A/N: The idea for this story came from a two-frame cartoon found on the Internet in which Nat is complaining that Clint likes to play "Prince Charming" for the older ladies. They argue then in the next frame, Clint is flirting with an older lady and calling her "my dear." If you'd like to see the cartoon, please PM me and I'll send the link. I didn't make the cartoon and can't remember the name of the artist. My bad.

Timeframe is post-Budapest, pre-movie. Many thanks to ladygris for the Beta. Wait! She didn't get to see this one before it was posted. My bad again. :-P

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

~Sandy

Avengers

Clint Charming

"Come on, Nat!" Clint shouted at his partner as she stomped down the ramp of the quinjet, across the deck into the bowels of the helicarrier before he could unbuckle from the pilot's seat. Tossing the headset aside, he scrambled out, grabbed his duffle bag and jogged after his partner, catching up with her outside the bridge. "Why the hell are your panties in a bunch this time?"

A warning growl made Clint let go of her arm, holding both hands up.

"You are impossible!" She poked him in the chest. "Just this once I asked you to behave, and did you? No!"

He tried to stare her down and she glared back without blinking. When she did that, he was in deep ****. "What's your problem? We closed the door on their operation and we're home in time for the big game tonight."

"Screw the game and screw you, Barton!"

Following Natasha into the conference room, Clint started to take his usual seat next to her, thought better of it and moved to where they were at right angles to each other. Coulson was already present. Fury and Hill took the seats at the table moments later. Clint also didn't miss the curious glances shot at them from all three.

Ignoring the irate undertones, Coulson began the briefing. Despite Clint's fears, everything went smoothly and three hours later, they were released to their own devices for the next couple of weeks.

~~O~~

Watching Natasha and Clint leave and the way she avoided looking at or being touched by her partner, Coulson exchanged a glance with Fury. The director of SHIELD nodded once, Coulson returned it and left the bridge, his expression thoughtful though not in a good way. His two best agents were acting like a married couple on the verge of a divorce. Separate, they were two of the finest agents SHIELD had ever produced. Together, they could do the unimaginable. He had to do something to keep this partnership from coming to an end.

Coulson gave them a couple of days to work things out, and when that didn't happen, he chose to step in by first going to Natasha's quarters. He touched the chime and was admitted. A few minutes later, the petite red-head shoved Coulson out into the hall and shut the door in his face. He turned to knock, stopping with his hand raised when he heard the inner lock engage and saw the Do Not Disturb indicator lit up.

With a sigh, the senior agent hunted down Clint next, finding him on sitting on the catwalk. Normally the archer would be outside on the conning tower, but a storm had settled over the area, disinclined to move on for the time being. Strapping himself into the rig, he climbed up to the catwalk making his presence known before approaching. "Barton."

"Coulson." Clint glanced at him and away to stare off into space.

"What's going on between you and Romanoff?" The archer shrugged, his expression not changing though a small glint of something had sparkled in the depths of his eyes before he could stop it. Coulson took a seat next to Clint, hands gripping the lower rail. "The two of you haven't spoken a civil word to each other since your return from this last mission. Did something happen you'd like to share?"

"Ask her." Coulson just waited and when the silence got to be more than Clint could bear, he continued.

"I did. She threw me out." Getting to his feet again, Coulson strapped on the rig. "Kiss and make up. You have three days." He gripped the rope and climbed over the railing. "That's an order, by the way."

Bending his knees, Coulson pushed off, rappelling quickly down to the floor. He unhooked the rig, brushed a hand through his hair smoothing it back into place, straightened his clothing and walked away leaving Clint to brood in peace.

~~O~~

The seventy-two hour window that Coulson had given the long-time partners came and went with no resolution to their quarrel. The cursor on the monitor blinked, mocking Natasha with the fact that she couldn't come up with a diplomatic way of telling Coulson to go **** himself without being formally reprimanded.

A few years ago, she would've just come out and said it not worrying about the consequences. Guess I've mellowed. Or maybe it was the incident in Budapest. Whatever the cause, it was too late to go back to the way things were before. Like it or not, she was one of the good guys now, and with it came all the perks as well as the disadvantages. Like now.

