Walking away from the training room Clint silently berated himself. 'You're an ass Barton.' He knew he shouldn't provoke The Black Widow, it was like poking a tiger, but sometimes he simply couldn't help himself.

To be honest he hadn't really noticed that Agent Foster paid any more attention to him than anyone else until Tash had made a few barbed comments. It seemed the would-be handler had a little crush, that was all, and normally he would have ignored it, but it amused him to see how much it irritated his partner. Foster was pretty and sweet yes, but she was no Natasha Romanoff and getting a reaction out of The Black Widow was too good an opportunity to pass up.

It wasn't strictly true that Natasha was completely cold; one of the few people she allowed close was him. Whilst their relationship remained completely platonic, he couldn't deny the chemistry between them.

About six months into their partnership they had been required to go undercover as a newly wed couple. Staying in a hotel in Dubai, they established very early on that they were being tailed and the honeymoon suite had been bugged. Whilst public displays of affection were required to keep up the pretence, they were acts devoid of all emotion and dropped the moment the two were unobserved. Both agents concentrated on the job in hand.

Later as they retired to the bridal suite it would have appeared unusual to those listening if there hadn't been the sound of lovemaking given their cover story. They lay side by side on the giant bed staring at the ceiling. Propping himself on an elbow, Clint began to grunt and sigh whilst Natasha, looked on in vague amusement.

'You could join in any time?' He hissed under his breath.

A vague smile played around her lips, but still the Widow remained silent. Scowling at her reluctance to help, Clint continued with the charade, beating the headboard rhythmically with a fist to add effect.

'Oh God!' He shouted, indicating with his other hand that Natasha should co-operate. Her amusement was clear as she shook her head. 'I'm the silent type.' She mouthed.

Rolling his eyes, Barton continued with the solo performance. 'Oh... oh... yes baby...' As the tempo and his vocalisations of fake ecstasy increased Natasha leant across and whispered 'Not very inventive Barton.'

Clint shot her a look of infuriation which only made it harder for her to suppress her hilarity. As the finale approached, he suddenly stopped the thumping and yelled 'Yabba, dabba, doo!'

It was too much for Natasha. Her eyes widened with surprise and she could no longer hold back her laughter. Aware that hooting with laughter would effectively give them away, she buried her head into her partner's chest, her shoulders shaking with an effort to regain control.

It was the first time Clint had ever made her laugh, really laugh. He'd noticed increasingly over the months the façade would slip and she would smile at something he said or did. Her stand offish attitude had even begun to soften in those moments there was just the two of them, but she never ever lost her composure, until that day.

It was infectious, and Clint pressed his lips tightly together, not daring to start laughing himself.

The shaking began to subside and he felt her take a deep breath. With her red hair ruffled, she finally raised her head: there were tears in her eyes. Unfortunately, the moment she looked Clint in the eye, the corners of her mouth began to turn up again. She immediately buried her face and the shoulders began shaking once more.

He supposed that was how it started. Since that day she'd come to his room to seduce him and he'd turned her down, they'd kept things professional, neither one willing to cross the line. But, the distrust of each other had broken down over time. Now there was no-one he would rather have his back on a mission or otherwise, and, despite it being unspoken, he knew the feeling was mutual.

On a job in Minsk, Clint watched from his vantage point as Natasha negotiated some parked vehicles. She'd told him to meet her at the rendezvous point before activating radio silence, but something was making the hawk uneasy, there was a sniper unaccounted for. Barton was going no-where until he made sure she got to safety. Clint turned, aiming his bow. 'Where would I hide?' he muttered under his breath. Scanning the likely hiding places, his sharp eyesight picked out the toe of a boot just poking out from behind a building. The gunman was well concealed, and there was no way even Hawkeye could kill him without shooting around corners. However, the shooter had a clear sight to Natasha and that was going to be a problem. The only thing he could think to do was draw the fire, otherwise The Black Widow was a sitting target. Taking careful aim and allowing for the cross breeze, he released the arrow. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc before imbedding itself in the visible toe cap. There was a squeal of pain. Natasha looked up at the sudden sound, before locking her widow makers on the source. As she released the weapon, the gunman got off a lucky shot towards the archer. Soon after the man was lying prone from the widow bite with arrow through his chest for good measure. Unfortunately, Hawkeye had taken a bullet in the leg. When they regrouped at the abandoned farmhouse they were using as a base, Natasha couldn't fail to notice the pronounced limp and combats soaked in blood.

'Why didn't you go' She'd accused, her eyes drawn to his injury.

'I wasn't going to just leave, you were wide open, and it's a good thing I didn't otherwise this bullet might be in you!'

Natasha had scowled and called him names in Russian.

'You're welcome.' He'd snapped, wincing as he sat down heavily in a wooden chair. Miles from any medical attention, and refusing to listen to her partner's protestations, it fell to Natasha to remove the slug, clean and stitch the wound. Clutching the bottle of local vodka for pain relief, Hawkeye had winced before she even touched him.

'Don't be such a ребенок.' She'd muttered before taking out her razor sharp stiletto knife to slice open his combats..

She'd been surprisingly gentle. There were nurses in the med bay he'd wanted to kill after their heavy handed ministrations, but Tash's cool fingers had done the job easily with the minimum of pain and no further remonstrations.

And that's how it was. The occasional shoulder bump like today, little touches here and there. He loved that he could make her laugh how they teased each other all the time, and drove Coulson mad with their constant bickering. No-one else would dare take such liberties with the Widow. It had built up over the months and years until they were so comfortable it became a habit to always be in physical contact when they were at ease. Whether it was as blatant as her head resting on his shoulder after a long mission or as subtle as his foot on her chair through a briefing it was for the most part unconsciously done. Being close with her was the most natural thing in the world. He'd said they were a kind of friends and that at least was true. Whatever the definition of their relationship, the connection they had went far, far deeper.