Disclaimer.
This series is being reposted into one story. All the rest will be deleted as soon as I have finished.
Natasha was sitting on the foot of the untrustworthy motel bed, cross-legged, her hands resting on her knees. Silence - an ongoing noise that hadn't stopped ringing since Clint had left at 0500 hours - had settled over her hours ago like a thick, heavy fog. It was getting to the point where it was suffocating the patience out of her. The usual pitter-patter of the rain was abnormally absent. It hadn't rained since last night. She knew he wanted her to stay put. He'd left a note - so unlike him - saying that he was going to go out and have a look around. So she had decided to stay put, even if the world was going to end. She was trying to her best to, especially after saving the world - again - last week. The Battle of New York had been an exhausting one, and on top of that stopping mad geniuses from blowing up the Earth yesterday had also been exhausting.
All in all, everyone was pretty tired.
Clint and Natasha weren't here by choice. No, Tony had convinced Fury after what happened in New York to get the two of them away from S.H.I.E.L.D - neither of them had been surprised but both had been opposed to the idea of getting away from work - and after yesterday's early morning's events, Fury had ordered them, with Tony nearby with a smug look on his face, to get away - he'd even pay them for it. They were paid to take orders anyway, but getting paid for taking orders from Fury about taking a vacation (the very idea of it was absurd to the two of them) was something they'd reluctantly followed.
Now here they were - or rather, here she was - in a crummy motel room (Tony had given them their specific coordinates for their pre-chosen destination) in Seattle. Why Tony chose Seattle, neither of the assassins knew. Maybe it was Fury's idea, too. But Natasha suspected that it was all Tony's idea.
Was rain supposed to be soothing? Wasn't silence supposed to be soothing to her? Because it sure wasn't to her, not after the week she'd had - not after four years of being a part of S.H.I.E.L.D - and the rain would have been a blessing compared to the loudly ongoing silence.
But she was trying to do Clint a favor while he was out, because it was not in her nature to leave notes for him when she left where they were staying. He would have check a few places - places in different parts of the city, far away from each other - and it would be tiresome for him. Especially since they were on "vacation".
Natasha remembered Tony's "briefing" yesterday with a grimace. The "briefing" for their "undercover mission" hadn't been her favorite, especially since Tony had been literally spitting out what they were supposed to be.
Tony paced back in forth of an exhausted pair of assassins on the Helicarrier. They both watched him carefully, suspiciously, scrutinizing his somewhat serious expression. Having just been ordered by Fury to take a paid vacation wherever Tony told them to go and stay "for as long as you have to".
Clint opened to say something, when Tony spun around to face them, his eyes intense, although it was obvious that he wasn't that serious. Or, at least they hoped he wasn't that serious. Clint closed his mouth, sharing a quick glance with Natasha.
"Just pretend you're undercover," he said finally. "Just pretend to be normal. No spy or assassin stuff allowed. Got it?"
They continued to listen in in silence.
"You know what that means, archer boy? No arrows hiding in secret pockets. No bows on the inside of your cello case."
"I don't play cello, Tony," Clint told him.
"Maybe you don't know," he said, "but normal people usually know how to play something - instruments, sports, solitaire, MMO's - so I guess you're playing the cello."
"I'm pretending to play the cello, Tony."
Tony paused for a moment, and then began pacing again. "No, you don't have to. Okay, just - think of something normal to be, okay?"
Natasha eyed the genius.
"That means think now, you two," Tony said.
They both remained silent.
After a few seconds, Clint asked, "why don't you go undercover and act as a civilian, Tony?"
"See, I'm way too important to even act normal. See, the world needs Iron Man slash genius to stay Iron Man slash genius. I'm too busy being awesome, but I know people who are kind of normal. I think that counts -"
"Just get to the point," Natasha cut in.
Tony shrugged and paused again. "Don't hide a knife in your boot. You won't get to wear boots. You'll just hide it even if Fury tells you to. Don't take a flute case. Do you play flute? No, of course you don't, you probably play knife games."
She narrowed her eyes, and he put up his hands in defense.
"I'm just saying," he muttered, and then continued. "And no hunting Bigfoot. Nothing job-related, unless it is absolutely necessary"
"Tony!" they both exclaimed.
He frowned at them, and then resumed pacing.
"You two will act as a married couple. No normal civilian would believe you guys are partners in anything. They'll just think you're sleeping together and lying about it. They also won't go for the sibling act. They might have worked when you were five years old, but you're not five years old. Are you? No, you aren't."
He took a breath and continued on with their "rules".
"You two will be wearing rings at all times. The rings are not rigged in any way and are normal rings. Your main mission is to blend in, not kill anyone, and to be nice to people. No matter how anti-do-goody they are. Is that clear?"
