Natasha was going to kill Tony. She was actually going to murder him with her bare hands, and she knew three hundred and seventy six ways to do that, and was going to describe all three hundred and seventy six ways to him in great detail before she performed number eighty-two so slowly that he was going to be begging for the sweet release of death for hours before she granted him that mercy.

"Whacha thinkin' about?" Clint interrupted her private fantasy from the chair next to her.

Natasha allowed herself to fume for another silent few seconds before she turned to Clint and made the conscious effort to tone down her expression of loathing.

"I'm thinking about how I'm going to eighty-two Stark until he begs for me to finish him off."

Clint's expression turned to one of horror and then warped slightly into one of genuine concern. He folded his arms over his chest. "You're talking about number eighty two on the bare kill list right?" He asked, and Natasha considered him oddly.

"What else?" She asked.

Relief flooded Clint's face and he relaxed slightly in the chair. "Oh, thank fuck. For a second I thought you were talking about our sex list."

Natasha actually laughed out loud at that. She recovered enough to see that Clint appeared genuinely hurt, but then his smirk reappeared and she couldn't help but mirror the expression.

"You thought I wanted to eighty-two with Stark? Honey, you know that's only reserved for you."

"I had a brief lapse of judgement. Very brief." Clint argued.

"You thought I wanted to give him a hand job while mid-flight in a fighter jet?" she smiled.

"We should eighty-two more often." Clint grinned, and winked at her.

"The fact that you didn't crash and kill us both in that situation, still amazes me."

"I'm just that good, baby."

Natasha rolled her eyes, but her smile remained nonetheless.

The door behind them burst open and both agents looked around to see Director Fury storm in, leather coat tails whipping his ankles as he entered. The door slammed so viciously behind him, that Natasha heard the two strengthened glass windows on either side, rattle in their frames.

"You can wipe those smiles off of your faces if you want to live long enough to see the sun come up tomorrow." Fury growled.

Both of the agents sobered up their expressions and moved in their seats to face their boss, who had taken up residence in the large leather chair on the other side of the black desk. Natasha schooled her features into an expression of confidence and squared her shoulders.

Fury turned to her. "Don't even play with me, Romanoff. I am this close," he pinched two fingers almost together, "to shipping the both of you out to opposite ends of the planet in places so remote, even the sat-phones will fail you. So don't you fucking dare try to even pretend that I am not intimidating you now."

Fury glowered at her and although she refused to show him how much he did actually intimidate her, Natasha did not continue with her usual haughty persona she adopted when she was being reprimanded.

"Same goes for you, Barton." The Director turned to him. "Tip me over the edge and I will make sure that Strike: Team Delta is permanently separated and somehow," he turned back to Natasha, "I don't think you two want that."

As frightening as Fury could be, the concept that she and Clint could be separated, both physically and in the working sense, was terrifying. Natasha didn't doubt for a second that Fury would follow through with his threat. She could feel Clint tensing up next to her.

"No, Sir." Clint said.

It was looking more and more likely that Fury was going to reach the 'April Fools 04' level of rage. Perhaps even surpass it. Natasha watched as the Director's face twisted into a scowl so threatening that even she felt enough unease to look away from him. Instead, Natasha directed her gaze to Clint, who looked like was ready to bolt from the office at any second.

"You realise that I am going to blame you two for all the damages, right?" Fury said in a low voice.

Clint looked over at Natasha with a blank expression and sat up straighter in his seat. As excited as they had been that morning to piss off their boss, in the current reality, the situation was significantly more intimidating than they had first anticipated. It had got out of control very quickly. The worst of it was, that for once they weren't even to blame.

Natasha really was going to kill Stark.

"Barton! Romanoff!" Fury barked, and although neither of the assassins jumped, they were taken back enough by the Director's outburst to whip their heads round in his direction.

Fury took a deep breath and looked back at both of them. "There is a dog, your dog," he said slowly, "running around my base, unsupervised, in an area with extremely dangerous and incredibly expensive objects. We are at the moment, unable to track it, and so it is missing. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." They answered in unison.

"You will find that dog. And you will report back to me with the animal in tow. And you will both be held responsible for any damages that I have to explain to the council. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir." Clint answered alone, and at the absence of his partner's response, he looked to her.

Natasha narrowed her eyes at the Director. "With all due respect, sir, why are we being held responsible when it was Stark who lost the dog? And Dain is not just our dog."

Fury tilted his head menacingly. "You knew Stark was bringing the animal to SHIELD?"

"Yes." She answered.

"And you both, two of my most senior and best agents, failed to stop him?" Fury questioned. Neither answered, which was apparently all the answer he needed. "Then that is why I am holding you responsible. Stark, I expect this shit from. Not you, two."

"That isn't fair." Natasha dared to argue.

"Life, Romanoff, is not fair. Now I am not having this argument with you. I am your boss not your Principal, so stop acting like bratty teenagers and go and get that motherfucking dog out of my motherfucking weapons' cache!"

Clint stood and put a hand on Natasha's arm. She glared at the Director before standing and allowing herself to be led from the office by the archer.

The door closed and the two assassins slumped slightly against the opposite wall.

"You know that weapons storage is eight square miles of crates and corridors?" Clint mumbled.

"I'm aware."

"This is going to take is forever to find Dain."

"I'm aware."

"If that dog has even a patch of fur that out of place, I am going to tear Stark limb from limb."

Natasha nodded. "Ditto."

"Hey," Clint said, and Natasha looked up at him, "can I forty-six Stark for a bit, just before you finish him off with an eighty-two?"

"Wow, Clint." She smirked, nudging his chest with her shoulder. "Pretty kinky."

"I'm not talking about the sex list." He grinned.

"Oooh! Sex list? Do tell!" Tony Stark strolled down the corridor towards the couple, a bag of dried banana in one hand.

Natasha's eyes narrowed and her lip twitched into a scowl. Tony stopped in his tracks and held out the bag.

"Banana?"

Natasha growled.

"Um, you know it was an accident, right?" Tony asked, shifting his weight. "I didn't mean to lose the dog in the most dangerous area of SHIELD during a potential security breach where none of the security cameras can be accessed. You sure you don't want a banana?" Tony took a step back and both Natasha and Clint took a step forward. "It's healthy. Meant to help with menstrual cramps…"

Clint leaned down to speak quietly in Natasha's ear. "Leave some of him for me, eh, Nat?"

"Of course, love. Wouldn't want to have all the fun to myself." She replied.

Tony dropped his banana and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Natasha glanced over at Clint. "Target practice?"

He whipped a dart from a holster on his hip. "Try and stop me."

A/N: Reviews are fantastic! Let me know what you think. xxx