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Hawkeye was known for his ability to melt into shadows and disappear in high places, his nests as they were. In New Mexico, they called him 'the Hawk,' for his tendency to watch overhead and swoop down when they least suspected it. He would mingle at the appointed social times, be friendly, but there was a professional hardness behind his gaze that let you know he would treat you like the security threat you were if you ever became a risk.

The Black Widow was known for her ability to melt into shadows and disappear into the roles she played, invisible even when she was glittering at the center of attention and dazzling her targets with a bright laugh and brilliant smile. She would socialize as intimately or casually as any moment required, dig beneath the surface of a friendship until you believed you were actually close to her, but there was a truth behind the mask in her eyes that let you know you would never see who she really was.

Natasha was expecting the arrow aimed at her throat when she entered the safehouse. There were no codes or phrases that could reassure each other in the face of what had happened to SHIELD. They knew exactly how the other would react to any word, any expression, and anything could be manipulation.

She laid her cards on the table. "I've blown all my covers."

Clint had recruited her personally. He knew exactly what she had gone through to trust SHIELD or agree to work for them. He knew it had not initially been her choice.

She'd blown all her covers. Her files were out there for the world to see, and she had held nothing back, not even his file because it would taint the evidence of what had been right, what had been wrong, and which missions should never have happened at all. She waited out his scrutiny until he lowered the bow and dropped back onto the sagging couch with a groan, then a sigh that seemed to exhale a century worth of trouble and worry.

"You didn't call," he commented at last.

Natasha shook her head. "I was too busy trying to keep Sam and Steve alive."

Clint nodded but said nothing. He had been in Afghanistan when everything went down and even seeing him here, alive, didn’t make him feel any closer yet.

"Have you called Bobbi?" she asked.

He glanced at her, shook his head back. "Her secrets have secrets. I doubt I'd even know."

"She wouldn't have married you if—"

But he didn't let Natasha finish, just pinned her with a disbelieving stare. "You married how many men and you want to tell me that?"

Her mouth snapped shut audibly. It had been before her time with SHIELD. As a Black Widow, no cover had been too close or intimate. She had never talked about it, but she had assumed he knew or suspected some of the things she had done. She never expected him to throw it in her face.

"There is no place for us in this world," Natasha murmured to herself.

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. They belonged in the shadows, Strike Team Delta did, invisible for all they were in plain sight. With everything that had happened, that was no longer an option.

"You didn't just blow your own covers, Nat," Clint said. She'd blown his too.

Natasha slept curled up in the middle of a too soft mattress beneath a quilt that had seen better days. She rolled over once, brought to consciousness by a steady pattern of quiet thunks.

Target practice. She wondered what weapon of choice he was using on the targets they kept inside the safehouse. It was one of theirs and not SHIELD's, but for all he hadn't called Bobbi, he'd chosen to hunker down in one that Bobbi knew about as well.

This wasn't something she could touch. She didn't know how to handle the light any better than he did, so instead of going out to see if he needed her, she rolled back over and closed her eyes.

Bobbi had never intended to make it out alive, but now that she was alive, there was damage control to take inventory of. She brushed off the medical officer still alive aboard the Helicarrier and ignored every aching part of her body. She leaned against the wall outside of medical and hesitated for only a moment about calling her husband.

Clint couldn't have been HYDRA, wouldn't have been able to hide it so long. He wasn't made up of lies and secrets. That’s why he had to keep to stay invisible to hide them, and he was good at that. She couldn't believe that Clint was HYDRA, not after she'd held him through the nightmares and pain of killing his own people under Loki's control.

She couldn't believe that Natasha was HYDRA either, not when she'd been there as Natasha learned how to be a human with her own likes and dislikes, interests and friends. She'd been there when Natasha curled up between them, shaking because for the first time she'd let a man live that she thought she should have killed.

She dialed the number, not even bothering to use a burner phone, just a SHIELD issue she'd have to get rid of soon if she wanted to stay off of HYDRA's radar.

The phone rang and rang, but he did not pick up.

Bobbi found she couldn't find any comfortable position in mind or body and ended up crawling out of her bunk to her laptop. She had been there when Natasha was brought in, and Natasha would never forgive her for sorting through her past as if she had any right. Bobbi didn't look up Natasha.

She brought up two browser windows and started two searches, one on Clint Barton and the other on Hawkeye. She'd been looking at baby pictures with a coworker that morning, then that morning had to shoot him or die herself. She had to know, not just believe, that Clint wouldn't have turned on her on the ship had he been there, that he wouldn't have heard that announcement and tried to put a bullet in her gut.

