Clint pulled his hood up around his face tighter and shivered lightly.

But his shivers weren't because of the weather, no it was twenty degrees celsius out here. He was shivering because of the huge tower that loomed above him. Avenger's Tower.

It's just another building, Clint thought trying to suppress his thoughts about sparring in the gym with Natasha or stalking people in the vents.

Natasha. He craned his neck up and tried to count up to her floor, with some false hope that he could see her looking out the window at him.

But it was useless, even with his above average eye sight he could hardly see the window. Much less anything inside.

So he went around the back of the tower, keenly avoiding Tony's visible cameras used to scare away the public and the almost invisible ones used for the real threats. At last he made it to the spot he wanted, four feet below an ugly air duct cover. It would be literally child's play for him to shimmy himself up into the vent and find his way up into the higher floors.

It would be so easy to see Natasha once more. The tiny voice urged at him, just for a minute?

Clint tried to block out the voice that was peeking into the depts of his mind digging up his deepest wants, breaking down the walls Clint had built around them to keep himself from hurting other people.

Clint resisted the urge to hit his head against the wall and quickly turned away from the tower, walking speedily away. If he stayed any longer he wouldn't be able to stop himself from climbing into the vents in full daylight.

Later, he heard the voice whisper almost sweetly. We'll come back when it's darker and everyone is asleep.

Clint ignored the voice but knew it was true, he would be back later like he was a burglar staking out a house. Except he wasn't going to steal things, he was only going to look. One look and then he would be off like a dirty shirt.

Until it got dark he had somewhere else he wanted to go.

Hailing a taxi and jumping in he smiled.

"Bedford-Stuyvesant, Brooklyn please."

He wanted to see Kate almost as badly as he wanted to see Natasha, but just like Natasha all he could do without getting caught would be look.

As the cab twisted through traffic Clint stared out at the streets. I got into a fight there, He thought aimlessly as they passed a dark alley. And there, there, I fell of a roof there, I was thrown in a dumpster there. Clint suppressed a rather childish laugh. Good to be home.

When the cabby stopped Clint handed him some money and climbed out, not really caring how much he tipped the cabbie, he was more enthralled in the brick apartment building in front of him.

As the cab pulled away Clint walked around the back of the building, he couldn't go through the front door. No, if someone that even vaguely knew him he would never be able to come back to Brooklyn, ever.

So he did what he did something he hadn't down in months, he crouched down and jumped, grabbing onto the fire escape.

Once Clint was a little better balanced on the creaky stairs he began counting windows to his apartment. Well Kate's apartment, but it used to be his.

When he reached the living room window he almost laughed in relief, Kate was sprawled out on the couch with Pizza dog reading a cheap gossip magazine and laughing like a little kid. There was some sorta pop music playing that Clint would have crinkled his nose at any other day, arrows were scattered on the floor and the heavy smell of coffee all around the room. It was as if he never left.

Kate is okay! He almost shouted out loud. She's fine! She's happy! Kate isn't even thinking about me! She's practically forgotten me!

She's practically forgotten me... Suddenly those words had a lot more weight than they did five seconds ago.

Half of Clint was still happy that Kate is moving on and is going to be a whole lot safer, but the other half stung.

Kate was like his little sister that he never had and she's moved on.

She's moved on, Clint. He told himself, Stop being so selfish, Kate is safe and warm and happy. That is all that should matter. You have to give her up, like you did Barney.

Giving Kate one last long look, he slowly moved his way down the fire escape. Goodbye Katie, I love you and no matter what I'll never forget you. Never.

__________________________

Clint wiggled his way into the vent, pulling his legs in and resetting the grate behind him. He was inside the tower, or at least inside the air vent.

He wasn't sure exactly where he was going from this particular vent, usually he didn't have to sneak in from a vent. Usually he was hiding in the vents to get away from the other avengers.

Climbing forward another ten feet he came to a fork in the ducting, on his left the vent continued on too far for him to see and on his right he could see it beginning to slope upwards.

He picked the right one and some found himself in the middle the vent above Tony's lab. Instead of hurrying along to Natasha's room (which from the lab he could find in his sleep) he looked Tony over once.

