Natasha didn't really have a type. After she and Clint broke up, she hadn't bothered looking for a man. She didn't want one. And yet….
The Avenger's Initiative had come together with some- freelancers- to try and figure out why all this was happening at once- demons, aliens, gods, and crime lords were landing on them right and left, and it was all they could do to grab coffee in between.
So here they were, a third and fourth mathematical and chemical genius added to the team, plus two demonologists, a Scot and her nurse husband, and an army doctor. What a crew.
But the army doctor… there was something about him. While all the others chimed in and rattled off information- and the genuisi made eyes at each other- the army doctor simply stood at the tall dark one's side, occasionally giving him a stern enough look to make him back down a bit.
Seven hours later, Natasha rolled over in bed against a warm mass of muscle. Arms wrapped around her, and she smiled into his chest.
"I suppose there's a reason you're called Three-Continent's Watson, huh?"
The doctor gave a chuckle that rumbled through her bones.
