A/N: Ok. I know I'm really late to the party, but better late than never at all! Anyways, here is my second story ever! It's AU because I have never read the comics and because every situation will be inspired by a Lady Antebellum song. There will be no cheesy singing or lyrics in the story (besides ones I use for a page break occasionally). Also, this is unbeta'd but I did read over it. If you find anything I need to fix, I will gladly do so!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Avengers belong to Marvel and all songs, music, and lyrics belong to Lady A.

Without further ado, I present...

Own the Night

Ch. 1 Dancin' Away with My Heart

Stark (Avengers?) Tower, New York City, 2012

Clint waded into the kitchen where Steve was frying eggs. He asked Natasha how she liked hers while she poured a couple of glasses of orange juice. She gave her reply, then leaned across the bar to Pepper and enquired if she would like any juice. Pepper replied in the negative, stating she had coffee as Steve handed her a plate that she slid over to Tony sitting at the end of the bar, who was conversing with Bruce about something science-y as the Dr. started a fresh pot of coffee for everyone.

Clint smirked at the domestic scene in front of him. Never did he think that this sort of scene would become familiar to him every morning. Nonetheless, he jumped over to the toaster to make toast, as was he general contribution to the morning scene.

Of course, it was rather ironic that he couldn't believe that they, The Avengers, had conformed to this fairly regular scene, as it had started with Natasha and him. He passed the plate of toast around the table as it was finished toasting and took the glass of orange juice that Natasha was holding aloft in front of him.

Their routine had started years ago, after he had convinced her to join S.H.I.E.L.D. She would pour the OJ (she didn't believe in coffee. Caffeine was something that was to be saved for desperate situations…) and he would make the toast (something quick and easy in case they needed to make a quick getaway…) Everyone else that lived in Stark Tower quickly caught on to the fact that breakfast in the kitchen on Nat's floor was the place to be in the mornings. Not for the food, but for the familiar feeling of mutual trust that went into making the routine.

As Clint slid his hand around the glass of orange juice, Natasha softly whispered a quick inquiry as to why he was late this morning. She quickly moved around to the coffee machine that Bruce had abandoned in pursuit of the teakettle, and grabbed the now finished pot of coffee. Hopefully, Tony hadn't caught that she had said something to him, seeing as Tony loved to read more into their relationship than there really was. Well, more than Clint and Natasha wanted people to know anyway. Their relationship was long and complicated and not entirely stable, yet still, the most stable thing in either of their lives combined.

Nat caught his eye as she poured coffee into Steve's coffee mug and he answered her question with a silent conversation that only they could understand. His answer didn't really matter, though, because she knew what was wrong with him to begin with. It was the way their partnership operated.

Tony, while not having caught the whispered question, definitely detected the silent answer, and being Tony Stark, could not leave it alone, so he opened his mouth to snap a quip about the pair of highly trained assassins. However, before he could even get the words out, Cap beat him to the punch.

"How did you guys first meet?"

The room went silent. Everyone turned to stare at Steve in disbelief. Steve didn't believe in prying into others business. If it wasn't important to the mission, the information was irrelevant.

He quickly amended his question sheepishly, "You don't have to answer. It's just that sometimes, you guys have conversations with your eyes that no one else will ever understand. I was wondering how it came about."

Perhaps the fact that it was Steve Rogers, the guy who had never even held a wondering look in his eyes about the two highly skilled S.H.I.E.L.D. agents was what prompted Natasha to answer truthfully.

"We meet in Warsaw in 2001 at a dance."

Tony turned to gape at her. "A dance? You guys meet at a dance? What was this, high school?"

Natasha turned to Clint, waving her hand, encouraging him to elaborate. Every eye in the kitchen swung towards the archer, desperate to hear the story of the lonely assassins.

Clint took one good look at Natasha to see how much of this story they were going to share, then he started, "Actually Tony, it was almost like high school. Nat had just turned eighteen in fact, and was partying it up at a club in Poland. But let's start with why I was in Warsaw at the tender age of 22…"

~Own the Night – Dancin' Away With My Heart~

Building in Warsaw, Poland, 2001

Clint didn't know what he was doing, allowing himself to be dragged across Europe by his brother. He knew that they didn't have the money to be making this kind of trip in any legal form, but they were making good money as a duo of marksmen by day, pickpockets by night.

