Present. More Natasha whump, plus comic-verse stuff shows up.

Natasha knocked on Clint's door, and enjoyed the way that his eyes widened slightly when he saw her. "Nice," was all that he said. "Missing some stuff, though."

"You clean up well, yourself," she replied. "And I made do."

Clint nodded, opening up a case on the desk. "Here," he said. "Take your pick." It was a collection of knives, and Natasha ran her fingers over some, before choosing two. She saw sheaths and straps, and made quick work of strapping them where they were accessible but not easily seen.

"Good?"

"As long as you don't kill any SHIELD folks, just about. Also." Clint held out a small communicator. "In ear, right now it's set up as needing to press this button to talk, or else we'd all go nuts. Frequency is set." He pointed out the button, and helped Natasha slide it into her ear. Taking a careful look, he frowned slightly. "Bit large for you, but looks close enough to a hearing aid, so no worries. Now you're good." He picked his jacket up off the bed, sliding it on. "Coulson'll meet us downstairs, he's got everything else. Taxi should be waiting, too."

Coulson was standing by the security desk, and held out a small purse to Natasha. "Natasha Roman and you're keeping your name, Clint. Have fun, don't kill anybody." Seeing Clint roll his eyes, Coulson just shook his head. "Be glad I'm not making you go by Francis, Barton, because I thought about it. Natasha, please try to sound American. You've the ability to talk on the radio, but only in extreme situations. Have fun, your carriage turns back into a pumpkin at three AM."

"Francis?" Natasha asked as they left the building. She looked inside the purse that she'd been handed, finding two tickets and a picture ID.

"Later," Clint muttered, helping her into the taxi. Leaning forward, he told the driver where they were going. Sitting back, he looked over at her. "Don't jump." He reached up, casually rubbing at his neck. "Check."

"About damn time, Hawkeye." An unknown voice came over the radio in Natasha's ear. "Positions are set, we're all just waiting on the party to start. Have a lady friend tonight, I heard?"

"Can the chatter," Natasha recognized Radar's voice. "Barton, you're good. Romanoff, test yours."

Natasha pretended to play with her hair as she pressed the button. "Clint, you clean up nice." She tried to sound like any one of a number of TV characters that she'd seen since arriving.

Clint shook his head, smiling. "So do you, Nat."

"Sounds good, Romanoff. See you when you I see you." It was interesting, Natasha thought, to be in a situation such as this one.

The taxi pulled up in front of the museum, and Natasha took Clint's arm as they joined the other guests entering the building. She thought that she had seen the person who checked their tickets in the mess hall a few times; she did recognize Patty from Radar's team walking around with a tray of drinks. Clint was right – Patty didn't blend in as well as she could have, and looked slightly uncomfortable. A glance at the servers suggested to Natasha that they were a combination of SHIELD employees and professional servers; to her eyes, the difference between the two groups was remarkable.

She and Clint wandered around, looking at the artwork. It wasn't to Natasha's tastes, but feigning interest wasn't hard. As the artist stood up and started talking, Natasha glanced around, and felt a chill. "Dear, isn't that Ivan?" She nodded at a man she recognized.

"I do believe it is." Clint nodded, tightening his grip on her arm slightly. "Do you want to go say hi?"

"No," Natasha shook her head, watching as the artist finished talking and the music started up again. "No need."

"Target spotted," the voice came over the radio. "By the big yellow thing."

Clint steered Natasha to a quiet corner. "Possible secondary target, Red Room or allied. Talking to artist. And confirm the yellow. What else is there?"

"Ten feet tall, looks like somebody took a metal foot and bent it in half."

"Copy. Ugly-ass thing in the corner. New target?"

"Take him," Coulson's voice came over the radio. "Alive."

"Barton, primary or secondary first." Natasha thought she saw Radar standing in a corner.

"Secondary," Clint said, with a glance at Natasha. "Nat, think he'd have friends?"

"Possibly." Natasha nodded, "but if so, they'd be close, and I don't see anybody else that I recognize."

"Would he recognize you?" Clint was outwardly calm, scanning the room casually.

