Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Avengers or publicly recognized characters. I'm just playing in Marvel's sandbox.

Author's Note: So, this little one-shot came about due to a trip to the carnival to celebrate my daughter's birthday. As I was sitting on one of the rides waiting for it to be loaded, I thought, "Clint comes from this type of thing!" And that's all it took. This is set in the movie-verse and can be read as either friendship or pre-ship, whichever you prefer.

As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

"A carnival?" Natasha's skepticism came across loudly as she stared across the parking lot. "Really, Barton?"

In the driver's seat of the car, Clint Barton stared at her. "Why not? It's. . .It's fun."

"That's the best you can come up with?"

He shrugged.

Natasha stifled a sigh and turned to look out the windshield. She really had no reason to resist what he wanted to do except that it seemed so. . .childish.

They'd been up to Canada for a mission—her first mission since being cleared by SHIELD as ready for the field. She'd been in SHIELD custody or going through training and psychological certification for well over a year, and Director Fury had decided that she'd become Barton's problem. Natasha was just grateful to leave New York and the Helicarrier. When she'd accepted Barton's surprising offer to defect to the United States, she'd expected to be put to work fighting the Red Room and everything it stood for. Instead, she'd been treated with suspicion that grew into grudging acceptance and, in some cases, respect. By then, her desires had shifted. Yes, she wanted to bring down the Red Room, but she also just wanted time away. So, when Fury offered a simple mission to her and paired her with Barton, she jumped at the opportunity.

Then, Barton decided to take matters into his own hands. The mission had gone off without a hitch, and Hawkeye had been purely professional with a bit of sarcasm thrown in for good measure. As soon as the objective had been achieved, though, he'd changed. His almost brooding demeanor had shifted into something a little friendlier, a little more mischievous, and a lot more annoying. Though, the sparkle in his eyes when he looked from the bright lights back to her had taken on a pleading appearance.

They'd been driving back from the SHIELD field office near their mission, Barton having obtained permission for them to do a little sightseeing, when they drove through a small town in Pennsylvania. All had been quiet except for Barton's growling stomach until he spotted the local fairground and the carnival it contained. He perked up and pulled the car into the parking lot, sliding into a space not far from the Ferris wheel with its bright yellow and green fluorescent lights.

Now, he faced her with his left wrist resting on the steering wheel. "Look, just give it a try. I'll pay, and we'll just be Clint and Tasha for a while, not Hawkeye and Black Widow."

"Na-tasha," she said, emphasizing the first syllable of her name.

"Fine, Na-tasha." He stopped just short of batting his eyes at her. "Whaddya say?"

Natasha heaved a sigh even though his enthusiasm was catching. "I suppose we could."

His grin widened, and he hitched himself up on one hip to pull his wallet from his back pocket. Taking several twenties from it, he double-checked the rest of his cash and then tossed the wallet into the glove compartment. "Watch and valuables in there," he said seriously. "Only carry money in your front pocket."

"Afraid we'll get robbed?"

"Want to keep any pickpocket from getting killed." He said it in such a dry tone that she didn't take offense. Besides, it was true. Pulling her very expensive watch from her wrist, she shed any other valuables while he double-checked his boot knife and ankle holster. Natasha was also armed, so she didn't worry about that. Within a few moments, she was out of the car and following Barton to the booth labeled "Ride Tickets." Once there, she stood in line with him while he looked around.

The carnival was loud and filled with teenagers enjoying a Friday evening, families holding kids' hands, and everyone in between. The air smelled of gasoline, cigarette smoke, and some sickly-sweet aroma that emanated from a plate nearby. Natasha eyed the fried concoction with distaste, already adding up the calories in her head.

Barton nudged her. "Funnel cake," he supplied, seeing the confused expression on her face. The ticketmaster drew his attention away right then, and he paid an exorbitant amount for a stack of tickets that he promptly shoved into various pockets. Then, turning to her, he asked, "What first? The Sizzler? Ferris wheel? Swinger? Ooh, what about the Zipper?"

Natasha blinked. She honestly had no idea where to start. All the rides looked dangerous, truth be told, and the shouts of sheer terror did not inspire her to want to ride them. "Uh. . . ."

Barton frowned. "Hey, we can take it slow. Start with the Ferris wheel. You like those, right?"

"I. . .I don't. . . ." She stared at him, hating the helpless feeling. There were too many people and too many sights and the sound of balloons popping made her jump. "I've never. . . ."

