A/N: Hello everyone, I know I should be updating my other stories but this oneshot came into my head and I had to write it, forgive me.

It's based off the Chanel commercial with Nicole Kidman in it, which I love, so the song to listen to whilst reading this is Craig Armstrong- Clair de Lune ( watch?v=8FTvSHdEAAY)

Please R&R!

Clint was annoyed.

Very annoyed.

Fury had sent him on an assignment that required him to take out Samuel Anthers, a man who was conducting a human-trafficking ring and had sent Clint to a benefit ball, all dressed up and ready to go when suddenly, soon after his arrival to said ball, Coulson had spoken through his ear piece and informed Clint that Samuel Anthers had been murdered in his home early that evening. Fury had sent his regards, telling him to him to enjoy the evening to himself as planned because he couldn't organise the Quin-jet to pick him up any earlier than the proposed time.

This left Clint standing at the bar, gin and tonic in hand, spending SHIELD's money in annoyance on expensive alcohol. He looked over the vast crowd of millionaires, gathering together to relish in their wealth. He had to admit, not all of them were bad, but something about this crowd of people just made him feel sick.

He threw back the rest of his drink and motioned for the bartender to give him another one before turning back to face the crowd, using his incredible use of his senses to take in his surroundings. The woman in the corner discreetly trying to powder her nose, the pig-of-a-man sitting in the centre table cackling at something his fellow pig-man man friend had said, the lovely elderly couple towards the back of the room politely whispering to each other, looking as if there were plenty of other places they'd rather be. The younger couple on the dance silently swaying in a tight embrace.

He was caught off guard suddenly when a flurry of red and black came out of nowhere, 'Darling, there you are.'

A woman roughly his age had hastily approached him and he looked slightly down at her with a mildly confused expression as she looped her arm through his and placed a tender kiss on his cheek, and he took note of her American accent. It took less than a second for him to take her all in: bright red, curly hair that illuminated her flawless, porcelain skin and her slim, strapless black dress highlighting her womanly curves. Her form was deceiving, at first glance she looked like a powerless, susceptible girl, but after years of training with women assassins, he could see her strong muscle form straight away, which meant whatever she did for a living required a lot of physical strength, he was thinking gymnastics.

He went to push the woman away but she slid her way up to put her mouth next to his ear, her other hand gently placed on his chest, 'Help me.' She pulled back, and to another other guest they would simply look like a young couple in love meeting up at a benefit, her whispering sweet nothings into his ear. His body was on edge, a voice in his mind screaming danger, but then he looked back down at her and saw something very alarming in her emerald eyes.

Fear.

His instincts kicked in, as they would if he were playing a role on a mission, he relaxed his body so they looked comfortable with each other and she stood closer to him, letting his hands rest on her hips. She swallowed nervously and rested her head on his chest, whispering up at him, 'The three guys that are dressed as bell hops have come here to kill me.'

He kept him exterior the same but his insides froze. Who was this woman, and why was she in so much trouble that three men were out to murder her. It was only then that he realised she was shaking slightly and he rubbed a comforting hand up and down her arm. She kept her head turned into his chest as he inconspicuously watched the men discreetly search the ballroom, weaving in and out of the crowd searching for her.

He saw they were coming his way so he moved the two of them so they were standing to one end of the bar, his body trapping hers to the bar to block their view of her.

He tried to look at her reassuringly before murmuring, 'Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.'

She took a shaky breath before raising an eyebrow, 'I'm up for it if you are.'

He took that as an invitation and tentatively pressed his body against hers, leaning forward to mould their lips together. She responded enthusiastically and lifted her hands to wind around his neck. He could almost feel sparks in between them, and if he wasn't trying to save her life, he'd probably be trying to buy her a drink.

They moved together, lips battling each other for dominance and she kept one eye watching the men retreat out of the ballroom in anger, trying not to get distracted by this man's wicked hands that were working magic on her skin. Once she saw they were gone, she (almost) reluctantly drew her lips slowly from his, drawing back to catch his gaze looking down at her. She was breathing hard and he didn't know whether it was still out of fear or from the kiss.

