Almost all of Clint's moments of brutal honesty came with Natasha. There'd been a few smattered about his life with others; Steve, Tony, Dr Strange, Wanda, that one time with James when he was drunk. But Natasha got the most -he wasn't sure if that was just testament to how often they were vulnerable around each other or how often she drank him under the table. It just came as no surprise really that even an alternate version of this woman could strip it all away, the bluster and pride just pushed aside.
It was nothing to lean into Natasha's touch, savour it, keep his remarks to himself for half a minute to let her get it out.
He pressed his forehead to hers as she mentioned losing him, even without him disappearing. Part of him understood that. He'd gotten so wrapped up in Natasha not being dead that he didn't stop to think about what her death actually signified, not until the Red Room was burning and she was presumed dead again, until he was reading what amounted to a Dear John letter and he had to acknowledge that even if she wasn't dead, things were different now.
"Opportunities don't come along that often." He knew he'd always answer if she needed him, knew that he could always count on her when he needed her, but something shifted somewhere. Somewhere between Carol trying to predict the future and Hydra changing the past, something changed and he couldn't tell what it was until Natasha was telling him she needed to be by herself. "It'd be stupid to let one slip by." It wasn't like Clint didn't take advantage of anything that he could, even those things he shouldn't take advantage of, like two for one pizza from five different places.
"Although, for the record, plying me with alcohol is not always needed. It's fun, I like it, but you definitely don't need to loosen my tongue up much." Although maybe if he wasn't a little bit spacey he wouldn't have managed to not say something dumb to encourage the openness. He really liked those rare moments Nat was soft and open with him.