DISCLAIMER: No, I do not own any part of the MCU. (Or Poker Face)

A/N: I normally ship Clintasha, but the existence of Laura and the kids makes me question how Clint met her, and what their story is. She doesn't seem to come from a S.H.I.E.L.D-esque background, but she allows her husband to risk his life on missions 24/7, so it stands to reason that she's seen him in action, right? And what the hell could make Clint Barton settle down (Ish), on a pretty large farm that he leaves in the care of his wife and children, yet still be active in the field? So… this sprung up. And I regret absolutely nothing.

Russian roulette is not the same without a gun.

-Lady Gaga, Poker Face

CLINT

Clint's head snapped up as he heard the signs of a chopper approaching and cursed. May must have called extraction, though he couldn't figure out why. He and Nat never took an extraction plan. (And not just because pretending to not know the local language could be really fun.)

There was a light tap on his back, the signal between him and Natasha that it was the other one and not to shoot. He let her help him up, and she burrowed into his side.

"Sometimes I forget you're only nineteen," he laughed.

"Because I'm so mature. C'mon; Mel won't wait all day."

"'Mel?' Are you and May on a nickname basis?"

"What, are you not?" Natasha retorted.

"Despite all the hate I got for bringing you in, every one likes you more than me, and I've been here a lot longer."

"Well, you're annoying," May called as she helped pull them up and into the quinjet.

"Oh, so I guess it's Natasha then that's helping you TP all the quinjets at Headquarters tonight?"

"It could be if she wants to. She's probably better company than you, anyways," May replied. "Now shut up so we can report to Coulson."

"Aye, aye," Clint mock-saluted.

"I honestly don't understand how you still have this job," Natasha muttered.

"May, Barton, Romanoff, please come in," Coulson's voice said through their comms.

"Mark is in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody, no S.H.I.E.L.D. or civilian casualties, but Barton is still a pain in the ass," Natasha reported.

"I'm sorry. You will all return to Headquarters. Agent May, you will debrief in debriefing room 6A; Agent Romanoff, you will oversee an assessment for Agent Morse in training room 3C; and Agent Barton, you and Akela Amador will be going on a mission to deal with arms dealer Samantha Fisher, being briefed by Agent Blake in briefing room 12B."

"Who's Akela Amador?" Clint asked.

"She's testing in from the Academy. Also, a general notice: As Agent May will be the first of you to debrief, she will not be allowed to speak to either of you until you have both given your sides."

"Because God forbid one person debrief for all of us on a casualty-free mission," Clint retorted. Natasha slapped him.

"See you at Headquarters, Agent Barton," Coulson replied. His voice cut off and there was an obvious click that meant he had disconnected the line. Since the girls seemed occupied, Clint decided a nap was in order if he was going on another mission, even more so if he was going on one with a new recruit.

Though he was pretty sure seasoned agent Natasha Romanoff was actually more trouble to deal with than an Academy test subject, especially if Bobbi was any indication.

"As you, Agent Barton, are very aware, arms dealers are a classic Clearance Level 1 dealing," Felix Blake said, placing the packet on the table. "However, Director Fury trusts your judgement very much, which is why you will not only be executing the mission, but testing Miss Amador's ability as well."

"What are the rules?"

"They are called mission parameters, Agent Barton."

"'Rules' is just so much easier to say." Blake looked like he was going to protest, but simply sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing.

"The number of acceptable losses is zero. Fisher needs to come in alive. She's not alive, you get penalized and Amador will not be allowed to join S.H.I.E.L.D. She may be drugged and unconscious, but if she's dead or on the verge of it, penalties will be awarded. And as a member of STRIKE Team Delta, any penalties you earn also affect Agent Romanoff, even on separate missions. Also, and I quote Director Fury's mission notes, 'no crazy Delta shit.'"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You get in, you get out. No explosions. No firefights. No hostage situations. None of it. Do you know how long it took to clean up Budapest after you two were done with it?"

"Budapest is a chaotic place, Agent Blake."

"Even more so when you're in it, apparently."

"So we get to pick how this is done?"

"Amador is supposed to come up with the plan. You are dismissed."

"Who's briefing Amador?"

Blake tossed down a second copy of the manilla folder in front of Clint.

"You are."

"You sure you don't want me to tag along? Make sure nothing goes wrong?" Natasha asked, checking that all of his weapons were safely secured and concealed inside his tux.

"We'll be fine, Tasha," he promised her. She gave a small smile at the new nickname. He'd started calling her that a month ago, in Abidjan, when she'd been shot in the arm and things looked bad. Today had been her first mission since a forced medical leave, one of the reasons May had been asked to go with.

"So, if she's the one being tested, why are you the one going undercover?"

"Akela is, too. As one of her guards."

"Yeah, but you're getting up close and personal to her. I don't know how I feel about that."

"Natasha," he whispered, tucking a stray red curl behind her ear, "I know you don't like me going on missions without you, but it's just an arms dealer. Nothing overly momentous is going to happen."

"I know. I know, I know. I just… I'm scared."

"I know you are. But again, I'll be fine."

