Make This Go on Forever

by jinxcharm

"Would you die for him Agent Romanoff?" I looked away. I could feel everyone's eyes on me, but mostly I felt his gaze. His gaze was the only one that mattered. I wanted to look at him, but I couldn't. It would only seal our fates faster. "Yes," I said. Clint and Natasha have always had a complicated relationship. Will things finally get to complicated for the assassins too handle?

10. Chapter 10: Paris

Finally finished with Chapter 10! Yay, sorry it's been so long. I've been really busy and had some mishaps. But here is Chapter 10! Musical inspirations: Paris Nights and New York Mornings and Trouble Sleeping both by Corinne Bailey Rae. I hope you guys enjoy it! Please review and let me know what you think.

Chapter Ten: Paris

Natasha Romanoff

I wasn't sure when I became consciously aware of the close proximity. I kept my eyes closed and my face relaxed, not betraying the fact that I was technically awake. I felt a hand lingering above my face, and it took everything I had not to tense in anticipation. Then I felt him push a stray strand of hair behind my ear. I could easily remember a time when I would have jumped and put a gun to his head. But we'd been partners long enough now that I knew his touch. I finally blinked my eyes open, a blurry gaze setting on him. I blinked again and realized, as my senses cleared of sleep's haziness, that I'd slumped down in my chair. His gray-blue eyes looked down at me with a loopy smile on his face. "Hey sleepyhead."

"Hey," I said, smiling in spite of myself. I pushed myself up to where I was sitting straight. "How long was I out?" I asked, looking around.

"Just an hour or two," Clint mused. I couldn't understand why he was being so nice to me, especially after I'd shut him out and acted like a complete bitch. He seemed to read my thoughts because he sighed heavily, with years of pent-up feelings weighing him down. "Look Nat, I'm sorry about earlier. I don't wanna fight. Let's just go to Paris and get this mission done and get back home." I looked at him, seriously studying his face.

"Can you really do that though?" I asked softly. "Can you really push that aside?" I saw it in his eyes, the answer I expected to find.

"For now," he admitted. "Besides Fury would kill us if we screwed this mission up." He gave me another loopy smile and I allowed his feeble attempt to bridge us into comfortable ground to stand. I'd let him bury the hatchet. I just hoped he let it stay dead.

I reached for the S.H.I.E.L.D. folder and pulled it into my lap. "Have you had a chance to look at this stuff yet?" I asked.

"Briefly," he nodded. "I still want to know who comes up with these names." I inwardly sighed. A lot of the time when Clint joked, it was to distract himself and everyone around him from his own real feelings. "I mean, what kind of a name is Hirst?"

"I got Ampère. How is that any better?" I said in a solemn voice.

"Yeah, but you're supposed to be French. Ampère is a French surname. Hirst is just a stupid name." He sulked. I rolled my eyes.

"You're so childish sometimes." I mumbled under my breath. And I meant it: Clint Barton had a streak in him that occasionally popped up from underneath the serious side, a very childish streak. And I swear he did it half the time just to annoy the shit out of me, and yet, I found myself giving a small smile in spite of that. I could feel his eyes grazing over my face, taking note of my smile.

"I can't picture you as a Lena," He'd said it in such a quiet voice that I wasn't sure if he actually expected me to reply to that. I looked up at him and got mesmerized by his gray blue eyes that somehow shined even though the gray should've washed them out. I caught myself and looked down, forcing the blush rising to my cheeks to fade quickly into the normal pale pigment of my skin.

"You're not much of an Eric either," I acknowledged.

"Yeah, I guess not," he mused, flipping through the pages of his file. "Where did we meet?" He asked, falling into our normal routine of questioning each other.

"Oh we met in college, in our intro to philosophy class. We were paired together for a group discussion, and wouldn't you know, he stared at me the entire time. It took him a whole month before he actually said anything to me. But as they say, the rest is history," I said in a sweet voice, giving it the slightest hint of a French accent. My parents might be French, but I'd been in the United States long enough to have had my voice assimilated to overwhelmingly American. "He made me love him that first night." I gave a girlish smile and batted my eyelashes lovingly. I turned and looked at Clint, letting my smile fall back into my normal neutral frown. He nodded his head.

"Nice touch on the voice by the way: extremely American, but just the tad bit of French."

"How'd I look?" I asked. He looked at me for several seconds and I could visibly see the battle going on inside him, bubbling just below the surface, and he was struggling to contain it.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X.

- Clint Barton

I replayed the look she'd had on her face as she told Lena and Eric's story, the way her mouth curled up gently to form a smile. She never did smile much, but it suited her so well. It made her eyes light up in a way that was so honest that it was hard to believe she was acting. I had watched the way she batted her eyes in my direction, her eyelashes gracefully and lovingly falling and rising as she did. "Like a girl in love," I finally said, now becoming consciously aware that I hadn't answered her yet. I also noticed the fact that she was eyeing me with curiosity and something else I couldn't quite recognize: maybe pity, maybe not. She gave a curt nod when I said that and turned her attention to the folder.

"You should look over your information some more," she said evenly, flipping through hers again, even though I knew she probably already had Lena Ampère down and memorized. I let my eyes fall to the floor, before sighing and looking back up to the folder. I couldn't wait to get off this damn plane.

Natasha read and reread that stupid folder over and over until the plane went to land. She looked over at me. "You ready?" She said simply.

