Though Clint still wasn't in a mood to get up, get out from this most comfortable, private situation... When Natasha seemed to drift into a light kind of sleep after all, he decided to make use of the few minutes for necessary duties.

Very carefully, to not disturb her, he squirmed out from under her and pulled the blanket all over her body. He leaned down for a soft kiss on her forehead to let her know he wasn't going anywhere far and quickly scurried over to the door and downstairs.

The air in the stairway was uncomfortably chilly and he cursed himself for not having brought a jacket, but at least the generator in the cellar had mercy with him. It came back to life after two newly adjusted screws and a hard hit on the roof. It wouldn't last forever but it would do for a while.

When he went back upstairs, he was trembling and was quick to close the door behind him, hoping the radiators would soon come back to life.

He didn't want to go back to touching Natasha with cold hands and stayed at the window for a few long moments, lights still out because that candle thing was actually kind of comforting. He counted the number of other lights the storm had taken out in the neighborhood.

A few fires were burning in the distance, and the sensitive sensors of his hearing aids caught horns on the street. Good thing it was still raining.

He hadn't realized how tired he had really grown of this look outside, into the crazy killing mess his hometown had become, until he heard himself sigh, felt his hands resting heavily on the window sill. It would have been easy thinking these were just fire service horns down there. Scum always came out at night, especially when the lights were out.
And many people were much more afraid, especially afraid to ask for help from the authorities, since the battle of New York.

Nearly a year, and really nothing had gotten much better.