"Are you ready?" Akela called from the door, knocking on it lightly. Natasha stepped away from him quickly, awkwardly dropping her hands to her sides.

"Yeah. You have your pilot license?"

"Of course," Akela told him with a curt nod. He nodded back, only much more relaxed, and planted a quick kiss to Natasha's cheek.

"Let's go!"

The ride from Headquarters to the garage just outside the city was completely silent, and not the silence that Natasha provides of her shutting down Natasha Romanoff and becoming the Black Widow. He usually spends that time going over the mission in his head and deciding on how they'll get out in various different scenarios, but with Akela, he could just tell that she would much, much rather be doing this by herself. It reminded him of Nat during the first two or so years, back before she was even technically a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and was going through the same entrance tests that Academy testees had to go through.

He took the pilot's seat on their assigned quinjet and followed the directions the coordinates tell him to take. Akela continued to be completely silent.

Doesn't work well with others, he added to his mental checklist, but a good strategist. Very Natasha-esque.

"We should cloak now," Akela told him, flicking switches across the dashboard.

"Oh yeah. Quinjets do that."

"You've never cloaked a quinjet before?"

"Natasha and I aren't usually that subtle, and if we are, she's always the one that remembers."

"And you're a Level 6 operative?" Akela asked with disdain.

"Hey, I'm the one that gets to judge you, not the other way around. Is it good?"

"Yeah," she said distractedly, flicking one last switch. "Now."

"Putting her down," he replied, and it was a rather nice landing, in his opinion. Akela did not seem to share it.

"I'm in," he whispered into his comms, glancing around the large ballroom. Samantha Fisher, he knew, was an up-and-coming black market arms dealer, but he also knew that she wasn't hosting this function, but rather the company she bought her tech from. She was one of the few arms dealers who didn't profit from Stark Industries tech, but she still was making a name for herself amongst the mercs of South America, mostly.

"Took you long enough," Akela muttered, and Clint was getting serious déjà vu about how similar Akela was to early Natasha.

"I had to get through metal scanners with a bunch of metal weapons concealed in my tux; give me a break."

"Whatever. It's just that you're the Level 6; not me, and I'm doing better than you are."

"Only because S.H.I.E.L.D. can fake doc-"

"Barton, Amador, I would like to remind you that I am on comms for this mission," Maria Hill's voice announced in their ears, "And I have a date in three hours. I want this done by then."

"That Xander fella gonna propose?" Clint teased. He felt as if he could hear Akela's eye roll from across the ballroom, and Maria's sigh was sign enough he was overstepping. "Three hours. Got it. We can do that, right, Amador?"

"I can. I don't know about you."

"I'm not in the mood to deal with this right now. Amador, shut up. Barton, do your job."

"I am!"

"Barton," Maria replied curtly, "Three hours, and then you'll be stuck with someone who is less tolerant of this kind of stuff than I am."

"You're like the most no-nonsense person I know, though."

"Exactly."

"Alright, Amador, what you got?"

"I'm by the left side of the bar, closest to the kitchen, and she's about ten yards in front of me. There are four exits and two guards stationed at each one, as well as a total of four security cameras, all pointing towards the center of the ballroom, so stick to the sides as much as possible."

"Way to go Amador," Clint replied as he started heading in that direction. "Anything you can tell me about approaching her?"

"Don't be yourself." He heard Maria snort on the comms and really wished he could flip her the bird.

"Alright, found you. She the blonde in the blue dress or the redhead in the black?"

"Blonde. And I mean it, Barton: don't be yourself."

"The very definition of undercover, you'll find." She didn't respond, but he took her silence as confirmation, anyways, and strode up to the bar like he was rich enough to actually be attending this function.

He tapped Samantha on the shoulder and she turned around, looking almost appalled that someone dare touch her.

"Sorry, ma'am, I was just wondering if I could slide in right here? I want to get a good look at what scotches they've got and this is the only place I can see them all from."

"Sure," she replied, scooting over enough so he could lay an arm on the bar. "I have to say, this one's pretty great," she replied, holding up her glass and shaking it a tad.

"Alright, I'll take your word for it." He got the bartender's attention and said, "I'll have one of whatever she's having." He turned his attention back to Samantha and put on his most dazzling smile. Akela, who could see his profile from where he was standing, snorted, but the smile didn't waver.

His drink arrived and he took a sip, letting the liquid wash down his throat. As it did, he really started to wish that she'd been drinking wine instead of scotch. When he was in a pit of self-despair, he could drink a whole bottle by himself, but when he was drinking it voluntarily, it tasted utterly disgusting.

"I don't think I've ever seen you here before, and I have a photographic memory."

"I'm a new shareholder. This company's taking off, and I want to be a part of it."

"Good answer," Samantha laughed, taking a sip of her drink. "You like it? The drink?" she continued, swirling the amber liquid around her tumbler before setting it back down on the bar in front of them. He wondered if that was a thing she did, considering she'd done it twice in less than fifteen minutes.

"It's different than what I'm used to, but I like it nonetheless."

"Good. I like a man with good taste in scotch."

"And why would that matter to me?"

"Because you can see the shelf just fine from anywhere along this side of the bar, and there's plenty of open spaces. You came up to me for a reason."

