Thank you for staying with the story and sorry for the late update! Clint and Nat are still in Budapest and have a long long argument on semantics.
Rule #8: Stay professional
Natasha
"How did we get together?" Clint asked as they lay in bed, his head resting on her belly and she absentmindedly stroked his hair. It was in the morning two days after their first sexual encounter. They still had an hour before Natasha had to get up to go to work.
"What?"
"I mean, Jade and Liza. What's their story?"
Natasha thought for a moment. "At a book signing. I read your book and wanted to have it signed. You saw me and asked for a date right there and then."
Clint chuckled. "No way. Jade is classier than that."
"Fine. You signed my book and when I got home and opened it, I saw it said 'you're hot, can we fuck please? Jade Lovell'. How does it sound?"
Clint grinned and slipped his hand between Natasha's legs that made her tremble slightly before she slapped it away.
"I am sure you can make up a more romantic one, sweetheart," he remarked.
Natasha rolled her eyes. "What are you up to, Clint?"
Clint looked up at her innocently. "You mean with that?" He asked already slipping his hand back between her thighs and hissed when she pressed them together squeezing his hand. "Ouch." Natasha relaxed her legs but Clint didn't remove his hand. Bastard. "I just thought we could use this one hour we still have for some morning fun."
"No," she shook her head. "I mean with the stories. You have it all figured out, Jade. You know that he was bitten by a dog at the age of eight."
"By a cat, darling. Jade loves dogs. He's wanted to get one for ever but it turns out his wife is afraid of them and it is still an ongoing argument between them, along with—"
"That's what I am talking about," Natasha cut in. "Don't you think you have it figured out a little too detailed?"
"We're on a mission, Romanoff," Clint replied and seemed offended. Or maybe defensive. "I prefer to be prepared. That a problem for you?"
Natasha smirked. "Yeah, sure. So it is not that you use this mission to pretend to have a normal, domestic life that you never really had?"
Clint sat up with a swift movement and turned around to look into her eyes. "Is it your hobby to always slap reality in my face?"
Natasha frowned. "I just… I didn't say it was a problem, it's just a little unusual for a spy is all."
Clint ran his fingers through his hair and got up. "Maybe I am not your average spy," he said as he left towards the kitchen.
Natasha knew he liked to consume an ungodly amount of coffee so she wasn't surprised to hear the coffee machine start up. "Good job, Romanoff," she murmured as she got up too and put a fluffy robe over her naked body. Coulson had a fine taste, she had to admit that. The flat was equipped with practical objects that were of the best quality.
"Clint," she started as she stepped in the kitchen. He stood at the counter and watched the coffee with great concentration. He only wore his underwear and Natasha couldn't help but assess the scars that littered his body. There was a nasty looking one on his ribcage just under his heart. She shivered for a moment imagining a world, her world with Clint no longer in it. The sudden jolt of pain caught her off guard.
He looked over her. "Yes, dear?" He asked, the endearment so sarcastic it made Natasha flinch.
She took a deep breath. "Why don't you finish work early today?" She asked. "I could make that pasta you love for dinner."
Clint raised his eyebrow. "Oh really?" He asked with a smirk.
Natasha smiled and walked over, throwing her hands around his neck and kissing his lips briefly. "Just for you, honey."
Rebeka didn't like Natasha and Natasha couldn't care less. She was there to gather information about the contaminated drug that Rebeka's gang spread and to find out where the missing people might be, not to be friendly with the boss..
It took her three days. Tinta supplied them with more samples and that gave her an idea. Why send them all back to SHIELD when they could use them to see what would happen?
"I've been thinking," she said in the evening. She sat on the couch with Clint, watching a Hungarian series and ate pasta that he had made.
"Dangerous," Clint replied. "About?"
"Our mission? It turns out we are not here to fuck all day."
"We are definitely here to fuck all day."
Natasha smirked. "Well, about our hobby to track down contaminated heroin then."
Clint muted the TV and turned towards her. "Okay. Give me all you got," he nodded.