The once spry genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist looked tired. Then again it was a little past midnight so Tony had probably been in here since noon and he had a pretty good reason to look tired. But this was a different kind of tired than he usually looked when Clint was around, Tony looked older. Like he had aged two years in the space of a month or so.

Clint sighed then continued on his way, but instead of turning at the fork for Natasha's room he went to the gym where he could hear the faint sounds of fists connecting with a punching bag. He knew without looking through the vent below him that it was Steve, Natasha liked to have a real opponent and Bruce was too scared to get over worked and release the Hulk.

Like he figured, it was Steve in the gym pounding away at what looked like his sixth punching bag . Clint decided this because of the pile of torn bags that lay a good five feet away, either torn off their hooks by a mean super soldier swing or pulled down and tossed after their sides split.

Rodgers was pounding into the sixth bag harder than Clint had ever seen him before, his brow creased and his face tensed. It was normal for Steve to let off some steam at the end of the day,yet Clint couldn't help but notice the deep and dark circles under the Captain's tired eyes.

Steve looked haggard and in some strange way he reminded him of Coulson. Coulson with his exhausted raccoon eyes after a particularly long mission, his forehead and brow creased with both new and old worry lines. Lines that showed no matter how good of a soldier Coulson was or how strong the walls he had built up around himself were, he got hurt just like the rest of them. He wasn't on a pedestal, he was damage too, he could just control it better than most.

Steve was basically a mirror of those exact things.

Coulson would be fangirling over the fact that the great Captain America being compared to him. Clint almost laughed but it shriveled up in his throat. Why did Coulson have to be like Captain America? Why did Coulson have to be the hero and try to stop Loki? But deep down he knew those answers. Coulson thought he was just a pencil pusher and a coward that 'saved' the world for behind a desk. He wanted to be something more, a real hero. Clint thought gloomily. Well Coulson,you were a real hero before you tried to stop Loki, even if the rest of the world doesn't think that. To me and Natasha you were the best hero that ever lived.

Wiping away a single tear that was pooling under his eye he started crawling again without looking down into the vent. Because he knew if he looked down he wouldn't see Steve, he would see Coulson.

Clint almost climbed right past Natasha if it wasn't for the smell of her favorite vodka coming from the vent in the common room.

Underneath him he could see Natasha shakily pouring herself a shot that was most defiantly not her first.....or her third.

In the dim light he could see dark mascara lines running down her cheeks and her red hair tussled and unbrushed. Natasha looked like a exhausted wreck. But to Clint she still looked like a million bucks. A sad, drunk and tired million bucks.

As Natasha poured herself another drink Clint could feel his heart crumbling like it was in a vice. Natasha,why? She was so broken, so un-Natasha like.

Clint didn't realized what he was doing till he was dropping soundlessly onto the floor out of the vent in front of Natasha.

Natasha stared up at him with huge pain filled eyes and what tiny hunks of his heart that were still intact felt like they were disintegrating inside him. He missed her so much.

"Clint?" Her voice came out in a horse whisper.

Clint pulled her into his arms and held her in a vice grip. "Yah it's me Natasha."

With that Natasha began to sob and grip onto Clint even tighter.

"You- you were dead, I saw it! Never leave me again Clint, I can't lose you too. Not Coulson then you." She sobbed drunkenly and Clint knew that in the morning Natasha would dismiss this as a dream if she even remembered.

"It's okay Natasha, I'm here now." Clint tried to sooth as he held her. They stood there in each others arms until Clint heard her breathing slow.

Natasha was asleep.

Clint quietly gathered her legs up, lifting her off the couch and walking lightly to her room.

As he laid her done gently on the bed he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Stop drinking and crying over me, you need to move on . Don't let me stop you from living your life."

As he climbed back up into the vent he looked down one more time at Natasha who was now sleeping peacefully in her bed.

"I love you and I'll never forget you. Till the day I die, you'll always be my Natasha,no matter what happens or where I go."

Then he pulled the grate close behind him and wiped away his tears

Goodbye.