A/N: Hi All! Thanks for stopping by. Here is another story for Clintasha. It will be AU with multiple chapters, and updates will be sporadic. And thank you to those who read "All I Need." I was blown away by the statistics, and thank you to those who have added it to their favorite lists. Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned here. Comments/critiques are greatly appreciated.

Tendrils of grass licked at her ankles as she climbed up the hill. Her green eyes grew accustomed to the dwindling twilight, but there was a sense of urgency in the air. In the distance, she could hear police sirens racing towards the quiet neighborhood.

This wasn't the first time that something like this happened. In the back of her mind, her worry grew into something fierce, as she hated that she couldn't do anything else but to sound the alarm for real this time. Please be safe. She leapt over a fallen log and finally picked up a path of flattened grass. She was getting closer.

She saw the outline of his body against the calm summer night. She collected her breath and walked over. Her hand gently lay on his shoulder, as she could feel him shudder at the lightest touch. "Clint…"

He sat there in silence, not wanting to look up at her. "Leave," he growled.

"Clint…" her hand remained on his shoulder. "What happened?"

"I said leave," he barked back, and pushed her hand aside.

She stood her ground and sat next to him on the rotten log. "Talk to me."

"What's there to talk?" he retorted back without looking at her.

"How bad is it?" her voice was firm.

"Leave."

"Barton, look at me." The red head was getting tired of this song and dance. "I heard two sirens go off tonight." She saw the faint traces of a bruise outlining his right eye. The purplish hue caught the moonlight. "Clint…" her head tilted to one side to get a better glimpse.

"It's bad alright," he turned towards her and winced in pain. "He was drunk again."

"You need help, Clint," her emerald eyes pleaded with him. "I'm scared for you…"

"Scared about what?" he spat up some blood.

"That you'll end up dead."

He scooted away from her, "You don't need to worry about me, Nat, I can handle it."

"You can't, and you damn well know it."

His hands ran through his hair and let out a breath of frustration.

"It's alright to be afraid," she whispered, as she reached out towards him. "Just promise me, you'll be safe somehow."

"Fine," his voice resigned to the fact that he was going to lose this fight, whether he liked it or not.

The two sat in silence again, as they heard the commotion die in the background. Occasional curses came their way. Nights like these they wish they were somewhere else. She bent over to the ground and picked up her little kit. Without any words, she tended to his eye and to a cut above his eyebrow. The simple gesture was all enough for him at the moment.

His stormy gray eyes caught hers several times, but no words were still exchanged. He just let her do her work, as her fingers rummaged for more gauze. He remembered the first time he met her. He was goofing off in the school's cafeteria and had knocked over his pop can from the table. At the very moment, Natasha was walking by and the dark liquid splattered on her beige skirt. Her immediate reaction was giving him a death glare, which he was surprised to say the least. And since then, they both challenged each other in their own unique ways.

"You should make an appearance," as she finished placing the last gauze over his cut.

"I know."

She watched him get up from the log, and saw him wince, as he pulled at his side. She hated seeing him like this, but she couldn't stop it. She reached out for his hand, and the pair descended down the hill again. In the pale moonlight, she saw traces of dried blood on the sides of his t-shirt.

Neighbors started to peek out their windows to see what the commotion was about. Everyone on that block knew something was going on, but no one ever reported it. For a year now, the secret festered with occasional police cars monitoring the Barton household especially during the holidays.

The unlikely pair emerged from a corner and walked without acknowledging anyone. They could feel the eyes focus on their backsides, as they walked in tandem. Clint with a bruised eye and bloodied shirt, while Nat stood by him, staring anyone down. They finally made it up to the porch, where the front lights hauntingly deceived everyone.

Clint bristled at the sight, as he watched an officer haul out his stepbrother in handcuffs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nat ready to jump at him to claw his eyes out, but he pulled her back before she could do anything. The older imbecile laughed as he finally was shoved in the back of police car.

"Get him outta here," the officer shouted as he tapped on the back of the car.

The pair watched the squad car drive out in the darkness.

"You need to see someone," the officer went back to Clint.

The teenager crossed his arms in defense, "I'm fine."

"Don't be stubborn, son." The officer shifted his weight on his shoes. "We got in touch with your grandmother. She's coming tomorrow."

Nat looked at him and saw his face drop.

"Get into the ambulance now," the officer ordered. "You can have your friend come with you."

"I'll go alone."

…

She shifted uncomfortably on the bench with a light blanket wrapped around her shoulders, as she waited for him to come home. She could feel her heavy-laden eyelids begin to droop, and slowly, she let sleep overcome her in the late evening. Periodically, she listened for the steady crunch come from cars as they traveled through the quiet neighborhood, but none of them came from the paved driveway that led up to the broken home.

She shifted again, as she faced away from the street and drifted off to sleep again.

"Wake up," a low voice came from behind her.

"Mmm." She swatted away at the hand and pulled her blanket up at her shoulders.