Natasha slammed her laptop closed, got to her feet, brushed the sides of her short hair away from her face and left the room. She'd been restless lately and decided that a new hair style would help alleviate her desire to beat the crap out of her partner so she'd had it cut even with her chin. They had been working together long enough that Clint should be able to read her moods and tell what was wrong without her having to spell it out. But not this time. Or maybe he was pretending. Whatever it was, they had to get over it before she headed to Moscow for a solo infil while Clint oversaw a special project at the SHIELD compound.

Suppressing a sigh, she locked the door on her way to the meeting Coulson had requested just fifteen minutes ago. Instead of the main conference area of the bridge, the meeting would be held in one of the private conference rooms. This particular one was barely big enough to hold a table and six chairs in addition to the A/V equipment. However, today there were only two chairs side by side.

Entering, she saw what she expected to see: Coulson standing at the opposite end of the room, sunglasses covering his eyes so she couldn't read his thoughts. His hands clasped together in front, an air of tranquility surrounding him that didn't mask the dangerous man that she knew lay beneath that surface.

Clint was there as well, looking as if he'd been waiting hours though he knew more than anyone how much she hated being late. Taking the only other chair, Natasha sat, and at exactly fourteen hundred hours, Coulson took off his sunglasses, tossing them onto the table. His eyes bounced back and forth between the two agents. "Who wants to get the ball rolling?"

Natasha resisted looking at Clint. With more than a hint of sarcastic politeness, the archer said, "Ladies first."

"Agent Romanoff?" Coulson crossed his arms loosely, totally relaxed.

Exhaling loudly, Natasha said, "I asked him not to do something on this op, and he did it anyway." The senior agent didn't respond except to shift his feet. "He…"

"Don't tell me. Tell him."

Holding in a growl of frustration, Natasha finally faced Clint. He was already looking at her, an impertinent smile on his lips. No matter what he said, he knew why she was angry with him. "He…flirts."

Clint's expression changed so fast, Natasha almost laughed. His eyes went wide and his jaw dropped open then snapped shut.

"You're pissed because I flirt? Remind me how long we've known each other, Nat."

Facing Coulson again, she elaborated. "He likes to play Prince Charming with the older women."

Scoffing, Clint swiveled his chair around to look at her. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is."

"Uh, no, it's not."

He didn't like being imitated so that's what she did. "Uh, yes it is."

Now his smile and all semblance of good humor were gone, the skin around his eyes and mouth tight with displeasure. "Didn't!"

"Did!" Pointing at their boss, she said, "Tell him about Elise."

Suddenly sitting up straight, Clint burst out, "This…" he waved between them, "…is all about Elise?"

Though Coulson's voice was soft, the steel in it was evident. He wanted answers, he wanted them now and didn't much care who gave them. "Who's Elise?"

Ten Days Ago

Marseilles, France

Having taken over a local butcher shop as their cover for this op, Clint tied an apron around his waist while Natasha went to unlock the front door. She raised her voice to be heard in the back. "Remember what I said, Lucas."

"Yeah, yeah. Just get to work, Sarah." Clint chuckled at the name Natasha called him and came to the front in time to greet the customers already waiting. Because Natasha actively disliked running the register, Clint took on that job. And for the next couple of hours, the agents were forced to work hard in their assumed identities while waiting for their contact to show him or herself.

Natasha went into the prep area where two more agents were backing them up by cutting and prepping the meat and cheese for their stock. An older woman came in dressed as if she were on her way to a charity committee meeting. He guessed her age at mid-fifties though she looked much younger. She flashed him a coy smile, and in response, he leaned on the counter, lowered his voice to a husky register he knew women found sexy, and gave her his most charming smile. "How can I help you, dear lady?"

Self-consciously, the woman touched her black hair shot through with strands of silver. His eyes never left hers as she took a folded sheet of paper from her designer handbag. "I'm having a dinner party on the seventh and need these items, please."

Taking the list, Clint let his fingers touch hers briefly. "Of course, uh…"

"Elise Dufrane."

She extended her hand, but instead of shaking it, Clint dropped a brief kiss on her knuckles, keeping hold just a fraction longer than necessary. "Enchanté, Elise. My name is Lucas." Behind him, Natasha cleared her throat. "And this is my sister, Sarah. We're the new owners of Le Magasin de Viande." Plucking the list from her hand, he gave it a cursory glance then handed it to Natasha.

"I'll need the order delivered no later than eight o'clock the evening of the sixth."