Clint and Natasha both nodded.
"Good. You are both from Fairbanks, Alaska - no arguments, archer boy - and you're both grocery store owners - I know it sounds boring, spider girl - and you visited Natasha's brother's family the other day and are simply stopping for the weekend before you drive up through Canada to get home. Are we clear so far?"
Again, the two assassins nodded.
"Spider girl, your names will be Frankie and Eloise Donovan."
Natasha frowned.
"Yes, spidey, I am making these up as I go - don't worry, if you have any issues with my plan you can just fill in any blanks, use your killer imagination. You only have one uncle. Go wild with the name and family. Make something fun up. Can assassins make fun cover stories up? I don't know. Anyways," he said pointedly after receiving a quick, exasperated look from Clint, "here are the rules you must follow to the letter: have fun, don't kill anyone, try to blend in, don't actually become Spider Girl and Legolas, okay? It will do us all a favor. Oh, and avoid as much contact as you can with anything S.H.I.E.L.D-related all weekend. Unless you have to. Which I'm pretty sure you won't have to do."
Natasha opened her mouth, but he cut her off, and paused again to face the two of them. "You guys will not only get paid on your vacation - I know you get paid like it's a regular work day - but you'll get paid extra. That should be a motivation. Right? Am I right? Wait, don't answer that - I know I'm right. You'll just deny my obvious genius-ness as usual. Are we good?"
He waited two seconds, and they had barely opened their mouths to object to this whole thing when he chirped:
"Alrighty, then! Dismissed!
Natasha was now done waiting. It had been over six hours of sitting. She'd eaten, showered, and was dressed as a civilian - as much as she disliked it. She wore a black t-shirt, sweatpants, ankle-socks (why the type of sock had mattered to Pepper [ she had assisted Tony in helping out with their "normal attire" ] was a mystery to her) and her sneakers were by the front door. Her black, hoodless jacket was draped over a chair to the left of her, just outside the bathroom door. Upon that same, dust-covered chair was Clint's backpack of things. "Normal" things had gone in there (toothbrush and paste, dental floss, deodorant and perfume [perfume had been unnecessary in her opinion, but of course it hadn't been her choice] their "civilian" flip phones that couldn't even get email, and a few other items), Tony had made sure of that. They shared one suitcase, which a few agents from S.H.I.E.L.D had double-checked, tipple-checked, and re-triple checked both it and its contents thoroughly for any hidden devices or weapons of any kind. They each had pairs of civilian clothes. Fake ID's had been handed out fairly quickly (in a span of ten minutes) and they each had their own wallets. Natasha had been opposed to purses. Tony had allowed her to have her way on that, thankfully.
Clint had left the motel room with an attire similar to her own, except he wore more leather and denim than she did, and they shared an old red, pre-2000 sedan that was made to look like it was ready to break down at any moment. Now, Clint could manage cars well. He just didn't trust non-government issued ones. It was parked right outside in case they had to make a speedy getaway, especially because they knew that without any weapons to help aid in defending themselves (although in hand to hand combat they were perfectly fine in most scenarios) running would be the best way out of anything, no matter how much they'd rather not.
Orders were orders, though.
Natasha stood up, stretching, a yawn escaping her lips. She knew they both felt extremely unprofessional. It was Saturday afternoon, and for once, they weren't working. They didn't have any knives, guns, bows, arrows, or even any training to go to before 0400 hours. Sleeping in had actually been nice, although at first the Black Widow had been alarmed by the idea of doing something "normal" that she wasn't usually permitted to do. But Clint had convinced her to just lie awake as long as she could, if she had to. To her surprise, he'd fallen asleep after telling her this and had been up and about before 0900 hours, before her. It had actually relaxed her, after the past week or so's events. Saving the world was a hard thing to do, she had to admit.
She shuffled her feet, her posture relaxed - she felt so unlike agent she was, feeling the way she did - as she made her way over to the chair. She took the well-worn jacket off the back of the chair and slipped her arms for the sleeves, adjusting it till it was snug against her skin and zipped up to the hollow of her throat. Thankfully, no wig had been needed in her false identity and she could go about Seattle as she was, as long as she didn't do anything... out of the ordinary.
Ordinary.
It wasn't something she really enjoyed. When undercover, she had a mission to focus on - she had to act it to do what she could to get an assignment done - but this time she didn't really know how to handle it. Now she had to lie, but not because of a target or because of an object, but because she was actually supposed to try to blend in with the rest of the world. She didn't really know how to start conversations, she couldn't think of any interests she shared with any "normal civilian" because, well, she was an assassin. One of the best. And partner to Clint. Also one of the best. Maybe he was handling this better than she was.
