It was a greater relief than expected, seeing him alive and as well as could be, when she finally entered these so well-known surroundings. And even more so, hearing him ask for reassurance before and now still being ready for her with his weapon. His instincts were working correctly, she could see it in his face that he knew it was her. But in times of masks and all kind of technical tricks you just never could be sure.

She finally took her hand off her gun, slowly, staring into his eyes calmly, and raised her hand just as slowly to her eyes to fumble out the contacts that were hurting like hell by now anyway. Not her color anyway.

The silence hurt. Just a few months ago she would have answered with a witty remark to his joke or glared at him for inappropriate carelessness in a dire situation. Suddenly she didn't know what to say, to think anymore, where to put her hands. She didn't fear an arrow pointed to her heart. That wasn't the first time, after all, and something told her, Clint still didn't have it in him to release it, even after all that had happened. She feared what would come out of his mouth next.

Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest, the sudden wave of sadness, remorse, memory and the never ending anger tightening her throat that she could hardly hear, recognize her own voice.

"So? What's the verdict?"