"My report." Natasha dropped the folder on Fury's desk and stepped back, hesitating a moment. Fury glanced up briefly.
"That's it, Agent?" She nodded.
"Complete report of the job as well as the profile you asked for." She really wasn't fond of writing reports but the profile had been interesting if nothing else. Tony Stark was an unusual case study. Even with as many wealthy narcissists as she'd met in her lifetime, he seemed unique. It was something about the combination of hero complex and irresponsibility and brilliance and a sense of responsibility that he tried pretty damn hard to keep covered. He was like a three-year-old with too many toys, but he had a curious desire to do things right, though he tried to hide that. She didn't particularly care for the man, but he hadn't been a boring assignment. Fury reached for the file, single good eye still lingering on whatever his screen displayed until he had actually opened the folder. She watched him scan the first page and then flip through a few more pages, eye skimming down each page, pausing from time to time and then continuing.
"Good job; you're done." She nodded crisply but hesitated another moment. Fury looked up at her without raising his head. "Anything else?"
"The Avengers Initiative…" He raised one eyebrow. She paused. She could find any answers she needed with just a bit of snooping. Who knew what Fury would tell her. She didn't trust the man anyway; she'd be better of looking up her own answers.
"It's a speculation," Fury said dismissively. "Just an idea." Natasha nodded, straightened to an almost military stance, and then turned on her heel and walked away. That 'speculation' was a bigger deal than Fury wanted to let on. She wasn't sure where the whole idea stood with the council but that had never stopped Fury before.
She figured she was on break for a while since Fury wasn't actually shoving another file in her direction. After a job like that she figured she deserved a few days off. Time to go pick up a little freelance work if she wanted to. Time to rest up and get in some more time on the training mats. Time to do some snooping into Fury's business and find out a little more about this speculation he seemed so interested in not getting approved through the council. Things looked normal – agents in blue jumpsuits manning their stations, files here and there, the sound of boots on the hard floor and the steady hum of the helicarrier's engines. A few weeks in Tony Stark's presence was enough to make anyone need a break. Out of years of habit her legs carried her swiftly toward Clint's room. She was very much a solo job; she always had been – but in the past several years she'd gotten very used to having a certain archer somewhere up above with a bow, keeping an eye on her and taking any necessary shots from his angle. She liked working alone but these days she missed Clint when she was on jobs by herself. Nobody to let her know what things looked like from up top. Nobody making snide remarks over the com or humming at the most unlikely moments.
"I would do whatever I wanted…with whoever I wanted…" Her own words echoed in her mind. Stark had been almost completely sincere with her that night – which, in his case, was actually fairly impressive; the man hid behind his façade of sarcasm and facetiousness. She'd known he was dying of palladium poisoning before she'd ever gotten on his property; that was half the reason she'd been sent in. He didn't know that, though. She'd caught him in a vulnerable moment and he'd almost admitted as much, but she'd answered too sincerely herself. It hadn't been enough to stop him throwing his stupid party – maybe that was just because he was Tony Stark though. It had turned out alright in the end. "…whatever I wanted…with whoever I wanted…" She realized she was standing outside Clint's door. She needed to get out of here before she did something stupid herself. She needed to start digging into what Fury was really planning, or go find out what had really happened while Coulson was in New Mexico; she'd heard a few rumours already and it seemed worth looking into. She got her legs moving again just as a familiar silhouette darkened the wall up ahead and Clint rounded the corner. An odd look flashed through his eyes before he grinned.
"How long does it take to seduce a rich playboy?" he greeted. Natasha tried to force away the muddle of uncontrolled thoughts and managed a smirk and a quick roll of her eyes.
"Jealous?" Bad move. It didn't take much to read the tiny glints of jealousy hiding deep in his eyes where he probably hoped she couldn't see. She backpedaled, gave a quick shake of her head. "If anybody did any real seducing it was Stark. That CEO's gonna stick around; I don't know what she sees in him, but he has her hooked." Clint looked disbelieving.