She dreamed of Clint, his body warm against hers as they made love in the bed. She dreamed his hands hot on her skin and his mouth against her neck as she pulled him as close as she could, nails scraping over his back. He pushed inside her, lifting his head to look her in the eyes like he sometimes did, soft words on his lips.

"Hail HYDRA."

She woke abruptly and did not bother going back to sleep.

She stopped by Mack to let him know she'd be off the grid for a little while. "I've got something to take care of."

He gave her that knowing look she always wished didn't make her feel like he could see right under her skin. "Do you know when you'll be back?"

Bobbi didn't even know which safehouse he was in. One of three options, when it came down to it. There was no way he or Natasha would have holed up anywhere SHIELD knew about.

"I'll be back," she replied simply.

Bobbi wasn't looking forward to it. If she was worried about this now, as she flew halfway around the world to find him, then it must have crossed Clint's mind too that she could be HYDRA, that she might have been the one turning on him in Afghanistan, ramming a gun under his ribs.

But she couldn't afford to think about his worries when she had her own digging to do through everything Natasha had released to the internet. There were her own files to go through and find out just how badly she was compromised.

She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to do any of it. Bobbi had left transparency behind years ago as she went deeper and deeper into the life of a spy. She didn't know how to wear her heart on her sleeve or her history on her chest like a bullseye. She didn't want to stand vulnerable in front of Clint when he was hurt and lashing out and could do the most damage. She didn't want to know that so much of the work she'd given her life to had done more harm than good.

"D— it, Fury," she muttered softly to herself. He had pushed for Project Insight, and as she dug into the specifications, she thought he'd never had a worse idea in his life.

He'd expected her. He had. He just hadn't expected to be in the cramped, warm kitchen in his boxers drinking a cup of twice-heated coffee when his wife walked in the door and simply looked at him without saying a word.

She had new scrapes and bruises on her face and arms and new pain behind her eyes. "Hey, Clint," she said softly.

He studied her for a long moment. He'd been on guard when Natasha came, had his bow lifted and made sure he wanted to trust her before he let her in. This time, he had few defenses and no idea whether she would have any reason to come to him like this if she had been an infiltrator.

"Hi," he answered roughly, after letting the silence stretch for a moment too long perhaps. Everything felt tense and awkward, and he realized that he had no idea whether or not he trusted her.

Bobbi could lie. With Natasha, he didn't know what the truth was hiding behind one set of words or expressions, but he knew when it was hiding out of sight. He'd never had that talent with Bobbi, and she'd always been able to spin those lies on top of herself even when standing in the spotlight.

She looked at him for a long moment, taking him in, visibly cataloguing his own injuries as he had done with hers. "I'm almost surprised you didn't draw a gun on me when I came in." She tossed her hair slightly, settled her bag on the table near the door.

"Yeah, well, I forgot to bring a firearm into the kitchen," he commented dryly.

He sipped his coffee, watching the way she looked up sharply at that. Wary tension filled the room between them, and he wondered for a moment if it had woken up Natasha in the other room and whether she was observing them both now to see how it all shook out.

Bobbi huffed out a breath, and he could feel the slight rise in her temper. "I was worried about you, okay? My own friends turned on me in SHIELD and I didn't know if the same happened to you, if you made it out alive, and you wouldn't answer your d— phone."

A long time complaint between them. "You figured out how to find me anyway," Clint pointed out.

"Only had three safehouses to check." She looked at him again, an expression mingling hurt and anger. "You don't trust me."

She didn't have to ask, and he didn't have to tell her. They might not be able to fish out the truth behind each other's lies and secrets, but after however many years of marriage, they knew how to read each other between the lines.

"Would you?" he asked. "In my position? Bobbi, you have never had a hard time fooling everyone."

"You know I would never betray you," she countered.

He disagreed. "You're loyal to causes first, not people." And she'd do whatever it took to get a job done. "And it's not like I can check up on you in the SHIELD leaks. You don't exist in those files. You can still do anything you want or need. The world knows our names now, but you're not affected."

"You know I did that to protect my family," she said. "I didn't do that for me."

"How do I know that?" he demanded. "You've been legally dead since you became a field agent. I never checked up on your story. It could have been a HYDRA cover for all I know just for an occasion like this."

"Do you want to meet my family?" she demanded. "Do you want them to vouch that I'm their daughter come back to life?"

Clint drew back, breathing hard. "If you did do it for them, wouldn't that throw everything away?"

Bobbi stared at him for a long moment. "I'd do it if it would make you believe I'm not HYDRA."

They were made for the shadows, Clint and Bobbi. He wished he could go back to believing her secrets weren’t dangerous and he'd rather just let her keep them.

Bobbi claimed the shower, and Natasha appeared in the living room briefly with an assessing gaze he'd rather she keep away from him. Everything was too raw and transparent and he'd never wanted everyone to know who he was and all the things he had done. But he couldn't blame her either.

