For a long while they were silent while Clint centered himself using her touch, her warmth, her scent as his touchstone. Even though his clothes she thought she could feel him warming up, feel the tension leaving his body. She snuggled closer when he held her, kept her face pressed against his neck and just breathed against his skin, placing the occasional featherlight kiss against his pulse for good measure.

Home, that was what this felt like. Natasha thought people had it all wrong when they called a house or a town their home. She could live anywhere in the world, could live in one place for decades, but it would never be home. Here, in Clint’s arm’s... this was home. This was where she belonged.

When he finally spoke again Natasha nodded. She couldn’t help but feel a sort of sense of satisfaction and triumph that she could calm him with her presence, that she could fight off his demons just by being there.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to move,” she said, but her hand had already slid down his body and slipped under the hem of the sweater, pushing it up a little. Really, she was the one who really had to move, and she was perfectly to help him remove the article of clothing without him barely having to move at all.