I nodded, closing my own folder and putting it away. "Yeah. You?" It was one of those rare occasions that I saw Natasha Romanoff falter. She looked so unsure of herself, the Black Widow, the calculative, manipulative, cold-blooded killer. It was hard to imagine she could ever get that way. But then again, I felt privileged because I was one of the few people that she let see that side. I smiled inwardly, realizing exactly what she was trying to hide: she was nervous; she was nervous about being in Paris with me. But just as quickly as the nervousness had appeared it disappeared.

"Of course, I always am." She frowned and put away her own folder. It was early morning hours when the plane finally did touch down on the grounds of Paris. We both stood and started grabbing our things. I could sense the change in Natasha's demeanor and knew that she had transformed herself into Lena Ampère. God she was so good at that, turning it on and off like the flip of a switch. What an actress? She was good enough to look like a girl in love, but secretly I'd hoped that was because of another reason. I shook my head as I slung the black bag over my arm. I couldn't think like that here and now. I'd given a lot of inward joy about Natasha being nervous about Paris considering our track record, but maybe I had something to be nervous about as well.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

- 5 years ago

- Natasha Romanoff

My red curls were immediately caught by the Parisian breeze as we stepped off the plane. I clutched the black handbag I needed to play the part of a glamorous trophy wife. The words, even in my thoughts, made me want to puke, and I thought I tasted the faintest hint of bile in the back of my throat. The whole idea was disgusting to me in general. I didn't understand how women could lower themselves to the classification of an object. They were people after all. We were people. And if we married somebody it should be for the right God damn reasons, not so that a man can parade us around like a shiny new toy and make the other kids jealous. I knew from the look Clint gave me that my face had reddened slightly as I fumed on the inside. I was still pissed at Fury for making me go undercover as one of those stupid bimbos, not to mention the fact that Clint was playing my highly intelligent, 'superior' husband. I mean, not that I wanted anyone else to play that role, but I just knew Clint was going to give me some cheeky ass remark. God that man really did know how to get under my skin! We'd been partners for three years and I still wasn't quite used to his antics. He was a fucking child sometimes. And I would never get used to that.

I waited impatiently as Clint took his sweet time getting off the plane. I gave an overdramatic look at my watch and outwardly sighed. I didn't think anyone was watching us at this point, but you could never be too careful, and it was standard protocol to enter into your characters' personas as soon as you stepped off the plane. Clint finally appeared, stepping down the stairs dressed nicely in a black business suit. I rolled my eyes and almost aggressively stuck my hand out for him to take it. He shot me a smart ass smile that I knew was more Clint than his character. I gave him a guarded glare to tell him not to even think about breaking character, before bugging my eyes out even more and shaking my hand until he finally grabbed my arm. "Thank you!" I said in the most annoying American tone I could manage.

This time I was Maria Jacobs, the wife of the Henry Jacobs, CEO of one of the most powerful weapons companies in the world. S.H.I.E.L.D. had created this phony company years back and had put in enough hours, resources, and energy to make it completely believable. It had gained credit over the years, by actually selling weapons to buyers, which were promptly caught and stopped by S.H.I.E.L.D. of course. That's exactly what our mission was now: sell weapons to a high profile threat and then take him out. Normally we just imprisoned arms dealers and buyers, but Fury felt that this one was far too dangerous to keep alive. And if Fury felt that someone needed to be taken out, it meant they did. I couldn't help but imagine a similar conversation that occurred a few years earlier, except instead of an arms dealer, it was a young assassin, and instead of Barton carrying out the mission, he'd brought her back.

We walked down the stairs to the waiting car. Clint walked to one side and I coughed audibly, drawing his attention back to me. I gave him an irritated look and nodded towards my door. He rolled his own eyes and moved back to open my door. I gave him a smile and with closed eyes, turned my head upwards, "Thank you," I said huffily as I slid into the car. He slammed the door tiredly and then went to his side, crawling in beside me. He slung his arm protectively around me as the driver pulled the car away from the plane. Clint relaxed slightly as the car started driving. "Nice acting Nat," he whispered to me. I elbow him in the ribs. I heard breath escape from his lips. I couldn't help but smile slightly. "Damn Nat," he muttered. Our driver turned and looked at us while he was at a stop sign. He gave me a wink.

"It's ok Agent Romanoff," he acknowledged, "It's not like I don't know who you are anyway." Our driver was undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Wilson Tyler. And I knew that Clint wasn't in danger of compromising us by addressing me in the car when it was just us three, but it was unprofessional. If he'd done that at the Red Room, I would've been charged with killing him on the spot: official rules. You never knew when someone might have flipped sides or when the target might by some slim chance found out ahead of time our plans and infiltrated our systems. The car could've been bugged. I glared at Agent Tyler. I was still cold to nearly everyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. at this point. Three years at S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't long enough to wipe away the suspicious nature bred and fostered in me from age five at the Red Room.

"It doesn't matter. You should stick to protocol!" I hissed under my breath.

"Lighten up Tasha, the mission doesn't start until we make contact." Barton never failed to amaze me. It was times like this that I wondered how he was still alive.

"Barton, if I pulled that shit in Russia, you wouldn't have a partner right now." I seethed. His eyes immediately softened, which only made me angrier. I hated it when he looked at me like that: with pity, pity that I had to go through shit like that at the Room. I knew there was an apology resting just on the tips of his lips. "Don't you dare," I sneered. He'd opened his mouth to speak and promptly let it fall shut. "And don't look at me like that. I'm not the only child in the world to have a shitty childhood, and I won't be the last." There was a tense silence between the three of us for a few moments. I blinked and looked at Agent Tyler. "We kinda need to be somewhere very soon." He shook his head, as if the trance was broken, and nodded, turning around.

