I almost never read crossovers, so it feels odd to be posting one, but I just couldn't turn down the opportunity to write with the always amazing "Readithoney." Go check out her work. There's a link to her on my profile.

-Lio

Avengers fans: Why aren't you watching Almost Human? Go! Watch it. Now! We'll wait.

Ok. Back? Good. Read on.

Almost Human fans: Meet Clint and Natasha. They like to shoot things.

Chapter 1: Sotto Voce

by DJLiopleurodon

"Could these two look any more like cops?"

Clint's laugh buzzed mechanically. "I made them before they hit the door. What took you so long?"

"I'm hanging upside down up in the rafters." The Sotto Voce completely failed to capture her sardonic tone, but he heard it anyway.

"Point taken." He scratched at the sub-vocalizer patch on his throat with the nock of an arrow. Sixteen hours in and sweat and stubble were taking their toll on the filmy component.

Natasha winced as the device tried to interpret the motion as sound. She made a note to insist on better filtering. If she had to keep listening to it try to make sense of her partner's every hem, shift and cough, she was going to smother him in his sleep. The Sotto Voce was the most amazing piece of tech to come over the wall in...ever, but the design focused on functionality over her personal peeve with her partner. Of which, of course, Clint was well aware.

Consisting of a micrometer-thin patch of transparent circuitry adhered to the skin near the larynx and a device worn in the ear canal, or, in Clint's case, built into a standard hearing aid, the SV translated and encoded the wearer's sub vocalizations and transmitted them to the recipient's ear piece.

The most ingenious thing about it: apart from allowing them to chatter without risk of detection, the signal it broadcast was completely unintelligible to any other system. In addition to next-gen encryption, the SV didn't send sound waves or any sort of linear data at all. It sent the raw electrical signals generated by subtle, soundless motions of the wearer's tongue, throat and vocal cords. The data would be complete gibberish without a detailed map of the individual user's vocal anatomy.

It took some time to master, and it wasn't without its quirks, but it was an invaluable communication tool for the resistance. Instant short-range communication and completely secure long distance transmission; code-breakers hadn't been this foiled since the wind-talkers a hundred years ago. And the best part, no one seemed to be trying because no one had even noticed the signal.

"Damn. They are here for Crispin X. Goddammit." she said as the tall detective yanked the VR glasses off the nearest cyber-punk wanna-be and demanded to know if he was the legendary hacker. She soundlessly drew both her Glocks and he repositioned and nocked an arrow in the small cross bow he used in short-ranged close quarters. The unique weapon and it's untraceable projectiles were silent and lethal in the hands of someone with Clint's skill, but, seriously, at what point did it become easier to just draw the gun in his tac-holster?

"They gotta find him first," he reminded her as they watched the two officers-in-rave-wear question the geek and bribe him with some tech-toy. "Jesus, that accent...eighty percent hearing loss and I can hear how fake it is."

"Enhanced, your hearing is better than mine."

"Chewing gum? Seriously? How is that a disguise?" This was clearly a quickly-cobbled-together undercover operation; it was easy to sneer at the man and woman who were failing to pass as tech-elite. It was easy to forget how dangerous they were or the power they wielded beneath the faux-leather trench coat or purple bobbed wig. These people were out of their element, but for now, they were trying things the easy way. No doubt drones, city-wide scanners and a horde of MX foot soldiers stood at the ready in case they decided to try the hard way.

"You wouldn't believe the things I've done with chewing gum," she said tantalizingly.

"Try me. I've got quite an active imagination."

"Only if I can get you in some of that sexy guy-liner"

He couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Damn, this tech did have its limitations. Well, if she came at him with kohl anytime soon, he'd have his answer.

"You should get a wig like that. It's hot."

"What's with you and purple? But anything would be better than this ridiculous blond ponytail." Infiltrating the Delta Precinct had been easy; dressing up like a bashful, gawky network specialist was torture. She often said it was the worst cover ID she'd had since defecting.

"Goes well with the frills and sweater sets."

"Fuck off. Wait...is that... Shit. It is. It's Stahl and Kennex from Delta Precinct."

"We spent months setting up your cover there. How the hell did you not know about this operation?"

"Barton, I've barely scratched the surface. An infiltration of this magnitude takes..."

"No names, remember?"

"If they can decode the SV feed, Clint, your name is probably the least of our worries."

"Like the fact that in the past two minutes you've given away your position, where you're embedded, details about your appearance. What the hell, Romanov? Gettin' way too confident in the SV. Or is all the blood rushing to your head?"

"Tired, I guess." Probably a combination of all three of those things; Clint's words sounded teasing, but even with the flat affectation of the SV, his concern was clear. She didn't make mistakes. She was the Black Widow, dammit! She tried to turn it into a joke. "Some asshole kept me up most of the night."

He started to retort, but instead jumped back to the task at hand. "If these two are here, is there even a remote chance we're going to get what we came for?"

"Not if they find Crispin X. Damndamndamndamn." The SV interpreted her clenched teeth as a sharp feedback whine as the leather-clad officers approached their mutual target. "Keep your mouth shut, kid," she silently urged the oblivious hacker.

