Sorry this isn't so great ;3; I'm super tired and have major writers block so cut me some slack D;
~Only For You~
The wind whipped past, trying, daring to break his gaze, damper that ever so smug grin he pulled off so well. You couldn't see it, not that you could even see him, (he seemed to find solace atop the towering glass giants that cast their colossal shadows over New York City) but through those thick, glossy, black glasses you hardly ever saw him without, his glacier blue eyes that would do nothing less than mystify you even further, were set on one thing. No, one person. The only person that ever mattered to him. That ever did and that ever will; Natasha Romanoff. This was routine for him. Every day as she walked to her shitty office job they (both knew she was worth way more than), he'd just watch her pass by. In his eyes, there was no one else on that street. Just her. She outshone everyone and anyone else. Even those Playboy chicks everyone thought he loved so much. He'd never tell you this but that was just a cheap façade. He didn't care for any of them, not since he first laid eyes on Natasha.
"Damnit." He sighed as the Power Rangers tone belted out of his iPhone which currently read 'Get your ass to work Clint. Pronto'. After saving the world from the calamity that lied in a vengeful Loki's wake, the Avengers had pretty much put themselves out of a job. It isn't often that someone claiming to be a 'God' threatens mass genocide. Well, uh, not according to the NYPD but I'll bet you anything the majority don't have a tesseract. Don't misunderstand, S.H.I.E.L.D aren't tight-asses who don't bother to reward the team for saving the world, in fact, they paid more than triple Clint's weight in cash. But alas, they chose to work. Each one of them, aside from Thor (every time someone asked him in an interview what he thought his most valuable attribute was, he'd always give the same answer "The power to strike down any foe with my mighty hammer! Would you not agree, mortal?" In that same vigorous tone that never seemed to falter. It's a tough world for a Norse God out there, you know). They didn't do it for the money but for the normality; to blend in; to be a functioning part of society. Sure, the Avengers were the front page of every newspaper that no one ever bothered to read for almost a year but America, no, everyone just stopped caring after a while. It eventually happens with everything. Sure, they still get the occasional kid wanting them to sign their cheap, plastic Iron Man helmet or Hawkeye bow bought at the local walmart, produced by Hasbro. So on and so fourth. But generally, they were left alone to their live their own lives. Of course, they were all an inseparable group of friends and often 'hung out' and Tony's place. But Clint knew it, they all knew it, there was a sense of relief from not having to put your ass on the line 24/7.
He propped himself up from his crouching position on the ledge of the building, wiped the sweat off his brow, adjusted the collar on his expensive looking leather jacket and jumped. Right off the side and landed with small impact on the roof of a much smaller building below the one prior.
"Damn, Clint, you need to work out more. That almost hurt." He murmured to himself, whilst heading through the door masked in yellowed, fractured paint that led into the dull, bland, low budget workspace tiled with suffocatingly tiny cubicles that he liked to think of as his 'own personal prison cell'. The office stank of the aroma of cheap coffee that masked the dense air. Clint slumped down in his office chair and span around a couple of times before he stuck the eraser end of a blunt, HB pencil in his mouth and turned on the outdated, block-like Acer computer that was wired up to a monitor that he'd plastered with multi-coloured sticky notes in his best attempt the spruce the place up a bit and played some old school Super Mario on a Nintendo 64 emulator he'd downloaded. Regardless of the viruses it embedded in the computer as it wasn't his property and therefore not his problem. The only time he'd bother to pause his game was when a member of senior staff walked passed, pretending to check that everything was in order. When in actual fact, he just needed some steaming, liquid energy. In all honesty, no one did any actual work there. Maybe because most of them didn't know what they were supposed to be doing. Especially Clint. But he'd managed to survive two whole months without being fired. A personal record. And he never ceased to admire himself for it.
Twenty two pieces of bland gum that he'd taken from a colleague's desk when they'd gone to the bathroom later and his shift finally ended. This was the part of his day that actually gave him reason to get up in the morning; just seeing Natasha. You wouldn't think it at first glance, but Clint was a man of simplicity; sure, he longed for her to look at him without attempting to analyse his thoughts and his feelings but he didn't mind. He knew she'd constructed those walls too keep people out and her own feelings in. And he didn't want to go knock it down just for his own selfish desires. Just her existing was more than enough for him. But he never intended to let her know it.
Barton did as he usually did, day in, day out, (aside from Sundays, he just stayed boxed up in his apartment playing some hardcore Final Fantasy with Wade on the old play station) and scrambled his way through the jungle of perspiring, everyday worker monkeys that had lost all motivation, vigour and vibrancy many years ago and managed to make it to the elevator just as the doors began to close. After struggling with the revolving door marking the daily discharge which he would then go on to inhale the polluted New York, afternoon air that he was so accustomed to.
And there she was; as radiant as ever. He couldn't stop the eager grin from dominating his entire face, no body, even if he desired so. His hand hovered over Natasha's shoulder, about to tap on it from behind when she swatted it away without even turning to look at him. Clint chuckled.
"Right on the ball as always, Tashy."
"A pain in the ass as always, Barton." She retorted in her usual no-nonsense tone.