Natasha is driving. The wipers are working overtime. Clint has pulled the seat back and put his boots up on the dash. He's playing Tetris on his phone, the sound turned up very loud, just to see how long it will take her to completely lose it and rip the phone from his hand and throw it out the window. It's getting close, he can tell and it's getting harder not to grin. And what the hell, it's not his phone, it's an unused SHIELD burner and the look on her face afterwards when she silently curses herself for letting him get to her will be priceless. Fucking priceless. He wants to snicker. Few people in the world can make Natasha Romanoff lose it like that, and fewer yet survive such an experience. He almost wants to rig a GoPro in the car and record it, send it to the guys, but he thinks that might be pushing it a little. She might actually kill him if he does, to hell with all the paperwork and the hassle of breaking in a new partner. They'll never find his body.
The phone chirps and bleeps happily at him as he manages a T-spin double.
"Barton, will you please turn that down." Natasha is starting to sound strained.
"Sorry." He turns it down a few notches.
"Thank you."
"No problem." He manages to keep his tone relaxed and sincere. Letting his amusement shine through will not do. Not do at all.
He pauses the game and checks Google Maps. "Eighty-four miles to go," he informs her.
"Do you have to check every five minutes?"
"Just eager to get back to a decent bed."
He switches from Tetris to Donkey Kong. The soundtrack is truly annoying. He tells Natasha about the arcade where he played Donkey Kong for the first time. It was Ashland, Nebraska if he's not mistaken. He's pretty sure he's not, because that was where he first kissed a girl. He was twelve and nervous. She was sixteen and had boobs.
He curses when one of Kong's barrels hits his Mario, and he starts another round. "You familiar with the Donkey Kong storyline, Nat?"
"Evil monkey steals princess, weird plumber tries to free her."
He looks at her, surprised. He'd assumed her knowledge of vintage console games was, um, limited.
"I'm Russian, Clint. Not Martian."
"My mistake. But you would be wrong about that. I mean the evil monkey thing. Ape thing. He's an ape. Anyway, everyone thinks he's the bad guy, but the original manual says Kong is Mario's pet that ran away because he was abused. Poor little guy is probably just suffering from PTSD."
"That's sad."
"I know, right."
"Almost as sad as you are for knowing that."
He turns the game volume back up to max just for that.
Ten minutes later she pulls over at a McDonald's. "I need a break."
The drive-through is closed, under reconstruction a sign tells them. She sends Clint out into the rain to get burgers and fries.
He pulls the hood of his jacket over his head and jogs across the parking lot. He really is quite hungry. Coffee and Ding Dongs are great for a short term caffeine-sugar rush, but that was hours in the past. There's only one person ahead of him in line, so he's in and out in a few minutes with food and drinks. When he gets out, Natasha has brought the car up to the curb outside the door. She reaches over and takes the drinks and lets him slide in and close the door on the rain.
They park at the far end of the lot. He grabs his double quarter pounder with cheese and bacon and hands her the paper bag. She looks into the bag, then up at him, eyebrow arched.
"Really? A happy meal? Are you trying to tell me something here?"
"I would never. But you always leave like half of what you order, so I figured you might actually finish that one." He shrugs. "I'll get you something else if you want."
She pulls out the box, grabs the burger and tosses him the toy. "That'll keep you occupied for a while," she huffs and starts unwrapping her burger.
He hides the grin by stuffing his mouth full of fries. He had been about to get her a regular cheeseburger meal, but when he'd realized the happy meal toy made noise, he hadn't been able to resist.
By the time they're done eating the rain has actually let up for a moment, and they both get out for a stretch. With a groan Natasha arches, hands at the small of her back.
"Getting old and stiff?" he asks.
"Shut up. If you hadn't been busy falling down the stairs I wouldn't have had to make that jump to keep from being skewered."
He rolls his eyes. "Seriously, how is it when you tell things that I always fall and you always jump?" He's about to remind her about London when he sees Natasha's eyes go all business. But she's not moving into a fighting stance or rolling for cover, so he calmly turns around.
Three young men amble towards them. Wannabe tough guys out for some Friday night shenanigans. They're all moving with that ridiculous swagger that's supposed to be cool and menacing, but is neither. Clint snorts and casually pulls the zipper of his jacket down a little.
The lead thug rounds the front of the car. "Nice," Thug says and runs his hand over the hood of the BMW. The other two circle around the back of it, flanking them.
"Yes. Yes, it is," Clint answers.
"How many horse powers? 300?"
Clint looks at Natasha, because beyond 'It go wroom?' he doesn't care all that much about vehicle specs outside of work.
"320," she answers.
"Sweet. I'd like a ride like that," Thug says.
Natasha smiles cooly. "Stay in school, say no to drugs, and work real hard, then you might have one someday."
Thug gives an ugly smirk and starts reaching under his jacket. "No, I think I want one right n-"
She punches him in the nose.
He goes down and Clint takes the opportunity to flatten the two cronies while they're staring at her with open mouths.