"Of course, sorry," He said. With that, my comments were forgotten and Agent Tyler drove the car down the street. Clint's arms around me tightened instinctively after what I'd said. I relaxed into his arm and rested my head against the seat, sighing.

Present Day

This time, Clint and I exited the plane together, arm-in-arm, laughing gently. There was a similar car waiting for us this time just like there was five years ago. Clint willingly opened its door and I slid in, pulling him in beside me. He pulled the door closed, and kept his arm around me. I sighed, relaxing into his arm again, just like five years ago, except this time there were heaviness to it. I was exhausted emotionally, and we'd just gotten there. I was in big trouble. I could already tell.

Our driver turned and looked at us. "Hello Agents," he said. He was a tall man with blonde hair and dull brown eyes. "I'll be your driver for the duration of your trip. My name is Agent Terry." I promptly shot daggers at the newbie agent. Obviously Agent Terry hadn't been informed of the proper protocol. He looked taken aback at my apparent aggression – just like a deer in headlights. I could feel Clint smile one of his normal loopy smiles as he rested his head against the back of the car, inadvertently leaning towards me.

"Nat," he said with a slight hint of warning in his tone. I turned my head and shared my angry gaze with him too.

"Clint," I hissed under my breath.

"Oh Nat, lighten up would you! Agent Tyler, don't mind her. She's just a little old-fashioned."

"Sometimes old-fashion saves your life Barton!" I snapped, narrowing my eyes. "And don't pretend it hasn't saved your ass on multiple occasions!" His smile never faded from his face even as my voice rose with aggravation, and his childish look halfway pissed me off more. And secretly, the other half was melting at the light that twinkled in his eyes when he smiled, but I wouldn't let Clint know that. He threw his hands up in mock surrender and waved them around.

"I never said they didn't," he said, "I'm just saying that sometimes it's ok to break the rules." There was something in his voice. I sensed there was a double meaning in his words. I narrowed my eyes even further. He'd promised that he wouldn't let this shit affect the mission. He said that he could bury it. I knew he wouldn't hold it in forever, but it'd hardly been a few minutes. He sensed the second underlying layer of hostility and gave a slight nod in response. Agent Tyler had been watching us with wide eyes. He finally opened his mouth to speak.

"Is everything ok agents?" I turned to look at him in disbelief. I turned back to Clint, extra pissed off now. "Is there anything I need to know? Anything that would affect the case?"

That did it. I whipped my head back to the newbie agent. "Agent Tyler, how dare you accuse me of being unprofessional when it is you who broke protocol by revealing yourself to me?!" His eyes widened, taken off guard. "Now I suggest you turn around and drive us to the fucking hotel! Got it?" He nodded like the scared newbie he was. He turned around and started the car, pulling away from the plane. He mumbled something incoherently, sending me up a wall. Clint noticed my anger spike and tried to stop me, but he failed miserably. Clint's good, but I'm faster. I gripped his shirt by the car and pulled him towards me, jerking his hands from the steering wheel. He slammed on the breaks to keep from crashing, causing us to crash closer together. Our faces were inches apart, and I made sure he was staring straight into my death-glared eyes. "And I don't want to hear another god damn peep out of you! Understood Agent?" I demanded. He nodded shakily. He was scared of me. I pushed him back to his seat and rolled my eyes, leaning back against Clint's arm. "Rookie," I hissed under my breath.

Clint looked at me, obviously amused. "Damn Nat," he muttered to me while nodding his head towards Agent Tyler. I shook my head tightly at him. I was not going to fucking apologize for telling off some unprofessional rookie agent who didn't know what the hell he was doing! I crossed my arms and leaned further into Clint's arms, seething on the inside. I needed to calm down. I needed to get back into character. Lena wasn't the angry type: she was just a lovesick writer, visiting her homeland with her fiancé for what could be the last time before they got married.

We got to the hotel and Clint got out first, holding the door open and helping me out. I smiled lovingly at him and we strolled into the hotel and checked in. I never once left his side. Lena and Eric were at that stage in their relationship where they needed to be around each other all the time – the nauseating clingy portion of the relationship that would eventually get on everyone's nerves, including mine and Clint's too. We checked in and walked up to our hotel room together. As soon as the door was shut, we began looking around the room with fake interest and excitement. "Oh Eric, I still can't believe we're here!" I said, as we set about our work checking the room for bugs. I took one side, while Clint took the other. He turned and looked at me.

"I thought you'd like this little trip. I just thought it'd be something nice to do. I know you haven't been back in a long time."

"It's the best gift you could've ever given me."

"Anything for you darling," he said sweetly before turning to walk into the next room. I continued searching for any bugs on my end, and after a few minutes Clint entered the room and gave a nod. "I don't know why we have to do that every single time. We never find any bugs."

"Because Barton, the first time we don't look for them is likely the time we'll have been compromised and there will actually be bugs in our rooms." I said. It was routine really: we stayed in character long enough to check for bugs, Barton complained about always checking for bugs, and I gave him the same curt reply in a no-nonsense tone that said get over it. The next phase was setting up our S.H.I.E.L.D. contact. Clint pulled a computer out of one of our bags and immediately began working on contacting our handler. He nodded at me, and I locked the door before he initiated a chat.

"Hello agents, how's Paris?" Maurice asked.

"We wouldn't know. We just got here." Clint said, sounding bored. Clint and Maurice hadn't warmed up to each other as much as I would've liked. Deep down, I knew Clint still hadn't accepted Coulson's death, and the indirect role he thinks he played in it. I'd tried many a time to explain to him that it was Loki, not him, but he wouldn't listen.

