"You did well," Clint teased as he threw the case file into her lap and sat across from her at their new meeting place—a coffee shop that Stark had recommended a few weeks before. "Too bad I was the one who brought him in." He winked and pointed at the file in her lap. "Loser does the paperwork," holding up his coffee, he added, "and pays for the refreshments."
Natasha took a quick glance down at the papers in her lap and followed through with a short, deep growl that would have warned most people off, but Clint knew his partner too well. He knew her well enough to know that she meant business, but he also knew that she would never hurt him—or so he had always hoped.
"You wouldn't have brought him in if I hadn't been there, and you know it, Barton." She studied the papers. She hated paperwork. "I promise you. I will make it up to you if you do this for me." She slowly raised her head and gave her a look that would have sent most men to their knees to do whatever she asked, but Clint only smirked and tapped her on the forehead with that day's newspaper.
"No can do, Tasha. You know I hate paperwork too. Everyone does. Plus, I enjoy seeing you fuming, knowing there's nothing you can do to make me cave." He chuckled and winked at her. "I'm not your prey, Tasha. Remember that."
She rolled her eyes, outwardly saying that she always remembers that, but she knew that she didn't really. She constantly had to remind herself that he was her partner, not another puzzle for her to figure out the key. He was not a new toy for her to use. He was not a door for her to unlock. He was Clinton Francis Barton . . . her partner. And it had to stay that way.
They had at one point talked about doing something more, but quickly brushed it away. After all, the only thing that would come from it was pain. They would get close and be each other's weaknesses. Or the other likely path was that they would hurt one another and not be able to work together anymore and lose a wonderful partnership. They decided that was not good for anyone, so they never pushed anything.
She wouldn't lie. Had Natasha Romanoff ever been asked if she had imagined Clint on top of her, pinning her down to the dining room table with little to no clothing on either one of them, she couldn't say no. But she would always push those thoughts aside. They were childish. Love was of course for children alone. Children. Children didn't have to worry about attachments. They didn't have to worry about not being killed in their sleep. Life was simple.
Minutes had gone by in the coffee shop, and Nat was once again staring out the window, deep in thought. Clint waited for a few minutes before leaning forward and calling her back to earth.
"Tasha."
"Hm?"
"Are you okay?"
"Yea." She smiled reassuringly. "I'm always okay. You know that."
"You don't have to do that, you know."
Here we go again . . .
She closed her eyes and drew in a long and almost annoyed breath.
"Do what, Clint?"
"This. This whole 'I'm the Black Widow. I'm strong. I don't have any needs or wants at all. The world comes before me, and no one can know how I actually feel.'"
She had heard this from him one too many times and was ready for him to stop.
"Shut up. I'm fine. Why don't you believe me?"
He studied her for a second before responding.
"Miss Romanoff, how many years have we been working together?" he began.
"Ten years."
"Yes. And in those ten years, would you say that we have gotten to know each other pretty well?"
"Yes, Clint."
"Yes. I would say that I know you better than I know anyone. I know your quirks, your facial mannerisms, even your sleeping routine, which should change, by the way. You need more sleep." She opened her mouth to interrupt him, but he continued before she could. "Yes. It does. Anyways, in my whole life, I have not put my life in anyone's hands as many times as I have put it in your hands these last ten years. I know you, Tasha. I know when you are lying."
She exhaled sharply and shook her head. "Clint. I'm fine. Okay? Finish your coffee so I can go home and do this paperwork."
He saw that he wasn't going to get anywhere with her so he raised his hands and backed up. "Fine. If you don't want to talk about it, I won't push it, but Tasha…." He walks gets up to leave, but stops right next to her and whispers lowly in her ear, "You can't let anything bottle up. You are keeping things inside. It's not good for work, for anyone. I'm here to talk." He pulled back and spoke normally again. "And I always will be."
She pursed her lips and nodded silently.
"Have fun with your paperwork." He smirked before patting her shoulder and walking out of the shop.