A Still Small Voice
A/N: I am floored. I did not expect such an awesome response to my first drabble. I always get nervous when writing humor, as you can never be sure if your jokes are indeed funny or if you are a bit daft and no one will get it. Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews and all those favs/alerts. They make me dance and sing with giddy, and they make me write more. Hint.
No editing, I will kick myself for errors later.
Singing in bold italics.
Chapter 2
#&#&
December, Middle of Nowhere, Columbia
There were few missions that were as boring and tedious as the establishing of a safe house, but the one upside was trading off sleep shifts. No need for them both to be sleep deprived as they went about stocking the small house for its esteemed guest, expected to arrive in days. As Natasha settled in to her luxurious bed, a cot with moldy mattress and a moth eaten blanket, she ran through the list of items she had still to procure from the local sellers…a car battery, chains, and a large tub…just as the interrogator's list was lulling her into a semi-restful sleep, she was startled by a discordant screech that caused her to bolt upright.
For a moment, Natasha believed that they must be under attack, but as the haze of sleep quickly slipped her mind, she became aware that the screeching was actually consisting of words being sung loudly and horribly off-pitch.
Blame it all on my roots
I showed up in boots
And ruined your black tie affair
The last one to know
The last one to show
I was the last one
You …
"Barton, what are you doing?" Her voice was exceptionally calm, a warning to anyone who knew her well, and the only person who did cut off mid-chord to answer her.
"My dear Natasha, I am simply ensuring that I remain alert as possible as I keep watch during your sleep shift. It isn't easy keeping my wits about me out here…In the dark, alone. Surely you wouldn't deny me this one comfort?" The man had the worst poker voice ever. Natasha could hear the smirk in his voice.
"You apparently overestimate my generosity, Agent." There was potential violence dripping from her words.
"Okay, okay, if you stand down, I promise…I know! I will take your next guard mission. I know you hate to babysit. Can't I just enjoy a good song?" Now he was getting whiny. Might as well let him get his way. As long as she was getting something out of it. Just to make sure he didn't think she was a push-over, she upped the offer, not worrying that he would agree.
"Two. The next two. Because that song is an offense to the art of music, at least when you sing it." Natasha rolled over as he began to warble again, and she tried desperately to tune out the auditory torture being transmitted straight into her ear.
'Cause I've got friends in low places
Where the whiskey drowns
And the beer chases my blues away
And I'll be okay
I'm not big on social graces
Think I'll slip on down to the oasis
Oh, I've got friends in low places
#&#&
March, Havana
Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl
With yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there
She would merengue and do the cha-cha
And while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar
Natasha stopped abruptly, turning away from the computer she was currently hacking to give an arch look in the direction of her tone-deaf partner. "Is that necessary?" She lifted her eyebrow, knowing he would see her irritation as well as if he was standing beside her.
"Come on, Tasha! We're in Havana! If we can't sing it here, where can we sing it?" He was trying the whiny voice again. She wasn't buying it this time.
"No." She turned back to the monitor, initiating the data download. There was a moment of blissful silence before she was once again bombarded with a serenade that would make a dying cat sound like a sweet lullaby.
At the Copa, Copacabana
The hottest spot north of Havana
At the Copa, Copacabana
Music and passion were always the fashion
At the Copa...they fell in love
He had just finished the chorus when the sound of a zipper filtered in between the words of the song. "Um, Nat, what are you doing?"
"It's hot. I can't concentrate in this suit." She could hear him shift and clear his throat. "Why Clint, am I causing you some discomfort?" She smiled a wicked smile as she heard the rustle of movement on his side of the comm link.
"Ehm, so, no more singing?" He lapsed into silence and she returned her clothing to its proper place. Needless to say, his mid-mission serenades died a quick death.
#&#&
November, Berlin
The party was in full swing, with all the glitz and glitter one would expect from the upper echelons of society. Clint's gaze danced around the ballroom as he perched in the rafters of the ballroom, landing lightly on each of the players identified in their briefing. Natasha glided from conversation to conversation, working her way into the notice of the primary target.
As he covered her, looking for any changes in situation, the hired musician began a piano solo which filtered up to his ear.
Some folks like to get away
Take a holiday from the neighborhood
Hop a flight to Miami Beach
Or to Hollywood
But I'm taking a Greyhound
On the Hudson River Line
I'm in a New York state of mind
It comes down to reality
And it's fine with me 'cause I've let it slide
Don't care if it's Chinatown or on Riverside
I don't have any reasons
I've left them all behind
I'm in a New York state of mind
Suddenly, Clint caught a subtle tensing of Nat's shoulders, a change in her posture, and immediately, he began scanning the crowd for the threat. When he found nothing, his gaze darted back and he was shocked to find her flashing green eyes locked on him. Just then, he realized what he had missed. He had been singing the song without thought, singing in his real church-choir-solo, the-lord-has-blessed-you-with-the-voice-of-an-angel voice.
"Shit. Shitshitshit," he mumbled under his breath. But of course she heard that, too. Slowly, menacingly, she smiled up at him. "Shit."
Clint immediately turned off the comm and pulled out his phone, dialing Coulson. He didn't even wait for a greeting from their handler.
"We need separate extraction points."
"Mission parameters call for a single extraction. What happened?" Coulson was already in crisis mode, ready to shift resources for a mission failure.
"Let's just say that if you want to avoid internal agent conflict paperwork, you will set up separate extractions."
Coulson sighed. "What did you do?" he asked, even as he alerted the med unit that they would be receiving a patient before the evening was out.
Needless to say, Clint was sporting a limp for several days.
#&#&
A/N: This came to me immediately after I wrote the first drabble, as I could not bear having a tone-deaf Clint. A couple reviewers mentioned the irony of the last song choice in chapter one. I have, in fact, seen that video, though I wasn't thinking about it when writing, I just have an unhealthy obsession with that song. Lucky coincidence. Those reviewers can take credit for song choice at the end of this chapter. I get goosebumps when I hear Jeremy Renner sing, so I had to use it for the reveal of his deception. Hope you enjoyed! Let me know! *glancing meaningfully at the review button* Peez? See you soon!