"What?" she growls when he lifts an eyebrow. "My annoying people quota has been filled for the day." She nimbly relieves Thug of the ridiculously oversized gangsta' gun he's got stuffed down his pants.
"Lady, you're crazy," Thug says thickly from behind his hand. Blood runs down his face.
Clint laughs. "You don't know the half of it. Now, get up." He holds his knife in a relaxed grip by his side. "You, too," he tells the other two.
Thug gets to his knees with a moan. "You broke my nose!"
Natasha scoffs. "Don't be such a baby."
"Fuck you!"
"I think not. But you can give me all of your money."
Thug glares at her. "Go to hell."
She calmly pulls her own gun out from under her jacket (they both know better than to count on an unknown weapon being loaded) and points it at his forehead. It doesn't escape Clint that the safety is still on.
"Okay, okay, shit. Here!" He digs a wad of cash from his pocket and pretty much shoves it at her.
She nods towards their car. "On the hood."
He obeys.
"Good boy." She lowers the gun. "Now, walk away."
The three of them put distance between themselves and the car as fast as they can without actually running. When they're at a safe distance Thug starts yelling threats. If they ever show their faces here again, yada, yada, yada.
Natasha lifts the gun again and points it at them without bothering to look. This time they do run.
"Youth of today…" Clint shakes his head.
Natasha puts the gun back in its holster and picks up the roll of money. She removes the rubber band around it and counts it quickly. "Four hundred and sixty-four dollars." She stuffs it in her pocket.
"Hey," Clint protests. "I took out two of them, I think I deserve at least half of the loot."
"All of it is going to Brenda."
"Who?"
"She runs a youth club in D.C. Keeps kids out of trouble."
"Ah. Worthy cause. I approve." Clint returns the knife to its sheath and his fingers brush against the happy meal toy in his pocket. He pulls it out and quickly assembles it. He shows it to Natasha. "Look. It's a duck!" He winds the plastic toy up and it starts waddling in his hand, making a truly un-ducklike noise.
She rounds the car and opens the driver's door. "That thing is not coming in the car with us," she says flatly.
"Oh, come on. It's a gift from you, so it's precious to me. I can't leave it at a McDonald's parking lot in the middle of nowhere."
She sighs. "Fine. But it stays in the glove compartment."
"Aww. Poor Ducky."
"Get in the damn car, Barton."
They pull out of the parking lot and Clint is a good boy and places Ducky in the glove compartment. He pulls up DK again and gets back to jumping barrels and climbing ladders.
Natasha lasts all of eight minutes. Clint knows. He's timing it.
"I swear to God, Clint, you'll be walking the rest of the way if you don't turn that down." She pauses. "No, you know what, forget turning it down, you're going to turn it off."
"Nat, come on. You want me to die of boredom?"
Her fingers are gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Keep it up and boredom will not be what you will die from."
"You're no fun," he mutters, but shuts down the game. He reaches out to turn on the radio but pulls his hand back at the sting of Natasha's slap. "Ow!"
He slouches down in his seat. When he gets bored with staring at the grayness outside the car, he picks up his phone again and texts Stark, asks when his new gear will be done. He gets no answer so he pulls up to see if anything newsworthy has happened in the world while they've been gone. But nothing really catches his attention, so he checks out YouTube instead. He finds a clip on how to start a fire using a lemon. Huh. Never know when that might come in handy. He then remembers that Tony doesn't have this number, so he sends a message letting him know who is texting.
Tony answers almost immediately after that.
*boiiing* gear rdy nxt wk. in iceland now then ntil wed
Iceland?
*boiiing* pres arc reac sust energy conf
Cool. Any hot chicks?
*boiiing* everywhere
What do icelanders do for fun? Lava surfing? Hot spring orgies?
*boiiing* wouldn't know. arrived 2h ago leaving in 3
I want souvenirs.
*boiiing* no
Don't u luv me?
*boiiing* the way i lv cholera
Cold man. Cold.
*boiiing* [heart]
Clint looks up from the phone and looks at the scenery going by outside. He spots a Pennsylvania state flag. "Really? We're not even in Maryland yet?" He turns on the whine in his voice."God. This trip is taking forever. We won't be back before ten at this rate. Eleven maybe."
"We will get there when we get there. God, you're worse than a child."
*boiiing* [rainbow]
Natasha makes a weird noise. "Barton," she grates out. "I don't care who you're sexting, I will stop this goddamn car right here."
"Geesh. Saw-ree."
*boiiing* [kitten]
Clint turns off the message notification.
Outside the sky has opened up again and he watches the headlights of oncoming traffic and spends a while trying to identify the make and model of each and everyone. He tries to get Natasha involved. She declines. When the mile markers tell him they've covered ten miles he texts Tony again and asks him to call. Tony lets him know he's clingy and weird, but a moment later the world's most piercing ring tone fills the car.
Clint pivots forward as Natasha slams the breaks.
And there goes the phone.
Touchdown!
~ Fin ~