"What's next on our agenda?" I asked, coming to sit beside Clint on the hotel bed. It was comfortable. Say what you will: S.H.I.E.L.D. treated its agents nicely.

"Laclare has a meeting at a building a few blocks away. I suggest you two go be a soon-to-be married couple and find some way to make contact."

"Got it," Clint said.

"Be careful agents. We expect you back here in one piece." Clint didn't say anything back. He just ended the transmission. He stood icily and locked the computer away in our bags, before locking our bags in the closet. I continued sitting on the bed, watching him move about the room.

"You know, you could be a little nicer to him," I acknowledged. Clint shot me a look.

"You're lecturing me on being nice? You gave me hell for years Natasha." I was actually a little stunned by the venom in his voice. I nodded, knowing that he was right, and after the hell I put him through for years, I deserved to hear him talk about it.

"It's not his fault Clint. He can't help that he's not Coulson." I said gently. Clint looked at me with a hard edge.

"No it's not, it's mine." My face softened and my breath caught in my throat. I didn't know how to get through to him. I'd tried and tried to make him see reason, but somehow we always came back to this.

"Clint," my voice was barely a whisper, and yet it seemed to be the loudest thing in the room. He looked up at me, and there was such a heaviness in his eyes that it made me hurt. I was there in seconds, my hands on his shoulders. He looked tortured, and I knew he'd lost several hours of sleep over the subject. He looked down at the ground, and as long as I stared at him, he wouldn't meet my eyes. I tried to make him look at me, but he kept avoiding me. "Clint, look at me. Look at me," I said, putting my hand on his face, pulling him closer to me, forcing his eyes to mine. "What happened to Coulson, it wasn't your fault."

"But Nat – "

"No Clint, no, don't do this to yourself again. Now listen to me: it wasn't your fault. Okay, it wasn't your fault."

"Then why does it feel like it was," he managed to say finally. I let my hand run up his cheek and into his hair.

"Sssshhh," I whispered, pulling him into a tight hug. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer, even though I hadn't thought I could get any closer. There was no space between us until I pulled back a little to look at his face. We were still only inches away from each other, and I could feel my heart beating in my ears. He stared at me intensely. Shit, we'd been in Paris less than an hour and I was already in danger of giving in to my feelings, to him. It was hard to not want him, especially when I knew he wanted me. But we couldn't. It was against S.H.I.E.L.D.'s policy. It would compromise them in every way possible. It was dangerous. It was wrong. I couldn't do that to him. And yet, somehow I could still feel myself leaning in slightly. I'd allowed my eyes to slide shut and we froze there in that moment, hanging on the edge, ready to fall over. "We have to make contact." With that, I broke the moment and stepped away.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

- 5 years ago

"We need to make contact," I said, giving Clint a look as I placed my gaudy earrings in my ears. They were long, dangly, and sparkly: Maria Jacob's three favorite things. I was wearing a tight green dress and black strappy heels. I wasn't stupid. I could feel Clint's eyes on my body as I reached in for the jeweled necklace on the dresser, but I wasn't bothered by it. I was used to men staring at my body. It was the trick of my trade, and I'd been a master at seduction for a while now. I was well aware what my body did to the male species. Many a man had met his demise because of my body, and after all, Clint was human. I'd have been insulted if he had never snuck a glance. Besides, part of me liked it. It gave me a nervous thrill that I hadn't had in a long time. And I wasn't blind: Clint Barton was many things, among them a very attractive guy. It wasn't like I hadn't checked him out at some point.

I held the necklace out to him and he took it, fastening it about my neck. The tips of his fingers brushed against the base of my neck, causing my breath to catch in my throat and a chill to run through my body. "I'm aware Tasha," he said, the heat of his breath strong enough to hit my body. God why was it so hard to keep my cool around Clint Barton? I was the god damn Black Widow! I didn't get crushes on guys, especially my partners. I didn't have feelings at all really. I was just an assassin and a spy. When you're in those jobs, feelings become a liability. But it was just so damn hard to focus when he was around me. I turned around to face him, noticing exactly how close we were. He seemed to notice too, but he didn't move back. "Ready to go Mrs. Jacobs?" He asked, slipping effortlessly back into character.

"Of course darling," I mused back, "I'm sorry it took so long, but as they say: you just simply cannot rush perfection. But now, my dear, you have your perfection." I flipped my hand out for him to take and he led me from the hotel room. We walked down the stairs a party that was going on in honor of our arms dealer's recent engagement to his longtime girlfriend, Esmeralda Fitzgerald, who also dabbled in the arms business alongside her soon-to-be hubby. How quaint, I couldn't help but think. Austen Harken, our arms dealer, in a show of just how impressive and successful he was, had invited the entire hotel to his party. How pathetic.

We strolled arm-in-arm past the security guard and into the elaborately decorated party scene. "Isn't this just lovely darling?" I chirped.

"It's highly overrated," Clint said in an almost bitter voice. He was playing his character extremely well; I had to give him props. We made our way to the happy couple who was standing at the opposite end of the room. Esmeralda Fitzgerald was model-thin with obvious Spanish heritage. Her dark skin and big brown eyes complimented her bone structure and black, curly hair. She was utterly gorgeous. She was dressed in a long purple dress with a halter tie, and long, dangly diamond earrings that matched her diamond engagement ring. She had a champagne glass in her left hand, no doubt to model the engagement ring to anyone who approached them, while her right arm was loosely wrapped around Austen. Austen's short blonde hair and dull hazel eyes didn't do much for me, but apparently Esmeralda found them irresistible, or she found the money irresistible, either was a believable option.

