The massage was something that Clint would definitely remember, she knew that. Dates and times weren’t really his thing, but he remembered things when it counted.

With her head pillowed on his stomach, Natasha closed her eyes and let out a content sigh when Clint started stroking his fingers through her hair while his other hand danced over her skin. It felt really nice, the touch soothing and unassuming. Her stomach clenched involuntarily when he first moved his hand to it but she soon relaxed again, softly trailing her fingertips up and down his arm.

“It’s certainly less taxing,” she said, turning her head to the side so she could look at him. She didn't ask, but the way he was touching her she was sure it wasn't the pregnancy he was trying to keep his mind off of. It had to be this place, the mission that had left him with nightmares he couldn't grasp. She wished she could help him, could tell him what he needed to know, but she was more in the dark than him.