A.N: Okay I'm wrapping this one up with this chapter so that I can give myself a break over Christmas and see where the ideas take me. I always wanted this to be about Natasha's journey to SHIELD and the beginnings of her partnership with Clint - I hope you all liked what I did with it and Merry Christmas!

As it transpired, Barton's vision was not lacking entirely. He was not blind by the dictionary definition and that gave them all room for cautious optimism.

Natasha stayed with him, paying particular attention to the body language of Dr Streiten and his colleagues, who appeared genuinely baffled as to the finer points of Clint's condition. His pupils dilated when a pen light was shone into his eyes, a sign that gave them hope his vision could return, and the new round of scans, x-rays and examinations that they performed continued to show no signs of cranial bleeding or brain injury.

"I can see you," he explained when they were once again left alone, the doctors having retreated to analyse his latest test results, "but everything's hazy it's a like looking at something through water or in the fog of a mirror. I know it's you but I can't make out the details."

Natasha nodded, wondering if he would be able to see the movement. "How is it in relation to they way it was when we got back from Peru?"

He seemed to think carefully before answering, "slightly better I think." His hand reached out cautiously, moving closer to her until his hand rested against her hair. "It probably helps that you're a redhead - easier to see."

At that, she chuckled. " I imagine that it does," she replied.

Over the hours that followed the others came and went but Natasha stayed at his side, travelling no further than the adjoining bathroom. She watched over her partner carefully, recognising the frustration that rose in him as he tried to make sense of the world around him once again. He was trying so hard to be brave, to will his vision back to normal, that she was worried he might strain his eyes even further. It was a relief when he drifted into a fitful slumber late in the afternoon because it meant that she no longer had to monitor her own emotions quite so closely. It was proving harder than she had imagined to stay unwaveringly positive for him, particularly when faced with the reality that a simple blow to the head, something that they encountered frequently, could have such devastating effects - though she wasn't sure when in her existence a fifty foot fall into a lake began to constitute a simple blow to the head and knew that they were lucky her partner hadn't snapped his neck upon impact.

It was early morning when she woke up in the chair at his side. Five hours had passed since she last looked at the clock and that suggested she'd caught more sleep than she had in days in the least likely of surroundings. She shifted uncomfortably, muscles protesting the position that she found herself in, a chorus of aches making themselves known as she moved. Massaging her aching neck, she glanced around the room and found that her partner was still sleeping, face turned away from her toward the window. Something fierce and primitive ached in her chest, clawing its way to the surface. Was this love, a familial bond that had grown in the months since he declined the chance to kill her, was it represented by the sudden urge to protect and ease him in whatever way she could?

Coulson and Hill appeared shortly afterwards and she took advantage of their presence, surrendering Clint into their care and retreating from the room for the first time since she had entered it with him. She didn't go far, just to the nearest outdoor area so that she could turn her face up toward the stars and ask them for an answer to the riddles of her own heart and her partner's health. She'd always had a fondness for the night sky but tonight the stars made poor companions, providing her with none of the clarity that she sought. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill and tuned out all of the noises that escaped the building behind her. The weather here was nothing like she was used to, with even the coldest nights doing little to trouble her. The night air felt positively balmy in comparison to the cold she felt inside herself. Those who complained about winter in the United States had clearly never experienced the full fury of a Russian winter, the Siberian winds cold enough to steal the very breath from lungs and the cause of as many lost limbs as land mines were in other areas of the world.

Natasha had never had a partner, never had someone to watch her back, never had a friend and the bond was too close. His distress cut her deeply; she needed to regain control of her surging emotions before she went back to him. Barton was a perceptive man, more perceptive than any other she'd known, and he wouldn't need twenty-twenty vision to pick up on her turmoil, all he would need was to be in the same room as her and it would be obvious. She breathed deeply, taking the cool night air into her lungs where it settled and formed a solid foundation that she could draw upon to get them both through what was still to come.

Coulson was outside the door to his room with the doctors when she rounded the corner, their bowed heads and hushed voices telling her that this was a conversation they did not want to have in front of Clint. There was discussion of the chances of full recovery and ability to work in the field, which concerned her. Pace picking up, she burst back into the room to see what was going on, already half convinced that something calamitous must have happened in her absence.

