Love Is For Children ~Hawkeye & Black Widow (Part One & Two)

Dangerous Territory

"What floor do you live on"? Natasha looked around the entrance to the building complex; no rats, no cracking walls and it didn't smell like pee - off to a good start, Natasha smiled to herself.

"Seven" Clint watched in amusement as Natasha groaned.

"Seven flights of stairs? Are you trying to kill me"? Natasha scoffed, arching a brow. Clint tensed up at her words for the briefest of moments, before playing it off with a throaty chuckle.

"Trust me, you've climbed worse" Clint smirked, before heading for the start of the stairs leaving Natasha befuddled by his words. She took a deep breath before ascending the stairs, only a few steps behind Clint. They cleared the first flight within a minute, and much to her surprise Natasha found she still had her breath. "Not a lot of people live in this building, it's still fairly new. The entire third floor is pretty much empty" Clint stated just as they cleared the fourth flight of stairs.

"Why don't you swap your apartment for one on three? It'd be fewer stairs to tackle" Natasha suggested, a playful smile tugging at her ruby lips. She'd managed to catch up with Clint quicker than she'd anticipated; their shoulder's brushed now and again as they continued to climb.

"I like seeing things from a distance" Clint answered after a few moments of thoughtful silence. Natasha noticed his blue eyes when he looked at her; his eyes so bright and comforting - yet she couldn't re-call ever looking into them before. Natasha simply hummed in response as they reached the sixth floor.

"Thanks for letting me stay with you" Natasha looked down at their moving feet; feeling suddenly awkward as they reached the seventh floor. Clint slowed their walking as he looked at her; her auburn hair fanning in front of her face as she looked down - his hand itched to push it behind her ear.

"It's no problem, I just hope it helps" Clint stopped the concern tainting his voice, and swapped it for a more casual one. Clint reached into his jacket pocket to search for his keys; he felt deflated at that moment in time, he began to doubt himself, believing Natasha would never remember him, thinking that if he told her the depths of their relationship she'd freak out and run.

"Clint"? Natasha's soft voice shook Clint from his daze; his eyes met her slightly concerned green ones, before he cast his gaze down at her hand that rested on his arm; the hand that had punched him, soothed him and held him. "Are you okay"? Natasha's brows pulled together. He thought for a moment, because he knew he wasn't okay, he knew he wouldn't be until Natasha remembered who she was and her life, the life he was a part of.

"Yeah, just tired" Clint smiled wearily, before unlocking the door to his apartment. Natasha was unconvinced, and Clint sensed that so he pushed on into the apartment. Natasha pushed aside the anxious feelings at the pit of her stomach as she entered the apartment. It was pretty spacious, but not ridiculously huge. Natasha took into consideration how conspicuously neat the place seemed, but it still felt warm, safe and...familiar.

Clint turned on the television before putting his hands on his hips. Natasha stared at him, noticing how the hem of shirt lifted slightly as gripped his hips; she couldn't deny that this man was definitely in good shape, and certainly exceeded the looks of the average man. She bit her lip as she traced her eyes over his body for a moment.

"Are you hungry"? Natasha seemed a little taken back at his question, her cheeks turning a vibrant shade of red.

"Yeah" Natasha coughed, running a hand through her hair. Clint gestured towards the brown, leather couch. Nat smiled in acknowledgement before taking a seat on the couch; she pretended to pay attention to the television, but instead looked around the apartment when she was certain Clint was occupied in the kitchen nook on the opposite side of the room.

She looked over at the window side rest in the lounge not far from her; the window was large and the open curtains displayed the dull looking weather; grey clouds were forming in the sky as if it were warning the New Yorkers below that rain would be coming their way soon. Natasha remembered she loved the rain; she remembered a time when she was jogging on the sidewalk and it had started to rain, Natasha remembered how it felt on her skin and how soothing it was - she couldn't help gasp at the sudden memory.

"What's wrong"? Clint heard the gasp and abandoned whatever he was doing in the kitchen to stride towards Natasha.

"Nothing, nothing's wrong, I just remembered something" Natasha looked at him with wide, joy filled eyes as she rose from the couch. Clint assumed for a split second she remembered him and their history, so he took a step closer; his eyes twinkling with hope. "I remembered I love the rain, well, the feel of it on my skin" Natasha beamed, before turning to look out the window again at the predicted rain that was now beginning to fall. Clint swallowed, feeling saddened for a beat before realizing she was making progress.

"That's great, Nat" Clint smiled at her; wincing when she turned to look at him with that same glorious smile he loved. He returned to the kitchen, concentrating again on the food he was preparing. It was the only thing he could do to stop his mind from wandering into dangerous territory; he'd occasionally look up at her, wondering if she'd wake up tomorrow and remember everything, but then he'd tell himself to stop willing on a childish prayer.

