Static electricity prickles in the stuffy air. She's made it back to the hotel quietly, the mission finally at its end. Safe for the moment and with unsettling weather happening around the base, SHIELD has informed them they won't be picked up until later that night.
Hot, sticky, and exhausted, Romanoff gets into the room first, having agreed with her partner to split up and meet there when they were sure the coast was clear. It was an unnecessary measure, but Romanoff wasn't in the mood for unexpected visitors.
Bolting the door behind her she immediately kicks out of her snapped sandals, and peels off her red sundress. In the duffel she shoves aside a first aid kit, spare magazines, and a beautician's horde of makeup, before finding a clean change of clothes. In the bathroom she groans out of the sweltering Kevlar that was screwing with her silhouette, and kicks it under the marble counter.
All that and the shoes are what nearly killed me.
Seated on the rim of the bathtub, she examines the red lines in her blistered feet where the stiff, faux leather straps had bitten into every step. With a scowl she turns the shower on its coldest setting and steps in. Once the initial shiver has her wide awake again, the change in temperature is relaxing and a cool blessing for her feet.
When she's changed into her clean clothes and noticed the odd noises in the apartment outside she walks out into the room. Barton is flopped spreadeagle on the bed, fast asleep. Toweling off her hair, Romanoff walks past the bed to her duffel, tossing the damp cloth on his face when she's done with it. She's bent over her bag, back to him, when the towel lands on the chair next to her. Smacking her lips and dropping the lip balm back in the travel case, she turns to him, hand on hip. He's in the exact same position but he's awake now and looking at her. She just puts on her deadpan face. He pats the pillow next to him with a dopey smile growing across his features. Her deadpan face reaches deeper levels of deadpan. She walks past the bed again, then turns and intentionally sits on the other side.
"Are you going to shower?" she asks, emphasizing each word.
Barton turns onto his side to face her. "Thought I might hang out for a while."
"Take a shower."
"Nah."
"Seriously, there's man-stink all over my bed now."
"Oh, it's your bed now?"
"Go, shower."
He shakes his head and turns over on his stomach. He smiles into the pillow, knowing his time is short, but sweet. Then she's forcibly turning him over and…unzipping his vest?
"It's a hot day and you look like you're dying in that," she says sweetly.
She opens his vest up and- He rolls off the bed quickly, visibly disturbed, and starts heading for the bathroom. She gets up and removes the top blanket completely, throwing it on the floor in front of him so he nearly trips. Then she flops down on the bed and picks up the remote as he stomps into the bathroom. She smiles deviously to herself as the shower water turns on and wonders how long it will take him to notice. Ten minutes later the tap turns off and she waits.
There's a groan. "Natasha?"
"Yes?" she asks sweetly.
"Are there any- No, you used every towel, great."
"My bad." She smirks, pleased with herself.
"Think you could at least bring me some dry clothes?" Barton complains.
Romanoff hops off the bed and grabs some things from his bag. "You didn't take any in there with you?"
The bathroom door opens a crack, and she shoves clothes at the arm that comes out before the door slams shut again.
"You're welcome."
Barton grumbles something under his breath again, muffled further by the overhead fan. When he comes out she's curled up on the bed, staring at the television with disinterest, obviously trying not to look at him.
"Shut up."
Her lips quirk and without looking she asks, "Wet T-shirt contest, Barton?"
"You're nasty, you know that?" His clothes are sticking to him and his hair is still completely wet.
"You must've lost." She rolls her eyes. "It's like you didn't even try to dry off, honestly."
He disregards her, noticing the remote control in her hand. "Anything good on?"
"Here?"
He laughs shortly, glancing at the screen and nodding his head. Then he looks at her and suddenly smiles.
"No," she warns, but he's already flopped on the bed and laid his soggy head on her pillow and wrapped a big damp arm around her, pulling her against his wet shirt.
"C'mon, I just wanna hug-" He cracks up as she buries her knuckles in his ribs and he loosens his grip.
"You're like a giant dog."
"But I smell better right?"
"You really want an answer to – Get off." She rolls over to the edge of the bed and sits up, pulling at her shirt to air it out, and bickering at him in Russian. He just smiles smugly and takes over the bed again stretching his arms and legs out in all directions. She picks a blonde hair off her shirt. "God you're gross."
"I love you too," he says contentedly as he closes his eyes, ready for sleep. "Hey."
She furrows her brows as she grabs the remote again and clicks off an annoying program. "What?"
"What happened to your shoes?"
"Ugh, don't get me started."
"They killing your feet?"
"Yeah." Then she smacks him on the stomach when he chuckles. "And that dress was your idea, stupid piece of crap it was."
"Hey, it fit the appearance-"
"It didn't fit the Kevlar. And I had more trouble from those shoes than any stray bullets-"
"I did not pick out your shoes."
She flips her legs back onto the bed, resigned to her damp clothes, but stays a few inches away from him. "Whatever."
His eyes are still closed and he raises an eyebrow. "Bed's all wet now."
"I noticed."
"They're coming in, what, four hours?"
"Five."
He grunts and rolls over on his side. "Goodnight," he sighs and flicks off the lamp.
The air conditioning is freezing, but she's too tired to get up and turn it down. So, she pushes all the really moist parts of the covers over on him and tucks herself under the edge of the sheets. "Next time we get two beds."
"Agreed."
"And go someplace cooler."
"With better cable."
"And no hit-men."
"Then I guess we won't be going anywhere anytime soon."
She kicks him through the covers. "Smartass."
He grins into the pillow.
"Go to sleep, Clint."
He yawns, thinking about how nice she looked in the dress, didn't even notice the Kevlar. "Will do, Tasha."