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It had been a rough day at work, like most days are when you fight for justice and the greater good; and after a too-long debriefing and a scolding hot shower, Clint felt it was sheer luck that he made it to bed before passing out. Natasha was already under the sheets, breathing softly and dead to the world. He managed to slip an arm around her waist before losing consciousness.
He wakes up in the middle of the night - though for all intents and purposes, he's still pretty much asleep - when Natasha suddenly sits up in bed, seemingly disoriented. Propping himself up on his elbows, he places a soothing hand on her arm in silent question; and she shakes her head like she heard it out loud, voice rough from sleep.
"I just.." She sighs tiredly. "I just need to check on the kids."
He makes a disagreeing sound, kissing her naked shoulder before he sits up completely.
"I've got it. Go back to sleep."
His weary body protests, muscles that still need rest screaming under his skin; but he stretches his neck and heads out of the room, bare feet shuffling on the carpet.
He gets as far as the doorway, almost walks through it too, before he realizes that they're at S.H.I.E.L.D., in the personnel sleeping quarters. And that they don't have any children.
Slowly he turns back to face the bed and watches the sleeping form of the woman he loves; and he wonders, heart aching slightly in his chest, if there is something missing in Natasha's life that she's too scared to ask for.