STEP TWO

Natasha woke up exactly thirty seconds before she had planned to, sweating. Mornings were the only time she allowed herself to breathe a little, to pull out some of her tightly-wound threads.

Barton was still snoring peacefully on the other bed, kind of looking like a puppy. Natasha got up, walked over, and gently patted him on the head. He smelled a bit like beer. Not surprising, she thought. Added to what she slipped in his drink, it wouldn't be a shock if he stayed asleep until Moscow. She slid her sleeve down and checked the thin watch she always wore, the one accessory she cared about. Approximately four hours and twenty seven minutes until her success. Until Barton woke up.

Natasha supposed that she'd already succeeded, but it didn't really count as a victory until the whole thing was over.

She got up, shaking her head at the time she'd just wasted, and walked in the bathroom. She closed the door behind her and locked it, as a habit. You could never be too careful. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she got in the shower, rinsed herself off in ice-cold water, and got out with the hotel towel wrapped around her.

"So, Clint, how long have you been here?"

Barton shifted a bit in the doorway and shrugged lazily.

"Don't ask questions you know the answer to."

Natasha smiled a little, then shook her head.

"Your turn," she said, walking over and guiding him over to the shower, wrinkling her nose a bit at his sticky skin.

Natasha made sure the door was locked (again). Extra precautions wouldn't hurt, she thought, and pushed the wardrobe against the door. Then she changed.

Twenty minutes later, Natasha was impatient as hell.

"Hawkeye, what in the name of God are you doing in there?" she shouted through the bathroom door, so angry she forgot to call him by his first name, and thus take the upper hand.

When he didn't answer, she picked the lock and went in.

Barton sat on the tiles, the shower running behind him. He looked up at her and grinned.

"Thought you'd never come in."


The next thing Natasha knew she was falling out the bathroom, an arrow stuck in her upper arm. A flutter of a smile darted across her face.

"Sorry," said Barton, shrugging again. "It's nothing personal."

"I know," she said. "When will it start kicking in?"

"About two minutes."

"Huh. Nicely played, Clint."

"Thanks. You're not bad either."

"I just have one last request."

"Yeah?"

"Could you turn off that shower? You know how much water you're wasting?"

Barton smiled wider.

"Okay."

It was only then that Natasha realized Barton shouldn't have been awake at all, not after last night. Her eyes widened suddenly, and Barton saw the realization in them.

Then she blacked out.


Barton stood up and bent over her. He felt compelled to maybe... Poke her a bit, erm, try things out, see if she felt as good as she looked, but he stopped himself.

This is just a job, he reminded himself. Also, that's a violation of her personal space- Aw, fuck it. She'd never know. He put one finger on her breast, through the leather jacket, and felt his cheeks flush a little. Oh my God, he thought. Stop, stop- He trailed his finger down her waist, then her hip, and her (amazing) leg.

Everything was soft, but firm, and wonderful in all the right ways. His heart literally ached a little, and so did other parts of his body. Oh my God, this is so awkward, I'm supposed to- OH my God, there's only-

Barton was glad there were still twelve hours until the flight. He thought he'd probably stop feeling this warm and tingly by then.

God, her eyes were gorgeous, even closed. Like two perfect eggshells fringed by light strawberry eyelashes. And her lips- She was so beautiful. Not in that fakey-fake-my-boobs-are-half -silicon way, but in that he was sure she was in a painting somewhere. A good one that showed her off correctly.

Oh, shit, the arrow was still stuck under her shoulder. Barton pinched it a bit to make sure the drug was all gone. There was still some left inside, but he pulled it out anyway. He felt a bit bad about all this knocking-out business. Then again, there had to have been something in his drink last night...

Good thing he had an amazing ability to stomach alcohol. No hangovers, nothing, but the drawback was that he never remembered anything that happened during his drunkness. And he'd heard some good stories about things he'd done.

Like that time he woke up in a potted plant. Not one of his better days.

Or that time he woke up and found the most beautiful woman ever in the shower of her hotel room, and that someone'd tucked him in.

Wait.

Oh, yeah.


Natasha woke up slowly, going from full-on-blackout sleep to that weird place between dreams, a symphony playing amongst floating pictures and pastel-ish colors, then finally to that disoriented awake state. She kept her eyes closed and took a deep breath. Then she remembered.

"Wh-" her voice sounded throaty and phlegmy. She coughed and tried again. "Where are we, Clint?"

Barton whipped around from his vantage point on the balcony. To be honest, he'd only just noticed the view at all. He'd been watching Natasha sleep (or stay knocked-out, whichever you prefer) for hours.

And he'd been planning to do it for a few more.

"Natasha? Why are you- Why are you- Oh, shit." Clint ran back inside, took the plastic bag out of the trash can, and looked at the liquid pooling in the bottom.

There was a lot of liquid. A lot of leftover tranquilizer. A lot of tranquilizer he'd neglected to notice was still in the arrow when he pulled it out.

Probably because he was a bit distracted.


Barton stood looking at the arrow, then looking at Natasha, then looking at the arrow, and at Natasha again.

"Funny, no one's staying asleep for long today, huh?" Natasha asked. "You were supposed to be asleep for a long time."

"So were you," said Barton, hating himself for what this woman made him feel and the mistakes he made because of her. Natasha made a face kind of like "Eh, true." Then she opened her mouth again and spoke.

"But you made a juvenile mistake, with your arrow. Considering the amount of beer, and... Well, you should've stayed knocked out for hours more. That was more alcohol than I've had in the past month, and-"

"And?"

"And nothing." For some reason Natasha didn't want to tell him that she'd slipped something in his drink.

"And you slipped something in my drink?"

Natasha shrugged and smiled a little. "Yeah. I'm surprised you-"

"I've got a good stomach for alcohol."

"Must be more than just a good stomach."

Barton shrugged.


Natasha was pissed. Here was why:

They'd missed their flight,

the next available flight to Moscow was the next day,

Barton was annoyingly get-along-able, and

Barton was kind of cute.

Number three was a problem because this time, she wasn't on the same team as Barton. It was also a problem because Barton no longer remembered the last time they'd been together. It was times like this Natasha really hated the KGB.

Oh wait, she hated them at all times.

Never mind that. This time, Barton was clumsier, he made more mistakes than he should've. She couldn't help but think that this was an aftereffect of the mind-wipe.

God, she hated them. Thank God she'd-

This game would've been so much more fun if he was as competent as he was last time.

She hated that she'd had something to do with how he wasn't. God, she goddamn hated the KGB.