The story of Clint Barton recruiting Natasha Romanoff was SHIELD lore. How a young and barely tested agent had been assigned to kill the famous and notorious Black Widow, but when the moment came, he made a different call; he made a call that could have ended very tragically had he taken a chance on the wrong person. It was a story that every new recruit thereafter had to hear on their first day as Nick Fury gave his customary welcome lecture that actually welcomed no one; it was formality that he couldn't pass to anyone else and it wasn't for lack of trying.

What wasn't as famous of a story was that of how Clint was recruited.

Once he had been brought into SHIELD, he excelled at every challenge and climbed through the ranks to lead faster than nearly anyone in history. Everyone except you, of course. There was no way in hell that he was going to climb over you if you had anything to say about it. You brought that boy in yourself, and after endless hours of convincing Fury that you were making the right decision, he finally gave in so long as you got Barton under control. The kid was a mess; untrained, stubborn, arrogant, and too smart for his own good. Beyond that, he was the most skilled marksman you had ever known, and if you hadn't taken the chance on him, someone else would have and the options weren't ones you wanted to consider.

No one ever gave you credit for Nat, though. All Barton was doing was exactly what you had done with him, but without the proper acknowledgment for giving him the idea in the first place. He always had been a little shit like that.

"So, how's this new group?" you asked your protégé. "See anyone promising?"

"They're all promising," Clint shrugged, "but no one jumping out at me yet. They're young, this group. Not sure if Fury even bothered to check birthdays."

You peeked your head into the classroom where Barton had just left, seeing for yourself just how young these new recruits really were. They looked like a mix of eager, nervous, and terrified; you remembered the feeling yourself as if it had been only yesterday that Nick gave your group the exact same speech that they had just endured. "Nick isn't even scary anymore," you chuckled, "what's with them? Are we sure that they're old enough to leave their mommies?"

"Pfft, barely."

"Well, Barton, they'd better pull up their big kid pants soon because we're taking them out in the field on Monday."

"Woah, hold up," he stopped you, grabbing your arm, "like, this Monday? Like, three days from now Monday?"

"Yep."

"You and me?"

"Yes, Clint. You and me."

"Shiiit," he grumbled, turning away and shaking his head, "are we taking bets on how many actually come back alive?"

"Really? Come on, Clint, you know that if anyone can get these kids into shape fast, it's you. Besides, don't worry, I'll be there with you."

"You say that like it's a good thing, (Y/N). We're not exactly known for our conventional methods, and if this is a teaching mission, don't you think we need a little convention?"

With one final glance into the room filled with bursting, youthful nerves, you could feel the pressure of their anxieties pushing back against you like a balloon ready to burst with the slightest pressure. Maybe Clint was right, that it was too soon, but you were of the mind that there was no time like the present to start, and what better way than on a nice, simple training mission? It was how you got your start, how Barton got his, and it was how these newbies would get theirs; tradition demanded it.

"Would it make you feel better if we bring Nat?"