"Well. We have three portions of heroin, right?"
"Right. We should just have a nice party and forget about the world for a night?"
Natasha rolled her eyes. "Barton, you are not taking me seriously. I wanted to say that we should use the samples to set up a trap."
"What kind of trap?"
"There are some regulars in the Hörcsög that nobody cares about. They have no family, friends, anything."
Clint's face darkened. "You want to give them contaminated drug?"
She could see he was not impressed by her idea. She shrugged as if it was a fleeting thought. "We could see what happens."
His lips stretched into a grimace.
She started backing off. "Or just search for some homeless guys. They would surely not be missed and—"
"…and why not put their lives on the line so we could win two days of vacation for wrapping up the mission earlier, huh?" Clint cut in.
Natasha shrugged defensively. "We could rent a hotel room in Vienna," she explained. "You said it would be nice to have some days off together, didn't you?"
Clint got on his feet and Natasha wondered if he just wanted to get some distance between them. He rubbed his nape and stayed silent.
"It's just an idea, really," she offered when it was clear he didn't like it. But why? It was a decent plan.
Clint had said it himself that he felt restless here in the city without actually having to do something. He was not used to long missions, he was more of the hit-and-run type of spy. Or was he a spy, even? Perhaps he identified more as a sniper, well, not the usual kind. Or perhaps a hitman.
So what was his problem exactly?
"How can you be so fucking Russian?" He suddenly asked.
Natasha was taken aback. "I am Russian, darling. Did you forget that?"
"I did not, unfortunately. But I hope that one day I will. That one day I can," Clint responded.
He watched her for a long moment before shaking his head and heading to the kitchen. Natasha knew why. When he was tense he needed to do something with his hands.
She stood when she heard he started doing the dishes. She leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen and crossed her arms. "Will you just talk to me?" She asked. "What upset you so much? It's just work."
"No," Clint hissed dropping a glass back in the sink. It shattered, the loud noise echoing through her ears while she waited for him to speak.
"They are people, Natasha. These are people. You want to use them as fucking lab rats doing the same thing Rebeka and her gang do."
"Nobody would miss them," Natasha pointed out. She didn't understand his point. "It would save us time, energy, money…"
"I don't care about the fucking money, Romanoff!" Clint yelled at her turning in her direction from the dishes. "This is about civilians. They don't deserve to die just so you can go back to eating your favourite American snacks two weeks earlier."
"I didn't mean that," Natasha said after a long moment of stunned silence. "Clint I just…"
"You're just being a heartless bitch. As per usual."
Clint
The mug that he saw coming but did not stop crashed into the cupboard near his head and shattered. Clint felt cold coffee on his cheek and neck.
He stared at Natasha letting the coffee drip down his neck and soak his shirt. He wondered if she was just angry and wanted to let off the steam or actually aimed at his head and missed. Natasha was deadly from up close and decent with guns but she still had a lot to learn when it came to aiming to bigger distances.
"Nat—" he started but she grabbed a plate from the counter and threw it at him as well. He caught it this time and dropped it into the sink. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"A heartless bitch. As per usual," Natasha repeated.
Clint sighed and rubbed his temple. "You can't just throw these people's lives away," he explained slowly.
"As per usual."
"Natasha." She had missed the point completely, Clint decided. "As I said, we have strict policies in place and one of the most important ones is that we can't just put civilian lives on the line for freaky experiments."
"Do you think I am a fucking monster, Barton?"
The question caught him off guard.
"Natasha, it is not about you."
"Why did you turn me then? Why go through all the fucking struggle to bring me to SHIELD, why agree to being my partner if you think of me so low?" She asked.
She looks offended, Clint thought. "Look," he sighed stepping closer. But Natasha raised both her fists indicating she was more than willing to land a punch on his jaw if he dared come too close.
Clint sighed and stepped back to the sink. "Nat—"
"Even better: why did you fuck me? Do you enjoy feeling generous, Barton? Do you like the saviour role? Poor little Russian spy got a new life, thanks to the archer who was too much of a coward to take out a target."