"You did the right thing," he finally got out into the silence.

He washed out his coffee cup and cleaned up the counter before finally looking at his partner. She had that caught breath look she got whenever she was full up of too much to say and everything was too raw and transparent for her as well.

"You don't blame me then?" she asked, quietly, voice small but even.

Clint sighed. "No. I don't."

Natasha waited until Clint had pulled on his clothes and disappeared for a 'supply run' to ambush Bobbi in the bedroom where she was drying her hair after washing it.

Bobbi's eyes barely flicked up to notice her. She turned around to shove the wet towel into the dirty clothes hamper.

Natasha recognized the trust inherent in the gesture, and by now, she knew both Bobbi and Clint well enough to know it wasn't mere naivety or American arrogance. "Clint was worried about you," she opened with.

It prompted a harsh, humorless laugh from Bobbi. She turned to fix Natasha with an incredulous stare. "Clint's convinced I'm HYDRA."

Natasha dismissed that with a slight head shrug and sat down on the hamper next to Bobbi. "If he was, he would've killed you by now."

"No, he wouldn't have," Bobbi said. She fished her comb out of the drawer and looked in the mirror instead of at Natasha as she did her hair. "He's right. I'm loyal to causes more than people, but Clint's loyal to people." Both of them knew that. Both of them knew his tendency to forgive where they would not. "He wouldn't kill me himself, though he might let someone else." She finally looked at Natasha properly, as if wondering if that was why Natasha had decided to show up.

They were friends. They had been close for years, exchanging training tips and work techniques in between the girl talk about Natasha's best friend and Bobbi's husband. But Bobbi was right that Natasha believed in eliminating any confirmed threat, regardless of personal affection. Not that Natasha believed she could still mete out such judgment anymore. She'd softened some, found the idea of killing Clint or Bobbi impossible.

"You think I would kill you because of what was in my file?" Natasha smiled as she asked, but the question hurt in a way she hadn’t expected.

Bobbi's eyes gleamed a little in the light as she looked at her. "You both think the worst of me. I didn't read your file."

Natasha caught her breath.

"I wouldn't." Bobbi had that stubborn look, that set jaw, and those crossed arms that had always meant sincerity with her, and Natasha didn't know how to take it.

Turning her back on Natasha, believing in Clint's judgment were all one level of trust, unexpected but welcome. This was something reckless and unlikely and felt like the moment Clint had spared her life all over again.

"You should have read it," she said lightly. "It's foolish not to."

"You still believe Clint should have killed you," Bobbi said, unmoved. "He shouldn't have." She shook her head. "It wouldn't have made the world a better place or a safer one."

Natasha couldn't fathom what would give Bobbi that impression, so she simply leaned back and accepted the way these two had always broken down all her walls and seen something in her she didn't even see in herself. They were her first taste of having all her masks stripped away, and having someone else know who she was and all her sordid history.

"I blew all my covers," she said at last, an extension of trust because this was the Bobbi she had known for all these years. This was the trust she had relied on.

Bobbi shook her head. "At least you didn't learn you were nothing but covers."

Hadn't she? There was a real Natasha, but she wasn't much acquainted with herself. She set that aside. "You're not."

"And how do you know that?" Bobbi asked, casual bitterness seeping into her tone.

Natasha just shook her head. "Clint can't see through your lies because he chooses not to. He's in love with you." She let the words hang for just a moment. "I don't have that problem."

"She's asleep," Natasha hushed Clint when he got back in.

He closed the front door softly, eyes on his wife lying across the couch, wrapped in one of the thicker blankets and a spare pillow.

Natasha studied him brazenly, waiting out his watchfulness.

No matter how he felt about anything, this was Bobbi and he loved her.

"I trust her," Natasha said at last.

Clint brought his gaze up slowly to meet hers.

She didn't explain herself, just gave him a head tilt and curious microexpression in her eyes.

Clint didn't answer it. He left the things he'd bought on the counter and went to gather Bobbi in his arms and carry her to a real bed.

When Bobbi woke, she was surprised at the warmth she felt. She was pressed back against Clint's familiar solidness, his arm was draped over her waist, and she could feel his breath warm against her neck.

She stretched gingerly, unsurprised to feel him give her room to do so, awake before her or wakened by her. She rolled over to meet his gaze and run her fingers lightly over his arm.

"I would never hurt you, Clint," she said softly at last.

He looked at her, so many emotions warring in his eyes, then simply drew her against him and kissed her forehead gently. "Now that I believe."

He tucked her in close and she snuggled against his side. They lay warm and tangled together for a long time, ignoring the sunlight shining on the bed.