At approximately 1600 hours the next day, Erian emerged from the bathroom of a hotel room in Vienna, and asked, "How do I look?"
She immediately regretted it. Never, never ask a man that question. Their vocabulary is entirely inadequate.
Barton confirmed her thoughts by glancing up from his bow to look her up and down and say, "Nice. You'll fit right in."
Erian shook her head and rolled her eyes, walking across the room to check her hair in the mirror. She was wearing a formal red dress, sleeveless with a fitted bodice and full ballroom skirt. Erian tucked an extra pin into her swept-up hair, and twirled a dangling curl around her finger. "Not bad," she decided, and glanced back at the mirror to see Barton watching her.
She hid a smile as she turned around. No matter how eloquent the poets are, nothing says You're beautiful like silent admiration.
Either that, or Barton was just trying to figure out how many knives Erian was carrying.
Focus. And probably pick up a few more knives.
Erian passed Barton to get to her duffel bag, pulling a few extra blades from the bag's depths. She could feel Barton's eyes on her, and wondered if she should comment.
Probably.
"Stare a little harder, Clint. I might grow an extra head," Erian said, not turning around. She heard him change positions, and smiled.
"Won't you be cold? It's winter, after all."
She blinked. Crap! "Probably. I didn't think about that. I'll handle it." By which she meant, Tough it out and hope it doesn't take too long for you to shoot the mark on the balcony.
Erian turned around to see Barton checking his watch. He stood, folding up his bow and stowing it in his 'briefcase'. "Time to go," Barton said, and Erian nodded, picking up her red high heels.
She walked barefoot to the car, and if Barton noticed, he didn't comment on it.
They made it to the charity event right one time – half an hour early. Barton took up position on his rooftop, while Erian located the guest that was convinced he'd somehow won a date with a foreign model.
Erian hadn't been too pleased with Fury when she'd read about that in her mission file.
Barton had thought it was hilarious.
Erian went in with her 'date', fashionably late. She walked effortlessly in her high heels, despite the fact that she'd . . . modified . . . them by placing actual stilettos in the heels.
You could never carry too many knives, after all. Especially when your partner was trying to figure out where you had put them all.
Erian had no trouble convincing her cover to drink himself under the table, and then she drifted away in not-entirely-faked distaste, eyeing her mark. He was eyeing her right back.
She gave him a smile, drifted just past him, kept walking . . . slowly . . . giving him time to follow . . . turned her head and crooked her finger at him, giving him the devil's smile . . .
And out the north doors, onto the balcony. He followed her, exactly as Erian had known he would. She wasn't exactly fond of playing bait, but she was awfully good at it.
She'd done it too many times before, in order to get a mark alone. Witnesses were not something you wanted when you were your own cleanup crew.
Erian turned to face her mark, smiling mischievously and leaning back on the balustrade, tossing her head to make her curls dance. She didn't have to wait long. Just as the target took a step toward her and opened his mouth, there was a faint whistling sound, and an arrow flashed out of the night.
The target keeled over slowly, very much dead with Barton's arrow in his chest. Erian stood up, stretched, and took off her shoes. It was freezing on the balcony, and she wasted no time in retrieving Barton's arrow, and vaulting over the balustrade.
Barton had put an arrow for her earlier, one with a grappling line attached. Erian rapidly climbed down to ground level, meeting Barton at the bottom.
All of a sudden, she wished she hadn't just climbed down a rope, in a skirt, in front of her partner.
"All good?" Barton asked, and Erian nodded, handing him the killing arrow.
"Good to go," Erian replied, and froze in surprise as he took off his black jacket and draped it over her bare shoulders. She blinked at Barton, who calmly took the arrow out of her hand, wiped it on his shirt, and put it back in his quiver.
"Let's go, then," Barton said, and Erian followed him to their arranged pickup site. She pulled his jacket close around her, and smiled at the warmth.
Erian had missed that particular warmth. She'd missed it a lot.