I'm going to apologize for this right now: I'm sorry. I'm also going to partially blame artificial_ink for his/her comment about Hawkeye and cheesy romance novels in one of the notes in his/her story 'Hoist the Colours High' (which is funny and definitely worth a read). I'm not sure how this came from that comment completely, but there's a connection...

Anyway, enjoy everyone.

-Illusinia

God today sucked. Clint almost sighed in relief as the elevator opened to the floor where his apartment was in Avengers Tower. I'm going to fall into a damn coma for the next week. Screw everything else. They can stick me in medical for all I care. Once I'm in bed, I'm not moving.

Well, that wasn't completely true. He knew as well as everyone else that he couldn't sit still for long. At least, not when he didn't have a mission to complete. Half the reason he got sent out as much as he did was his tendency to become, as Coulson called him, a 'ceiling rat' when he was stationed on base for too long. Maybe he'd just lock the door to his apartment and not let anyone in. He had some random food stashed away, probably. As long as he had coffee, he didn't really care. Plus, he had those books he'd just bought...

Reaching his door, Clint froze with his hand midway to the keypad. The door was unlocked; the green light on the pad was lit up, indicating as much. He knew he'd locked the door before he'd left; it was a compulsive action at this point. So why was it unlocked now? Just suppressing his groan so as not to give his presence away to anyone inside, he carefully removed one of the throwing knives he kept on him (just in case his beloved bow was inaccessible or broken, as it was now) and backtracked down the hallway to the vent opening. He'd memorized the entire system when he'd moved into the tower for occasions exactly like this.

Well, and spying on the science people when they were making things explode. After that one time when he'd accidentally knocked over a 'delicate' piece of machinery, they wouldn't let him in the labs anymore. Like they couldn't fix it. Besides, no one had died from the radiation or anything; Thor had just gone bald for a little while...digressing.

Slipping the vent cover off the ceiling, he hoisted himself up and started towards his rooms. The next time Coulson complained about his air vent spelunking, he was going to cite this incident as a perfect example of why it was a good talent and should be part of S.H.I.E.L.D. training. Maybe he could convince Fury to let him chase the recruits through the vents. He could have some fun with that.

Halting over the grate looking into the main room of his apartment, Clint glanced through the slats in the plate. He couldn't make out anything other than a human figure moving around in the otherwise dark space. There was some faint light coming from the bedroom, but between the limited light and limits of looking through a slated vent cover, he couldn't make out any details. Shit. Guess I'm just gonna have to go in and find out who's in there the hard way.

He waited a moment as the figure hovered near his bookshelf before disappearing back into the bedroom with some uttered phrase he couldn't make out. When the intruder was out of sight, Clint slipped off the vent cover and silently climbed into the room. Knife still in hand, he crept towards the bedroom door and peered inside. It appeared empty, but the bathroom door was closed and his bed looked messier than when he'd left, which only confused him. It wasn't the 'someone's tossing my apartment' kind of messy either; more like the 'someone has been sleeping in my bed' kind of messy.

What the fuck is going on? Slipping around the bed, he pressed himself against the wall next to the bathroom door and tried to listen to what was happening inside. He could hear what sounded like water sloshing around, intermingled with crumpling paper. Is someone taking a bath in my apartment? Did Goldilocks come visit?

Shaking his head, Clint took a quiet breath and reached for the door knob. It didn't make a sound as he rested his hand on the cool metal, nor when he slowly turned the knob and carefully cracked the door open. Taking a quiet breath, he peered inside. And blinked in confusion. "Darcy?"

The woman in question screamed, loudly, hopping up from her bath and grabbing the robe she'd hung next to the shower to cover herself. Whatever book she'd been reading landed on the floor next to the tub. "God damnit Clint! Can't you, I don't know, make a little noise at least once in a while so you don't give the rest of us heart attacks?"

"I would have if I'd known it was you who was in my apartment," argued Clint, opening the door all the way and stepping inside. He'd seen Darcy naked many wonderful times; he didn't care that she was naked now. He was more concerned with why she was in his apartment to being with. "Care to explain?"

