Clint still had no fucking idea what to do, how to even approach Natasha after this unexpected crisis when he heard the shower going. After first figuring, she just needed a moment on her own herself, he was on his feet so fast that the chair knocked over when he heard some much more alarming noise from the room. He didn't even bother closing the door when he rushed back in.

Literally in the last moment before he could just open the door to check on her, he held himself back with all but force... This wasn't like one of the breakdowns he had been through with her before.

This time he was the fucking reason. And if she didn't want to see him now, he was the only one to blame.

"Nat?" His voice sounded just as lost and helpless as he felt. "Can I... Do you need anything? Can I come in?"

It was a plead, with just as much desperation as the hate he felt for himself even more now shining through, for making her feel like that, for upsetting her so much. He had no idea how to make up for that, if he could make up at all, but there was no way, he wouldn't try. Just a few minutes he had given himself that as one of his few positive traits, after all. He never gave up something before it was over. And certainly not on the woman he loved.

"Please, Nat, I... I'm sorry. I'm not fucking going anywhere, I told you that, remember? Give me a chance to talk this through, please."