"I'm surprised that he hasn't, actually." Natasha admitted. "I'll tell you why later."

"Radar, start working on the distraction." Clint scanned the room. "Nat, can you see if I was bit by a bug or something? I've got the worst itch."

"Roger that. Patty, go offer Stark the booze."

As Clint leaned down and Natasha pretended to look at the side of his neck, lightly running her fingers through his hair, Clint started talking. "Bathroom, ditch the wig. Let him see you, go to the hall where the caterers are at. Remember, you run, we'll find you. Understand?"

Natasha just gave Clint a look. "Of course. I don't want to leave." Standing back, she continued, "I do see a bit of something there. Now, I need to go wash my hands." She slipped into the bathroom, and with a fast look around to make sure it was empty, pulled off the wig, then the wig cap. Shoving them both deep into the trash, she unpinned her hair, shaking it down, then running her fingers through it. Quickly twisting it up, she took a deep breath, very much not wanting to go back out there. Ivan wasn't a man that she wanted to face without a gun and at least three meters between the two of them; a sniper rifle and 50 meters would be ideal. A second deep breath, and Natasha went back out to the hall.

It wasn't hard to catch Ivan's eye; the man was one to chase the ladies. Natasha held her head up, and with barely a glance in his direction to make sure that he was following her, headed towards where Clint had told her to go. Ducking into the hall, she saw Clint standing in a doorway, and moved straight for him.

"Natasha." The voice was one that would always give Natasha a sick feeling, and she stopped. "We are very upset with you. I hope that you had a nice vacation, but it's time to come home now. Come willingly, and we might be less upset."

"I disagree," Natasha didn't turn around, but kept her gaze focused on Clint, speaking in Russian. "Although yes, I have had a very nice time. I have even made some friends."

"For shame." Natasha could hear Ivan moving closer. "What would Alexei say?"

Natasha felt like she'd been punched in the gut. "I don't know, Ivan. You killed him, remember?" She spun around, anticipating the blow, catching it on one arm. "He'd probably be upset." Feinting, she kicked Ivan in the knee and pulled out one of the knives Clint had given her. "Your own brother, Ivan. And you killed him." She swung at his face with the knife, only to have her wrist caught.

"Now, Natasha," Ivan had her wrapped up in a bearhug, his hands grasping her wrists, squeezing her tightly. "It was necessary. Stop right there," he said in English. Clint had been moving forward, but stopped at the command.

"Hey, man, I don't know what's going on here, but if a lady says no, a gentleman is supposed to respect her wishes." Clint drawled, spreading his hands wide. "So let the lady go, and hopefully she won't call the cops."

Ivan laughed. "You do not know what you're getting into." His grip tightened around Natasha, who was struggling to breath, now.

Natasha stopped fighting, and went limp. Feeling the hold on her shift, she exploded into action, biting, scratching, kicking, and hitting whatever part of Ivan she could. She saw Clint, out of the corner of her eye, moving closer, and attempted to turn the fight such that she wasn't between the two men, but the hallway was just too narrow.

"Romanoff, hit the deck." The order came over her half-forgotten radio, and Natasha dropped to the floor. She heard a grunt, then Ivan was also falling, and a group of people were moving in. A hand was held in front of her face.

"C'mon." Clint helped Natasha up. "This party's a little dull, don't you think?" He watched as the unconscious man was hauled down the hall by a group of armed SHIELD men. "You okay?"

"No." Natasha spat, wanting to go after Ivan and finish what she had started. "I want to kill him."

Clint blocked her attempts to follow. "Stop that." She tried to punch him, only to have Clint grab her wrist and spin her around, roughly pinning her to the wall, ignoring her cursing and attempts to kick him. "Report on primary."

"Still there. Status?" Radar queried.

"Need five, then we're back in action." Clint leaned forward. "Natasha, calm down. You're breaking your cover, and mine, and a lot of others'. You want out in the future, you have to be good tonight. Being good doesn't include me drugging you and having them throw you into a detention cell, understand?" He shifted, using his body to hold Natasha to the wall, reaching into a pocket.