'At least buy me a drink first.' She sarcastically commented, he grinned back at her.

They were silent for a moment as they tried to catch their breath until, 'Hey, lovebirds, take your make out somewhere else, this is a public space!' The bartender whacked Clint's shoulder with a dishtowel, making the two turn in embarrassment towards the deadpan look he was giving them. They were both flushed and Clint quickly acted, grabbing his scotch from the bartender and hastily grabbing an empty glass and reached over the bar to retrieve the bottle of vodka, they were going to need it.

'Hey!' The man exclaimed and the woman quickly gathered her skirts and followed Clint out of the room and onto the long balcony overlooking the sights of Paris. He led them further along the lengthy terrace to stand at a corner, placing the two glasses and the bottle on the ledge. She came to a stop beside him and watched as he poured her a small glass of vodka and handed it to her wordlessly. She threw it back, hissing at the harsh sting on her throat before placing the glass back next to his, delicately wiping her mouth.

They were both silent for a moment as she turned to overlook the city, taking in the post-sunset skyline with it's beautiful array of colours. The wind had picked up slightly, blowing away the excess hair that Clint had pulled out when he had kissed her, and he thought she looked stunning.

'It's beautiful up here, everything seems so peaceful.'

He took a drink of his scotch before murmuring softly, 'Who are you?'

She glanced quickly at him, as if she was deciding to let him in on a secret, 'I'm a dancer.'

He raised an incredulous eyebrow, clearly not believing her, 'A dancer?'

'Mhm.' She hummed, turning back to the city, closing her eyes and relishing in the cool breeze on her skin.

'Can I at least get a name?' Clint had pushed away from the ledge, putting his glass down and proceeded to remove his jacket, draping it over the edge and loosening his tie. She watched him curiously, as if reading him by his actions. She almost considered giving him a fake persona but something inside her suddenly said that this could be a moment where she shared her true self with someone without having to deal with the backlash later. She dropped her head and ran a hand through her hair before answering, 'Natasha.'

He grinned at her and held out his hand for her to shake, 'Clint.'

His large, warm hand encased her as they shook and withdrew slowly, moving to his shirt sleeves and rolling them up around his elbows. She leant forward onto the ledge and looked at him expectedly.

He sighed before asking the inevitable, 'Who were those men and why are they trying to kill you?'

She hesitated, like she was scared she was going to do something wrong, 'I got into a bad crowd. I did some bad things and decided I'd had enough and ran away, and now they're trying to make sure I don't turn against them.'

He was silent as he watched her turn her head away and frowned. Here was a gorgeous, young woman (who was clearly not a dancer), a troubled woman who had obviously had a rough past and was looking for a way out. Sounded awfully familiar to him.

'How long have they been looking for you?'

'About a month.'

He pondered it for a moment, 'I could help you.'

She laughed, her voice ringing across the night sky, 'I don't think even you, my knight in shining armour, could save me.'

He frowned, about to butt in saying that he could get SHIELD to help her, but realised she couldn't know he was a spy, and shut his mouth. He would be travelling from Paris to New York at 0800 hours, in nearly nine hours' time and there was nothing he could do. Or could he.

He threw back the rest of his expensive scotch and she watched him curiously as he put his jacket over his shoulder and picked up their empty glasses and the half empty vodka bottle before motioning her to follow him inside. They made their way back to the bar where he deposited the glasses and sheepishly gave the bottle back to the bartender before turning back to Natasha and offering her his arm. She slipped her arm into his and he lead them through the pretentious crowd and out of the ballroom.

They walked in silence for a long time, relishing in the sounds of the night life of Paris roaring around them. She'd barely known the man for more than an hour and yet felt comfortable in his presence. Clint no name, well as of yet. She snuck a quick glance over at her mystery 'date' and looked him up and down. He had clearly come from a military background, his exceptional posture a tell-tale sign, but his body structure also showed something else and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She was interrupted by Clint, who was looking at her expectedly.

'Mhm?' She looked confused.

'Have you been in Paris long?'