A hand over his heart, Clint inclined his head slightly as he handed her an invoice to fill out. "I'll need your address and phone number, s'il vous plaît, and I will make the delivery myself."

"How kind of you." She finished filling out the form and handed it back. "À bientôt, Lucas."

"À bientôt, ma chère." When Elise had gone and the store was empty except for the SHIELD agents, Clint started into the back, coming up against a wall of angry Russian, arms crossed and tapping one foot. "What?"

Rolling her eyes, she turned and stalked into the back, muttering under her breath in Russian. Following her, he stopped next to Agent David Ferguson. The junior agent pointed his chin at Natasha disappearing into the back. "What's up with her?"

"No idea." Untying his apron, Clint hung it on a hook near the back door. "Our contact wants to meet. If I'm not back in three hours, put Delta protocol into place."

"Yes, sir," Ferguson called out as Clint went out the back door.

Two hours later, Clint returned to find the store packed, Ferguson and the other guy doing their best to help out. Clint took over the register and cheese slicer, and shortly, the store was empty again except for the agents. He smiled at Natasha holding out his fist for a bump. She scowled, and walked away leaving him to take care of the next few customers alone. He smiled and winked at a group of gray-haired grandmotherly types, one of which winked back while the others just giggled. As they left the store, the women each gave him a wave which he returned, still with that charming smile.

Clint felt he was being watched and turned to find Natasha scowling and tapping her foot in that annoying manner she had. "What?"

"Nothing. What did the contact have to say?"

"Just enough to keep us interested. Wants to meet again tomorrow night. And if he's still interested, again on the seventh."

Natasha's eyebrows drew together over her nose. "You promised Madame Dufrane you'd personally deliver her order tomorrow. How will you be in two places at the same time?"

Clint grinned. "Our contact will be at the party. I'll just charm my way to an invitation and voila! Mission accomplished."

"This isn't Mission: Impossible, Eblan."

"You worry too much, Nat. Let's close the store and take a walk."

Rolling her eyes, Natasha's smile that had made an appearance, left again. "Then who would you flirt with the rest of the day?"

Snorting, he removed the apron tossing it carelessly under the counter. "Off-hand, I'd say saleswomen, waitresses, cashiers, random women on the street."

"No. We'll blow our cover. I'm going in the back. Call if you get busy."

~~O~~

Eight o'clock rolled around just as Clint knocked on the kitchen door of Elise Dufrane's home. The door was opened by a sour-faced woman wearing an apron covered in flour.

"Oui?"

"Delivery for Madame Dufrane."

The woman stood out of the way as Clint carried in the first part of the order. When he came back with the rest he opened the refrigerator and began placing the items inside, casually asking, "Is Madame Dufrane available? One of the cuts she requested wasn't up to her obviously excellent standards and I would like to make sure that the substitute will be suitable. If not Madame, then I'll speak to Monsieur."

"There is no Monsieur Dufrane. I will get Madame." When the door had closed behind the cook, Clint examined his reflection in the chrome surface of the refrigerator, brushing a hand through his hair to give it that windblown look.

Cook returned and led him to the sitting room. Elise smiled when she saw him. "Ismay, please bring another cup for my guest." To Clint, she said, "You will join me in a cup of tea, n'est-ce pas?"

"Of course."

One thing led to another, and when Clint left Elise's home hours later, he'd charmed her into asking him to be her date for the dinner party the next night. He returned to the safe house to find Natasha had gone to bed just minutes before, and though he knew she couldn't possibly be asleep, she didn't answer when he knocked. Probably pissed at me again…or still. It was hard to tell. Shrugging to himself, he went into his room, showered and changed for bed.

The next night, dressed in a tux, he caught a taxi to the Dufrane home and was admitted straight away. In the morning, he returned to the safe house to change and joined Natasha at the shop. Today would be the last time they'd have to put up the front because their contact had given Clint all the information they needed to complete their mission.

As if she were still pissed at him, Natasha took every opportunity to trip him. By the time they closed the store and returned to the safe house, Clint was exhausted. And still with no idea why his partner was upset

Present

"…and to make matters worse, he spent the night with Madame Dufrane. He arrived back at the safe house then the store late. Every single woman he played Prince Charming with came in to leave their phone numbers, but didn't buy anything."