His head shot up as she entered the room but he said nothing, the hammering of her heart providing the soundtrack to her rising fears that there was no coming back from what had happened at that Peruvian warehouse, so loud it seemed that surely he must be able to hear it.

She opened her mouth to speak, needing to break the silence and then her eyes met his. It wasn't anything that she could describe if someone asked but she found herself caught in his eyes, thunderous and grey, shot through with hints of green and gold like flashes of coloured lightning in a stormy sky. Clint looked directly at her, his gaze unflinching and she felt her heart begin to pound for a different reason entirely. Hope flared in her chest, bright and burning. A lazy grin spread across his face and she felt her own smile begin to form.

"You can see me can't you?" she asked, not really needing the clarification. She could tell by nothing more than the look in his eyes that his vision was much improved.

"Woke up and my vision was much clearer," he replied, extending a hand to indicate she should move closer, "still not perfect but right now I'll take any improvement."

Their fingers linked effortlessly when she placed her hand in his and she accepted the gentle squeeze that he gave as the affectionate gesture that it was. It seemed nothing short of a blessing that his vision should have returned even partially and it had certainly boosted his mood.

"Do they know?" she asked, not bothering to elaborate on who 'they' were.

He nodded. "Naturally they want to run more tests and keep me in bed for the next few days." Natasha nodded, understanding where they were coming from, rest and recuperation seemed the best way to avoid any setbacks in his recovery while anything that might end in a bump to the head would almost certainly not be allowed. "Truth is, as much as I see the logic, this is the most downtime I've had in weeks and I'm already more than restless."

"Anything I can do?"

"Well under normal circumstances I'd ask you if you wanted to go a few rounds to take the edge off but somehow I don't think you're going to agree to that tonight …"

Shaking her head, she gave the matter some thought. There had to be something active that they could do that wouldn't impede his healing or run the risk of him sustaining an injury. "Well we could always run through those tai-chi forms you showed me when we got back from Berlin," she suggested, "the movement might help with the restlessness you're feeling."

"And I don't need perfect vision for them either if the space is big enough," he exclaimed, brightening noticeably at the thought of getting out of bed and doing something familiar.

Over the next twenty-four hours, Clint's vision continued to improve steadily and Natasha found herself caught in the storm of his eyes on more than one occasion while they performed tai-chi side by side, or during their many conversations about everything and nothing. His appetite improved significantly once he no longer had to suffer the indignity of someone helping him to eat and she knew that he was feeling better when he started to mock her in his familiar lighthearted manner, which in turn made her feel better.

Coulson found them the next morning, side by side in the space that they had cleared, moving in perfect synchrony through a series of forms with which he was familiar. Struck by the sight of them, he once again allowed himself a moment to marvel at the spectacle of the sandy-haired archer and the fire headed spy at his side, before turning to glance at Fury who stood on his left. Neither of them missed the way that Natasha looked on her partner or the way that Barton allowed her to lead him through the exercise without the need for his usual wisecracks. They had seen potential in this duo from the moment that they had first seen them together, opportunity to turn a lone wolf into an even greater asset than he had always been, but neither he nor the director had imagined just how effective this partnership would be, and how much they still had much to offer.

It was Clint that noticed them, his eyebrow quirking upwards in acknowledgement as he stepped forward and leaned into a stretch with graceful precision. Natasha mirrored the movement, moving with a dancer's grace, her own eyes finding the senior agents just inside the doorway as she came to a stop. Barton's arm came to rest across her shoulders, like siblings caught doing something that they knew they shouldn't, a casual, almost familial affection that spoke volumes about the apparent trust that existed between them.

"Morning Sir," he greeted them both.

Fury was the first to speak. "How are you feeling Agent?" he asked. "I understand from the doctors that your vision is back to normal?"

"That's correct," he replied, "and I'm feeling just fine Sir, if a little desperate to get out of the infirmary."

Fury chuckled. Beside him Coulson shook his head and glanced down at the ground as if searching for the strength to continue dealing with an agent as unpredictable as the one he had been saddled with three years earlier, which caused Barton to grin in that troublesome way of his.