"Oh, you must be Esmeralda Fitzgerald and Austen Harken," I chimed annoyingly as we stopped in front of them, drawing their eyes to us. The couple took us in and exchanged a glance. "You two are just the cutest couple," I went on, "Congratulations on hooking this one line and sinker. You two must consider yourselves very lucky. And Esmeralda dear, you're even more beautiful in person. The pictures don't do you justice." I said, making sure to mention her career as a model. She smiled happily, though a trace of suspicion was evident in her air. I looked expectantly at Clint, but he didn't say anything. I sighed, rolled my eyes, and gave him a sharp elbow to the side. I looked back to the two people standing in front of me: "Sorry," I mouthed. Clint, finally sensing my hint, cleared his throat.

"My name is Henry Jacobs, CEO of – " Austen Harken held out a hand and cut Clint off.

"Yes Mr. Jacobs, we know exactly who you are." He said as Clint took his hand. Esmeralda smiled, a flash appearing in her eyes. She held out her own hand, which Clint took after he released Austen's hand.

"It's always nice to meet another in the business. We're big fans of your work."

"I wasn't aware that you two were big customers." Clint said, raising his eyes between Esmeralda and Austen.

"Oh we've only bought one or two small things. But we were actually hoping to make a rather large purchase here soon – that is if you have what we're looking for." Esmeralda said flirtatiously, so much so that I rolled my eyes, relishing in the fact that Maria Jacobs would have done the same.

"We were hoping you would give us a run through of your inventory. We were actually going to call your company and set up a meeting in the near future, but now that you're here, we can get down to business. I wasn't aware that you were in Paris Mr. Jacobs." Austen said. "Business or pleasure?"

"Both," Clint chimed. "Actually, my main reason for coming to Paris was news that you were vacationing here as well. We just had some new weapons developed, and I thought they would be up your ally. So I told Maria here that we just had to vacation here, and of course she didn't complain." I coughed loudly, an action Maria would have definitely done. I put the most annoyed look I could manage on my face. Clint gave me a puzzled look and then let his eyes rise in recognition.

"I'm so sorry. Mr. Harken, Miss Fitzgerald, this is my wife Maria." I gave a fake smile and shook both of their hands.

"I believe congratulations are in order." I said to Esmeralda, with a glance at Austen.

"Why thank you." She said politely, glancing lovingly at Austen.

"I take it he's a lucky man," I said. He smiled and nodded.

"That I am. And look at you, you're gorgeous. I believe Henry is also a lucky man." I smiled and pretended to be flattered even though his flowery flattery made me want to throw up.

"I'm glad someone notices." I said with a bitter edge. Clint rubbed the back of his neck in an embarrassed way.

"Oh come on Maria. Don't be like that. You know I'm crazy about you." He tried to put his arm around me but I scooted out of the way and stepped closer to Esmeralda.

"Would you like to get a drink?" I asked her. She shot a look at Austen. Clint looked taken aback and slightly hurt.

"Uh, sure." She said, unsure, looking to Austen. "If that's ok with you darling."

He looked from Esmeralda, to Clint, and then to me, before settling on Esmeralda again. He nodded. "Oh course darling. Besides, Mr. Jacobs and I have business to discuss." Clint straightened his jacket and shrugged away the hurt, giving himself the manner of perfect professionalism. He cleared his throat and nodded.

"That we do. Go ahead Maria, but try not to drink too much. You know what alcohol does to you." I rolled my eyes again and pulled Esmeralda away without another word.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

- Present Day

I'd changed into a floral sundress complete with black sunglasses and a wicker hat with a black ribbon wrapped around it and a pink flower nestled into it. I was putting my sandals on when Clint came out of the bathroom. He'd changed into a blue collared button up shirt and khaki pants. I stood up and pulled my red curls over my shoulders. I met his blue eyes and found him staring at me. "You can close your mouth now." I said, repressing my urge to smile.

"I was just going to say you look beautiful." I grabbed Lena's purse from the bed and actually gave a small smile this time.

"Thanks." I looked at the clock. We needed to hurry. "Come on, let's get out of here." I grabbed Clint's hand and intertwined our fingers, ignoring the warmth that spread from my hands throughout my entire body.

We walked the few blocks quickly. I could see the building Laclare was having his meeting at in sight. I looked around, thinking quickly on my feet. "You know what we should do?" I said in Lena's voice. Eric looked at me.

"What?" He asked, throwing a New York spin on his normal voice. It sounded weird coming from his mouths. I much preferred the reformed criminal from Iowa. Then I had to shake those ideas away from my head. I fought the urge to sigh and wondered when Clint Barton had infected me with this feeling – feelings strong enough to distract me from my mission, feelings strong enough to keep me constantly aware of our intertwined hands. I knew my heart was beating louder and faster than it should've been, and I knew that Clint could feel it. God this was a mess.

I finally forced the thoughts away and reverted back to Lena. I pointed to a shop across the street. "Ice cream cones – a must in Paris, well a must anywhere really." I could tell Clint was confused by my line of thinking, but I knew when he gave me that loopy smile that he trusted I had a plan, which I did. We strolled into the shop and exited each with our own ice cream cones. We continued towards the building Laclare should be exiting any moment. I wasn't sure if Clint was clear on my plan. It should've been obvious by now in my opinion. It was a pretty basic plan. A rookie could've come up with it, but it was just simple enough that it would be believable, besides Maurice didn't give me much to work with yet.

