"This wasn't what I pictured when you said you wanted to go dancing.

Natasha Romanov looked up from her split, breaking her concentration to smile coyly at her husband. "Where did you think we were going? The tango club?"

Clint Barton shifted his weight and swayed dangerously, tried to steady himself without snapping a tendon. Natasha's legs seemed to stretch each wall of the the dance studio in a taut line. For her, ballet was as easy as fistfighting or speaking Russian. For Clint, it was more akin to playing hockey on a pogo stick.

The instructor stopped by Natasha and smiled-"very nice!"-before glancing at Clint and promptly averting her eyes as he regained his balance and dignity.

"Alright, back to the barre, first position, please," the teacher said.

Natasha swung her left leg forward and stood in one movement, settling into what was presumably first position. Clint flopped over on one side and managed to make it to the barre without any major mishaps. The backs of his legs burned and he winced as he tried to copy Natasha's stance. Natasha spotted his grimace in the mirror and looked pleased with herself.

"This is revenge for speed chess last Saturday, isn't it?"

She ignored him, her arm drawing a mesmerizing arc as she plied to the floor.

"I've missed this," she said.

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Miss Romanov, but this is not date night," said the instructor, and Clint smirked. One for Barton.

Barre was bearable-at least there was something to lean on, and he had Natasha to follow. There was a downside, though-now he could fully appreciate how his reflection moved like a scarecrow behind his wife's smooth figure. This class was for adult beginners, he reminded himself for about the fifth time since the class began. It was Natasha that was out of place here, not him. There was a soccer mom with bare feet next to him, two older ladies at the other barre, and disgruntled college student between them who looked wore a constant scowl. She probably hadn't tried anything new since third grade and kept glancing enviously at Natasha.

Before long they had plied their last and pushe the barres back against the walls. Theteacher gestured to the corner. "Are we done?" Clint whispered to Natasha.

Natasha smiled again and fiddled with the bobby pins in her hair. "Not quite."

"This is a simple combination for our new students," said the instructor. She stood on her left foot and extended the other behind her, arms spread in an L shape, then took a deep breath and lept out across the room. The combination was elegant, absolutely; creative, probably, but certainly not simple.

"Should I do it again?" The class was quiet.

"Maybe, ah, one more time?" Clint said.

"That wasn't so bad, huh?" Natasha said as she pulled leg warmers over her tights.

Clint shrugged. "Could have been worse."

"Aww, come on, I know you didn't really hate it. There's just a learning curve with all the French terms." She freed her flaming red hair from its bun and it sprung out in curls around her face. "You want to come back with me next week, if we're not off killing aliens in Tokyo?

"Maybe if you drag someone with less talent than me along," Clint said. "I'd kill to see Fury try those...those jump things."

Natasha looked at him and laughed. "You know, I'd like to see that, too." She grabbed his hand and leaned in for a kiss.

"Dinner?" she said, her smiling face next to his. "You can pick it."

"Sure," he said. Their lips met again as their fingers twisted together. "You drive."