It was what they had been doing in the States before Barney had been made and they need a new place to go and it needed to be rather quickly. They had enough money to fly across the country or to a new one entirely, but the flight to LA wasn't until later the next day, so they booked the red eye into London. Rather desperate measures for a couple of low class thieves, but they had been ready for a new adventure and this presented itself as a rather large opportunity.

It was probably better that they were no longer in America anyways, it would be much harder for the circus to track them down and drag them back into that life. Clint had barely convinced Barney to leave in the first place.

But anyway, as Clint let his thrill-seeking brother lead him through the streets of Warsaw, he wondered what type of trouble they would get into tonight. They had made a rather large amount of money (more illegally than legally) and were ready to blow it on something trivial and in the moment.

Apparently, Barney had seen a poster for a rather exclusive club that they must try out. There was a huge dance going on that night for any one who fit the bill.

So, the brothers had set out to find a couple of suits that screamed, "Money!" and set out to find this exclusive club.

As they reached the club, the bouncer did a once over and completely denied them entry. Barney had pitched a fit, but Clint just grabbed his arm, apologized for his brother's behavior, and led him to the side of the building to help him cool off.

Clint was a very patient man. He told Barney to get his head out of his ass and to suck it up. They were going to get into that club tonight. They just needed to find some hot women.

Barney's eyes lit up as he started scanning the crowd gathered in front of the building. Clint decided to climb the fire escape, just like he did when they were picking marks to pick pockets. He always did see better from a distance.

As he reached the top of the three-story building, he glanced out at the crowd. Everyone there had seen them get rejected, what he needed was fresh meat.

Luckily, not even five minutes later, a group of four girls were making their was up the street, obviously dressed for the club. Clint smirked. That was their group. Just as he was getting ready to leave his perch, he saw the second girl on the right falter and stop.

He stilled as she spun around, her curly, red hair flying through the air, as her gaze settled on him. No one had ever made him in his perch before, but he couldn't really see it as a loss as she, in her little black dress that clung to all the right places, smirked and beckoned him to come down and join their group.

He quickly descended the fire escape, grabbed Barney, and made his way to the group of girls. Barney immediately started chatting up the three other girls in the group, leaving the red head to Clint. The red head smiled seductively at him and grabbed his hand.

She pulled him and her posse up to the front of the line, leaned over, and whispered something in the bouncer's ear. The bouncer immediately let them pass. She dragged Clint inside, dropped his hand, waved, and wandered off into the crowd of bodies.

Barney stood behind him as he watched the other three girls follow her, and asked him, "What the hell was that? Do you know her or something? You guys didn't even say a word to each other!"

Clint smiled a genuine smile, shrugged his shoulders, and pointed out that they had gotten into the club and that Barney should stop complaining.

Barney smiled and said as he wandered away from Clint, "Eh, what the hell? There is some fine ass out here tonight..."

Clint rolled his eyes at his brother and made his way to the bar. He miraculously managed to grab a barstool and order a drink. If he believed in luck, he would be thanking his stars right now.

But Clint didn't believe in luck so he just grabbed his drink and spun around to watch the mass of bodies sway and grind into each other.

His eyes soon found the auburn shade of the knockout that had let him tag along with her group. She had wasted no time at all in attracting attention. She had a gaggle of men's lust-blown stares trained on her as she danced with others.

Clint could see why men were staring though; the way her body moved was positively sinful. Clint gave a chuckle and continued to watch.

Soon he observed her hand slowly trailed up a man's chest and into the inside of his jacket. She brought her hand down, and as another girl in her group passed behind her, she passed off his wallet.

Clint smirked. He was sure that he was the only one who had seen this transpire. As his eyes once again found their way to the ginger thief from her friend who had collected the wallet, he realized that her eyes were now trained on him and she had a small smile playing on her lips. Clint raised his glass and nodded at her in recognition of the excellent job she had done.

Clint continued to watch the auburn beauty as she worked her way through several men and their wallets before one finally convinced her to go to the bar with him.

Clint was laughing at the hapless men being taken in by the red head. They had no idea what they were dealing with. As the man asked her what she wanted to drink, she answered him in Russian. The obviously German man looked confused, "Weren't you just speaking German? I do not understand that language."

The red head just smiled and repeated her drink order in German.

"Apple martini, please," was her order.

Clint smiled into his drink as the man's face lit up like a Christmas tree in December. He thought he was going to get lucky tonight, poor schmuck. Clint continued to sip his drink as the read head dragged the man back onto the dance floor.