"Aphid? Did she just claim to be Aphid? As if."

"Hot chicks can't be hackers?"

"Hot chicks are rarely scrawny dudes in fedoras."

"You'll have to explain that one to me later. Since when do you know hackers?"

"I had a life before you, you know."

She muttered an indecipherable curse as the detective cuffed the kid; appropriating their first real lead in over a month. "Jack-booted fascist son of a..."

"From their perspective, we are the terrorists."

"When we have even a quarter of their body count, you can call us terrorists.."

"One man's freedom fighter is another man's terrorist. Speaking of which...Want me to drop them now? I've got a clear line of sight. Or wait til they get outside?" The SV transmitted the sharp whine followed by the crackle of static that Natasha had come to recognize as Clint drawing back his bow.

"Neither. They'll have backup. Let's not turn this into anymore of a shit show. I wanna see how this plays. I'll redirect him in processing if it comes to it. He's too valuable to them to do any real harm, at least not right away. Besides, he doesn't know anything about us."

"Roger that."

Clint cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders uncomfortably as he drove a circuitous route at a discrete speed. Their cover identities were iron-clad and their real ones were expunged clear out of existence—that kind of certainty didn't come cheap. However, any sort of involvement with the authorities, robot or human, was best avoided, especially with Natasha's deep cover being in a precinct. He glanced over at her; artificially blond hair curtained her face as she looked out at the city.

"Were those the two that took out the Bishop?"

"He did. Near as I can tell, she's window dressing."

"Is he the one that no one likes, that got all those people killed, who bickers with your secret robot boyfriend?"

"Yeah. I swear, there is something going on there with those two..."

"In your dreams."

"Definitely. This assignment is boring as hell; I need some way to amuse myself."

"Trade ya. Wall duty is killing me."

"You are welcomed to fantasize about Mr. Leather making out with his bot, too." She swiped a tired wrist across her eyes.

"I'll pass. How about you and her? Whatshername? Stalin?"

"Stahl. Another fucking perfect chrome. Fucking beautiful and fucking useless."

"The mouth on you tonight..."

"You didn't complain last night."

He wisely conceded the point and moved on. "Anyway, Tasha, you're a chrome, too."

"I am a genetically-engineered, combat-specialized operative. Not some vanity project for super-rich parents."

He drove through the dark streets in silence. He was beginning to wonder if she'd dozed off when she shifted restlessly and proclaimed, "God, I still can't believe Kennex got away with taking out the Bishop. Shot the guy in cold blood."

"He did us a hell of a favor. It would have been very bad if Barros had talked. Fucking slimeball. Although, I wish I could've taken him out myself." Clint had never been comfortable with their uneasy association with the crime syndicates. He had even less tolerance for the drug cartels. He volunteered whenever there was an opportunity to "take care" of a drug problem. She suspected he occasionally freelanced.

"They won't process Nico—Crispin X, whatever he's calling himself—tonight. I'll get in early tomorrow, and I'll be able to handle it." She yawned sleepily. Showing this level of human frailty was rare for her. "Report first though."

"You need to sleep. I'll file the report when I go back over."

"File it from my place. Stay with me again tonight." Her light touch on his arm was the Natasha-equivalent of pleading.

"You know I can't, Tasha. We were taking a risk last night. I'd have to stay at least until nightfall tomorrow. I have to be back on the wall and you need to keep your cover."

"What? Mousy little Emma from IT can't have a bit of fun." She actually managed to sound petulant.

"When did I become the responsible one?"

"Since I've had less than six hours sleep in four days. Take me home. Stay. Don't stay. I'm too tired to fight you on it."

"Ok," he agreed, unable to refuse another night in her arms and in her apartment with its luxuries of reliable lights, heat and virtually unlimited hot water in the shower. "Maybe we'll get another crack at the kid before I go back over the wall tomorrow night."

"Hey, babe?"

"Don't call me, babe. Ever." The last word lost some of its efficacy because she said it under a yawn.

She was fading fast. They had barely managed to secret their gear in the hidden panel in her closet before she shucked her suit, kicked it under the bed and collapsed onto the mattress. Her last notable indication of consciousness was when she wriggled back against him and rested her head on his bicep when he climbed in to join her. She pressed her back along his torso, settled her ass against his thighs and intwined her legs with his. His fingers curled against her hip and he was about to doze off himself when the thought occurred to him. "What kind of bot?"

"What? What bot?" she blinked the sleep back and turned to look at him quizzically.

"Detective Connect's bot. What kind? Can't be an MX if you are drooling over him."

"Oh, Kennex? His name's Dorian. A DRN... Have you seen the specs on those things?"

"Yeah, it's his 'specs' you are interested in."

"And I don't drool."

"I think you might have been drooling on me just now. Put him in your next report. T may have worked out an exploit for the DRN processing core."

"If they haven't updated his encryption—and I bet they haven't—" she smiled sleepily, "that has...possibilities."