"I can't be sure of that. Ever anymore. That's what makes it so hard. I can just try my best, everyday again."

But Clint didn't say it with as much hurt and fear as before, mainly resignation left. And a great deal of relief. Maybe he had just needed to hear that Natasha would take care of herself indeed, that she would watch out for dangers when he couldn't see them coming, because they were on the inside.

Never again, as long as he could do anything about it.

If that had just made the last of fear easier, the pictures of blood on his mind that never really had happened. They were stubborn like the rest of his fucked up mind, but the longer he buried his face against Natasha's shoulder, allowing a few last drops of too deep emotion touching her skin, the more he could drag himself away from that useless train of vision.

His hand was aimlessly roaming down her back, pulling her closer to him but the position wasn't the best, and finally he leaned back again, taking her with him.

"Like it where you were before", he mumbled against her skin, gently draping her leg over his so they could press into each other again.
"You're better than any blanket."