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Tension drags Natasha awake and she lies still for a moment, assessing the environment. Clint is stiff beside her, too stiff.

She gently twines her fingers into his and lifts his hand. He's holding her back.

She sits up on her elbow and looks into his flat, mildly curious gaze. His eyes are their own proper color, devoid of horrifying blue.

"Bad dream?" she asks quietly.

Clint stays cagey quiet and inexpressive for a moment, then gives a short, sharp nod.

That's what woke her. Natasha drops and settles against his shoulder, warming him with her body, her trust. "Okay."