"Well there was that one guy by the building-."

"Nope, he got away." Natasha shot down, looking over at the other bed from where she perched on her own, pulling off her four inch black heels. She didn't mind running in them but those straps were killing her. With perfect aim she tossed them one by one to the open suitcase. "The woman at the cafe?" She asked, arching one blonde dyed brow at Barton, as if asking him to prove her wrong.

"Nope-saw her and her stick-thin boyfriend running the other way once the shooting broke out." Barton was working his way out of his tie, not bothering to unknot it. It always made it easier when he had to get dressed, he said, when Nat wasn't on mission with him. That always managed to coax a smile from her and she felt one turning the corners of her smile.

"How about the old gentleman-."

"The one with the cane or the one with the leather jacket?" She asked, looking over as she waited for him to clarify

"I didn't see the cane one. The jacket. He make it?"

"He crossed into a car and they managed to stay down until we were done. And the one with the cane was helped to safety by another middle aged man."

"Huh. Good guy."

"I'll say."

Natasha stood so Clint could unzip the dress, his fingers familiar and calloused as they brushed against her skin, and without so much as a hesitation she stripped. His eyes took in the scars that littered her pale skin, some he'd put there himself, others he'd asked about but rarely got answers about. Working partners or not there were still secrets between them, each taking comfort in their own privacy, telling only what they wanted and nothing more. There would be a time for sharing deeper secrets between a shared plot of ground in some nondescript graveyard.

Clint wouldn't have it any other way.

"What about the couple that were sightseeing?" He asked, turning to start unbuttoning his shirt. They were due on the jet in a half an hour or so. "I mean-who the hell comes to the Ukraine for sightseeing?"

"People with time?" Natasha joked, her voice soft as she started hiking up a pair of black nondescript slacks. "And no, they made it out a-okay. I saw them talking to the police about it. Good thing they didn't really see us."

"Lucky for them," Clint chuckled. He could practically hear Natasha roll her eyes.

"Lucky my ass. She should get rid of him, idiot girl. He wasn't even waiting for her, let alone waiting to try and see who was shooting or where it was coming from. Prick."

Clint's chuckle grew body, becoming louder in the small hotel room they'd shared while waiting for their target to show up. It wasn't much-by any stretch of the imagination, and no matter how light on their feet they were or how small Nat was they could hardly move around without bumping into one another. Even now, as she shimmied into a shirt her elbow brushed up against his now bare sides and he had to make sure he didn't knock her in the head as he pulled on a fresh shirt.

"And you escorted those kids out yourself, right?"

"Of course. You think I'd let them stick around in a zone like that? Bad day for a field trip." Again he could hear the snark in her voice and his smile grew a little. He didn't say anything else, trying to rack his brain for more civilians they'd seen in the square before the shooting had broken out. They'd not been able to stick around long enough to see the casualty count, having snagged the idiot they'd been trailing and needing to get out with him as soon as they could. As it was the bastard was still knocked out in the bathroom, hands bound behind his back and his mouth duct-taped shut.

"Let's see . . . there was the other couple-the middle-age one?"

"They were out of range by the time the bastard caught on."

"The two teenage boys that looked as if they needed to be punched?"

Nat snorted. "You think every teenage boy needs to be punched."

"They do."

"Well they're fine. I saw one of them hyperventilating when I was crouched behind the Volkswagen."

"Pussy."

"Pretty much."

They were both dressed and Clint moved back towards the bathroom now. Might as well get the bastard out of there if they were about to leave. Nat was zipping up their luggage and hefting her bag onto her shoulder as Clint slung the man over his own. They had a car already waiting, thankfully Sitwell had remembered to get them one big enough to fit the body in the trunk. He was great with all other details except that, and Coulson always rode Clint's ass for complaining about it.

"What about the people in the cafe?"

"I saw them all duck down to safety. The glass wasn't even shattered-thank God the other guy wasn't standing where we were-his aim was all over the damn place. It's a miracle only the barbershop glass was hit."

"You think anyone was hurt there?" Clint asked, opening the door for Nat and following after her. The man's head bumped on the door frame. Whoops.

"Doubtful-it was empty when I saw it."

It wasn't until they'd stowed the guy in the back of the car, started it, and Clint was already pulling out from the car park beside their apartment, looking from each side of the street before driving out.

"So you're trying to tell me that no one was hurt? We actually went on one mission and no one else got killed in the process?" He chanced a glance at her, eyebrows raised and eyes searching hers as fast as he could spare them.

Natasha's smile was genuine and it made it all the more worthwhile, no matter how quickly it faded. "I dare say so."

A/N: Title comes from the song of the same title by Florence + The Machine, and as ever these characters do not belong to me but to Marvel! Hope you enjoy!