"I'm the perfect wife," Clint replied, well aware that, even if he had been female, that was far from true. He was terrible, romantically, and he knew that. It was easier with friendships and companionship, and much easier with Natasha. Maybe it was the fact that she seemed to demand so little of him; then again, she was one of those people for whom he tried his best. Sometimes he felt she had a completely unreal vision of him, and it made him uncomfortable, but he prized her too much to correct her most of the time.

He moved to sit down next to her, leaning his shoulder against hers. He could feel the heat of her body, close to his, and it was comforting. Like being close to a bomb that would explode just for you. "What about other places?" he asked. "What are you doing now?"

If she had leaked her entire, sordid history onto the internet - well. She didn't like to discuss it most times, much less admit to it. She had given him her trust, once, and he had betrayed it to Loki, and he couldn't see her happy about willingly letting all of her secrets go when brainwashing hadn't been involved. For that Clint would never stop feeling guilty, but if she was upset about what she'd felt she had to do, that was more important for the time being than his own mixed feelings. "Have you gone back home, yet?"