Clint stared at her in shock. "Coward, huh?" He repeated in disbelief. "I risked everything I had, my bloody life for yours!"
"For a monster's, apparently."
Clint rubbed his nape and shook his head. "Romanoff. Come on. This is not what I meant. You are not a monster." He stepped closer again. "You are not, okay? But you can't treat civilian deaths as casualties. We are here to protect those people."
"I am not here to protect them. I am here to figure out why the drug is dirty."
Clint gritted his teeth. His anger was about to rise again. "Are you now?"
"Yes," Natasha hissed.
"Well, you are not going to figure it out this way."
Natasha looked into his eyes for a long moment and nodded curtly. "Would have been enough if you had told me just that."
"I'm so—" Clint started, but she raised her finger and stopped him.
"I want a new partner."
Clint wasn't really shaken by the exclamation. Natasha had said it before, mostly when she was pissed and wanted to annoy him. There was usually no reason to take it seriously.
So he treated the situation as he always did; he smirked and rolled his eyes at her. "You wouldn't," he said as he reached for her hand.
But Natasha slapped it away and with a quick movement smacked her elbow into his ribcage. "Don't fucking touch me," she murmured in Russian.
Clint didn't know much Russian but this sentence he had learned quickly. Natasha tended to use it a lot.
He took a deep breath. "Nat…"
Natasha refused to look into his eyes. "Don't, Barton. Just don't." She turned and left the kitchen. Clint followed her out and saw her check her weapons and grabbing a pair of sneakers and her keys.
"What are you doing?"
"Leaving," she responded. "As any heartless bitch would."
"Natasha, don't," Clint called, but in the next moment she was out of the apartment with her shoes in her hand.
Clint could hear Róbert's voice. He supposed the neighbour asked if everything was fine with their favourite married couple.
Natasha
"Minden rendben, Liza? (Is everything alright, Liza?)" Róbert asked when Natasha rushed to the stairs. He leaned on the banister of the walkway with a cigarette in hand.
"Persze. Az egyik pultos rosszul lett, át kell vennem a műszakját (Sure. A bartender got sick and I have to take over their shift)," Natasha responded.
She spent the night in a hotel room on the outskirts of the city. First she was determined to forward the bill to Fury. Director, you don't understand. He called me a heartless bitch. Yes, she would probably never get that money back.
She decided to get the job done as soon as possible. If they could uncover Rebeka's operations she could go home and request a new partner. A partner who would not pretend to be a friend and get into her bed just to call her a heartless bitch only for not caring enough about civilians.
Natasha was a spy and master assassin. A damn good one. She never killed more than absolutely necessary but she always made sure the job was done. She didn't deserve Clint's scolding over a novel suggestion that was easy and practical. Spies worked like that, easy and practical. If Clint Barton didn't understand that, he wasn't a real spy. Was he?
The next day she started working in the morning. In the evening she went back to the apartment and gave Clint the silent treatment. And the next day, her day off, as well.
Clint seemed to accept his fate as he didn't try to approach her after an incident when he tried to hug her from behind while she was brushing her teeth and she got him in a chokehold. They came to a truce of sorts.
On the third night she walked in after her shift and a meeting with Tinta who had supplied her with new samples, to find Phil Coulson sitting on their couch (and currently Clint's bed).
"What the hell is this?" She asked dropping her bag on the floor.
"Marriage counselling," Clint called from the kitchen. "You want coffee?"
Natasha rubbed her neck. "Yes," she finally called back. It was the least hostile exchange between them for days.
Natasha sat in the armchair in front of Coulson. "I almost forgot we have a handler," she said.
Coulson smirked. "You are not happy to see me."
"Why would I? Just because we have a conflict and agent Barton runs to daddy like a toddler—"
"It was not him," Coulson cut in. Natasha raised her eyebrow. "It was Mr. Szalai," he said. "Róbert. He and Péter are here to make sure things go… smooth."
Natasha frowned. "Are you kidding me?"