His eyes widened. "You've never ridden a Ferris wheel?"

She rolled her eyes at his incredulous expression. "We didn't have carnivals back home," she said softly. "At least, not in my home."

Barton got the message. The sparkle in his eyes dimmed a little, and he lowered his voice so only she could hear. "You're home now," he said firmly. "Here. In the good ol' United States of America." He glanced around. "And we'll take it slow. Start with the Ferris wheel."

Natasha held his gaze, understanding what he was saying. She was home now. And she appreciated it. But her life had been defined by the Red Room and their manipulation of her psyche for so long that the idea of having a home outside of them. . . .It had never really seemed real.

She let him take her hand and drag her toward the towering Ferris wheel. Natasha craned her neck, looking up at it silhouetted against the night sky and wondering if it really was as safe as it should be. The operator held up a hand for them to wait, and Barton paused, not minding the man's dirty, scruffy appearance. When he motioned them forward, Barton tugged Natasha with him and settled next to her on the seat. The guy didn't even bat an eye at how awkward she must have been, just saw that the bar across their lap was clasped and then activated the Ferris wheel. Natasha held on tight, not expecting the sensation of being thrown backward, up into the air, and then stopping at the top of the wheel. She turned to Barton. What if something had gone wrong and they were stuck? Sniper bait. The two words crossed her mind and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, reminding her of how she and Barton had met the first time. Back then, they'd been working for prickly friends, and he'd surprised her with his skills with any long-range weapon. Snipers can see me! She cast a glance around, looking for trouble.

"Relax." Barton's voice was smooth and low. "This is like any other wheel with centrifugal force. It's gotta be balanced. He's letting others on now."

Natasha nodded wordlessly and turned her attention away from her instinctive concern. She could see for miles up here, the lights of the town sparkling in the evening gloom. A moment later, the Ferris wheel jerked, and she found her stomach climbing into her throat as they were dropped down, pulled backward again, and flung up into the air. After the first couple of revolutions, the tension faded from her shoulders, and she melted into the seat. There really was something. . .relaxing. . .about this thing. Up, down, up again, around in a vertical circle. Who knew such a simple action could be so soothing?

All too soon, the ride ended, and Natasha turned to Barton. "Can we do this one again?"

"The Ferris wheel?" He nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Natasha looked doubtfully at the other rides. One—the Zipper—had enclosed cages that spun independently of the machine. The ride itself had a track that took the cages around an oblong center that also spun at the same time. Shouts of glee and fear emanated from it as the cages flipped upside down and around. "Um. . . ."

Barton followed her line of sight and laughed. "We'll save that one for last. If you really want."

The hesitation in his voice drew a smirk. "What's wrong, Barton? Not enough guts?"

"Don't really feel like losing my appetite," he responded immediately. "And I thought we were going with 'Clint' tonight?"

"Alright, Clint," she said, emphasizing her use of his given name, "what do you suggest?"

He led her to the Swinger. Natasha sat in the chair, her legs and weight shifting and causing the swing to sway slightly. She eyed Barton as young children were helped into the swings. He gave her a smug grin and turned his attention to the activity around them.

There was something here, something about this environment that changed him. Natasha watched her partner as the Swinger started. Centrifugal force flung them outward, turning her on her side and causing her to grip the chains momentarily. For a few moments, she tried to focus on the world passing her too quickly, and suddenly, sitting on the outside swing seemed like a bad idea. What if the chains gave way? Then, she managed to catch a glimpse of her partner. Barton leaned back in his chair with complete trust and laced his fingers behind his head. He looked almost as if he had come home.

Throughout the evening, he introduced her to the Sizzler, which made her feel like she'd been flung in a star pattern while smashing her up against Barton's side. She got a good whiff of his cologne and rolled her eyes when she realized she liked it. He laughed when the operator reversed the direction of the spin and caused her to slide to the opposite side of the seat. After that, they rode the Tilt-A-Whirl, which made Natasha's head spin and caused the ground to buck a little under her feet. Deciding they'd had enough with the rides for a while, they wandered the carnival side of things. Barton pulled out more cash to pay for darts in order to pop balloons and get the biggest prize he could for her. She glared at him when he offered the stuffed bear and ultimately accepted it after his expression shifted to that of a kicked puppy. With it tucked under her arm, she tried a pinball game designed to make her lose every single time. She walked away with a cheap stuffed lizard she gave to a little girl who'd dropped her ice cream cone. The lizard cheered the girl, and Natasha watched with a smile playing around her lips. When the child turned back and waved shyly, she returned the gesture.