"Alright, it's true. I can't resist a beautiful girl."

It was true. Samantha really was beautiful. Her blonde hair was in a fancy bun at the back of her head and she had these huge earrings dripping from her ears. Her dress was a sleeveless sky blue that reached down to her ankles, and on her feet he could see that she was wearing tall silver heels. A silver cross necklace was the only jewelry adorning her neck, and he'd internally laughed at the irony of an arms dealer wearing that. He'd met plenty of arms dealers of both the male and female gender, but he'd never met one that drew him in quite as much as her.

"Barton," Maria said in his ear, but it didn't sound quite like she normally did. It sounded almost… sad. What was going on? "You're close; I can tell just from the conversation."

"I can, too, though I have a visual benefit. She seems… drawn to you," Akela breathed out.

"Something wrong?" Samantha asked him, and Clint returned his smile to his face.

"Just wondering what it will take to get you to leave here with me."

"That's rather forward," she laughed.

"But you haven't said no, and you're still talking to me." She looked taken aback, but then smiled.

"I suppose so. You're someone else Mr…"

"Donaldson," he said, "Bernard Donaldson."

"Bernard Donaldson?" Akela snickered, and he really wanted to flip her the bird.

Again.

"Samantha Fisher. So, Mr. Donaldson, do you dance?"

"A little. Latin more so than this."

"I've spent years in South America; I know all the Latin dances like the back of my hand," Samantha said in shock.

"Really? That's amazing. I mostly travel in the Eastern Hemisphere, but I've been to Brazil a few times."

"What do you do there?"

"Bit of everything. Business, volunteer work. What about you?"

"Business, mostly, but all work and no play makes Jane a dull girl."

"I haven't heard that one before," Clint laughed.

"It's my own little twist. I was the breadwinner growing up, so I've been saying that for ages.."

"Me, too. Well, me and my brother were."

"Barton," Maria immediately chastised in his ear, "The mission."

"Really? I've never met many people from the US in my kind of situation," she said slowly.

"Me, neither."

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, and there was nothing coming over comms, though he knew that Akela was staring them down madly.

"Clint," Maria's voice finally chimed in, "The mission."

"So. Miss Fisher. If you know all the Latin dances, then I'm assuming-"

"Don't say another word, as I know exactly where you're heading with this." She reached into the clutch laying beside her and threw down some money, and, catching her drift, Clint quickly did, too.

"Yours or mine?"

"I happen to be right upstairs," Samantha replied smoothly as Clint deposited his own cash and she produced a key card from the depths of her clutch. He smiled, slipping his hand into hers, and he couldn't deny the electricity shooting between their skin.

"Lead the way."

Samantha made a signal with her free hand and Akela began to follow them at a slow, smooth pace. She lead the way up to her room and shut the door behind them, leaving Akela on the outside.

"Let me just use the restroom and then we can begin. I know you're anxious to see my Latin hips," she teased with a wink, closing the door to the bathroom.

That was when Clint realized he was totally, utterly screwed.

The plan with these kind of situations is you get them up to your room, put the drug in the alcoholic beverage you have waiting for them, and then bam, call for extraction and you're done. Except, Clint had let Samantha take them to her room, where there was apparently no booze, and he couldn't exactly order it now; it would kill the mood and he would be out of luck. Water and coffee were the only things available, and since she would be able to taste it in the water, that meant he had to put it in the coffee, and coffee was not always an acceptable beverage at eleven o'clock at night, and pre-sex with a woman he barely knew, he doubted that would go over well.

He knew what he had to do.

He pulled out his pager and sent a page to Akela, Maria, and Natasha telling them he was stuck until morning and would call for extraction then, and then he disconnected his comms and hid them in his tuxedo pocket, and luckily, she exited the bathroom then, clad in her undergarments and a slip.

"If you ripped that dress, I'd probably kill you," she laughed as she noticed his eyes roaming over her.

"Well, do what you want with this. I've got plenty more at home."

"Good to know."

Things got rather heated after that.

The next morning, he woke up first and took a shower, trying to get the images from last night out of his head, but not because they were bad. They were good. They were great, really. He almost felt kind of bad for taking her into custody, though considering she did the work that she did, he would probably get over it real fast. He still got shit for bringing in Natasha, and it had been several years since he'd done that. Letting Samantha go would secure his status as the office joke.

She woke up just as the coffee finished and smiled at him.

"Thank you. I thought for sure you were going to leave."

"I'm not that type of guy," he replied, pouring the vial into her coffee cup and then sliding it to her. She took a sip and sighed.

"This is really good coffee. Did you do something to it?"

"Just a bit of flavoring."

"Ah. You know, maybe we could make this a regular thing."

"I don't think that'll be possible."

The drug kicked in right then and she fell forward, him catching her and pulling her onto the bed. He then sent another page to Maria, Akela, and Natasha:

Mission accomplished.

A/N: This is for anyone who is confused about this Samantha Fisher character. Yes, this is Laura. Yes, Samantha is blonde. Yes, Clint's been working with S.H.I.E.L.D. for a while now and he's just now meeting Laura/Samantha. All will be explained; I promise.