Sure, yeah, Clint knew what the actual right play was here. He did. And if they both loved each other the way they said they did (and they did, that wasn't -- that so bizarrely wasn't the problem or a thing in question here at all, it just wasn't) things would inevitably work out for the best. All they had to do was sit back and wait.
Right?
Well. Maybe not, Clint thought, even as he tilted his head to the side slightly, eyes trained on Natasha's lips as she went on. Bucky. Bucky was a factor. And wasn't that something to think about? Because -- well. Bucky. "You were with him in my own world for a while too," he said, and could only really smile over it because they'd worked and how could Clint argue against that? Natasha deserved whoever made her happy. Clint knew that without question. He didn't pursue it further though, not right now. Any comments thoughts or questions he might have on the matter were being put on the back burner where they had time to simmer, so he wouldn't say anything idiotic without having taken the time.
A smarter person would have called the night after that -- gone back to best friend things like nail painting and gossiping and potato chips -- except Natasha just kept going and then Clint was looking at her like that again (had he ever even really stopped?) and --
Clint wasn't even really sure when he started moving, but he had Natasha in his lap and was kissing her before he could tell himself otherwise.