A/N: This is an AU fic based on the song graffiti on the train by Stereophonics. Hope you like it
He snuck out early that morning, spray can in hand and plan in mind. Tonight, he was going to graffiti the 7:46 train. The same one she got every morning. Making sure not to wake his sleeping partner, Clint Barton shut the door as quietly as he could.
At the crossroads, Clint snuck onto the night train while it was waiting in a siding. The same train that would arrive at the station at 7:46 the next morning. Gingerly opening the door, he leaned slightly out of the carriage; he inched the cap of the can; he pressed down on the nozzle. A purple paint splatter hit the carriage.
As Clint wrote his message, he found it got harder the further away he had to write. He leaned out further. And slipped. Before he could blink, Clint had got his grip back and was steady. Until he signed his initials – C.B – and drew his signature symbol; an arrow. Slowly, carefully, Clint painted the tip of the arrow. As he did so, he slipped.
He wasn't so lucky this time.
Natasha Romanoff rolled over in bed. Feeling a cold patch, she sighed. Clint must have been called in early that morning. Again. That was the third time that week.
Reluctantly, Natasha rolled out of bed, and started going about her morning routine. Get dressed, eat breakfast, put on make-up. Keys, phone, purse. Into the car, to the station, through the ticket barriers and onto the platform.
On the platform, Natasha got her morning coffee, like usual. People were whispering about someone dying – killed by a train, not unusual, but not normal. The train arrived, like usual. And there was graffiti on the train. Not usual. Noticing the writing out of the corner of her eye, Natasha looked up from putting her change away and read it:
"Marry me Nat. I love you – C.B"
Her heart stopped. Then sped up. Then tried to choke her, seemingly rising into her throat. She froze, couldn't move. But people brushing past her getting on and off the train pulled her out of her daze and forced her to follow.
Her head snapped up at break-neck speed while her phone was whipped out of her bag lightning fast. She dialed the familiar number and waited. And waited. And waited. Click. 'You have reached the T-mobile messagi…' Natasha cut the automated response and dialed the number again. And again. And again. But in the pit of her stomach she knew, with ice cold dread.
It was Clint.
And with this revelation, unbidden tears started to stream down her face.
Oh the graffiti on the train
Oh she will never be the same, oh, no
Rolled into her life