Early on in Natasha's career, with her escape plans unachievable, the only way to complete the mission and tie up loose ends had been to steal her target's car and drive it off a cliff and into the ocean with herself still in it. Even today she can remember the rush of adrenaline as she sped towards the drop, the way her sweaty hands could barely grip the wheel on the approach, the sickening roll of her stomach as she'd gone over the edge, the chill as the water had closed around her. Nothing to hold on to, no firm footing, everything swaying underneath her and pressing down above her. She escaped, barely, but the experience still ranks as one of the most terrifying in her life.

Loki takes Clint, and Natasha still doesn't know what name to give to the complex tangle of everything that's between them, but she knows exactly what it feels like right now.

--

In amongst everything else that's going on as they try to save the world, Natasha can't help wondering if she and Clint were going too far too fast before, if now is the time for her to jump out before they crash and burn. Perhaps when they get him back, she should end it, because even if they both survive she's got no hold on the steering wheel any more and certainly can't get to the brakes.

Then they get Clint back, and it's like being back on solid ground again. She's weak-kneed with relief to be there but she's had the breath knocked out of her by the ordeal, and so has he. Even as Natasha grips him close, she wonders if either of them can survive a near-miss like this again.

--

The battle is over, the doctors and psychiatrists have cleared them for rest and relaxation, Fury has given everyone three weeks official leave and as much as they want unofficially. Tony has taken Bruce and given everyone else the use of his tower and his transport in exchange, which works well for all concerned.

"Wanna go on a roadtrip?" Clint asks Natasha, when they're the only ones left in the garage.

"Where to?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Anywhere."

"Alright."

The car speeds down the highway, top down, road stretching away from the city and into the horizon far ahead where it's obscured by the orange glow of the setting sun. Clint's got his sunglasses on and he's watching the road as he drives, but he smiles when Natasha reaches over to put a hand on his thigh.

"You OK?" he asks, glancing over at her briefly.

"Not really," she replies.

Clint drops one hand off the wheel to cover hers. "Anything I can do?"

A small smile graces Natasha's lips. Clint's battered and bruised on the inside, and she's the same on the outside, and they should probably be slowing down or pulling over to recover. That's not what she wants though, and not what they need. She can put the brakes on whenever she wants to, but now is not that time.

"Does this thing go any faster?" she asks instead.

Clint grins. "Sure." He presses on the accelerator, and suddenly the roar of the engines and the rush of the wind drown out anything else they could say. Natasha squeezes Clint's hand before he puts it back on the wheel, and then leans back in her seat to watch the world race by around the two of them. Neither of them are in great shape, but he's got his eyes on the road and she's got her eyes on him, which means as long as they're together they can navigate the tough times ahead.