"Natasha," he continued to poke at her shoulder.

She slowly turned to face him, and mumbled a few incoherent syllables in a foreign language, "You're back."

"Yeah," he watched her curl her legs to her body, and sat down on the bench. "You slept out here all night?"

"I was waiting for you, stupid." She still had her eyes closed. "Why didn't you let me go with you?"

He sat in silence watching a few summer bugs gather at the porch light. "I didn't want you there." A hand flew at his face and grazed his skin, as he dodged the sudden movement. It was a familiar move that he picked up while they were sparring partners in gym class.

"You're still stupid," she muttered, trying to ignore him for the moment.

"Doc says two broken ribs and a few stitches, but nothing else."

"You had me worry, Barton." She tried to hold back a tear that was forcing its way out. "Not once, did I ever like getting those texts from you."

He collected her in his embrace, not realizing the full impact of their relationship from the start. "Sorry," he leaned his head on her crown of matted, red curls. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

The two remained that way on the porch, as they knew their time was running out. Clint continued to hold her as she slept, while he watched the sky shift from the darkness to dull lavender with streaks of ruby at the horizon. By now, the crickets had finished their evening serenade with several mockingbirds joining in to start the day. He winced again as she shifted in his arms, as one of her elbows touched his battered rib. "Ow," he muttered.

Nat woke up from her light sleep, and saw him in pain, "Sorry."

"I'll live," he grinned.

"What time will she be here?"

"Soon."

"Sorry about ruining the dance too," after realizing what day it was.

"Don't be," she poked him in his bicep. "I rather spend time with you like this and not play dress up."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Her green eyes gazed up at him, as he was still on guard for his stepbrother. She wished she could take the pain away from him. "You're alive, Clint, and that is all that matters."

"I better start packing."

"I guess," she could feel the warmth from his skin fading away as he stood up.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," he turned to the front door and disappeared.

Inside, the house was in such disarray with overturned chairs and broken dishes. He quickly climbed the stairs, ignoring his cramped muscles and went to his room. It was his sanctuary, where he could watch Nat from his window. He never did tell her that he did. He recalled how she sometimes slept at her desk with a book and notebook tucked underneath her head to times where she was brushing her fiery hair. These were the mundane moments that made his life more bearable.

He eyed his mini refrigerator and took out the plastic box. It was a simple corsage of a dark, pink rose with Baby's Breath scattered throughout. "Nat, what are you doing up here?" he nearly jumped at the sight of her at the doorway. "I told you to stay down there."

"You know I don't listen," she eyed him.

He walked over towards her, "This is for you," and handed the gift towards her. "It was for tonight."

"Thanks," she smiled back at him. "It's lovely." She gingerly took out the small flower arrangement and placed it over her wrist.

As she was admiring the flower, he stepped closer and kissed her on the cheek without hesitation.

She felt her breath get stuck in her throat, and started to look around the room for any distraction minus Clint. It was something she wasn't expecting, "Um," she eyed a black duffle bag along with several boxes in the corner, "You should start packing."

She felt a small blush creep up on her cheeks.

This was one in the few times that he watched her become unglued, and he reveled in it that he had this effect on her. He watched her pace back and forth, as she tossed several items haphazardly in the duffle bag. "Slow down."

"Slow down?" She looked pensively at him. "My best friend is leaving in two hours, and you tell me to slow down!" And there it was again. That feeling that tore inside of her. "I'm not going to see you again," another tear was about to breakthrough.

"It's going to be all right," he whispered into her ear and grabbed the t-shirt out of her hands. "You don't need to be strong for the both of us."

"Clint."

"I'll finish packing, and I don't want you to stay to watch me leave."

"But…" Her green eyes pleaded with his.

"No buts." He walked over to his bed and bent down to gather some of his clothes that Nat had tossed over earlier. "We'll find each other again." He looked over towards her, but caught the last glimpse of her red curls as she made her way downstairs. In seconds, he heard the front door slam. The loud noise echoed throughout the broken home, and resonated in his room.

On his desk, a metal frame rattled with the vibration. It held a picture of them sitting underneath a tree with broad leaves with shades of reds and gold. He picked up the frame and had his thumb graze over the image. It was a happier time back then when life was much simpler and it made sense. He carefully packed it in his duffle bag.

Not soon after, he heard a car pull up into the driveway. His world was slipping away from him, as he packed the last of the things he could carry. He stole one more glance out his window, wondering what she was doing at the very moment. Across the street, the light blue curtains impeded his view. Without looking back, he gathered his duffle bag and one small box in his arms.

"Ready?" The middle-aged woman with a rural accent went up to him, and took his items from his arms.

He nodded in response. His gray eyes looked upon his home for the past seventeen years, as he stood by the car door, trying to take in the happier memories with him, which were far and few in between. He scooted onto the passenger seat, and out of the corner of the mirror, he saw a flutter of a familiar blue curtain.

Natasha.