Clintasha and "don't fucking touch me"
"Don't fucking touch me right now, Christ, you-" She takes a few steps back, breathing almost harder than she has in any fights in the past - two years, fucking hell. "Where the fuck have you been? Everything went to shit, and guess who wasn't there? You. You weren't there."
Clint swallows, hard, eyes flickering from the floor of his apartment to Natasha, back to the floor and then to the walls. "Um. I was places?" His hand, outstretched to touch her arm, slowly falls back to his side. "C'mon, Nat, you took care of it just fine without me, we both know you don't need me that much, I mean, damn, lay off a guy, would you?"
Natasha opens her mouth then closes it swiftly, pressing her fingertips between her eyebrows. "I was worried about you, bastard." Her voice is slightly softer now, and she laughs weakly, shaking her head as if to clear the emotions from her face. He knows her well enough though - he can see right through it, and gets hit with a wave of what feels like shame. "You could have at least called. Did you know I got shot?"
"Heard about it. Kinda." His voice barely raises above a mumble, and shit, this is awkward as fuck. "Look, 'Tasha. I wanted to call, I really did. But I was undercover!" She doesn't budge, keeps her eyes trained on his head like she's imagining what two shots would look like through his forehead. "Aw, man, Nat, why you gotta be this way?"
She surges forward, and for a moment he totally thinks his life is toast, goodbye Clint Barton, he leaves all his worldly possessions to Kate Bishop, etc., etc., but instead - she hugs him. "I'm just glad you're alive, fucker."
"I know how to take care of myself, idiot." He hugs her back slowly, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the smell of her shockingly distinctive strawberry shampoo. "Glad you're alive too, you know. Gotta have someone to stand next to while the superpowered idiots are doing superpowered things."