"I will kill him." Natasha repeated. "Slowly, and painfully."

"And not now." Clint interrupted. "Now, do I have to use this, or are you going to act like the professional you are?" He held a syringe up in front of her face.

"I'll be good." Natasha snapped. "As long as I'm allowed to kill him later."

"We'll see," was all that Clint said as he released her arm. "Let's take a look at you." He smiled softly. "You look like you've been in a fight, Tasha."

Natasha just glared at him, redoing her hair. "Better?"

"Not really." Clint looked around, then led Natasha into where the caterers were set up. There was a mirror by the door. "Take a look."

"Ah," Natasha nodded, seeing the blood coming from her mouth and the smeared makeup. "Well? Do you have something that I can clean this up with?" She accepted the damp towel, and wiped her face. She poked at the cut on the inside of her lip with her tongue, and took a second look at herself. Another wipe with the towel, and she looked at Clint in the mirror. "Good?"

"Yeah." Clint rubbed the back of Natasha's neck. "Are you calmer now?"

"No." Natasha shook her head. "But I'm good to keep on going."

The rest of the time at the gala and the capture of their target was almost anticlimatic. Tony Stark had been kept plied with alcohol, and, as anticipated, quickly become the center of attention. Natasha noticed a red-headed woman looking upset, following him around, and spared a small corner of her mind towards feeling sorry for her. Clint had smoothly snuck up behind the target, and Natasha almost missed the slight movement of his hand before two SHIELD agents were quietly assisting the drugged man from the room.

"We're clear. Finish up, then return to base." Coulson's voice was calm over the radio.

Clint grabbed Natasha's arm and slowly started heading for the door. Mentally, she winced, suspecting that he was angry with her, just based on how tightly he was holding. In the taxi, he finally let go, looking at her. "Just what the fuck was all that?" He was glaring, and Natasha just glared back.

"Not here." she hissed. "But you now have a man who is very valuable to the Red Room under your control. And I will be the one to put the bullet in his brain, understand?" She turned away from Clint then, crossing her arms and staring out the window.

At the SHIELD base, Clint followed Natasha to her room. "Get changed, then meet me in the gym. We can talk there." He vanished.

Natasha beat Clint to the gym, but when she saw him walking in with Coulson, she wasn't surprised. "So." Was all she said, staring at the two men.

Clint didn't say anything, just grabbed her arm and dragged her to the practice mats, Coulson following. "Now," he said, circling Natasha. "Who is that man that we brought in."

"Ivan Shostakov, Red Room trainer and one of the men in charge of selecting, bringing in, and controlling the women. He's one of the highest in that particular group, and rumors have him placed even higher." Natasha turned, keeping Clint in her sight.

"So if he's so important, why would he be here?" Clint moved in, attacking.

"I had filed a report that I met an English speaker and was being followed, the day before we...met. They probably figured out that it was SHIELD, then I vanished without leaving a body behind. And he'd recognize me the best. The rest, you'd have to ask him." Natasha spat, defending herself.

"Why. And who was Alexei, and why would he be disappointed in you."

The questions were too much, and Natasha quickly turned the tables on Clint, taking him down. Pinning him to the mats, she was ashamed to feel the prickling of tears in the back of her eyes. "Alexei, until they killed him, was my husband," she hissed in his ear, before jumping up and moving for the door, savagely swiping at her eyes with the back of one hand.

"Coulson," she heard Clint snap, and then Coulson was in her way, grabbing her in a hold that she'd never experienced before, and one that she couldn't break, no matter how much she tried. He dragged her back to the mat where Clint was standing, and forced her down to the ground.

"Natasha, stay." Natasha wondered if Coulson was able to sound anything other than calm and in control in potential crisis situations. "Clint."

Clint hugged Natasha from behind, wrapping his arms and one leg around her so that she couldn't do anything but submit. She felt Coulson let go, and move away. Faintly, she heard a click. "Door's locked, Natasha, you're stuck here with us." Clint murmured into her hair. "Ivan's Alexei's brother?" She nodded. "Let it out, Tasha. Just let it out. Don't blame you for wanting to kill him. How long?"