She shook her head softly, 'Only a few days.'

He hmmed before asking, 'Have you been to Paris before?'

She smiled, 'No, I haven't actually.'

He whistled, 'A tourist, I see. Well, as you can see, that is the Louvre to our left, but I personally have a favourite spot.' It was only a short walk later when he led then to one of the small gardens in the long park area opposite the museum.

'Jardin des Tuileries. Tuileries garden.' She murmured out loud as they past a sign.

He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, 'I'll add speaks French to the endless list of things I don't know about you.' She chuckled at that and looked around at the looming trees.

'Why is it so quiet? It's only 11:30?'

He took a moment before answering, 'Well tourists really gravitate towards the Eiffel tower and the vast gardens over there at this time at night, but I found these gardens one afternoon a couple of years back. I actually got lost a little bit, but in getting lost, I found a hidden garden.' He wove along the past until they approached a tall corner of the hedge and he parted from her, feeling through the growth to find what he was looking her and exclaimed in triumph and pushed forward. The wall gave in and it swing inwards, like a door. She was slightly amused by his excitement as he ushered her in, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed before closing it behind them.

'Wow.' She looked around at the small enclosed space, the large circular fountain trickling gently, the park benches and flower beds surrounding it.

She looked back at him to see him looking straight at her and she blushed a little bit. He smirked at her before escorting her to one of the benches. As they sat down, he pulled out a full bottle of scotch and exclaimed, 'Ta dah!'

She rolled her eyes and accepted the bottle, opening it swiftly and taking the first sip, 'You're naughty.'

'You barely know me.'

'This is true.'

'Like I barely know you.'

She looked at him, knowing where he was going, 'Come on Natasha, if that's even you're real name. What do you do?'

She laughed before exclaiming innocently, 'I'm a dancer!'

He chuckled along with her as she graciously stood up, leaving the bottle next to him on the bench and he watched as she gave him a quick twirl, 'I love to dance.' He watched in amusement as she hummed to herself and spun with the gracefulness of a prima ballerina and he briefly wondered if what she was saying was true. She giggled and slipped off her black heels and proceeded to jump up onto the edge of the fountain, balancing on the balls of her feet. She felt strange, being apart of the Red Room meant she had to hide her emotions away and never let them show but here she was, laughing with a man she barely knew, and she wasn't even trying to kill him, it was genuine. She almost felt shy as she felt him watching her dance around the fountain, not a care in the world.

'What about you? What's you're thing?' She glanced up at him as she spoke, her mouth quirking up at the corners.

He thought about thinking up a lie, but what the heck, he had nothing to lose, 'I like archery. I grew up in a circus and the boss man picked my brother and I up off the streets and took us in. Archery is what he stuck with me back then, and it's still stuck with me now.'

'Well that's different.'

He took a big drink from the bottle for courage before he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone, turning the volume up as he played some soft music they could dance to.

She sensed him approaching her slowly and she held out her hand for him to take and he helped her off the fountain ledge and pulled her in against him. Without her heels, she was a good head shorter than him and she shrugged her shoulders slightly before leaning to rest her head for the second time tonight on this strangers chest, secretly loving the fact his arms naturally encircled her to hold her close to him.

They were silent for a moment, both taking in this unexpected turn of events before Clint spoke up gently, 'I don't know who you are Red but you're certainly not American, although you're very good.'

She stiffened slightly, before drawing back to glare at him, 'Firstly, don't call me Red. Secondly, no I am not American,' She hesitated before continuing, 'I'm Russian.'

Clint was shocked, 'Russian? Wow, you are good.'

She rolled her eyes before he surprised her by raising his hand and spinning her around in time with the music. He slowly drew her back in, their eyes locked with each other as the moonlight softly illuminated their faces. They slowed to a still and suddenly the tension in between them grew thicker. He towered over her slightly, but somehow he didn't make her feel intimidated by his height as other men made her feel. His height gave her a sense of security instead and she was scared how this complete stranger could make her feel safer than anyone had in a long time.

