A/N: I wanted to do something slightly cute with these two, so here it is.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Marvel's Avengers Assemble. I wish I did.

Clint rubbed his eyes and sat upright, leaning himself against the headboard as sleep evaded him. He had been at SHIELD all day, training with some of the newer Agents on request that he did. He had been in hand to hand combat with them for the majority of the day, trying to teach them. They were picking it up, but much slower than Clint would have liked. He had taught basic skills so far, blocking was their range at the moment. He was aching and he wanted nothing more than to relax and drift off, but his mind apparently had other ideas. He slowly slid from his bed and yawned before leaving his room, heading for the kitchen. He left the room silently, not wanting to wake anyone else up. He had no desire to see how grumpy they would be at that time of day. He started to walk past the next room, but was stopped in his tracks by the sound of small whimpers coming from inside.

He silently opened the door, his eyes immediately travelling to the bed. The red-headed woman in it was tossing and turning, struggling against the sheets as though they were restraints. Her hands were clawing at them, scratching and pulling the sheets while her legs were delivering a series of perfect kicks. Her face was contorted in pain as she writhed about, her red curls flying across the pillows. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, the whimpers coming from her quietly. They were enough to drive Clint insane, hearing such weak sounding noises coming from the strongest person he knew. He slipped into her room completely, shutting the door behind him. That would have normally woken her – more than once had Clint been victim to a pillow launched at his head, with Natasha ready to attack whoever it was that had come in – but she had slipped too far into her nightmare to wake. He had seen her like this only once before, after a mission in Tuscany. Clint didn't remember much about it, except the last day.

There had been fire. It was all around them, the smoke filling their lungs and reducing their vision while the flames chased them, trying to catch anything they could of their bodies. Clint had managed to get them toward a door before the flames had caught up, and that's when she had frozen. Natasha had taken one look at the flames and became still, the expression vanishing off her face. He had snapped at her, trying to kick the door open while she watched the flames as if she were mesmerized by the dancing colours. A few more kicks and the door snapped open, the smoke escaping the building as though it had been waiting for him to free it. Clint called her name, but she never moved. The flames had drawn closer to her, licking at her feet and enticing her in when Clint had grabbed her around the waist and tugged her out of the building, moving as fast as he could with her in his grip. She had snapped back into life and struggled against him, but Clint didn't want to risk putting her down and having her do exactly the same thing. He had made sure they had gotten out of the way of any danger before he put her back down, having her glaring at him like he had done something terribly wrong. Clint wasted no time in bellowing at her about what had just happened – how she had nearly cost them both their lives because she had messed up. He hadn't meant to scold her the way he did, but his anger was higher than any of his other emotions at that point. She had just glared at him, her eyes darkened as he shouted and then refused to talk to him for the rest of the day, falling into silence.

They had returned to their hotel, Clint still muttering about it while she had walked off to shower. He had told her to get some sleep, making it a command and not a request, while he stayed awake. His anger was slowly starting to die down and he wanted to apologise for being so harsh with her, but right now he just wanted her to sleep and forget whatever it was that had made her act so strangely. She didn't argue with him and just slipped into the bed, curling with one hand under the pillow, as though she were holding a gun under it. Clint had decided to flick back through the file they had with them about their mission, rereading the information that he had already memorized. He wanted to make sure they didn't leave loose ends before they returned home the following day. He became so focused on the words that when an ear-piercing scream came from the bed, Clint had jumped and dropped the entire file. He whipped around and looked at Natasha, seeing her thrashing about on the bed, screaming while tears spilled down her face. His eyes widened, looking at her. He had never seen her cry – if anyone had asked him previously to that moment, he would have told them that she couldn't. He moved over to the bed and called her name, hoping to wake her. The only thing it did was make her scream again. He had watched, not knowing what she was dreaming about to make her react in such a way. She never screamed. She barely even flinched when she got hurt, so to see her reduced to such a mess was making Clint panic.

"Natasha, wake up!" He said, grabbing her shoulder. It had been the wrong move, because in seconds he was flat on his back, Natasha's fist having met his jaw swiftly, with all the force she could have mustered. Clint groaned, raising one hand to his face. He ignored the pain for a moment and put her first, standing back up and reaching to grab her hands. She moved as if she were awake, kneeing him in the stomach. He doubled over but didn't let go of her wrists, holding them tightly. He tried to keep her still, but her legs were working against him. With a sigh he got onto the bed, sitting on her and pinning her down to stop her before she hurt herself or him again.
"Natasha!" He shouted down at her, and he felt her shudder. "Natasha!"
Her eyes snapped open and focused on him, and he saw the fear inside them before she realised where she was. She stopped fighting him and became still, the tears still rolling down her face in soft streams.
"Clint?"

She spoke softly, meeting his eyes. He could see her trying to stop the tears, biting her bottom lip. He was slightly afraid of her, listening to her speak quietly and without sarcasm lacing her voice like she normally did. He didn't know how to react to this version of her.
"Natasha?" He asked carefully.
"I'm sorry." She murmured, turning her head to the side. Clint heard the embarrassment in her voice and looked at the side of her face, seeing her eyes harden again.
"What happened?"
She shook her head and moved her arms, getting him to release them and move off her. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her. He breathed in deeply, feeling the pain in his jaw grow from where her fist had connected to it, but he pushed it away again.
"Natasha?" He reached his hand back out and touched her shoulder, feeling her stiffen against his touch. "Tell me."
She looked at him, seeing his expression offer her comfort and understanding instead of the anger that she had seen earlier. With a sigh, she turned her head back to the side to stare at the wall, and she told him everything.

Watching her thrash about this time, Clint knew exactly what was running through her mind. He moved toward her bed and climbed in, wrapping his arms around her to hold her tightly. She fought against him – fists hitting his chest as she slept, her legs kicking his own, trying to get away. He endured all of the blows, keeping his arms firmly around her. He murmured her name, trying to wake her. Her entire body was shaking as he did, the whimpers getting louder.

"Natasha, wake up." He said quietly, moving so he could speak directly into her ear. She twitched, her fists hitting him once more before she fell still, her eyes sliding open to meet his. She had that same look of fear that she had the first time he had watched her have a nightmare, but it was quickly replaced by a relieved one.
"Clint?"
"I've got you." He murmured, letting his arms slacken around her. He moved one hand to brush her hair off her face, wiping the stray tear that had escaped her. He kissed her forehead, offering her comfort. She moved closer to him, pressing her forehead against his chest while her breathing evened out. Clint murmured to her, repeating over and over that he had her.
"Thank-you," she whispered back, her eyes sliding shut again. Clint stroked her hair, playing with the curls while she fell asleep in his arms, her breathing returning to a normal pace and her body still. Clint sighed, feeling her relaxing against him. He allowed his own eyes to shut and there, with her in his arms, he managed to fall into a heavy sleep. She was just what he needed.