Blushing, Darcy looked down at the floor of the bathroom where the book had fallen and snatched it up. "I should probably ask you the same thing." Waving the book a little, Clint paled when he saw the title. Oh god, no. She'd found them; his dirty little secret. "Really Clint? Bodice rippers? I'm a girl and even I don't read these."

For a moment, Clint tried to figure out what to say to that, to find some way to defend himself. Not that there was a good defense for reading trashy romance novels when you're a guy. But come on, even he needed a break from reality and some of the novels could be pretty racy. It wasn't the reason he read them but he'd decided it would be a good excuse if he was caught years ago...though now, when he was facing that reality, it sounded like complete bs. He went for a diversion tactic instead.

"So what, you broke into my apartment to steal my books and use my bath tub?" asked Clint, trying very, very hard to turn this whole thing around again. After all, Darcy was the one who'd broken into his room, even if they had been dating for months now. Not that he was really complaining about coming home to find his girlfriend naked in his apartment or anything. The only guy he knew who would do that was Steve.

Darcy's blush deepened, her eyes falling to the ground as she pulled the robe tighter around her body. "Geez dude, it's not a big deal..."

That wasn't the reaction he was expecting. Stepping closer, Clint offered her a hand to help her out of the bath tub. He eyed the water for a moment, wondering if it was hot enough for him. A bath was on his list of possible amenities he could indulge in before he fell into his coma.

"The water's still hot, if you need it," offered Darcy, her eyes still locked firmly on the ground.

"Maybe in a minute," dismissed Clint, gaze returning to her. "Seriously Darce, why are you here?"

"Does it bother you that I'm here?" challenged Darcy, voice rapidly becoming defensive. She turned her head so she was looking towards the back wall of the bathroom and crossed her arms. "What, are other women going to pop out of the closet or something?"

"No," dismissed Clint, his brow furrowing further. Darcy just kept blushing more and more, which was starting to worry him. Opting for a different tactic, he picked her up suddenly and set her on the counter next to one of his shirts so she'd be forced to face him.

His mind dismissed the shirt for half a second, before coming back and refocusing on the piece of innocuous fabric again. His eyes followed his mind, zeroing in on the purple article of clothing. He knew what shirt of his it was; he'd been wearing it the day he left. It had landed in his hamper, or at least somewhere in that general vicinity, when he'd gone running out the door.

Picking up the shirt, he realized it was warm. Like someone had been wearing it. Oh.

Suddenly, everything just kind of clicked. "You missed me."

Darcy's blush reached the deepest point it had yet, turning her cheeks a beautiful rose color that Clint had to admit he liked. She still wouldn't meet his eyes though, keeping her gaze locked firmly downwards. "Well, I mean, you've been gone for forever and Fury and Coulson wouldn't tell me if you were alright or not and-"

Tilting her face up, Clint cut the beginning of her rant off with a firm kiss, his arms reaching around to draw her against him. She locked her arms around his neck in response and melted against him. They stayed that way until Clint thought he might be on the verge of passing out.

Leaning back a little, Clint pressed their foreheads together so he could meet Darcy's eyes. "It's alright, Darce. Honestly, finding you in my apartment makes today a hell of a lot better. I just wish I'd known it was you so I didn't, you know, think someone was trying to kill me again or something."

Chuckling weakly, Darcy pushed one of her hands into his hair. "Fine, next time I'll leave you a note that I'm going to come sleep in your bed if you're gone longer than three days."

"Yeah, sounds like a plan," agreed Clint. Slipping one hand between them, he easily pushed the robe open, tugging so she'd understand he wanted it off. "Well, since you were nice enough to run a bath, we should at least take one. Environmental conservation and all that crap Stark is always ranting about."

"We can," agreed Darcy with a smirk, her own fingers tugging at his shirt. "But that means you need to strip. Also, don't think I've forgotten about the fact that you own a bodice ripper novel."

Clint paused for a moment, looking a little sheepish. "Yeah, well, they're relaxing?"

Shaking her head, Darcy dropped the robe and headed back to the bath he'd interrupted. "Well, at least you only have one."

