Her eyes sweep the ballroom, searching for him – the man she's here for. Her gaze skims over the carefree couples in formal garb who move gracefully around the room; prancing, spinning, dipping, like waves on a beach. The orchestra plays light music, integrating with the soft swishing of the women's vivid skirts.
"Tasha," Clint whispers in her ear.
She looks at him, and he smiles down at her, his gray eyes catching the light of the lanterns.
"Relax."
"I am relaxed," she retorts, her eyes flicking around the room again.
"Tasha. Look at my hand."
She looks at his hand. She's gripping it so tightly it's turning purple.
She loosens her grip; and realizes she is holding herself rigid. She slackens a little, leaning into Clint.
"That's better."
He touches the side of his face to hers so they're looking to opposite sides, and adjusts his grip on her waist as they sway to the music.
"I haven't danced in a while," she admits. "Not like this."
He chuckles quietly. "I know," he says.
Natasha rolls her eyes, even though he can't see her face. "That bad, huh?"
"No, no, you're doing great," he says quickly. "It's just… you're very tense."
"Well, I'm kinda anxious about the armed ex-KGB assassin who is somewhere in this room," she mutters.
"Well, can you act a little?"
"I am acting," she replies. "I'm acting like I don't totally hate this."
"Hate what?"
"Dancing with you."
She feels him smile, then he draws back, meeting her eyes.
"Do you really hate it so much?"
"Yes."
"Come on, aren't I a good dancer?"
She snorts lightly.
"What?"
"I just think maybe you need to be a little more focused on the mission. We're not on vacation."
"And I think maybe you need to be a little less focused on the mission."
"Why? So I can get myself killed?"
"No. Because this is fun."
She rolls her eyes.
"We don't get to go to a ball every day, so we may as well enjoy it while we can."
"Yeah, and try to forget the fact that we're carrying concealed weapons."
"Right."
"And that someone in this room is trying to kill us."
"Now you're getting it."
She raises an eyebrow.
"Okay, maybe not totally forget it. But just… focus a little more on the party."
"Yeah, cause that's why we're here. To party."
"Exactly."
She can't hold back a small chuckle, and his eyes crinkle up as he grins at her.
She breaks the eye contact to scan the room again, searching for signs of their quarry.
"You're doing it again."
"What?"
"The eye thing. You keep looking around."
"Yes, that's because we're here to locate and take out a criminal, Clint."
"I know, but it's distracting," he complains, his thumb brushing lightly over her knuckles. "Can't you just look at me and use your super-spy hearing to listen?"
"Listen for what? Someone who walks like a Russian?"
"Sure."
She gives him a look. "Clint. Focus. This is a surveillance mission, not a date."
"A surveillance mission counts as a date."
Her eyebrows shoot upward in surprise. "Oh really? So that's what you think this is?"
He smiles. "Something like that. Did you think I put on a tux and combed my hair for the Russian guy?"
"Oh my gosh Clint. Shut up." She tries to hide the smile that is creeping across her face.
"You're smiling. That means you're enjoying this."
"No I'm not."
"Are too."
"Am not."
"Are too."
She sighs in annoyance. "Grow up, Clint. We're supposed to be professional. I'm not enjoying this and it isn't a date."
"Right," he says, sounding unconvinced. He whisks her past the orchestra, and she catches the sweet, smoky scent of candles.
They dance in silence for several minutes. Then her eyes dart up to the ornate clock on the wall.
"It's getting close to eleven. We should go. We have to set up before he decides to make his move."
She releases his hand and starts to turn, but his hand tightens on her waist.
"Wait, Tasha."
She looks at him expectantly.
His eyebrows draw together, and his eyes grow pleading and innocent.
"One more dance?"
She sighs, and her eyes rove around the room. They still have five minutes. And their target probably won't act till he knows where they are. Still, they have to be prepared. They shouldn't risk it. Her eyes meet Clint's again, and a mock pout emerges on his lips. She sighs in defeat.
"Fine. One more dance."
He smiles and takes her hand again, and they begin to waltz. He leans his forehead against hers as the music changes, and the mournful sound of a violin strengthens.
Natasha closes her eyes, breathing in the smell of pine wood and candles. The room is warm and tranquil, and for a moment, she feels utterly relaxed, almost drowsy. She moves her hand from Clint's shoulder to the nape of his neck, and her fingers trail upward, toying with the short hairs at the base of his head. She finds herself wishing she could forget about her responsibilities and stay here with Clint forever; and she sighs, lost momentarily in the euphoria of the moment. He chuckles softly, and his hand slips around her waist and settles at her back, pulling her closer.
"Natasha?"
"Hm?"
Clint squeezes her hand.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
She opens her eyes and looks at him. His eyes are twinkling with merriment, and a smile adorns his features.
Natasha raises her eyebrows, and a small smile fights its way across her face.
"Maybe."
