Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters.

Aaaaaand I'm back! It's been a while guys but I'm back! As already stated in the summary, this is the sequel to my story, Catch-22, and follows the aftermath of the happenings of their mission in Istanbul. I tried to stick to the official MCU timeline as much as I could so this story will include snippets of both Natasha's adventures in Iron Man 2 and Clint's in Thor. This story will also end up bleeding into the Abidjan Operation that was hinted at during the movie, if you guys remember it.

SHIELD Headquarters, New York

Natasha braced her hand against Clint's chest as they prepared to walk out of the Quinjet. "Watch it," she warned as they stepped off the ramp together. She had snaked her arm around him to provide some support as they waited for the door to lift open.

"Nat, I'm fine," he mumbled, rolling his eyes at her. He had to admit, it wasn't like her to show such overbearing concern following a mission. However, the mission they had just returned from wasn't like any mission before.

Things had changed between them.

"Backing off then..." She raised her hands in defeat, removing them from his back and chest, and started to step away.

Clint winced at the loss of support, the loss of her hands on him, the loss of her warmth surrounding him. "Wait, don't go—" he blurted out abruptly, eyes wide as she walked away, "—too far."

She shook her head in amusement and fought the urge to roll her eyes. She stepped back towards him again and grasped one of his hands, leading the way out of the hangar and into the SHIELD building.

They had undergone a mission from hell; a mission to assassinate one of Turkey's infamous terrorists-the elusive and thoroughly psychotic Emre Bowen. After enduring a nail-biting interrogation, a chase through the streets of Istanbul, and a serious bullet wound, they found themselves lip-locked while in their safe house.

Clint, never the guy to come away from a mission unscathed, fell into a coma whilst recuperating in the Prague infirmary base. Days later, he woke and the two assassins found themselves over-stepping professional boundaries once again. However, neither of them got the chance to bring up or discuss what that kiss would mean for them and for their partnership.

That would come later.

Silence encircled the two agents as they sat in their usual seats in SHIELD debriefing room.

"So...you wanna talk about it?" Clint's voice penetrated the silence and echoed against the cold walls that seemed to be enclosing their battered bodies and psyches. He had sat gingerly in his chair and managed to raise one foot on an vacant chair to his right. Cracked ribs, countless bruises and the still-aching bullet wound weakened his already exhausted body and he knew he had a few weeks of recovery ahead of him.

He had rested his head back, allowing it to fall over the back of the chair, and kept his eyes closed as he asked his question.

"About what?" Natasha answered with a sceptical look, one eyebrow arching slightly. She was seated across from him, absently examining and picking at her nails.

"Lollipops and candy canes.." he responded, his tone flat with sarcasm. Natasha narrowed her eyes and gave him her trademark "I don't have time for this, Barton" look.

Exasperated, Clint slowly shifted his leg off the chair and sat forward in his seat. "Nat, c'mon we haven't talked about what happened in Istanbul."

Natasha raised her head a little more when she saw him straighten up. "That's what debriefing is for."

"You think I'm talking about Bowen?" he asked incredulously, eyes narrowing as he watched her carefully. Just on cue, Coulson opened the door to enter the room, appearing with two files in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other.

Natasha glared at her partner and pressed her lips together tightly before she spoke. "Now's not the time for this, Clint.." she muttered, no more than a whisper under her breath.

Clint retracted as if he had been burned and folded his arms across his chest, obviously annoyed at her guarded countenance. Coulson set the two files down on the desk and kept his eyes firmly on the two agents, examining every hint their body language had failed to restrain. He indulged in a long sip from his mug, still scrutinising every twitch and glare. It seemed like nothing had changed since they had left New York.

But, in reality, everything had.

Clint bustled into the room, ignoring the resounding bang the door made behind him. "Nat, we need to talk about what happened in that safe house." Natasha kept her back to Clint, her hands resting on her hips, her head lowered enough so that her chin touched her chest.

"When are you going to face up to it?" he asked, clearly aggravated when he didn't get a response.

"Face up to what, Clint?" she snapped suddenly, breaking her lengthy silence. She whipped around, facing him head on, and straightened her shoulders in defiance. "Face up to the fact that you kissed me while you were dying in that safe house? Face up to the fact that I thought I lost you on that flight to Prague, knowing that you would never know how much I felt about you?...knowing that I would never get to tell you.."

"Nat—" Clint started, lowering his head to process her rambled words.

