So, this is movieverse obviously. Mostly because I always shipped Black Widow/Hawkeye and the movie just made it all the more real. We all love Bobbi, but damn these two. Anyway, it's angsty and I'm not sure if it's in character, but I tried my best. I would recommend some Florence + the machine while reading, specifically the song 'heartlines' since that's kind of what it's based on. Loosely, anyway.
Hope you enjoy it, and don't forget to REVIEW!
(this definitely used to have a second chapter- but the story was bad and it was originally intended to be a oneshot. If I ever get some of that creative juice back, maybe i'll continue it. LOVE YOU ALL)
S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters was shiny and clean as ever, and crawling with young, rookie agents waiting to prove themselves. Every single one wanting to be the next Phil Coulson, and each one getting shot down daily by Director Fury himself. Clint couldn't keep most of them straight, far too many tiny men in suits, but he kept to himself most of the time anyway. He was the silent judge, always watching.
Every day he waits for her to make an appearance, and every day she doesn't show is another day he's convinced himself she's dead.
Logically, The Hawk knows that if something had happened, he would be the first to know. Maria Hill was very aware of their situation, and she knew any withheld information would only cause more trouble in the long run. But still, he remembers Budapest, and waking up in that hotel room stark naked and alone. Natasha Romanoff is good at a lot of things, and one of them is disappearing.
It's a slow, quiet day at S.H.I.E.L.D when she does show, sauntering through the halls in her catsuit, a large cut running the length of her eyebrow. From a ways down the hall, he spots her, cracking a smile he's not sure he wants.
"I would tap that like a maple tree." Hawkeye's smile vanishes in seconds, replaced with a curled lip, and glaring eyes full of malice. The young agent must have no clue who he's talking too. "I mean look at those thighs, how far do you think that zipper runs down? I would say-" Before another word can leave the crude, tiny mans mouth, Hawkeye is on top of him.
It's his large forearm that pins the man to the wall behind them. "One more word out of you, and I swear you'll be picking teeth out of your shit for a week."
"Agent Barton."
When he turns, it's Natasha, smirking ever so slightly. He releases the agent who scurries off, most likely to tattle on Clint, but nothing will come of it. Every one in this place knows he's a loose cannon, especially when it comes to the redhead standing in front of him. Something about being taken over by Loki changed him. His calm demeanor was now less soldierly, and more that of a ticking time bomb. "Agent Romanoff."
She swallowed, looking out the window across from them, then back at him. It had been like this since Chicago. After Thor took the tesseract back to Asgard, the Avengers went their separate ways. Clint and Natasha went to Chicago for a little break, and well, did what they tended to do. It ended as it always did, with Clint waking up alone in a hotel room, a handwritten note to keep him company. It had said 'I'm sorry' and all he could do was shrug and be thankful she was nice enough to at least apologize this time.
They both eventually made their way back to SHIELD, and ever since, things had been forced. She seemed aloof, as always, and he had taken to physically harming anyone who dared objectify her in any way he found unsuitable.
Clint turned to walk down the long stretch of hallway, and Natasha followed. "How have you been?"
"Better." he answered, avoiding her gaze. "The Director will want to see you."
"He already has, I went there first." She paused. "Then I wanted to find you." The two ducked into a room on the right side, away from the large window that ran the length of the wall. It was a small office that belonged to Clint. Director Fury had made it clear that if he wanted to sulk, this was the place to do it, no more hiding up in the rafters like some deranged bird man.
The room was familiar to them, comfortable even, and as soon as the door was closed he saw Natasha visibly relax. She leaned against the small desk with ease, while Hawkeye chose to stand by the door. "Are you okay?"
He moved forward before she could protest to survey the damage to her face. His finger ran the length of her cheekbone, where a bruise not previously recognized was surfacing. She flinched at his touch, taking a breathe and swallowing hard. "Clint."
"What?"
"I'm fine."
"You're always fine."
She sighed, pushing him away and standing. "That's part of the job."
"Can't this," He said, motioning between the two of them. "Be separate from the job."
She scoffed, cursing under her breathe in Russian and looking him dead in the eye. "Clint, no. You are the job, you were, and this debt that I owe you- it'll never go away. You saved my life."
"You're my partner, Nat."
"I wasn't back then."
"You'd fallen off the track, we've all been there. You had good inside you."
She broke their gaze, sniffing slightly and taking her position back on the desk. "And you saw that?"
"I did, even then."
In one fluid motion she practically thrusts herself into his arms, their lips crash against one another in a heated kiss. Nothing about this is tender, and his body aches for her, every inch of her. His hands settle on her lower back, and before her can think, he picks her up with one arm. Her legs wrap around his waist and he pushes her against the wall.
Natasha has never been one for heartfelt sentiments, or romance. He heard what she said to Loki, after the fact, when he watched the footage from the security cameras. "Love is for children, I owe him a debt." He hadn't been seeking it out, in fact, he was more interested in the destruction he had caused.
She had told him not to delve into it, but his guilt got the best of him. It was worse then he imagined.
Natasha had a way of making all of that go away. She smelled of dried blood and generic shampoo, her curly red hair a tangled mess as he ran a hand through it, pulling her head back to look at her face. They stayed like that for a moment, breathing heavily onto one another, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She closed the space between them just as their was a knock on the door.
"Agent Barton."
Both of them scurried, Natasha zipping up her suit, pushing her hair down. She wiped her mouth and avoided Clint's gaze as he adjusted and tried to slow his breathing. "One moment, Agent Hill."
"Take your time." She replied, and they could both hear the smile in her voice. Natasha took a seat on the desk as Clint pulled open the door.
"What?"
She pursed her lips, trying to hide the smirk that was threatening to surface. "You're needed on the bridge."
"I'm busy." He said, closing the door, but Hill slapped the dark wood, holding it open.
"Oh, I am sure you are, but last I checked you still worked for us. Don't you worry, I'll keep Agent Romanoff in one place long enough to be waiting when you come back, now go, Director Fury is waiting."
With a grunt, he stomped off, leaving Natasha behind with nothing but Maria Hill's incriminating stare and her own guilt.