We were all smiles and laughter and casual conversation as we got closer to the building. I could see Laclare coming out of the building: show time. I playfully took my ice cream cone and pushed it into Clint's face. He definitely wasn't expecting it. If he didn't understand the plan before, I knew he did now. A wide smile formed on his face as he wiped chocolate off his face. Lena giggled wildly, and I actually found it a tad bit funny myself. Clint raised his eyebrows and his vanilla cone and turned his head slightly, and I knew that he was coming after me or rather Eric was coming after Lena. I gave my high pitched girlie shriek, and turned running down the sidewalk to avoid the coming vanilla ice cream. Clint wasn't far behind me and I sped up as I curved around other sidewalk walkers, until I collided with a man in a business suit, the remains of my chocolate ice cream cone smearing against the fabric. I placed my hands on the man in front of me and pushed myself back, letting the cone fall to the ground. I looked up into the eyes of Fredrick Laclare. "I'm so sorry," I stuttered, planting a guilt stricken look on my face. I stumbled backward and felt Clint's arms on my forearms, holding me close to him.

"I'm so sorry sir. We were just messing around." Laclare began surveying the damage done to his suit while shaking his head.

"That's quite alright. It's just fabric." He looked up and took in the sight of Lena and Eric. "Honeymoon?" He asked.

"Not quite yet," Clint said. I showed my left hand where the 'engagement ring' was in clear view.

"Newly engaged," I breathed, still pretending to be mortified.

"Lighten up my dear," he said, "You look like you've seen a ghost. If you're still worried about my suit, don't." He looked at Eric and watched the way he looked at me, the way Clint looked at me. "I remember what it's like to be that in love."

"Are you married sir, Mr…." I trailed off.

"Laclare, Fredrick Laclare, and yes I am to the most amazing woman." He pulled a wallet out of his pocket and opened it up. For a deadly arms dealer, Laclare was not as intelligent as I would've expected. He showed us a picture of himself standing with a beautiful blonde woman.

"She's lovely sir," I said, letting a slightly more amount of French accent to enter into my speech.

"Are you from here? I noticed your accent."

"I'm from here originally, but I've lived in the United States for quite some time."

"That's where we met." Clint said, chiming in. Laclare put the wallet back in his pocket, and looked at us.

"Well I hope you have a good stay in Paris. And I wish you well in your engagement and subsequent marriage."

"Thank you Mr. Laclare." Clint said, smiling warmly before looking at me lovingly. He kissed my cheek.

"Thank you sir, and I'm sorry for your suit."

"I told you think nothing of it. I've got plenty at home. We'll consider it a casualty of young love, the purest love there is. If you'll excuse me, I'm planning a party for my wife tomorrow evening. I've got to make sure the details are finalized." He winked and then left us. Wow, Laclare was a sucker for a good romance: go figure. He was quite charming though. There was something in his demeanor that was inviting. It probably served him well in his career of selling weapons of mass destruction to countries as well as other weapons that had led to the deaths of thousands of women and children. Men like him disgusted me.

Clint took my hand again as Eric and Lena continued their walk through the Parisian streets. We finally snaked our way back to the hotel room. I made Clint help me check for bugs before we dropped our aliases. "Well Laclare is a piece of work." I said, tossing my hat on the bed, running my fingers through my red curls.

"I think all arms dealers are a piece of work Nat." Clint said, pulling the computer out of its locked place. He flipped it open and contacted Maurice, filling him in on our afternoon walk. Maurice nodded and said he would work on a way to get us into the party with a legit excuse. After Clint closed the computer and locked it back up, he collapsed on the edge of the bed. I walked past him to the bathroom. "Hey Nat," he whispered from the bed. I stopped in the doorway and looked at him. "About earlier – "

"Clint," I warned, "I told you to stop blaming yourself. I don't want to have to repeat my entire rant again."

"No, it's not that. I just wanted to say thank you for that. It means a lot to me that you're always there for me to tell me not to blame myself."

"It's not a problem Clint, that's what partners do." I said curtly. I really wanted to leave him there. I didn't wanna continue this conversation. I was in danger of saying things that shouldn't be said.

"Nat, we're more than partners." Oh no, he was swimming into dangerous territory and if they weren't careful, they'd drown. "We're at least friends right?" He asked. The uncertainty in his voice was killing her.

"Of course we are Clint," I said, giving him a sympathetic glance.

He nodded. "Thanks, it's just sometimes it seems like we aren't, and I just need to remind myself in some way."

"Clint," I started, stepping towards him. "You're the best person I know. You don't even understand how important you are to me. I – " And it was at that moment when I knew I was taking in water faster than the Titanic after it hit the ice. I had to get out of there. Clint was looking at me expectantly. "You should get some rest. It's been a long day." Clint's eyes dulled slightly, and he nodded. I stepped backwards into the bathroom and locked the door. I turned on the shower, but didn't get in. I just sat against the wall and stared into space, wondering how I was going to swim myself to dry land now.

Sometime later I turned off the shower and pulled on one of the hotel robes over my clothes. Clint actually took my advice and was fast asleep, rolled over to one side. I took off the robe and threw it on the back of one of the chairs. I slipped my sandals back on and grabbed a coat from the closet. I needed some air, and maybe some perspective.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

- 5 Years Ago

"HE TAKES ME FOR GRANTED!" I whined, pretending to be drunk off my ass. I, Natasha Romanoff, might be able to hold my liquor remarkably well, but Maria Jacobs was a lightweight and the five drinks she'd had were three too many. Esmeralda had of course remarked on the strained relationship between Maria and Henry, and I just started sputtering all of 'my personal drama'. "He acts like he cares about me, but I know I'm just a trophy he shows off to everyone. He doesn't even care enough to introduce me half the time. He just wants me to be eye-candy on his arm and no one else's." Esmeralda gave me a sympathetic look.