"Agent Barton did confirm you've been having an argument. For a while now."
"Three days."
Coulson nodded. "My job is to ensure that my agents do their job correctly."
Natasha bit her lip. "Your agents, is it? Well, your agent insulted me."
Coulson stared at her for so long that her skin started to tingle. "What?" She barked out.
The agent didn't answer until Clint appeared and sat in the other armchair placing two cups of coffee on the table, one for her and one for Coulson. Natasha knew the archer must have had a lot today already.
Natasha wondered why it felt like a real marriage counselling with Clint by her side and Coulson, the concerned dad in front of them.
"I don't really care about why you got in a fight," Coulson started. "I don't care that you had sex."
Natasha resisted the urge to look at Clint. Had he told their handler about the shagging part? That was highly unprofessional. So was having sex, yes, but it still was supposed to be a secret. And now her partner had snitched on her to their handler.
Except Coulson kept talking. "It wasn't that hard of a guess. There is an ongoing bet among trainees about when it would finally happen. You're both good spies, among the best, but you're not exactly stealthy when it comes to you two."
Okay, so it wasn't Clint. Fine. But he had still insulted her and she wanted a new partner.
"As I said, you are good. You are both assets to us and you were both trained, well, using a significant amount of SHIELD's and the US government's resources to be able to overcome silly tiffs."
Natasha spoke English on a native level. So she needed a moment to process that Coulson used the word tiff for the crisis that she was going through after finding out that the man who had saved her life and turned her, who had given her a second chance, who had acted like her friend, her only friend in this world no less, thought of her like a heartless bitch.
"It is not a tiff, sir," she responded. "it is a conflict that we are not ready to resolve yet. And I don't think we ever will. I want a new—"
"She wants a new partner like every time something happens that she can't handle," Clint cut in.
Before Natasha could turn and land a hit on that masterfully crafted jaw Coulson's voice stopped her.
"Alright. Romanoff, if that's what you want, you'll get a new partner assigned as soon as you are back at HQ."
Natasha stared at the man. Clint too.
"Sir, I think this is absolutely—" Clint started but Coulson raised his palm to stop him.
"I am not sure I care about what you think, Barton. Requesting a new partner is not unusual in this line of work and if it is justified, we are happy to cooperate with our agents." He rubbed his forehead. "Actually this is what we are supposed to do when two agents engage in romantic relationship."
Natasha was sipping the coffee that she now spat on the carpet. Coulson leant over the coffee table to hand her a handkerchief that she accepted and wiped her mouth.
"It was just one time, sir," she said.
"A couple of times," Clint corrected with a smirk that made her want to punch his jaw again.
"And it was strictly physical," Natasha added.
"Right. That is really not on me to judge," Coulson said. "I want you to get this job done. Then we will arrange the new partner for you, Romanoff." He stood up. "Should I be worried about you two continuing to break the company policy?"
"Not a chance, sir," Natasha responded swiftly. "That surely won't happen again in this life."
In the next two days Natasha put the conflict aside. They worked with Clint as before the heartless bitch incident, and it was pretty effective. They managed to acquire more samples from Tinta as well as getting pieces of gossip and information through Natasha's bartender job and Clint even found a warehouse near the Hörcsög that looked suspicious. They decided he would look into it on the third day.
"Honey, I'm home!" Natasha shouted as she arrived around midnight. It was a habit that not even the incident could break. It was a strangely familiar and cosy feeling to give Clint a pet name and Natasha knew Clint liked it as well.
The apartment was dark and suspiciously quiet. Clint was not a fan of going to sleep early.
"Jade?" Natasha called. She didn't receive any answer. "Jade, honey?" She repeated as panic rose in her chest and she went to check every corner of the apartment.
In the kitchen she saw a pot full of coffee. She started swearing in Russian as she made her way to the secured cellphone that they kept in the bathroom cabinet.
She pressed the number combination. "Liza Darai, code 0754," she said when the line picked up. "Agent Hawk is missing. Kidnapped, probably," she continued, her voice trembling only a little.