Barton watched proudly. "See? You're doing great."

"Shut up." She walked right past him toward the Ferris wheel again. "Don't we need to get going?"

He checked his watch. "Yeah," he said with a sigh. "One more ride?"

"This one." She stepped in line for the Ferris wheel and waited her turn to board. Barton settled onto the bench with her, and Natasha kept her question to herself until they'd paused at the top of the circle again. With her eyes on the horizon, she asked, "Why the carnival?"

He shrugged, a motion she felt as much as she saw it. "Reminds me of home."

She turned to frown at him. "You lived in a carnival?"

"Circus." He smirked at her. "But you already knew that since you've read my file." The smirk faded, replaced with a wistful expression. "The circus was different. There were animals and tents to set up and acts to practice and. . . .But every now and then, we'd team up with a carnival with all the rides. Us kids—me, Barney, and Marcy—got free tickets to ride whatever we wanted. Back then, it was so different. Now, you just see the lights and the money spent and the high prices. As kids, it was magical. A whole new world, even for us who grew up in the mysterious tents of the circus. The simple pleasure of riding the Ferris wheel. . . ." He grinned when the breeze caught her hair as the ride began. "Well, I think you understand that one."

Natasha admitted that she did. Regretfully, she followed him back to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. She kept her eyes forward, not looking back, as they pulled away. They both smelled of carnival food and agreed they'd made the right decision in not eating the fatty, greasy fare offered. By the time they arrived at their motel one town over, Natasha had nearly fallen asleep in her seat. She stretched as Barton checked into their room and then chose the bed closest to the door. Out of the two of them, he'd gotten no sleep the previous evening.

Setting the bear on the bed, she pointed at the other one. "Rest," she ordered. "I'll keep watch."

Barton frowned at her for a moment. "You sure?"

She met his eyes. "You're going to argue about who keeps watch when you've been awake for forty-eight hours?"

He narrowed his eyes and then shrugged. "Fine, but I'm taking a shower first."

As he plodded off to the shower, Natasha curled onto the bed she'd chosen and pulled the bear into her lap. She actually liked the thing. It was just big enough for her to wrap her arms around and soft enough that she could bury her face in it. The toy brought back childhood memories of wanting one and never receiving it. Such comforts weren't afforded to the girls in the Red Room. And, yet, Barton—Clint—had seen her subconscious desires and fulfilled them. For some reason, that made her smile.

oOo

Clint turned off the water and quickly dressed for bed. The carnival had been an impulsive thing, but it left him pensive. Now, he looked forward to nothing more than a solid eight hours of sleep and a partner who was a little less standoffish. Returning to the room, he stopped and stared at the sight that greeted him.

Natasha lay on her side, curled around the bear she'd scorned earlier that evening, her face completely relaxed in sleep. Not one line indicated she was dreaming, and he knew how rare that was. Her arms held the bear close, and she looked as if she'd rubbed her face in it just before falling asleep.

So, his plan had worked. The adrenaline rush of the rides, the fresh air, introducing her to an aspect of American life. . . .All if it had worked just as he'd hoped. It was why he'd gone out of his way to ask for permission to sight see. With the Black Widow at his side, SHIELD watched him closer than they usually did, and he didn't want Natasha getting reamed for his actions.

Beyond tired, Clint crawled into the rock-hard bed and allowed himself to sleep. The next morning, he found Natasha at the table with the journal SHIELD psychologists had asked her to keep, bear close by.

As the years passed, neither of them talked much about the carnival. But, every now and then, Clint would pull into one, pay for a massive amount of tickets, and allow Natasha to drag him back to the Ferris wheel time and again. And, each time, he'd sit next to his partner and stare at the horizon, reveling in the feeling of enjoying just a part of his childhood. Later, when they'd return to base, he'd find Natasha asleep somewhere, usually with that bear close by.

And he understood. She'd never had the opportunity to be a child, and letting herself go like that just didn't happen easily. But a transformation occurred on a Ferris wheel or the Swinger or any other carnival ride. For just a few moments, Natasha forgot about the Red Room and her dripping ledger, becoming a child again. And each time it happened, Clint knew once again that he'd made the right call.

~The End~