposedly original volcano rocks and fake tattoos. Clint was so used to ignoring them that he hardly looked up.

But he couldn't help but grin when an especially persistent gigolo proposed several times to draw Natasha's picture, praising her classy, elegant features, finding all kind of creative comparisons for her hair color. By the time they left the stand behind, he was close to giving her his service for free.

"You make quite an impact, red."