"I don't imagine that they'll be keeping you here much longer," Coulson muttered dryly, "not after the pair of you rearranged the infirmary to make room for a workout session."

"Technically we didn't rearrange the infirmary," Natasha began, "but you know that we aren't built for sitting around and Streiten said that under no circumstances were we to go outside to do this so …"

Coulson cut her off with a look and a grumbled remark about taking remarks out of context and bending the rules. Both of his charges looked back at him with feigned innocence and pretended not to know exactly what he meant. Deep down he found the fact that they were so attuned to one another exhilarating - if a little unnerving. Together, they could run circles around almost any handler at SHIELD and that thought gave him a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach since he was the one who had to deal with them both on a daily basis.

"Well I can see why you were worried you might have your hands full with this," Fury murmured, smiling a little too broadly for Coulson's liking.

Both Clint and Natasha straightened, attention caught by the director's words and Coulson got the distinct impression that the full force of their combined intellect was now trying to figure out what had been meant by the remark. He had no idea what possibilities they could come up with and 'interesting' was not a definition he cared to explore with them right now and certainly not in front of the head of SHIELD, there was no way of knowing where such a conversation might lead. "Thank you Sir," he replied, hint of self-depreciating humour evident.

"What's going on?" Clint asked, a hint of tension creeping into his voice.

"Your partner's probationary period is over," Fury announced levelly. "We've been evaluating your progress Natasha over the course of the last few weeks, assessing you against different criteria and watching how you responded to different stimuli …"

Both Natasha and Clint froze, neither of them sure what the outcome of her probation would be. Clint was sure that she had done all she needed to do to prove herself but worried that it would be strange if he had to go back to working without her. He had grown used to having this fiery shadow at his side, her ferocity and determination driving him on and inspiring him to dig deeper and push further than he could alone. Natasha desperately wanted to stay here but plagued herself with the thought that Clint's injury would count against her, that SHIELD too would reject her, finding her worthless and too dangerous to be trusted.

"... You've proven yourself to be an asset and you've integrated well with our operation," Fury continued, "and you've proven that Agent Barton here can work with someone else, which we had seriously started to doubt prior to your arrival."

"Hey!" Clint interrupted, mildly affronted. "It isn't my fault you always tried to pair me up with the stuffiest agents you had ..."

Coulson held up a hand to silence him and for once he complied.

"We could use an agent like you on our books Natasha but the council have some reservations about your past and what it means for your loyalty."

Natasha's heart pounded painfully, here it was, the rejection. "Sir…"

"But anyone who knows me knows that I don't give a rats ass about the council's opinions in some matters and this is one of them," Fury continued. "So allow me to be the first to congratulate you. Welcome to SHIELD Agent Romanoff."

Natasha shook the director's outstretched hand before she had fully comprehended what was going on. "I'm sorry Sir, I think that was my hopeful ear ..."

Fury chuckled, "I welcomed you to our organisation Agent," he told her. "The down side is that as of today it officially becomes part of your remit to try and stop your partner from getting himself into trouble."

Clint's whoop of laughter filled the air as he took in the words and their meaning. "Hear that Partner?" he asked.

"I'm sure that we'll find any number of missions for you Natasha," Coulson reassured her calmly, casting her a brief conspiratorial look, "and not all of them will involve Barton."

"So does this mean I get a new handler?" she asked hesitantly, fixing her gaze on the face of the second man who had ever given her the chance to prove herself, a man she had already grown fond of.

Coulson offered her that quiet smile of his and shook his head. "Not at all, I'm going to handle you and Barton from this point on and I think that we're going to be exceptionally busy once he gets a clean bill of health from Streiten and I can get you both back in the field."

Barton grinned at the two senior agents, "oh this is gonna be fun!" Then, "Do we get matching uniforms?"

Natasha wrinkled her nose, "God I hope not! I'm not wearing anything with purple, however muted, it'll clash with my hair. I'll stick with black thank you very much..."

"This is definitely going to be interesting," Fury murmured, quietly excusing himself and stepping back toward the door. His eyes met Coulson's and a smile that was part apology and part amusement touched his lips. "Good luck Coulson, I suspect that you're going to need it."