Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters mentioned within, nor do I own Disney. I have taken some creative license with the tower's internal structure. Please read, review, and enjoy!
The rain crashed down outside Avengers tower, filling the inky black sky with cracks of white-hot light. Inside, the tv murmured as the occupants relished the pounding storm taking over New York. Down on the street, Clint Barton slid out of a SHIELD van and pulled his bow out after him, tapping the side of the car before it pulled away from the curb. He stood frozen for a moment, letting the rain pour down on his battered face before he entered the lobby. Activity paused for a moment as the battered and worn agent slipped over to the freight elevator just as a delivery man slipped in with a cart of boxes. Clint dipped his head in acknowledgement and then tipped his head back and closed his eyes, ignoring the curious looks from his companion. The delivery man got out a few floors up, leaving Clint alone to ride the rest of the way to the Avenger's floors.
"Welcome home, Agent Barton."
"Thanks, Jarvis." He thinks for a moment. "Where are the others?"
"Captain Rodgers, master Stark, and Thor are all occupying the main area of your residence. Agent Romanoff is -unknown." He allowed himself a brief grin at that.
"Do they know I'm back yet?"
"Negative, agent. Shall I inform them?" Clint smirked.
"Nah. Let's have it be a surprise."
The elevator dinged, and Clint stepped out into the lobby area in front of the main door. He scuffed his feet on the ridiculously homey welcome mat Steve had insisted on before easing open the door and dropping his bag to unlace his mud-spattered boots. The door clicked shut behind him, and he heard soft footsteps padding down the hallway. He looked up in time to see Steve, smudged with flour and bringing with him the scent of cookies. From behind him came the sounds of the tv, muted through the hum of the kitchen and the rain outside.
"Hey, Clint." Steve pulled him in for a hug before handing him a cookie, double chocolate deliciousness steaming. "How'd it go?"
Clint raised his left hand, displaying a broken pinky and ring finger, and gestured at his face before digging into his cookie.
"About as well as I thought it would. Are there more of those on the way?"
Steve grinned.
"Oh God," Clint said, walking into the kitchen to see piles of all types of cookies. "You're personifying the American dream. Forget Captain America, it doesn't get more American than Betty Crocker."
Steve slid another tray of cookies from the oven and cracked Clint gently over the knuckles with a spoon.
"What?" Clint slipped the handful he'd managed to pilfer into his sweater pocket along with his damaged left hand, warm chocolate oozing over his finger. He licked it off.
"You'll make yourself sick and spoil your appetite." Steve expertly scooped out balls of dough and dropped them onto the cookie sheets, watching Clint out of the corner of his eye as he did so.
"Yes, Mom."
Steve snorted. Clint just grinned and slipped out the door to the commons, where Thor and Tony lay sprawled, the former enamored by the animation of Disney and the later balled under a throw blanket, tablet in hand. He stuck out a hand as Clint went by, and Clint dropped a gooey morsel of chocolate chip cookie onto the inventor's hand. Thor's head went up like a bloodhound, and Clint tossed him another from his stash before settling on the armrest of the large sectional. Steve switched on the radio in the kitchen, and soft jazz accompanied the sounds of dishes and the animated characters on screen.
"Really, Tony, you let him watch 'The Aristocats'?"
Tony looked up indignantly from his spot on the couch. "Excuse you, Barton. I offered him my entire selection of movies, but as soon as he saw the description-"
"This is wonderful!" Thor exclaimed, swallowing the last bite of cookie. "Friend Clint, are you aware of the nefarious plot of this dastardly scoundrel? He seeks to harm these clever animals and claim their boundless wealth."
Clint glared daggers at Tony, who snickered and brought his attention back to his tablet. Clint picked absentmindedly at the splint around his pinky and ring finger. There was an itch deep between the fingers and he reached for a pencil perched on the edge of the table to scratch it with.
"Don't you dare." Steve appeared in the doorway, bowl in hand, frowning at him. Clint boggled for a moment on how he knew or saw what he was doing, but put it down to Captain America and his all-knowing powers. Tony looked up from his tablet, brushing crumbs off the surface.
"Hey, Hawk Brain, where's your spider friend?"
Clint shrugged, laying his hand on his lap.
Steve gave him a knowing look. "I think I saw her near the upstairs gym. Of course, it was hard to tell after she gave me the slip." He looked back to the kitchen, where the oven dinged as another batch of chocolate goodness baked.
"Maybe you should go find her, Barton," Steve murmured, and headed back to his jazz and mixing bowls.
Clint sighed and slipped himself off the couch, nibbling on another cookie as he headed to the elevator.
"Jarvis?"
"Yes, agent Barton?"
"Do you know where Natasha is?" He was too tired and sore to complete his usual surveillance. There was a pregnant pause.
"I do, Agent."