He kept his eyes locked with hers and murmured softly, 'A Russian ballerina who can speak French and English who's on the run, that's not something you see every day.'

She countered back softly, 'An American archer who used to be apart of a circus, definitely not something you see every day.' She caught him staring at her lips as she talked and she found herself slowly sliding he hands up his torso.

He moved in towards her, 'Definitely not.' He crashed his lips into her and she moaned slightly at the contact, letting him curve his hands around her arms to pull her closer to him. She ran her hands through his sandy-blonde hair and gentle tugged at it, trying to draw him impossibly closer, her mouth working with a passion she knew not of.

Suddenly, she stiffened and broke away from him, stepping backwards as he looked at her, confused. He didn't deserve this; she knew it wouldn't last anyway, save the heart break for both of them now.

'What am I doing? I shouldn't even be here, I need to go!' She quickly moved to slip her heels back on but Clint rushed forward to grab her arm.

'Natasha wait, don't go-'

'Clint,' His name came out like a soft prayer and he closed his eyes slowly, memorising the way this woman uttered his simple name, 'I'm so sorry but I have to go. I don't want to, tonight has been the best night-'

'Then don't leave!' He urged, coming to stand against her body again and cup her face in his hands. She hesitated, almost stopping herself from leaving. Her mind was filled with all the different ways they could run away together, but unfortunately for her, it was an impossible dream. They would find her and kill him just to spite her, and she couldn't live with that.

'I have to Clint, they'll find me and then they'll kill you too.'

'I can help you.'

She sighed and raised her hands to his cheeks to, 'The stars are not aligned for us tonight Clint, but no one can steal this dream from us.' She placed one final, lingering kiss upon his lips before moving past him to exit their little piece of heaven.

'Barton.' He blurted out, 'It's Clint Barton.' She froze, her hand on the hedge to push it forward.

'What?' Her voice dripped with disbelief.

He took a deep breath, 'My full name is Clint Barton.'

She looked at him, a realisation dawning over her face and for a moment, he felt she recognised who he really was, but that couldn't happen, he was a master assassin. He didn't get recognised.

'No.' She backed away quickly and exited as swiftly as she could and he moved to follow, but by the time he'd exited the hidden hedge garden, she had disappeared from sight.

And just like that, she was gone.

'Do I even get a last name?' He yelled into the darkness, hoping but not expecting a response.

The night was silent and he sadly retreated back into the small sanctuary, unbeknownst to her hidden form only metres away, hidden away masterfully in the dark.

She was breathing deeply in horror. If he was who she thought he was, they were on opposites sides of a never ending war. She raised a shaky hand to brush her lips, the feeling of his against her like a ghost, one that would follow her for a very long time, a reminder of her one moment of blissful normalcy that turned into her worst nightmare.

She had compromised herself to the enemy.

He was Clint Barton.

Also known as Hawkeye.

Fury dropped the thick folder in front of his top agent, walking around his desk to slide into his leather armchair, 'You're new assignment Barton, the Black Widow.'

Clint raised his eyebrows at the size of the folder and hesitantly opened the first page to reveal the image of his target and his jaw dropped.

The photo was snapped on a rainy street in London, the image slightly blurry but he knew that deep red hair from anywhere. She was glancing over her shoulder and he could see the piercing look in her eye and felt that he might die of shock, how did he not see this?

It had been so long since that night and now, seeing her in this image, it felt like looking into one of his dreams. When he had nightmares, which occurred a lot, he used the peaceful image of her to calm him down; she was his anchor.

'Is something wrong?' Fury looked at him curiously.

Clint shut his jaw and put on a schooled facial expression, still in disbelief. It'd been so long, he'd almost thought it to be a dream. He never forget her completely though.

Her kiss.

Her smile.

His Natasha, an assassin?

Clint raised his eyesight to look at Fury, 'No sir, nothing wrong.'

A/N: I hoped you liked it! I just love these too characters and was quite dissapointed with Age of Ultron, mainly because some parts were so good so it made the dissapointing parts even more dissapointing :(

Please R&R it really makes my day

C xx