This was floating around with all of the plot bunnies. So here it is for you!

You don't betray someone who trusts you. You don't betray someone you trust. That's not what trust is, not what trust is for.

Clint Barton was on a rooftop again. An unfamiliar roof, his least favorite kind of roof. He had examined every inch of the roof, making sure he knew all of the places to perch. New York's skyline was laid out in front of him. Stark Tower was glowing with light, but he couldn't see anyone moving around.

One hand gently caressed his bow, as he tried to comfort himself. It didn't work. Not even the familiarity of his beloved bow could calm Hawkeye now.

If only he could yell to them so they could hear him. Then maybe he wouldn't fear so gross, like he'd done something horribly wrong. He had, of course. He had done something worse that any murder he had ever committed. He had betrayed people who he knew would be hurt by it. People he was close to always got hurt. Always. Hawkeye had known that since her was 7 years old. Forgetting that caused all of this. He had gotten too attached.

Natasha would be crushed. Maybe no one else would no about it; Natasha was very good at hiding her true feelings. But if it was bad enough, she would lock herself away. She would hide physically. When she had to see people, it would be brief and silent. Clint knew that. He knew Natasha more than he knew anything. The knife would be driven even farther into the team by Natasha's reclusiveness caused by Clint's deception. His fault.

Clint didn't want to be part of SHEILD anymore. But he had no other option. He couldn't go back to the Avengers. They wouldn't accept him, even if he could get through SHEILD.

It was an impasse. Clint had no out. That's what killed him. There was no way to make this right. Absolutely no way. Natasha would never forgive him. The rest of the team would never be able to forgive him. Just after they had started to get close.

It was a mission. A stupid mission. He didn't know that it would lead to all of this.

A classic Hawkeye bad guy. The Avengers were being threatened, they could only afford to send out one. Hawkeye or Black Widow. Hawkeye drew the short stick and ended up in Africa.

A serial killer was running around, going after innocent children. Hawkeye could not tolerate that. Children were something he would always protect. They all deserved a childhood, something he never got.

So he went after him and shot him from a distance. That man was out like a light within minutes of Hawkeye taking aim. He was no longer a problem. That wasn't it, however. As Hawkeye was about to return home, to protect his team, to turn back into Clint Barton after a long hot day, it hit the fan.

That child killer, possible child molester, had been one of many. They all had a boss, the most horribly vicious of them all. His name was unknown, the world knew him only as Charge. In Charge. And Charge did not like the fact that Hawkeye killed one of his best men. Charge looked into Hawkeye, and looked into Clint Barton even further. When Clint was just about to leave, Charge busted into the place he was staying.

After a long, drawn out, villainous speech about how he was going to kill Clint and then destroy everything he loved slowly, and painfully. He didn't mean it. Clint knew that. Clint knew Natasha, people weren't difficult for him anymore. The only person Charge wanted dead was Clint. If he wanted Clint's loved ones dead, he would do it while the archer was alive to torture his mind before he died. But that's not what that was about. It was about Clint dying. That's all. He was a coward.

A grenade was planted. Charge bolted. Clint was blown backwards, out of the building and onto the hard packed earth. It could have killed him. So easily. He had landed just perfectly that every bone in his body didn't shatter, that hid ribs didn't puncture his own lungs. It was pure luck that Clint Barton was still alive.

At least, he was still alive to everyone that never knew him.

Clint was hurt, sure. He spent a few weeks in medical, sure. But he didn't die. It was a long, painful battle, but he didn't die. Die like he was supposed to.

He was supposed to die! That's what would keep the Avengers safe. Charge found out Clint made it, Charge went after him and the people close to him. That was the only way.

So, Clint died. Legally. According to all of the documents and records, Clint Barton was killed on a mission.

There was a letter sent to the Avengers. Clint could imagine any of them opening that letter, reading those words, 'We are terribly sorry to inform you that Agent Clinton Barton was killed on a mission in Sudan.' There was more to it, of course, but that was the gist. Thor or Tony would have been loud about announcing it, Steve or Bruce would have quietly mourned for a moment before breaking it to the rest of them the most gently they could. If Natasha had opened it…

Clint hated himself. He hated himself for not dying. That's not the greatest reason to hate your life, but Clint did. Having to look at that damn tower every day and know Natasha was in there alone killed him. Cold fingers clawed at him. Not like Loki, like guilt.

He hated himself for not knowing how to tell Natasha he was okay. He hated that he was watching his own funeral.

It was sunset. There was no coffin, they didn't give his friends any remains. The team still got him a spot in the cemetery and a headstone. When he asked Fury what it said, he was told 'A loyal friend, a good brother, a straight shooter.' His name and years of life were on there, but he didn't care about those.

The secret SHEILD building allowed him to watch the funeral through binoculars. All of them, even the gods, wore black. Loki was there. The god had shown up disoriented a month before Clint 'died'. He had been tortured and abused and brainwashed himself by the Chitauri. His tale was a sad one, and his begging must have gotten him somewhere. If Natasha let him go to her best friend's funeral, she trusted him. That was enough for Clint. Her opinion would always be enough for Clint, no matter how much he hated that guy.

All of the men wore suits with purple ties, because it was Clint's funeral after all. It wouldn't be complete without purple. Pepper was in a short black sundress and purple pumps. Natasha was wearing a black evening gown he recognized, she'd worn it on a mission before. Clint could just barely make out a flash of purple around her neck and in her hair. He couldn't see a tear rolling down her cheek, and he didn't want to.

Words were being said by everyone except Loki. Natasha's offering was very short, most likely very vague. The others said more, depending on how much they really knew Clint. He remembered sneaking around in the air vents to prank them all after they'd gotten closer. He made them breakfast in the mornings.

He'd helped Pepper with fashion advice, because he always helped Natasha prepare before certain types of missions, and applied her eyeliner once when she was dead tired.

Bruce turned out to be a huge fan of chocolate chip pancakes and Clint watched his face light up every morning he woke up to them. Not to mention, cookies and coffee cake helped calm him down.

Thor always went to Clint for Pop-tarts and advice. For some reason, he seemed to trust the archer.

Loki was too quiet and get to know. Clint generally avoided him, leaving the dark haired god with nothing to say.

Steve sparred with him. Steve always won, but Clint was always up for the challenge. Always.

Tony was different. The two of them were in an ongoing prank war, allowing both of them a safe release for pent up nervous energy. Laughter and teasing taunts were shared. Nerf guns and water balloons were a few of their favorites.

And Natasha….

The party of mourners all left slowly. Natasha stayed put, staring intently at the headstone. Bruce laid a hand on her shoulder before turning around and leaving her alone. Clint swallowed the rising guilt in his throat. He forced himself to watch her.

Natasha's red stained lips were moving. She was talking to him. There was something she wanted him to know. Clint wanted to hear it, wanted to answer.

Soon the strongest woman he had ever met had her head in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. Clint could almost hear the gasping sobs escaping her. He wanted more than anything to wrap his arms around her, to tell her how sorry he was, to say that he was at fault and that he wasn't dead and that he was so so so so sorry for leaving her alone like that.

Clint would never leave her alone.

He couldn't. He knew what it was like to feel completely abandoned and alone, and he knew Natasha knew too. That wasn't a feeling she should have to relive. It was the worst feeling in the world and Clint couldn't wish anything even close to that on her.

Clint couldn't even scratch her when they sparred each other. He couldn't hurt her.

You don't betray someone who trusts you. You don't hurt someone you love.

This is just a oneshot unless I get a response that you guys want more of it. But for now, this is it.