"Do you love him?"

"I know it might be hard to believe, but I really do. Everyone only thinks I'm here for the money and the fact he spoils me, but I really do love him. I just wish he loved me as much." I let fake tears rush to my eyes and Esmeralda rubbed circles on my back. I grabbed another drink and held it in my hand. I could tell Esmeralda wanted to take it away. She thought I'd had too many already.

"Then you should open up and tell him about your concerns. Honesty is the best policy and really is the foundation of relationships. Everyone thinks Austen and I can't really be in love, that we must be using each other for the business or even the sex, but that's not the case. We tell each other everything. I've never been so in love with anyone in my life, and I doubt I'll love anyone else the exact way I love him." It was a beautiful thought. It actually made me a little disheartened that we were going to kill her lover. I didn't feel bad for Harken: he was too screwed up for that, had too much red in his ledger.

"You know what, you're right. I should tell him. He should know that I love him."

"You should go to him. He and Austen look like they're finished talking." She said, pointing to Clint and Austen.

"You're right. I'm gonna do it." I couldn't believe what I was going to do, but I knew I needed to do it to make our characters believable. Arms dealers were ineptly skeptical and the smallest details could make them suspicious. I moved quickly through the crowds of people like a desperate woman on a mission. Austen and Clint both looked up. They had begun making their way to the bar.

"Mari – " Clint started, but I cut him off when I grabbed his shirt and pulled him to me, crashing our lips together. I could tell I'd taken Clint by surprise. I'd taken Austen by surprise too, but Esmeralda grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away from us.

"I think we should leave these two alone." She said.

What could I say about kissing Clint Barton? It wasn't like we hadn't kissed on missions before. We'd given each other pecks here and there like couples would, but this was something completely different. Even as Maria and Henry Jacobs, it was still amazing. Warmth flooded my body until that warmth morphed into heat. And I needed him. I'd never needed anyone in my entire life, but at that moment, I needed him. Somewhere along the way, the kiss deepened and Clint put his arms around my waist. I finally pulled away and stared at him. "I love you Henry." But it was Natasha who was gasping for air, trying to recover from that kiss. Clint was motionless and mute for a few moments before finally coming to his senses.

"I love you too Maria."

"Let's get out of here," I whispered. He nodded and let me pulled him towards the exit. We passed Austen and Esmeralda, and I gave her a thumbs up. What a cheesy move! She smiled and whispered something to Austen who nodded knowingly.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

- Clint Barton

When I woke up sometime later, I was alone in bed. The shower wasn't running, and I knocked on the door. "Nat?" I asked. There was no answer. I pushed open the door and found myself alone in the hotel room. Shit, I thought. I looked around for any indication of her whereabouts and I found a note. Going for a walk, be back soon – Nat. I ran a hand through my hair. She'd been close to saying something earlier, something concerning her personal feelings for me, I was sure of it. That's probably why she went out for the walk. She was angry at herself for almost admitting she had feelings for me. I know I'm not the brightest person in the world, but I was by no means stupid. Natasha was running from her feelings for me. She almost kissed me earlier today. She'd even closed her eyes and leaned in for Christ's sake.

I sighed and tried to think about where Nat would've gone. I wanted to go find her. I knew she was a big girl and could obviously take care of herself, but I couldn't help but worry about her. Natasha was my reason for wanting to stay alive. Being an assassin, you always had to be prepared to die, but since becoming Natasha Romanoff's partner, I'd found I was less prepared to do that unless I was doing it for her. I went through all the places in Paris and finally figured out where Natasha would go. I grabbed my own coat from the closet and set out to get a taxi.

Once I was in the taxi and on my way to her destination, I began to think back to our last time in Paris. It was still clear in my mind. It would probably always be, now that I thought about it.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

- 5 Years Ago

- Clint Barton

As Natasha dragged me up to the room, or really as Maria dragged Jacob up to the room, I couldn't shake Clint Barton. I was totally hung up on the kiss. God, I mean, sure I'd thought about kissing Natasha before, but never could I have ever imagined something like what just went down. God it was amazing, she was amazing. Natasha slammed the door to our room as soon as we were there. "I'm glad that's over," she breathed a sigh of relief. I looked at her, without saying anything. "I had to pretend to be overtly drunk." I nodded at her. And that's when reality set in: the kiss had been for the sake of the mission, for the sake of keeping in their characters. It hurt like hell and made his heart hurt in ways that he didn't even know were possible.

She began pulling jewelry off her body, setting it carelessly on the dresser. Then amazingly, Natasha removed a god awful amount of knifes from her person. I still couldn't understand how she fit some many of her thin body concealed by her dress. I'd figure she would've hurt herself somehow. Then I wondered how long it took her to perfect the placement of knives all over her body. That thought left me feeling cold inside. I hated that Natasha had such a shitty childhood. I mean I know mine was by no means perfect, but hers was hell on Earth. We'd had separate rooms on that occasion. We would enter the same hotel room and then I would sleep in the connecting room that was also rented by S.H.I.E.L.D.

I had begun inching towards the door to my room, wanting to be alone so I could think about the kiss and my feelings on it. Natasha cleared her throat, causing me to stop. "Sorry for attacking you tonight Barton."