"You have no idea how hard it's been for me, Clint."

Anger flared in Clint's eyes and he raised his head and snapped angrily, "How hard it's been for you?"

Natasha kept her steely glare on him, clenching her jaw in anticipation.

Disbelief flooded his tone as he continued, "Do you think for a second it was easy on me? Being ignored by you for the three months after Madrid? Not having you around when I needed you the most? We always had each other's backs, Natasha, but that all ended when you started acting up."

Natasha stiffened, eyes unblinking. She didn't realise how selfish she'd been, how hard it was for him after Madrid. He needed her and she did everything in her power to drive up walls and boundaries in order to separate them. It was the only way she believed she could rid herself of her attraction to him.

"I thought I had lost you when I watched Bowen's men take you away in that alleyway—" he paused and wiped the back of his hand over his sweat tinged forehead. "The feeling I got when I saw you in that warehouse...tied up and beat to hell—" he paused again and swallowed, willing the image of Natasha's weakened form to dissipate from his memory. "And then to have you almost ripped away from me again when Bowen—" he hesitated once more, averting his eyes away from her as he thought about the Turk's assault.

"I just—I don't think I'll be able to go through that again, Nat. I'm not strong enough."

Silence surrounded them once more with only heavy breathing accompanying their aimless thoughts.

"Clint, I'm sorry.." she finally whispered softly, chastised by his confession.

"I don't want apologies, Nat. I want you to be honest with me; with yourself." His piercing gaze lanced through her, making her heart jolt painfully. Her eyelids shuddered as she willed herself to say something, anything. Clint kept his glare on her and nodded sharply after a moment, accepting her silence as his answer. He shook his head in submission, deciding enough was enough. "Listen, just...it's over now, okay? We got through the mission, we're alive...let's just leave it."

He scrubbed a hand down his bruised face, drawing his weary eyes to the floor. He turned and stopped at the door, curling one hand around the handle. He was giving up. He was tired, shattered, drained-physically, emotionally, mentally. He was tired of the playing around, the agonising tension between them, the fruitless hope and the crushing let downs.

"Clint, don't leave..please.." she pleaded faintly to his back, trapping her bottom lip between her teeth and biting hard. Clint let out a long breath and waited.

For what, he had no idea.

When Natasha realised he was staying put for the moment, she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and blinked the creeping wetness from her eyes. "This is exactly what I was afraid of, Clint! Letting my emotions cloud my judgement. I was afraid that all of 'this'—" she gestured towards him uselessly, "—would get in the way of our job, get in the way of everything we had built!" She paused and inhaled sharply, "Everything we built since you saved me...saved me from self-destructing all those years ago. I'm afraid of losing that."

Memories of the night he risked everything to save her flooded her mind. He had made a different call, one she may not have made herself if roles had been reversed.

"Nat, the only thing that's going to get in the way of everything we have is your refusal to acknowledge what's really going on." He turned around and pressed his back against the door. He leaned his head back slightly but kept his eyes on her. "Where is the Natasha I saw in that safe house in Istanbul? The assassin that took out Bowen with a swift flick of her wrist? My partner who soaked herself in my own blood so that I would hold on a little bit longer?"

Clint's words caused something inside her to snap. Thoughts that had darted aimlessly through her mind stopped. A fire ignited somewhere in her that refused to be quelled or quenched by fearful thoughts, debilitating insecurities or crippling anxieties about the future. She had been conditioned to conceal feelings of love, to lock away weaknesses, to hide natural human instinct. "Love is for children." They would repeat it until it was believed, until it had been set in stone in their far too young minds.

Clint Barton had exposed her like an open wound. He would always see her for what she was. Not the infamous seductress with the killer thighs, not the terrified girl with sweat-inducing nightmares, not the Russian assassin with the dripping ledger. He saw her as someone who was trying to be better, someone who had longed to be free of the shackles of her past. Her saw her as someone who was willing to fight for herself because she knew that no one else would. He had made her see that he was just as damaged as her, that he was willing to fight for her, and that she didn't have to be alone any more. He was here.

He was the reason the venom in that wound had been sucked out. He is the reason she is the person she is today.

Without another thought, Natasha stepped forward, yanking his collar, and pressed her aching lips to his.

"Here," she whispered breathlessly against his lips. "She's here."

End of Chapter 1

Whoa! That took a lot out of me...hope you enjoyed that little opener!

More soon!