Disclaimer: I don't own the picture or the Avengers, they are property of Marvel and a person on tumblr by the name "iwasrussian", respectively.
Side Note: This story is dedicated to JoMiSm, who is super awesome and nice and wonderful! Thank you for your wonderful reviews and I hope you like this story.
Little Black Dresses, High Heels, and the Color Red
Believe it or not, Natasha hates the color red and loves shopping for high heels. Those two facts are the bane of Clint Barton's existence because he loves the color red and hates shopping, period. But being partners means sometimes giving up what you want and like for what your partner likes, Clint tells himself. So, after only four hours of groaning and complaining, Clint agrees to help Natasha find a new pair of high heels.
But before you write Clint off as a push-over, understand that Clint fought against this shopping trip. He asked Maria Hill to go with Natasha, he found countless online shopping websites, he even tried to convince Director Fury that going with Natasha would repay Clint for all those favors that Fury owed him. But none of that worked.
And that, dear reader, is why Clint found himself standing outside of Natasha Romanoff's door on Saturday day morning. Grumbling about wasting time and the impracticality of high heels, Clint knocked on Natasha's door for the fourth time that morning. When Natasha opened the door sixteen seconds later, Clint found himself gaping at the woman before him, his train of thought brutally ended. "Wow," Clint stammered out, looking at his partner.
"What? Do I have something in my hair?" Natasha asked, not really caring about Clint's answer and enjoying her partner's obvious discomfort way too much.
"Nothing. You… you look…great," Clint responded still not quite sure what was going on. "Do you always dress like that when you go shopping?"
Natasha smiled as she closed her door and replied, "Only if I'm shopping for heels in New York City."
"Why do you need to be dressed so…nicely to go shopping for shoes?"
"Because I won't be wearing these high heels with jeans, will I? I'll be wearing them with dresses, so that's what I have to wear to try them on."
To say that Natasha was just wearing a dress would be an understatement. After all, there is a reason why there exists the term "little black dress" and Natasha's outfit embodied it perfectly. The form-fitting black dress was certainly little, but somehow still elegant. What Clint didn't realize about this particular dress was that it had been an ongoing-project ever since Maria Hill had discovered that Natasha liked her partner (no matter what she said). The dress had been bought in a little shop in Paris after over six months of searching by both women for this very occasion, which couldn't come quickly enough.
"Ready to go, Clint?" Natasha asked, smiling. Clint nodded and off they went.
Eight stores later, one quick stop at a restaurant to grab lunch, and four hours later, Clint was exhausted. When he had mocked Natasha's shopping habits, he hadn't realized just how exhausting and time-consuming said habits really were. After much complaining and arguing about the suitability of different pairs of high heels, Clint asked the question that had been bothering him the whole day.
"Nat, you're wearing high heels right now. Why do you need another pair?"
"Because these one's aren't right," was her simple reply.
"They look just fine to me," Clint offered up in hopes that Natasha might call off the shopping trip.
Natasha shook her head and began to walk faster, "See, Clint, that's exactly the problem. They look fine. They have to look outstanding. They have to turn every head in the room. And no more complaining, you're the reason the other pair broke anyway."
"How did I make you break a pair of your high heels?" a flabbergasted Clint asked, stopping in his tracks from shock.
"You were supposed to take out the guards at that party during the last mission and you didn't, so I had to. And that's how those heels broke. So, obviously, it's completely your fault," Natasha said, continuing forward without a backward glace at her partner as she left him behind.
"Whatever," Clint muttered as he scrambled to catch up with his partner.
At the next store they entered, Clint found what he was certain had to be the perfect pair of shoes for Natasha. They were red and drew his eyes to them immediately and he didn't even care about shoes. Excited for this torture to finally be over, Clint held up the shoes triumphantly, certain that Natasha would love them. Instead all Natasha did was grow pale and insist that they would never match her dress.
Confused by his partner's reaction, Clint asked, "What's wrong, Nat? They'd look great on you."
"No, they wouldn't," Natasha mumbled as she perused through more shoes, refusing to meet Clint's eyes.
"Natasha."
Slowly, the redhead turned to face Clint, her face still pale. "Why don't you like those shoes, Nat?" Clint asked gently, gingerly taking his partner's hand in his own.
"They're red," was the quiet response.
"What do you have against the color red?"
"It's the color of blood and… I don't know. It's just so harsh," Natasha said, lowering her eyes once again.
Gently, Clint raised Natasha's chin so that their eyes met again. "But your hair is red…"
"I didn't choose my hair color, Clint."
"Fine, but the fact that you don't like the color red isn't the only reason you hate these shoes, what else is bothering you?"
"I had a pair just like that when I worked for the Red Room, but they weren't just shoes. They had a knife hidden in them. I killed a man with them once. Now are you happy, Clint?" Natasha shot back.
"Oh…"
But Natasha and Clint are spies, reader, and that is important to remember. Spies don't dwell on the past, so the partners just turned back to the rows of shoes and kept searching for the perfect pair of high heels.
Late that night, as Natasha and Clint sat contentedly in a little café, Natasha wearing her new shoes and Clint just happy to be spending time with his partner, Clint took Natasha's hand and held it. He wasn't comforting her, he wasn't helping her get up off the ground; he was just holding her hand to hold her hand.
Reader, I know you will be disappointed, but some things are better kept secret, so I won't tell you about how they laughed as they walked back home and how Clint kissed Natasha before they said good night. I'm sorry, reader. But what I will tell you is that as Natasha put her new shoes in her closet, she laughed. And here is why, reader: Natasha hadn't broken any high heels recently. It was all just a story so that she could enjoy her little black dress, high heels, and Clint for a day.
Author's Note: Long time so story! Thank you all for reading and reviewing. I appreciate the time you give to my stories. Thank you.
Have a magnificent day,
-When In Doubt, Smile