I think I'm a little bit, little bit, a little bit in love with you. - Little Bit / Lykke Li

Natasha sits on the hard, plastic, hospital chair in the same position that she's been in for the past week.

Her head is propped up by one of her fists, while her other hand traces lazy, web-like patterns on the palm of Clint's hand.

He hasn't woken up yet, but the doctors say it won't be long before he regains consciousness, and they prepare a new morphine drip for when he does.

Natasha's good at hiding her emotions, it's a part of her enviable skill set, and so none of the Avengers, or doctors, or SHIELD agents, or even Pepper can see the turmoil inside of her, slowly breaking her down as she silently begs Clint to just wake up already.

Of course, Clint would be able to see it right away, and he'd know exactly what to say to soothe her, calm her. He'd wrap his strong arms around her, despite her protests, and the fact that Natasha would eventually let him, submit to his warm embrace, frightens her.

She doesn't know when it started, but the ache in her gut gets worse each time Clint ends up in the hospital, and she can't help it when her heart leaps into her throat as Clint's vitals suffer a small hiccup.

Scratch that. Of course she knows, because it started when she developed feelings. It was after their first six months together—six months after Clint spared her life, six months after he began to wiggle his way into her heart (or what was left of it)—that Natasha began to notice them. Little feelings, at first, like the insecurity she felt when she couldn't locate Clint, or the little twitches of (what really couldn't be) jealousy that came with him being assigned to missions with other female agents, or—

That feeling she's got right now as Clint's hand twitches and his eyes open slowly, groggily. A tiny little flutter in her chest, as he looks her right in the eye, striking blue against emerald green, and smiles.

The morphine the doctors prepared for Clint is already beginning to work its magic, minutes after Clint's finally woken up, and all they've managed to do is stare at each other.

Clint's voice is gravelly after a week of disuse, and he has to clear his throat a few times before he finally asks, "How long've you been here, Nat?"

There's concern laced through his words and his brows are furrowed in the most adorable and endearing way that Natasha's ever seen and—

Endearing? Adorable? Natasha scowls because, when the hell did the Black Widow start using such frilly adjectives? And to describe her partner?

Natasha knows she's in trouble now, and she can't get her heart to stop beating so damn fast.

"Don't worry about me, Clint," she says, shooting him a small, but reassuring smile. It's one of those soft, rare, gentle smiles that Natasha only ever saves for Clint, and he can't help but relax further into the bed.

"You're okay now, and that's all that matters."

Clint can really feel the effects of the morphine now, but he's not quite finished with Natasha yet.

"You've been here the whole time, haven't you, Tasha?" He turns his head towards her, his lips slowly quirking up into a knowing smirk.

Natasha can feel her cheeks heating up, but obviously, someone's just increased the temperature of the room, because Natasha Romanoff does not blush.

She can tell that Clint's finally succumbing to the morphine when his head droops a bit more to the side and his eyes slide shut, but before he drops off, he's got one more thing to say.

"It's because you love me," he murmurs, before sleep washes over him, and Natasha can only sit there and stare at him like a deer caught in headlights.

She never planned on this happening; never planned on being caught off-guard; never planned on being employed by SHIELD; never planned on becoming attached, let alone to her partner; and she never, ever, ever planned on letting him break down her walls and make a home in her heart.

What's left of it, she reminds herself.

But it has happened, and so Natasha does one of the things she's best at; she adapts to her situation, to her environment, and reaches out, pressing her palm to Clint's cheek, gently caressing it in a manner that no one would ever expect from Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.

"Maybe," she admits, "maybe just a little bit."

She knows this isn't true. She knows it's more than a little bit, that without Clint, there would no longer be a point to her existence. She knows that he might be able to hear her. She also knows that even if he does, he won't remember when he wakes up.

She knows that Clint feels the exact same way, and she definitely knows that she's going to tell him again, she just has to wait for the right moment.

A/N: Merrppp. I'm not a doctor and I've never been given morphine in a hospital so if the morphine parts are incorrect...I apologize. Also, I really don't know how I feel about this fic and I don't beta my writing, ever, even though I know I should, and it's 3 am, so please bear with me. Reviews are always appreciated and, I'd really like to know your opinions on this one! Thanks for reading!

Also, I love the song "Little Bit" and I think it's SO perfect for Clintasha and I might do something else with the lyrics but for a different fic, definitely not this one.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or claim them as my creations. It's all Marvel's.