My dear readers,
I know that it has been quite a while since my last story post, and, again, I apologize for that. However, while I do blame the delay partially on the move to a night shift followed by the move back to a day shift not long after (which really took a toll on my sleep), most of the delay has come from the desire to post these stories in chronological order, and some of the later stories came to me more clearly first.
That being said, new readers will want to note that this is the third story in a... well, it's not precisely a series as each story should be able to stand alone, but they all definitely fit together and will happen over the course of years.
So, I know this is a brief one, but I hope you still enjoy.
BT
A Tale of Five Minutes
When Clint returned to the bare one-room apartment, Natasha was sitting slumped in one of the two chairs, her chin propped up on her hand, staring out of the window despondently.
"Romanoff, you look positively brain-dead," he said as he put the take-out down on next to the laptop on the apartment's sole table.
"I am," she moaned. "My higher brain functions failed over an hour ago."
"You volunteered us for this assignment," he reminded her cheerfully.
"Because it was in London," she said mournfully. "I like London. I did not expect that I would end up spending three straight days staring at the least interesting alley in the whole city."
"Well, we only have two more days of surveillance at most, and I'll take you to ride the Ferris wheel before we go."
She glanced over at him long enough to shoot him a peevish look before returning her gaze to the gray door on the street below. Unsurprisingly, it was still there and still closed.
"When were you ever in London anyway?" he asked as he pulled the fish and chips she had requested from the bag. "I don't remember seeing any jobs in London in your file." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her stiffen slightly.
"My father taught English and French," she said quietly. "A couple of times he brought me to London and to Paris. He said that he thought I should get a chance to practice with native speakers, but I think he also wanted an excuse to take the history tours. He was interested in history."
This last statement contained more detailed information about her childhood than she had volunteered in the entirety of her first month in SHIELD. Clint very deliberately did not mention this fact. Instead, he said very nonchalantly, "I learned most of the Russian that I know from a Ukrainian tight-rope walker."
"A what?" she asked, obviously not sure that she had heard him correctly.
"A Ukrainian tight-rope walker," he repeated, continuing in a conversational tone. "His name was Vlad, and, to this day, he is the most upbeat person that I've ever met. Terminally cheerful, even at six in the morning."
"And when, exactly, did you meet Vlad the cheerful Ukrainian tight-rope walker?" she asked, taking a bite of her fish.
"When I ran away and joined the circus, just after my tenth birthday," he said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
"Oh, be serious," she said in mild exasperation.
"I am," he insisted, trying to sound hurt and failing.
"Oh, come on," she said dismissively as she dipped one of her ships in vinegar. "That never really happens."
"If you knew the foster parents that I had at the time, you wouldn't be so-"
"Hey!" she interrupted, jumping up from her seat. "We've actually got movement down there!"
Clint strode over to the window and peered down at the street below. "There's our mark," Clint said with satisfaction. "Walking up as though he owned the place."
"I thought he did," Natasha said grabbing another quick bite of her lunch with one hand while she holstered her firearm with the other hand.
"It doesn't count if he paid for it with counterfeit money," Clint said as he inserted a knife into the sheath in his left boot. "Come on. If we can wrap this up quickly, we may still have time to get over to the Tower of London for the last tour!"
Natasha elbowed him in the ribs on their way out of the door.