Clint sat at a table on the second floor, overlooking the entirety of the museum. The party guests were flooding in, already mingling and enjoying themselves greatly this early in the night. His eyes swept through the crowd until finally falling on a certain figure. The woman was beautiful. Her pale skin contrasted greatly with her incredibly red hair. She was wearing a plain, yet extremely elegant black gown: the kind of outfit that one wears when trying not to draw too much attention. Though, she was the type who draws attention regardless, just due to her striking natural appearance. He decided not to follow her. In due time, she would make her way over to him. He had that sort of effect on women.

Couple hours later, Natasha walked up the stairs, sitting across from the man, whom she pegged as a spy the moment she caught sight of him. His suave, arrogant way of carrying himself. The way he was carefully observing everyone in the room, you could practically see his mind analyzing each and every detail. Natasha snickered to herself when he shrugged off more than a few female guests who were obviously throwing themselves at him, confirming her suspicions even more. The question was if he was on an actual assignment, or if he was merely there to keep an eye on things. Not having seen him get up from his seat once since the beginning of the party, she decided it was at least somewhat safe to go speak to him. She shouldn't be going near him at all, but she was bored. The whole night been so uneventful that perhaps she just couldn't help but play with fire.

Natasha sat in the seat opposite of him, not saying a word. She brought her glass to her lips, sipping some the red wine inside. It was Clint who finally broke the silence.

"Pretty boring party, isn't it?"

"They always are."

"Why bother coming then?"

She sighed. "Business matters." Delicately, she traced around the edges of her wine glass, gazing out the window.

"Oh, I see. Well," he said, getting up from his seat for the first time in hours, "I'm going to go check out those paintings. You're welcome to join." And with that, he walked off, knowing she'd follow.

Except that she didn't. Now, it was Natasha's turn to sit and observe the stranger. She watched him as he strutted through the hallways, trying to figure him out. Every now and then, he would glance back at her, pointing to a painting and making a highly exagerrated thumbs-up towards her, then gesturing for her to come over and check it out. She would nod her head "no" but found herself having to supress a smile. Clint took his time, playing hard-to-get, although truthfully, he was getting very tired of looking at the various works of art.

He eventually went back to the table, putting on a grin. "You're still here."

Nat rolled her eyes. "Like you haven't been checking up on me every two point four seconds."

"That's oddly specific," Clint smirked. "Been counting the seconds, have you?"

She narrowed her eyes, a trace of a smile playing across her lips. "No," she said, slightly defensive.

"Then what? Miss.." He trailed off, looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to introduce herself. He knew her name, of course. He'd been sent her file.

"Romanov." She finished, although she wasn't sure why. She regretted it instantly. Now he could look her up, if he didn't already know who she was. The chances were fifty-fifty. If he already knew, then it didn't make a difference. If he didn't, then her name would've raised up a million red flags.

But Clint's composure didn't change one bit, he was exactly the same as he had been a few moments ago, which made Natasha suspicious all over again. "Is there a first name to go along with that, Miss Romanov?" He paused, then added another side note last minute. "And since you didnt correct me on the utilization of the word 'Miss', I'm assuming you're not married."

She nodded, deciding that she needed to be more careful from this point on, but also realizing that the damage was already done as far as her identity went. "Natasha," she replied. Laughing, she added, "And no, I'm not married."

"Hmm..." He rested his chin on one of his hands. "What about similar commitments of any kind? ..A boyfriend?" She shook her head.

Clint seemed to consider something, then, with a teasing grin on his face, he leaned in across the table, lowering his voice. "What do you say we ditch this horrible excuse for a party?"

She lifted an eyebrow at him, smirking. "I don't even know your name," she stated, unamused.

"Barton," He said, pausing for half a second. "Clint Barton."

She rolled her eyes at him for the second time. "How relevant. A James Bond reference," she thought.

He eyed her. "Hey, we can't all have such beautiful and intriguing names as 'Natasha Romanov' ..some of us are stuck with non-impressive names such as 'Clint Barton' and have to resort to cheesy James Bond references to keep things interesting," he said, defending himself.

She bit her lip, still trying not to laugh. "Alright. Let's get out of here."

A few minutes later, they were in Clint's car, on their way to his hotel room.