Chapter I
Prompt: Love
Her door was always locked. Perhaps out of suspicion that someone might feel the need to kill her in her sleep. Or maybe it was her subconscious impulse to cling onto any privacy she could get. She never knew the answer herself. She did know that she demanded no one come knocking on her door without her consent, so when she heard a fist rapping outside her room, she jumped up with a fully loaded gun, finger on the trigger. The rapping didn't stop until she swung the door open and aimed her pistol at the nearest target. It was, however, Clint Barton she found on the other side, carrying a bouquet of roses with a tiny card set atop.
His eyes darted between her and the gun, but he didn't flinch. "For you," he signed, then nodded towards the flowers in his occupied hand.
Natasha eyed him quizzically, but she lowered her gun, moments later, holding it limply with one hand as she picked the note from the bouquet. It read: Happy Birthday. And in the messiest handwriting she had ever seen.
He found out it was her birthday. Somehow.
She looked up to see Clint beaming at her.