She went over to the door and put on her shoes, frowning slightly as she tied the laces. She was so used to having boots. And combat-gear. And at least one weapon hidden on her person.
She went back over to the bed, picked up the motel room key, and went back to the door, stepping outside and shutting it, locking it. She wished she was in her own quarters, on the Helicarrier - they were so much more secure than this untrustworthy room. She'd scoured the bed for any pressure plates, made sure there weren't any bugs, checked for cameras - anything that would alert her to something that would give her cause to get away from this "vacation".
Outside, it was cold. The sun hadn't come out, and it didn't look like it would any time soon. She could smell rain in the air, she noticed people out in about, in their cars and walking across streets, turning corners, and passing each other by without even a glance to another. It was odd. No one was suspicious of the stranger passing them by. They had no idea who the person standing next to them in line for coffee was, they had no idea what secrets their coworkers kept, they had no idea about anything - few ever did. She wondered how they could all be so naïve all the time.
She allowed her eyes to scan her surroundings for a brief moment before crossing the motel's parking lot and heading down what looked like the safest street. But she didn't know the layout of the area she was in, she didn't know the backgrounds of everyone who lived around here, she knew nothing about this part of Seattle. She didn't even know what was around the corner from the motel.
She wondered - not for the first time - when her hawk would be back. Sometime soon, she hoped, and she hoped she would beat him to the motel room so he wouldn't be locked out and left outside to do nothing but wait for her. That scenario was unappealing in her mind's eye.
Natasha wasn't thrilled with this knowledge, but she crossed the street and went on with her instincts at hand.
As soon as she was out of the motel's sight, the rain finally began to fall, shattering the ringing silence that had taken over the empty motel room that awaited the the spider and the hawk's return.
Clint was satisfied. He wasn't happy. No, satisfied was the better word for the emotion he had after a day of checking out the city to see if there were any threats in a twenty-mile radius of their motel room. In his hands were two bags filled with takeout food from a place called the Elheart - one of the fanciest restaurants in town. He had a friend there who knew a friend who knew the owner and had managed to get some food that he knew Natasha wouldn't hate and that they could both eat. He was sure that normal people didn't even eat at the Elheart. You had to have a four-month's reservation to get a parking space. Normal people didn't have takeout from places like the Elheart - but normal people ate takeout of some sort, didn't they?
When the motel room was in sight, and he was a block away, the rain began to fall, causing him to break into a leisurely jog. He crossed the street and ran the rest of the way through the parking lot and arrived at their room. He placed his hand on the knob and turned, and was surprised to find it locked. He allowed himself a small smile. He really hadn't expected his spider to be able to wait that long for him - and he had been right. She had probably gone off either to find him, do some looking around of her own, or merely sight-seeing because although her credit cards (courtesy of S.H.I.E.L.D) could never be maxed out, that was really all she could do. Buying large amounts of anything - or buying something expensive - wouldn't appear average, would it? No, he decided. He couldn't say for sure what she was doing, but he knew she'd be back at least before 2100 hours. The food could be reheated in their microwave oven if need be, and he felt more relaxed than she probably was. Then again, waiting wasn't really her thing if there wasn't something that needed either stealing, killing, or destroying. He understood she needed to do something on Saturday. While other people could sit around and sleep all day, she could not.
Clint sat down against the door, leaned his head back, putting the bags of food underneath his coat to shield it from the rain since there was no overhang where their room was, and closed his eyes.
He would await the return of his spider.
When Natasha returned, she was shocked at what she saw. Clint had fallen asleep by the door, and she could smell something good. He'd brought them dinner. She allowed herself to smile as she walked up to him, crouched, and inspected him for any signs of injuries. Seeing none, she decided it was safe to wake him up.
"Agent Barton, you're sleeping on the job," she stage-whispered.
"Agent Romanoff," he greeted her, as if he were wide awake, but he didn't move. The look on his face told her he was perfectly content, soaking wet for the most part and well-rested. He slowly opened his eyes and brought his head forward, smiling as her eyes met his own. He noticed that she, too, was soaking wet. Her hair was plastered across her forehead and her clothes were dripping water into a puddle at her feet.
He held out his hand and she helped him up. He grinned as her eyes saw the food under his left arm. "Where'd you get that?" she asked as she handed him the room key and watched as he opened the door. Ushering her inside, he said, "it's just takeout."
They both smiled as they shut the door, blocking out the rain and the rest of the normal, ordinary world - a world cruel, confusing, and deadly, that they were going to ignore for tonight and all of tomorrow, and pretend it wasn't there.
The motel room was no longer blanketed in silence.
The spider and hawk had returned.