Blush back full force, Clint closed his eyes and prayed she wouldn't hound him too badly about this. His secret was out to her though, and he wasn't gonna lie. Not if he wanted this relationship to work. "Er, actually..."

"You have more?" asked Darcy as she settled in the tub, her eyebrows rising and a smirk tugging at the corner's of her lips. Apparently, she found this whole thing amusing. "How many are we talking?"

"There's a box," admitted Clint. "I keep it in my closet." Turning to face Darcy, he expected her to be silently laughing at him. Instead, she looked like a ghost. "What's wrong?"

"Is it a box that says 'books- donate'?" asked Darcy worriedly.

"No," corrected Clint, noting the way Darcy relaxed. "I just bought those books at a second-hand store. It's the box that says 'clothes'."

"Oh god," moaned Darcy, burying her face in her hands. "Clint, promise you won't hate me for what I'm about to tell you."

"I don't think I can hate you, Darcy," assured Clint as he slipped into the tub behind her. Wrapping his arms around her upper body, he drew her back against him and nuzzled her neck. "What happened?"

"I might have kinda, sorta, lent that box of books to Jane for Thor because he gets bored," explained Darcy in a rush. Clint could feel her cringe in his arms, but didn't register it as her words hit him. Oh god. "You said there was a box of old books in your closet that you were going to donate and I thought it was the one that said 'books-donate' so I figured there was no harm in letting Thor read them. Especially given all I have right now are the Game of Thrones books, which he'd probably assume were accurate chronicles of our history, and a copy of Atlas Shrugged, which he probably wouldn't understand along with a bunch of stuff in other languages! I'm sorry."

Clint groaned against her shoulder, but gave her a reassuring squeeze none the less. "Don't worry about it, Darce. It's Thor. He probably won't think it's weird that I had a box of those in my closet. Hell, he'll probably like them and who knows, Jane might thank you."

"Assuming she doesn't tell Tony," pointed out Darcy with a groan. "Or Thor doesn't tell Tony. Or Tony doesn't find them."

Internally, Clint winced. Oh god, if Tony found out about this he'd never hear the end of it. Even Natasha didn't know this particular secret, and she knew everything about him. If word got out, it would be Tony and Natasha harassing him. They'd never let him live it down. "I don't suppose Thor can't read..."

"No, he can read," stated Darcy with a groan. Sighing, Clint reached for a towel and climbed out of the tub, drawing a fearful look from Darcy. "Clint?"

"I'll be back," assured Clint, dropping a quick kiss on her lips to reassure her. He'd meant what he said; he couldn't hate her, even for potentially accidentally revealing his secret. It's not like she knew what was in the box. "Where did you leave the box?"

"Jane's apartment, why?" asked Darcy, her brow furrowing.

"Because I'm going to get it back," explained Clint as he dropped the towel and started pulling on his regular clothes. "Just have to remember where the entrance to the vent system for her apartment is-"

"05022011," supplied Darcy suddenly. "She probably won't be there. She's been working long nights in the lab and Thor's likely to drag her back to his own quarters rather than take her to her own. He's still upset that she won't share quarters with him." Clint's eyebrow rose in question, causing her to cock her own in return. "What?"

"I'm assuming the number strand is Jane's door code," remarked Clint. "I'm wondering why you know it."

Darcy shrugged. "Jane's a lightweight and I've had to help her back to her apartment. I just memorized her door code after the fifth time. Not like it's a hard date to remember.."

"What date is it?" asked Clint curiously, pulling his shirt over his head.

Darcy grinned. "The day she hit Thor with her van for the first time. Or the day they met, whichever you prefer to think of it as."

"And you were making fun of me for reading cheesy romance novels," muttered Clint, leaning over to kiss her once more. "I'm pretty sure that's the epitome of cheesy. Give me five minutes."

"Alright," agreed Darcy, a coy smirk working it's way onto her lips. "I'll be waiting for you in here, entertaining myself." She held up her pilfered book as she said that, allowing Clint to catch the title.

He knew exactly what was in that book. "Make it three minutes." And he was out the door.