Clint decided -as he plated up the food - that he wouldn't tell Natasha about their relationship; he wouldn't tell her about Morocco, the breakdowns, the hot tub, the kisses, the sex or the fact they'd both admitted to being in love. He wouldn't keep it from her forever, he'd just wait to see if she could remember it herself first.

"Here you go" Clint called over to Natasha who'd already taken to sitting on the window seat - perched like a rare, magnificent and breath taking lioness. She padded across the cream carpet lounge room to the mahogany table, where she took the seat opposite Clint. She looked down at the plate before her, before inspecting the sandwich Clint had made for her.

"What is it"? Natasha skeptically asked before pulling the two pieces of bread away to look inside.

"It's a sandwich" Clint replied sarcastically in-between mouthfuls of his own sandwich.

"Yeah, I know that smart ass, but what's on it"? Natasha rolled her eyes, suppressing a giggle at the way Clint's crammed mouth resembled a hoarding hamster. Clint swallowed the contents in his mouth before speaking.

"It's your favourite. Peanut butter and jelly" Clint smiled across the table at her; remembering the time he made her one after she'd had too much to drink. Natasha raised a brow at him, disbelievingly. "Eat it, I guarantee" Clint cocked his head to the left slightly, waiting to see her initial reaction. She sighed, not buying it - the idea of peanut butter and jelly at first repulsed her, but she thought she owed him the benefit of the doubt and decided to try it.

He put down his half eaten sandwich to watch her with his full attention; the way her eyes looked so soft, yet vivid as they looked at him and how her full lips parted to take a bite - he shuffled awkwardly in his seat for a moment, thinking about the times she'd planted hot kisses up and down his neck.

Natasha chewed thoughtfully for a second, not impressed by the sandwich from the initial taste, but then she took a second bite and the moan that escaped her lips was totally unexpected on her part; Clint knew what she liked. "This is..." Natasha moaned again, before taking a bigger bite.

Clint braced himself, ignoring the sudden heat in his groin - if she continued to moan like that he'd surely die right there and then. "I know it's good, that's why it's our favourite" Clint laughed quietly as she delved into her sandwich - that's one thing he'd always loved about her; she always had a good appetite.

They ate the remainder of their sandwiches in relaxed silence; the television still on in the background. Natasha slumped back in the chair before pushing the empty plate forward, Clint sighed contently before getting up to take their empty plates to the kitchen.

"Do you want a glass of wine"? Clint called from the kitchen area. Natasha visibly tensed in her chair, feeling an abundance of awkwardness again. This was the second time she'd seen this man since she lost her memory, and already she was in his apartment about to drink wine. 'Is this a date'? Natasha thought to herself, she found herself feeling uneasy.

She couldn't remember any boyfriends, any previous romances, passionate kisses or anything a girl would typically cling to their entire life; had she even dated before? Heck, she didn't even know whether she liked woman. Her head was spinning and her chest tightened, she didn't even notice that Clint was staring at her; concern written all over his face. "Nat"?

Nat looked to the kitchen door frame which Clint leant against; she was nervous, not because she was on a form of a 'date', but because she was alone, in an apartment with a strange man who she knew nothing about. She remembered the photo in Banner's office, the way he stood so protectively next to her, and the way he literally picked her out of the debris of the unit - she needed to trust him for time being.

"Would you like a beer instead"? Clint crossed his arms over his chest; feeling fretful at how Natasha looked at him with apprehension in her eyes. Natasha nodded, feigning a smile. Clint sat down again at the table shortly, scooting a cool beer across the table to Nat.

As she let the cool liquid swim down her throat, her eyes caught the box on the far side of the room; the box that contained a summary of her life. Natasha was perched on the edge of her seat, debating whether to run for the box, but Clint caught on soon enough. "Bruce said to take it easy and to lay off the information till tomorrow" Clint sighed.

"Bruce"? Natasha's brows knitted together as she took a long, satisfying sip from the bottle.

"Bruce. Bruce Banner"

"Oh" was all Natasha could muster; her concentration still on the box. Clint bit his lip, feeling the need to cave in, to let her read as much as she wanted just to see her remember things and to be happy - but he knew he couldn't.

"We'll start tomorrow, I promise" Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, staring at the box, not at Clint. After a few minutes of unsettling silence, they managed to slip back into casual conversation.

"So, how long have we been friends"? Natasha rested her elbows on the table; the bottle hanging lazily between her finger tips. Clint thought as he let the bottle slip between his lips.

"A good few years, maybe six or seven. I'd say we were more like, err, best friends" Clint reflected, before putting his empty bottle down.

"I have so many questions to ask, it's driving me crazy" Natasha put her bottle down before knotting her fingers in her own hair. Clint observed her, listened to how she sighed deeply, and watched as her shoulders began to sag ever so slightly.