"What?" I asked, confused.

"I'm sorry for the kiss. I had to do it to keep cover with Esmeralda." I shook my head at this. She didn't need to be sorry for that kiss, I promise.

"Don't worry about it." I said. I turned towards my room again and closed the door behind me. I still held onto the door knob as I leaned backwards against the door. I couldn't shake Natasha Romanoff. I needed to see her. I wanted her. I wanted her bad. I tried to fight the feelings, and in the past I'd been successful, but with the heat of her kiss still burning me tonight, I knew I couldn't do it anymore. I opened the door and found Natasha standing there. She hadn't been about to knock. She'd just been standing there, staring at the white door that separated us. We stared at each other for what seemed like days. Then I crossed the small distance and kissed her, and she let me, because in all honesty Natasha Romanoff could take me down any time she wanted. I felt her arms wrap around my neck pulling me closer. I placed a trail of kisses down her neck. She leaned her head on my shoulder, as her hands unbuttoned my shirt. I shrugged it off and unzipped her dress. She stepped out of it and back into my arms. She put her forehead against my own and sighed.

"Clint," she whispered my name in my ear, sending a chill down my spine. "Clint, we should stop before…something…happens." Even as she said it, I knew we wouldn't stop, we couldn't stop…we were too far in.

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

- Present Day

I told the taxi to wait for me while I retrieved Natasha. I made my way towards the Eiffel Tower, where I knew Natasha would be. She'd figured it was the most touristy place – big crowds are a must when you've an assassin. Also, Natasha hated tourists, so it would be the last place people who knew her would expect her to be. I walked through the crowds of people in the dark of the Parisian night. And that's when I saw her: she was standing under the lighted up Eiffel Tower. She was stationary, unmoving. I got close enough to call her name, and she eventually turned her head. She saw me, and I loved the way she looked at me. But I wasn't sure if it was Natasha looking at Clint, or Lena looking at Eric.

She had tears in her eyes, and I wanted to make them go away. I wiped one from her cheeks as I stood in front of her and everyone else. "Clint," she said. Well that was one problem solved. I rushed to her.

"Nat are you ok?" I asked, putting my hands on her forearms. She looked down at the skin contact and said nothing. I asked her again and she looked back slowly to my eyes. She nodded at me.

"Yeah, I'll be fine Barton." But the look on her face didn't convince me. She looked like she'd been crying. I ran a hand along the tear-stained cheek.

"Tasha, what's wrong?" I whispered. I couldn't stand to see Natasha like that. She looked miserable. I would give anything to make her feel better.

"It's just…." She trailed off and shook her head.

"Natasha." I whispered, and I heard her breath catch in her throat.

"Paris," she mouthed, unable to speak anymore. I'd never seen the great Black Widow, or Natasha Romanoff for that matter, look so vulnerable. I pulled her into a hug. I tangled one hand in her hair and used the other one to rub soothing circles in her back. She was evidently shaken. I wasn't sure what she'd been thinking about before I got here, but whatever it was, it'd really done a number on her.

"Hey come on, you said it yourself: Paris was just a moment." And while he didn't believe that for a moment, he knew she needed to hear it. "Why are you so unwound about this?" He said, finally releasing her from the hug. "It wasn't a big deal then, and it's not a big deal now." She nodded. "Come on, let's get out of here. We'll go back to the hotel and you can get some rest."

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

- Natasha Romanoff

Clint started walking away, and I took a few steps behind him. But then I stopped. I'd been thinking a lot about Paris, about the almost kiss, about Clint, and I'd finally come to terms with some realizations. Paris wasn't just a moment. It had meant something to both of us. And it was a big deal. We'd crossed the line of professionalism, and we'd done it by choice. Neither of us had been drunk or manipulated into it. It hadn't been to keep our aliases strong. It had been a choice between Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, not Henry and Maria Jacobs. And that made the next realization so much more heartbreaking. It wasn't that I didn't have feelings for Clint. It wasn't that Clint didn't have feelings for me. The real barrier was their jobs. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have any regulations set in place to prevent it, but Fury would never stand for it. And he shouldn't. I'd seen several couples in the Red Room murdered for their attachments, because attachments at the end of the day just got in the way of the assignment. They prevented you from thinking clearly. You would compromise missions for attachments. And that was dangerous. My feelings for Clint Barton were dangerous. And yet, right then at that moment, I didn't really care.

He seemed to notice that I wasn't following him anymore and he turned around to stare at me. The Eiffel Tower was lit up with white lights against the darkened sky. Paris was a beautiful city, truly the city of love and the city of lights. And even though I knew better, I still walked quickly, closing the space between us, and allowed myself to give in to everything I was feeling. I rested my hands on his face as I kissed him. I moved my hands back into his hair as he finally caught up with me and put him hands around my waist. When we finally pulled away, I hid my face and just hugged him. "I wish we could." I whispered, and I knew he knew what I meant. He kissed the top of my head and kept an arm around my waist as we walked back to the taxi he'd told to wait. In the car, I laid my head on his shoulder and allowed a daze to fall over my senses. There was just something about Paris.

All I wanted to do by the time we got back to the hotel was sleep. Clint unlocked the door, and for once I wasn't going to worry about checking for bugs. But I could tell by the look on Clint's face that he would check for them, no matter how much it got on his nerves, and the thought made me smile. He opened the door and let me enter first. I froze in the doorway. "I was wondering when you two lovebirds were going to get back?" A voice asked. You got to be fucking kidding me!

Jinxcharm:

OMG! Who do you think is in their hotel room?