It's a Spider Thing. {Peter Parker and Natasha Romanoff}

{34} I'll be sure to tell the grim reaper that

GUNS WERE SPREAD OUT ON THE COFFEE TABLE, ranging from biggest to smallest.

A cleaning kit was open beside the assassin, its contents spread out on the seat beside her as she lifted the smallest gun and proceeded to pick it apart.

It didn't distract Natasha entirely from Peter- nothing could. He was still at the forefront of her mind. The entire fight had grated on her the past few days, especially the changes that she could have made so that he'd be sitting beside her instead of the cleaning kit- maybe cleaning his own gun as well or rambling about some new Lego set instead of being locked up somewhere that she couldn't get to.

Natasha scowled down at the weapon that she was turning over in her hands; a plan was in place and her part in it was to sit out for a while until they found him. A tactical team was scouring and working their way through every known Hydra base on the system thanks to Fury, but being forced to sit on the side-lines helplessly was killing the woman inside.

It could take months. Months that Peter not have to find him and bring him home. Natasha would be damned if she found a body instead of him, alive and breathing.

The image of the barrel of a gun digging into Peter's head was still as clear as day in her mind; she could see it in perfect clarity. Even the acceptance in his eyes as if he deserved to- Natasha's breathing caught and she scrubbed harder at the weapon. It was a small task, but just enough to keep her thoughts from straying into darker territory that threatened to suffocate her. Just enough to stop her from envisioning a darkened cell and Peter curled up in the corner of the room wearing that same damned collar she had- "Natasha."

Within seconds the gun was pieced back together and aimed at Clint who stood with his hands raised in a placating gesture, barely a foot through the door.

Her eyes raked over him systematically as she caught her breath.

They finally rested on the duffel bag that was placed comfortably on his shoulder and her mind whirled with possibilities once she had effectively scrutinized him from head to toe. The assassin set the gun down on the coffee table with a blank expression, "Off on vacation?" she commented.

"Are you going to make me spell it out?" Clint asked, lowering himself into the vacant armchair as she reached for another gun. He dropped the bag at his feet with a soft 'thump'.

Natasha's eyes flickered to his. "Yep."

Silence dropped over the duo and for a moment, Clint simply watched Natasha as she methodically pried apart the new gun with an eerie expertise, like she had done it a thousand times over- he knew she had, and then some. "I have to find him." He explained quietly.

"I know." Nat gritted out.

She picked up another rag and stubbornly refused to meet the archer's eyes. Clint hated her open stance but closed off features. It made him frown. "Nat-"

"I want you to. More than anything." she confessed, swallowing hard. "But anger makes you stupid. Stupid gets you killed, and Clint Barton, I do not give you permission to die."

Her eyes were alight when she looked back up to him.

Fear, frustration, desperation, indifference- they all fought for dominance through her eyes while they darted across his face, as if she could commit his features to memory if she only stared long and hard enough. Clint, despite knowing the woman in front of him for years, had no idea which emotion was real or if all or none of them were. But what he did know was that they were masking something that ran deeper than either person was willing to dwell on for too long.

"I'll be sure to tell the Grim Reaper that. You're definitely scarier."

"I try." She smirked, but it fell as quick as it came. Without another word, she turned back to the gun in her hands and gripped it tighter than she had before.

"I better go." Clint mumbled, standing from the armchair.

He reached for the duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder casually, trying to be light with his movements and about the situation when it was anything but. They both knew what 'have to find him' really meant. It meant months of undercover work behind enemy lines where Clint could be shot in the back by everyone around him ten times over before he even had the chance to draw a weapon.

It was risky. But they'd had those conversations in the dark where they allowed themselves a moment to wonder about the darkest what ifs and make contingency plans.

Natasha rose to her feet too so that she was stood in front of him.

"Call. When you can." she ordered sternly. Clint nodded and adjusted his grip on the strap of the bag, exposing his nerves. It was always hard when they said goodbye, but they did it every time.

Silently, he tugged her hand into his and pressed something small and cool into her palm. An arrowhead; her lips quirked at the familiar sight of it. Drawing in a long breath, she took his hand too. Her fingertips were cold against his calloused skin as she curled his fingers around a single bullet.

To anyone else, the items were meaningless. Something to be discarded- but to the two agents they were a silent promise that they had to meet again to exchange back their weapon of choice.

"I'm bringing him home Nat." Clint swore as she pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek.

"Bring yourself home too." She pleaded, resting their foreheads together for a few moments.

They both cherished the other's presence, not knowing when they'd be back together again. 

A/N

This scene is so cute and heart warming to me- and I like to think the weapon swap is like exchanging dog tags, ya know? It's their version in case the other doesn't come back.

Also this could be Clintasha if you squint but if I ever make a sequel they probably won't be together. Welp :/ Do you lot want a sequel? Thoughts please :)

Anywho! Let me know of any spelling mistakes! xoxo.