Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Marvel or The Avengers. I'm just playing in their sandbox.

Author's Note: So, yesterday, we went to see part of my husband's family. While there, his aunt told us a story of something she did in her younger years. As she told us about it, all I could think was "This is SO something I need to write!" So, thanks to her and my husband—Lithane—for the plot in this story's also beta'd by theicemenace, to whom I'm very grateful.

This story is set in my New York State of Mind universe and happens approximately five years before the movie.

Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

"Barton. . . ."

Clint glanced up at Natasha's whine. She sat at his desk on the Helicarrier, shoulders slumped and head in her hands. "We're almost done."

"I really, really wanted to be asleep before two."

He looked at the clock. Two-oh-five. "One more."

"Three wasn't enough?"

"Always better to have more ammunition than you need." He kept his eyes on his hands, ignoring the sensation of her glare. She had that effect, and it never failed to unnerve him. Maybe, one day, he'd figure out how she got under his skin. After ten years, it had begun to look like a hopeless cause, but he was determined.

A few careful moves more, and he sat back with a satisfied grin. "There."

"Finally!"

Clint snickered at the overplayed relief in Natasha's voice. "Yes, I'm done. You can go to bed now."

She made a rude gesture as she headed for the door.

He couldn't stop the laugh even if he'd wanted. "Love you too!"

The door closed before he heard Natasha's response.

Shaking his head, Clint stood from his spot sprawled across his bed and headed for the bathroom. It really was later than he'd intended, and he still needed a shower. They'd been in Baghdad that morning, completing a mission, only to return to this latest development. After hearing the details, Clint decided to have as much information and back-up as possible—hence why he'd forced Natasha to sit up with him while he prepared.

He really hated these things, and anything he could do to make it better was a must. But this. . . .Clint grinned as he finished his shower. This was going to be epic!

oOo

The following afternoon was beautiful and sunny in Central Park. Clint appeared at the right time, a bag carefully tossed over his shoulder and his sunglasses in place. He spotted Romanoff on the other side of the field and ignored her. She knew her part in this and wouldn't compromise his position. Just as he wouldn't compromise hers. That trust had been born years before either of them joined SHIELD.

The target entered the park from the opposite direction, smiling and waving at his buddies while a group gathered around him. Clint let his eyes slide toward Natasha, and she nodded ever so slightly.

Clint smirked. Let the games begin.

Within only a few moments, teams had been organized, and Clint found himself on the pitcher's mound. Agent Hill had been put in charge of SHIELD's team building exercises this year. Clint hated team building any year, primarily because the "exercises" usually consisted of things he did on a daily basis. There was no real competition. But softball. . . .Hill had played as a teen and loved the game. And it only made Clint's plans even easier to accomplish.

With the summer sun beating on his shoulders, Clint wound up and threw the first pitch. As the best marksman in SHIELD, his team had elected him as their pitcher. He could put the ball wherever anyone wanted. Fury was team captain and acting catcher, making everyone who came to bat more than a little nervous. SHIELD's director milked it for all it was worth, and Clint caught the glimmer of amusement in his visible eye as the other team struck out within the first three players. Coulson, that team's captain, glared at Fury and Clint, promising that there would be payback.

Clint made sure to bump into Coulson as the teams traded places. "Psychological warfare," he murmured. "You taught me that."

"Oh, just wait," Coulson replied.

Clint smirked as he took his first turn up to bat. He hit the ball with a very satisfying smack, and Sitwell raced after it as Clint dashed toward first base. He gauged just how far outfield the ball had gone and made it to second before deciding he wouldn't push his luck. Besides, Fury had claimed the bat after Clint and had an inscrutable look on his face. With only one pitch, Fury managed to bring Clint home as well as making the home run himself. SHIELD's director looked completely out of place in solid black, but he showed uncharacteristic sportsmanship by waving at the cheering audience.

Most of SHIELD's employees based out of New York City had turned out today, but only a few had signed up to play softball. Probably because Clint and Natasha's names were on the top of the list, right below Fury and Coulson. It just made the game that much more enjoyable, and Clint reveled in the burn of his skin in the sun and the way his muscles stretched in unfamiliar but oh-so-welcome ways. Softball—and sports in general—had never really been a part of Clint's life even though he enjoyed them. He'd just never had time.

Clint waited until the bottom of the ninth to make his move. By then, the ball had been battered enough that he could justify switching it out. If asked, he planned to say he couldn't quite grip it right. No one asked, though, and he gave Natasha the prearranged signal. She ran the new ball out to him, and he glanced around. Bases loaded, Coulson up to bat. Perfect!

Behind Coulson, Fury signaled for a fastball. Clint wasn't certain he could pull that off right now, but he'd try his best. The ball he now held had been. . .modified. . .in the hours Clint and Natasha had bickered the previous evening. It had taken far too long to take out all those stitches and then return them back to their semi-perfect condition. Clint weighed the ball in his hand, feeling the changes he'd made, and buried a smirk. If this worked out. . . .

He wound up for the pitch while Coulson gripped the bat. The ball flew true, thanks to a few minute adjustments Clint made to the throw. Coulson kept his eyes on the ball and swung.

The ball exploded. A thick water balloon—sewn into the ball rather than its normal solid innards—rained water all over Coulson, Fury, and anyone near home plate.

On the pitcher's mound, Clint grinned and wildly fist-pumped the air, too gleeful with the success of his prank to even make a sound. It had worked out so much better than he'd expected!

Then, the silence hit him. He glanced around as every person there stared open-mouthed while Coulson and Fury both stood in stunned silence. Coulson blinked water out of his eyes, and Fury shook out his coat. The water was likely cool enough it had shocked both men the moment they'd been doused.

Clint straightened, barely able to contain the grin as he waited for the reaction. All around them, the cheering had died off while men and women watched. Fury was feared, and Coulson caused grown men to tremble in their shoes if he so desired. To see both of them so surprised. . . .

Then, in the silence, everyone heard it: a low growl, followed by shaking shoulders as Fury began to laugh. A collective sigh of relief went up as SHIELD's director stood behind home plate letting out a deep belly laugh that had a slightly evil sound to it. Then, he met Clint's eyes. "It's on, Barton."

Clint smirked. "Bring it."

His team won the game, thanks to the rest of the batters being afraid to hit the ball. But Clint knew. Fury would get payback for that prank. Still, it was the talk of SHIELD for the next few months, and Clint gained a new level of respect in the newbies' eyes. After all, he'd been bold enough to prank two of the most feared men in the organization.

Within months, the incident was relegated to the unofficial Hall of Fame, and Clint continued his career with Natasha as his partner. But, in the back of his mind, he never forgot that Fury had promised revenge. And he knew it would be spectacular when it came.

He hoped he was ready with a better prank when it did.

~TBC