"What, you're telling me they sent you in undercover to infiltrate a company run by a womanizing billionaire and you didn't play the eye candy card?" She took a quick step toward him, slammed the flat of her hand into his solar plexus. The air left his lungs in a whoosh and he took an instinctive step backward, turning sideways and reaching for the wall with one hand. She followed the hit with a round kick that stopped just short of his head. His other hand jerked up as if instinctively to grasp her shoulder, like he could stop her with that one hand. It was almost laughable. She froze with the side of her boot an inch from his ear, slowly led the leg slide back down beside his shoulder to the floor, and leaned in a little toward him.
"Seduction isn't my only skillset, Barton," she whispered. He took a slow, shaky breath. Probably she shouldn't have hit him; Coulson kept telling her to quit injuring his agents; it looked bad to have agents injured off the field because she had no inhibitions about taking out her frustrations on their bodies. But a it to the solar plexus, while painful, wasn't any kind of real injury. Clint would be back to normal in a minute or two. He let out a short cough, dragged in another breath.
"Dammit Nat, are you ever gonna get over doing things like that?" She smirked, leaning against the hand her shoulder.
"Probably not." She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him hard. She felt him freeze for a moment, the desperate heaving of his oxygen-starved lungs pausing briefly, and then his arms slid around her waist and he kissed her back, hungrily, desperately. "…whatever I wanted… with whoever I wanted…" Her words mocked her. She'd let them out too easily, let her thoughts follow them too far. You walked away from this for a good reason, Romanoff. What the hell are you doing? She jerked back, struggling to catch her breath and school her features into something that might hide the wild rush of unwelcome emotions. Clint blinked dazedly once or twice
"Damn Nat," he murmured. "What the hell was that?" She tried to slow her breathing, tried to somehow calm her racing heart. Yeah, Romanoff – what was that?
"It was...just something Stark said. Sometimes..." Sometimes I miss you. Like hell. She couldn't look away. It was too right – the feeling of being in his arms again, kissing him like she hadn't walked away that afternoon… More like all the time, she decided. But she couldn't say that; that would land them right back where they'd been before. They were dangerous together. Made stupid, rash moves. Personified each other's vulnerabilities. Let themselves be emotional instead of focusing on who they really were – assassins, spies, trained to kill. "I'm sorry, Clint," she whispered after a moment. "Old habits." That wasn't an excuse at all, but it was the best she could come up with right now. "I'm...I can't do this. We can't go back. There's a reason this didn't work." His arms tightened around her and he narrowed his eyes.
"You're kissing me to tell me that you're glad we broke up?" Her eyes slid shut and she took another deep breath. Everything inside her wanted to say she didn't mean it, lean forward and forget about keeping safe. But safe was what had always worked. This crazy disregard for consequences, this letting herself be vulnerable – she couldn't do that. It would get them both killed. She opened her eyes again, met his eyes and hoped her face wasn't readable.
"No. I'm...look I'm sorry." She slid her arms away and crossed them over her chest, stepping back, away from Clint. "It won't happen again." He let her go and dropped his hands back to his sides. There wasn't an explanation. It wasn't exactly logical to kiss a man and then say "sorry – for a minute I forgot we broke up." There was a pained look in his eyes – something between agony and pleading – that she couldn't stand. She backed away a little farther. Get the hell out of here, Romanoff. Quit complicating things. She took a quick breath. "Sorry for stopping you. I'll, uh…" Damn. Stop talking and go. She shook her head, tried to figure out just what to say to get herself out of the mess she'd made, couldn't come up with anything, and walked past him, fighting the urge to look back over her shoulder. She couldn't do it. She would pick up a freelance job, get out of this place, clear her head. She could pick up a freelance job without a problem; she was more or less the best assassin in the world and she still had connections outside SHIELD. She'd get somewhere away from the uniforms and the files, somewhere away from Clint, and remind herself that she worked better alone. Alone is safe, she reminded herself. Quit forgetting that. Mistakes make dead spies. She slipped out without anyone noticing. Maybe she'd hop a plane for Russia again. Hell, she'd hop a plane for anywhere as long as it she could get some space.