After they had left, Clint called the bartender over, handed him the equivalent of a helluva lot of money US, and requested that he give the red headed bombshell in the little black dress with men drooling all over her all night the best vodka he could find. He also paid his bill, and then shoved off of the bar to go find Barney to make sure he hadn't been striped of his soul yet.

He found Barney talking to some Polish models about his days as a gold medal Olympic archer. He told them he wanted to show them his medal, but it was locked behind two inches of shatterproof Plexiglas in the family mansion back in the States.

Clint smiled and decided not to expect him home tonight. He then made his way back to the bar, only to see the red head slowly spinning her finger around the rim of a shot of vodka, not a man in sight. He chuckled and said in Russian, "I hope you enjoy the drink, it seems that you can certainly afford it."

She smiled up at him, nodding her head in the affirmative. To the drink or her ability to afford it, he didn't know.

Clint just smirked as he sat on the stool next to her (she must have told someone to get lost), and said in her native language, "You know, my question is how you haven't gotten caught. You've taken at least fifteen wallets tonight, how is this place not crawling with police about now?"

Again, the woman, well, girl really, smiled and pointed to one of her friends that was dancing with one of the marks. Her friend slipped the wallet back into his pocket before he noticed it was missing. Ah, so there's the trick.

Again, the archer raised his glass to the red head he was seated next to and said, "I propose a toast. To the endurance of the stupidity of men and the money filling your pockets. Cheers."

She raised her shot, clinked it with Clint's, and tossed it back like it was nothing. She smiled as it went down and said to Clint in flawless American English, "This is the good stuff. Thank you."

"No problem. If you don't mind me asking, why are you here tonight, besides, you know, increasing your revenue?" Clint asked with no surprise of her ability to speak English.

The Russian smirked, "It's my birthday. I just turned eighteen."

"Well, happy birthday and all that jazz," said Clint with a hint of disbelief.

"You don't believe that it is my birthday? Or that I'm just eighteen?" The smirk playing at her lips betrayed the questions that she asked. She was enjoying talking to this stranger and it was stranger still that he had not asked why she had helped him get in.

Clint laughed and said, "Oh no, I just think that you aren't above playing all the cards to get what you want. And for me right now, I don't know what that is."

"Are you going to leave before you can figure it out?" She wondered.

Clint considered his options, and then spoke, "I probably should, but I won't."

The pair continued to chat as the crowd thinned out slightly, due to the late nature of the time. Finally, as the DJ announced the next song was to be slow and the last, Clint offered his hand to the Russian beauty sitting next to him.

"Well, since it's last call and I haven't any money left for you to steal anyway, would you like to dance?"

The red head smiled and accepted his offer. They made their way onto the dance floor to a relatively open space, and began to dance.

The disco ball cast tiny squares of light across the floor around them as she leaned her head onto his shoulder and swayed to the beat of the music. Near the middle, Clint pushed her curls out of the way of her eyes and she gazed up at him. He leaned down to put a kiss on her lips in a silent agreement.

As he pulled away, he whispered in her ear, "Happy Birthday," and continued to dance. As the song ended, he went to make sure Barney had left and wasn't lying in a pile of puke in the middle of the bathroom or anything and she wandered away to meet up with her group of friends.

He never even asked her name nor did she ask his, but he felt that he would see her again. He left the club feeling pretty good about letting Barney talk him into trekking across Europe.

~For me, you'll always be eighteen and beautiful and dancin' away with my heart~

Stark (Avengers?) Tower, New York City, 2012

Clint stuttered to a stop, only to look up at the room gaping back at him.

He lifted the nearly full glass of orange juice to his lips to take a drink that effectively disguised the emotions playing across his face from the memory.

He had told more than he had originally intended to, but that was ok. This was their team, and they deserved to know.

Tony, unable to stand the quiet any longer, muttered a quiet, "Damn," followed by a low whistle.

Bruce, surprisingly enough, was the one who questioned, "Wait, you guys didn't even talk until you met at the bar?"

He then turned to Steve and said, "Well, that answers your question. They have always talked to each other in a language no one else can understand, from the start."

Clint caught Natasha's eye. The mirth in them was reflected back at her as he silently said, "If they found that story interesting, they should hear the one about Budapest…"

Tony, catching the laughter in the eyes of the S.H.I.E.L.D. super-assassins, quickly said, "Oh, I think there is so much more to that than just that story."

A/N: Please read and review! I will probably continue writing, but I would love to hear any constructive criticism you have, especially about the style of writing.

- Kaladrie