Using just his eyes, Coulson cast a questioning glance at Clint getting a shrug and sheepish grin for an answer. "Agent Romanoff, do you have a problem with Agent Barton spending the night with another woman?"

"No. Of course not. But…" Natasha broke off, glancing away.

"But?" Clint asked. He didn't receive an immediate answer and seemed to be searching his memory, coming up with nothing that would account for Natasha's unusually high level of animosity.

Getting to her feet, she now seemed hurt rather than angry. "Let's just forget about it." And without waiting to be dismissed, the Russian left the two men alone and still none the wiser.

Coulson came around the table to stand next to Clint. "We need a mole, someone who can find out what's going on."

"Like who?"

Smiling, Coulson led the way to the bridge. Calling Hill over, the three agents had a short intense conversation with the men mentally slapping themselves for not getting it. Subdued, they put together a hastily concocted plan.

~~O~~

Looking at her reflection in the full length mirror, Natasha wondered just how Hill had convinced her to get all dressed up for a girl's night out. Actually, it hadn't been that hard a sell. Her two best friends, Clint and Coulson, had forgotten her birthday. Or rather the birthday she'd chosen when she became an American citizen.

She left her short red hair loose not wanting to bother with putting it up. Picking up the earrings that matched her necklace, Natasha went into the bedroom, slipping one foot then the other into a pair of three-inch black heels.

The doorman of her New York apartment had orders to let Hill in when she arrived, and the doorbell rang just as Natasha was putting the back on her left earring. She opened the door, her mouth dropping open at the sight in front of her.

Hill, dressed in a short black and white cocktail dress was flanked on either side by Clint and Coulson, the men in very nice suits and wide smiles. Each of her friends held a small package covered in brightly colored wrapping paper with curly ribbons affixed to the top.

"Happy Birthday, Natasha!" They chorused.

Standing back, she let them in. "What's this?"

Her friends exchanged glances with Clint starting them off. "I finally figured it out. The first night I went to Madame Dufrane's you and I had plans to celebrate your birthday. I'm sorry I forgot." He gave her one of his oh, so charming pouty expressions and she felt herself giving in. "Forgive me?"

"Fine. What did you get me?"

Holding out a flat package, Coulson said, "Open it."

With a shrug, she untied the ribbon and tore off the paper. Inside were four-FOUR!-tickets to the ballet. More touched than she let on, Natasha extended her hand for the next gift. Clint's was flat as well. However, inside was a handwritten note.

You are cordially invited to celebrate your birthday at Café duMonde with three companions of your choice. The reservation is for six thirty.

"Since this is a surprise party, we took the liberty of inviting ourselves."

Natasha's lips twisted wryly. "Naturally."

Hill handed over the gift she was holding. "Hope you like it."

"I'm sure I'll love…" Inside the box was a small die-cast limousine, "…it. Maria?"

Coulson extended his elbow to Natasha. "Your chariot awaits, Natasha, and it will be my pleasure to escort you."

Clint did the same with Hill as they took the elevator down to the lobby. The driver tipped his hat then helped the women into the back. He waited for the men to get in before getting behind the wheel and pulling into traffic.

~~O~~

The end of the first act was coming up and though Clint pretended to enjoy himself, ballet just wasn't his thing. But he would put on a brave face for his partner and best friend. Leaning close to Natasha, he whispered in her ear, "I didn't sleep with Elise."

Equally softly, she replied, "Then why did you stay out all night?"

"By the time I could get our contact alone, it was well past midnight. Elise offered to let me stay the night in the guest room."

"Why should I care where you slept?"

Grinning, he crossed his arms to hide that he poked her in the arm. "You're my partner, and you love me."

She slanted her eyes to his and back to the stage. "True. And you love me too."

"Also true." Adjusting his position, Clint said, "Do you mind if Coulson takes you home? Hill and I…"

"Say no more. We'll have drinks at the Old Haunt then your obligation as my best friend will be over."

Leaning fractionally closer, he dropped a peck on her cheek, "Never. And I promise to do better next year."

Natasha grinned, keeping her eyes on the stage. "Not gonna hold my breath, Hawkeye."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you shouldn't make promises you know you can't keep."

Uncrossing his arms, Clint wrapped his warm hand around hers until the intermission then he escorted her to the bar for a glass of her favorite champagne. With Hill and Coulson, they toasted her birthday and Natasha realized that she truly was blessed to have such good friends.

Fini