"Hey" Clint cautiously reached across the table to rest his hand on tops of hers. "You'll get through this. I'm here to help" Clint brushed his fingers over her hand lightly, feeling that same spark of electricity he got every time he touched her. Natasha looked up at him through her thick lashes, the growing smile evident on her face.

"No wonder we were best friends" Natasha relished the light, comforting feel of his hand on hers, but soon felt rigid and awkward again and decided it would be best to pull away. Clint hid the pained expression on his face as she pulled away her hand, and instead turned the direction of the conversation quickly.

"Are you tired at all"? Clint leant back in his chair, feeling the wrath of exhaustion and stress taking its toll. He hadn't had any solid sleep since she'd gone missing, he'd been getting by on two to four hours of sleep, and he was starting to feel the aftermath of it.

Natasha took his question into consideration, before answering. "A little, my head hurts more than anything though"

"Well I can give you a very interesting and short tour of the apartment"? Clint suggested, gaining a chuckle from Natasha.

"Sure".

--

"So you've already been introduced to the lounge and kitchen, so the only two rooms left are the bathroom and the bedroom" Clint opened the door on the far wall of the apartment, to reveal the neat, bedroom. The walls were finely painted a midnight blue, compatible with the cool, birch wood floor - the entirety of the room was meticulous, from the white dresser down to the deep blue sheets and cream pillows on the bed.

"This is pretty swanky, Barton" Natasha stepped forward into the room to inspect it further. Clint remained by the door, remembering the last time he'd actually been in this room...

*

He kissed her shoulder, then her neck and then met her lips in a sweet and short kiss before unravelling himself from her to lie down. She rolled over into his side, before making small circles with her finger on his chest. She smiled up at him; with red, kiss-swollen lips.

"I want to stay here all day" Natasha mumbled against his skin, and he stroked her arm before enveloping her into his arms. They could just lie there in silence, with the sheet kicked to the end of the bed and their limbs tangled, and just be in peace.

*

Natasha walked over to the white dresser, looking at the contents sprawled over the surface; a perfume bottle, a hair brush, mascara, a compact and red lipstick. Somehow, Natasha didn't believe they belonged to Clint. "Oooh, I see someone has a lady friend" Natasha cooed, sending an exaggerated wink in Clint's direction. Clint laughed loudly before covering his mouth with his hand. "What's so funny"? Natasha looked at him, bewildered.

"They belong to you" Clint composed himself, before realizing the potential of the words when Natasha took a step back in fright. "No, no, no. You were staying here for a few days while they fumigated your apartment" Clint lied convincingly; Natasha exhaled quickly.

"Oh, okay then. So I have an apartment too"? Natasha turned her attention to the items on the dresser that now became hers. She placed the vintage perfume bottle delicately between her fingers, before smelling the neck. The vintage perfume was intoxicating, feminine and elegant, and she knew she'd smelt this before.

"Yeah, but don't worry S.H.I.E.L.D has taken care of rent for the time being" Clint knotted his hands behind his back, wondering if Natasha would prefer to live on her own. He wanted her to stay; he couldn't bear her leaving him again. "The bathroom is just through there" Clint pointed towards the en suite bathroom door.

Clint headed towards the wardrobe, while Natasha ran the brush through her hair. He pulled out a suitcase, a pillow and a red, cotton blanket. "This is your suitcase" Clint lifted the suitcase on to the bed.

"You're kicking me out this soon"? Natasha arched a brow while holding a playful smile on her lips. Clint rolled his eyes, but let a few chuckles depart from his lips.

"No, I just thought I'd give you your clothes" Clint patted the suitcase before putting the blanket and pillow under his arm. "The bed is all yours. Help yourself to anything you want, and if you need anything, I'm just in the next room" Clint started towards the door before Natasha spoke.

"Thank you" Natasha tugged at her own sleeves. "Thank you for rescuing me, and I know you probably hate yourself for not getting there soon enough, but I just want you to know I'll be forever grateful" Natasha and Clint locked eyes, and for a moment Natasha felt something burn in her chest, the way Clint looked at her in the dimming light of the bedroom - she'd been in this position before, she was sure of it.

"You never need to thank me, not ever, Natasha. I just hope it helps you remember" Clint's mouth turned up in one corner as he took a step closer to the door. "Goodnight, Natasha" Clint took one longing look at her before heading for the couch.



As Natasha lay down for the night, she found herself more awake than she had been all day. The questions were never ending and the possibilities were endless. What was her job? Was she a fashion designer? An actress? Who was S.H.I.E.L.D? She tossed and turned in the sheets surrounded by the millions of racing thoughts, but one new question seemed to stick out - what did Clint hope she remember?