Clint looked at the ceiling. "Could you take me at least to the right floor? I won't make you say anything."
"Very well, sir." The elevator began to rise, and Clint leaned tiredly against the wall. Hardly a minute later, the doors swung open onto the-
"The Penthouse, Jarvis?" Clint stepped out onto soft carpeting, noting the flight deck and ridiculously expensive technology cluttering the tables. "Will Tony mind?"
"I can assure you sir will not mind." The AI sounded almost amused. "I believe his respect for agent Romanoff overshadows his territorial tendencies."
A draft blew over the back of his neck, and he shivered involuntarily, looking toward the glass doors that overlooked the rooftop. One door was cracked open, inviting the fresh, damp air. And outside the door, a familiar figure stood facing the skyline.
Clint stepped to the door and watched as Natasha stretched one foot out in front of her, bowing low to the bare expanse of the rooftop. She raised her chin, drawing in a breath, and then threw herself into the air as thunder rolled through the sky. She flipped her lithe figure over the paneling, silhouetted for a moment against the sky by a stray bolt as she dipped out into the rain. Clint's breath caught in his throat as her pace increased, the leaps taking on an even more frantic pace. She flipped over a section of the guard rail as though it were nothing and halted inches from the edge, caught en pointe on the rooftop ledge inches from a sharp fall to the street. The rain crashed down even harder, fat drops licking over the already soaked pavement, and she turned her face to the sky, drops trailing their way down her skin. The corners of her mouth turned up into a brief, flickering smile, and then she fell.
Throwing her weight behind her, Natasha flipped backward onto the rooftop, red curls weighted down by water. One stray strand wrapped itself around her throat as she bent, and her eyes met Clint's even as he backed away from the window. She stood and stepped to the sliding door, easing it open as the soft, sweet smell of rain filled the air.
"Hello, Barton." Her smile was saccharine, her eyes intoxicating and wild and filled with something strange that made his heart ache. Clint took another bite out of his cookie.
"Romanoff."
She took his hand, ignoring the cookie as it dropped to the ground, and drew him out under the overhang. She stared up into his eyes, and he saw the familiar Natasha spark that meant something was either about to become incredibly fun or go postal.
"Dance with me?"
He took her in, misted with water and silhouetted against the skyline, barefoot on the roof with her curls plastered to her neck, filled with a grace he'd never achieve. And he loved it.
"Of course."
He took her hand and they stepped out from under the overhang, into the deluge. Instantly the rain soaked his uniform, washing out the mud and dust and blood as he stood for a moment, enjoying the smell and far below them, the honk of cars and the sound of a city sleepily going about its business.
He drew her to his chest and then let her out in a lunge, exhaling along with her as she spun away. It was considerably slower than her last dance, for which he was grateful.
She leapt toward him, landing in his arms as she wrapped a leg around his waist, and he planted his feet and arched backwards like a cat until her fingers brushed the rooftop.
It was neither ballet or gymnastics, battle or surrender, set to the thunder of the boiling clouds, but it was easy. Clint knew her movements well enough from watching her, and though he never danced, it seemed instinctual. He helped her up, where she flew again from him in a leap before coming back and gently throwing herself into his arms, raising her arms above her head. He placed his hands around her waist and lifted. He only waited a few seconds before looking up.
Natasha had her head thrown to the sky, rain splattering down her face and her closed eyelids. Her arms were outstretched, and she blinked once and then smiled down at him before . Clint looked up at her with the reverence of a worshiper, watching her revel in the storm. They hung there for a moment before Clint's arms trembled, and Natasha looked down at him, dropping lightly to the ground.
"You're shaking."
It was an accusation, but he thought his actions merited the punishment.
"I'm just a little worn out." She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, a lot."
"Why don't we go in?"
Clint slipped back under the overhang and held the door open as Natasha slipped in, leaving nothing but a smudge of water on the glass. They padded down the hall to Clint's room, where he ducked in to wrap himself in one of Tony's ridiculously fluffy towels and step under the hot showerhead. Natasha slipped into a dry pair of sweats and followed him down the hallway, where she herded him into her room and sat him down on her couch. Clint stretched out on the cushions, inhaling the smell of metal and vanilla shampoo and something distinctly Natasha. A towel full of cookies appeared in front of his nose, along with two cups of coffee, one with cream and nutmeg. Clint picked up a snickerdoodle and nibbled, scooting over as Natasha sat down and curled up to his side with the ratty blue afghan from the library and her most recent paperback. She opened to her page and began reading, voice soft. Clint drifted off to the sound of her voice and the feel of rain tracing down his skin, soft fingers in his hair lulling him to sleep with the sound of the rain.
And Natasha curled up alongside him and listened to the sound of the storm and of her partner's heartbeat, which boomed louder than the thunder as she lay her head on his chest and closed her eyes.
And together, they slept.