Here it is then:

Natasha doesn't believe in heaven, but looking back, she can only describe this as the closest she'll ever get. Bright days and warm nights, under a golden light that seemed to shift in and out of her body, slowly but steadily lifting her spirit and buoying her up.

It was nothing special – a small house on a beach, somewhere on a small Mediterranean island. The bed was cramped and the water heater was broken, there was no air conditioning and the mosquitoes were everywhere. As far as accommodations went, they could have done a lot better. But it was August and the sea was splendid –cool and velvety and so calm under the blazing sun that it was like crystal– and the place was secluded so they could shed their clothes on the sand and get into the water naked, and Clint's body moving against hers at nights was enough to chase the mosquitoes away. And who needed hot water anyway, when the time spent in the shower meant less time spent sprawled in a lounger in the yard, looking at a sky full of stars with a glass of wine?

I got a bit away with it, so the rest is in here in AO3 (http://archiveofourown.org/works/9843893). :)