"Nat? Ha!" he scoffed. "Cap, maybe. Or even Stark for that matter. Bringing Nat along is definitely asking for trouble. You think that I can handle two of you on my own?"

~~~

As it would come to pass, Clint may have been right. The training mission was a rocky one at best, and it may have been too much too soon for most of the young recruits. A few of them stood out and led the pack when they were able, and when you and Barton were too busy keeping the threats under control. There were injuries; a broken leg, a shattered shoulder, a couple of minor gunshot wounds and a few not so minor that you would spend the next several weeks apologizing for. You would work to convince the group that they should continue on and to not be spooked by a first rough mission, but beyond that, you would spend that time also convincing Clint and Nick that you could be trusted to make these decisions and continue to lead.

You had to be sure that this wouldn't risk your place with the Avengers. It wasn't likely to, but that fear and regret ate away at your confidence and haunted you without reprieve. Even over a month later, the temptation to ruminate and obsess over images that you would rather forget persisted and left you restless and barely able to sleep. You had never had this problem after a mission before, and there was only one person who might be able to help you figure out why this was happening now.

"Barton?"

You stood outside of Clint's room at the tower, gently knocking on his door just enough for him to hear but not to wake the rest of the team only a few feet away. You tried this several times to no result, trying to knock a little louder each time until you were practically banging on the door and getting nowhere.

"Barton?" you tried one more time, groaning at the lack of progress when you had the realization that you had been in this exact same problem before, standing outside of his door and trying to a man who slept like the dead. "Hey, JARVIS, can you let me in? Just this once?"

"Mr. Stark has programmed strict-"

"I know, J, that's why I said just this once. You've kept secrets for me before."

"None that are a break in privacy, miss."

"Come on, it's just Clint. He's not gonna care, and you know that he won't tattle on you. He only talks to Tony when he has to."

There was a pause as the A.I. considered his options while you smiled to yourself knowing that you were about to get your way. He would never openly admit it, but JARVIS enjoyed going against his creator every now and again, and you had no problem being the one to encourage it.

"I will keep this confidence until I am asked directly about it, at which time I will have no hesitation-"

"Thanks, J," you broke in eagerly, pushing the now unlocked door open, "I owe you one."

"I should say so," he agreed, "though I have no idea what I could possibly want and I now believe that I have the poorer side of the arrangement."

You shut the door with a gentle click, standing steady to allow your eyes to adjust to the lack of light that filled the room other than a soft glow from the bathroom. It was endearing that Barton still used a nightlight, though he would never admit that he was afraid of the dark when confronted. He just claimed to not be the biggest fan of it after one too many stubbed toes during a mad dash to pee. You knew the truth.

"Clint," you whispered, creeping up carefully towards the bed, staying on the opposite side of where he was. He had been known to wake up violently when startled, and you had no desire for another black eye. "Clint, wake up."

"Mmmmrphphmmmrrr."

"That wasn't English."

"Mmmmrphhhmmraaaaway," he grumbled again, his face buried in his pillow and a stray hand swatting at you to leave him alone. "Nnnno."

"Clint, come on, please? I had a bad dream and now I can't sleep," you pleaded, emphasizing the pout in your voice. "I'd wake up for you. I have woken up for you."

You knew the way to Barton's heart was through his guilt, and you had played it well. You always played it well and he knew from the second that his door opened, he was a goner. "Ugh...fiiiiiine, get in here." He held up the edge of the blanket to invite you next to him, "I can protect you only until I fall back asleep, so talk fast."

"You know what, it's okay," you declined in a coy huff, "maybe I'll just go talk to Cap. He's probably not even asleep yet."

"No, I'm awake! (Y/N), I'm awake, just stay here. The last time Cap got woken up because of me he made me run laps until I couldn't feel my feet. Come on, sit next to me and tell me what's going on." You hesitated for a second, but the tap of his hand on the mattress and the little grin curling at the edge of his mouth changed your mind, and you took his offer.

"I just need to talk it out, that's all. I won't keep you awake long, I just need to get this out of my head, you know? That training mission with those newbies...I can't stop thinking about it."

"(Y/N), we both screwed the pooch on that one," Clint agreed readily. "Fury did too. None of us had any business taking that group out so early on. He made the decision, and we were following orders."

"Yeah, but given that it was a stupid-ass decision, we should've elected to ignore it."

"We're obviously pretty damn stupid too."

"Speak for yourself, Barton."

"Will not," he scoffed, "if I remember right, I was the one trying to talk you out of it."

Hanging your head in defeat, you couldn't argue with the man; you had gone along with it all too easily, and the blame you were carrying was why you were here with him now. The memories of the way it had gone down and the scars left behind for both you and those on the team were getting impossible to carry. "Yeah, you were. I should've listened."

"Yes, I am very wise."

"An you've been hanging around Stark too much."

"Not enough, obviously, I let you in here and I'm tired as hell," he grumbled, dropping back onto his pillow. You sat still, staring at him questioningly, not knowing if that meant you were done talking, and if you should leave, or stay, or what was happening until he took the edge of the blanket and once again lifted it for you. "You gonna lay down, or what? I'm going back to sleep so make up your mind quick."

It may not have been a very deep conversation, and it really hadn't solved anything at all, but as you decided to stay and pulled the cover over yourself, you realized quickly that maybe that wasn't what you needed anyway. You had already talked to yourself ad nauseum about it and had gotten nowhere, and Clint wasn't likely to have much for new insights. What you found that you actually needed was for him to almost make light of it, and to treat you with blunt honesty. Clint Barton wasn't going to lie to you to make you feel better; if you screwed up, he called you out, but he also didn't hold it over your head and torture you with it. As far as he was concerned, he got you to admit the truth to yourself, and was able to get a smile out of you at least once. For him, it was a victory and he'd never let you forget it.

When your eyes closed and sleep had finally arrived easily, you also knew that he was the kind of guy to give you shit for the rest of your life about whining your way into his room at 2am because you couldn't sleep. What he didn't know was at the first sound of him telling anyone about this, you'd have the rest of the team filling the tower with nightlights for your scared little hawk.