This is a very short chapter, I know! I recently started a brand new podcast project with a good friend of mine, and that-plus other writing and actual work-has been absorbing me. Don't worry, I'm not abandoning this story! Sit tight, and thanks to all of you for the words of encouragement and support. You're amazing!


They'd had to sneak Clint in through the window—they didn't want to risk Melanie seeing him.

"Why are you mad? I'm helping you-I put a tracking device on his car last week, I set up a whole undercover persona to get close to him. He trusts me. I made your job easier!" Clint was lounging easily in the armchair, his feet up on the coffee table in Alex and Ellie's apartment. He had ditched his suit jacket and tie.

"Clint, you're interfering!" Natasha was admittedly impressed—and slightly embarrassed—that Clint had attained a much better angle so quickly, but this wasn't the time to congratulate him for working outside of the established order. Especially if he stepped on her toes in the process.

"Not if I was assigned here!"

That gave Natasha pause. "Assigned?" Had Fury decided that she wasn't up to the challenge of teaching Steve and completing a mission at the same time?

'Well," Clint rolled one muscular shoulder. "I had myself placed here. I pitched the gameplan myself."

"So you just decided to cut in and complete the mission for me? What the—"

"Excuse me," Steve interrupted, looking serious. "This was my mission too, and I don't really appreciate being left out like I'm a kid listening to Mom and Dad fight it out, okay?"

Natasha inhaled, trying to control her temper. Steve was right, of course—this had been a learning opportunity that Clint had cheated Steve out of. "Exactly! Steve was training! Were you having some kind of macho crisis, Clint? Is that what this is about?"

For an instant, something like real hurt flitted across Clint's face, but it was promptly replaced by a stony expression. "I'm so sorry that my great idea and execution got in the way of your little lesson. My sincerest apologies." He offered Steve a mocking bow and turned on his heel, stalking away into the kitchen.

Steve turned to Natasha; his open, handsome face was puzzled. "What's his problem?" he murmured, shrugging his massive shoulders. "Did I do something?"

"You didn't kiss his ass," Natasha rolled her eyes. "I just don't understand why he couldn't trust me to handle this on my own. Sure, he's been protective of me in the past, but he's never interfered this blatantly." She watched the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed tightly. "He doesn't even like espionage."

"No," Steve agreed, walking toward the kitchen. "But I think I know what he does like." The kitchen window was open, the curtains flapping in the evening breeze. Clint was nowhere to be seen. "Or who."

Natasha frowned. "What? I—I don't—it's not—" It wasn't.

Was it?