"How long what?" Natasha tried to turn slightly, to better lean against Clint. He let her, but didn't loosen his grip enough to let her go.

"I'd love to know how long my partner was married, did she have any kids that Uncle Clint's going to have to track down and spoil rotten, and how long she's been carrying this bunch of hate." Clint's voice had a mixture of nonchalance and concern, which almost pushed Natasha over the edge. She did feel tears start to trickle down her cheeks.

"One year, I can't have children, and three years."

"How'd you two meet?"

Natasha laughed bitterly. "I was told to report to an office not long after I turned eighteen. I walk in, and he's standing there. We walk out married. I almost killed him, myself, but...it became routine, and then nice. We weren't friends, really, but one doesn't have to be friends to be lovers, or to love."

"And then?" Clint was starting to rock her slightly.

"I returned from a mission early. I walk into our apartment, only to see Ivan shoot Alexei in the chest." Natasha focused on the feel of Clint's shirt against her cheek. "He told me that it was punishment. For which one of us, I don't know, but Ivan is fond of calling everything punishment. He'd bring a gift, call it punishment; it was practically a joke with him. Alexei was a test pilot, for a program that I didn't know anything about. He knew I was a spy, but not just what I did. It worked." She shrugged slightly.

"And about three years ago is when the Black Widow first really came to our attention." Coulson sounded closer than Natasha thought he'd been, and she just closed her eyes, breathing in Clint's scent. "Up until then, Red Room seemed to only run men."

"Bossman, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Clint's voice was calm, and the vibrations echoed through his chest. "Our girl here has been wanting out for a hell of a lot longer than we, or she, thought. She just didn't know what to do or where to go. The kids were most likely the final straw." He glanced down slightly. "Well, there go my plans to take her out to a bar tonight."

"She's Russian, Clint, she'd probably drink you under the table. You're practically still the same damn lightweight that you were at twenty-one." Coulson's response made Natasha giggle. "Something funny, Romanoff?"

"Not all Russians can hold their alcohol, although it's a fun stereotype to encourage." Natasha didn't open her eyes. "Although I am partial to a shot of vodka every now and then, I don't make it a habit." She yawned. "Actually, I've had a few good whiskeys, as well."

"I'm sure," Clint sounded amused. "Any other big news that you've got for us, Natasha? Because if there is, I want an Earth-shattering kaboom. I miss my Earth-shattering kabooms."

"Looney Tunes. They're fun." Natasha was fast falling asleep, lulled by the sound of Clint's voice, the hug, and the steady rocking. "I'll bring the explosives, if you can catch the damned rabbit," she mumbled.

"And she's down for the count, Coulson. Can we wait until later to fully debrief? I've already given you most of mine, and I'm sure that her's'll match pretty closely." Clint glanced between the sleeping woman and his handler. "Well, with the exception of what we just found out." He shifted, picking Natasha up. She just snuggled closer, which made both Clint and Coulson look at each other. "Huh. Now that's trust."

"Or just mental and emotional exhaustion. But don't sweat the debrief. I'll make sure the right people know our other guest's status and Natasha's request. Doubt that she'll get it, but it'll probably make her feel better to know that it was at least passed along." Coulson was staring into the distance, deep in thought. "Going to get Shostakov moved to the Helicarrier tonight."

"Yeah. Thanks." Clint was standing at the door. "Door, please? And I'll need some help getting her door open, as well. Gonna need you to take a couple knives and her communicator, too. She'll need a smaller one for next time, this one was a bit too obvious."

"You can't do that?" Coulson's voice was dry, as if he already knew the answer.

"Gonna stay with her tonight. Could use a rather large thermos of coffee, if you're willing. Skip the diner around the corner, they've started to leave it out too long."

When Natasha woke up, she was lying on top of Clint, and she felt a low chuckle rumbling through his chest. She moved slightly, and his arm tightened around her back. "Morning," he said. Natasha just pretended to still be asleep. "Nope, know you're awake." Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and sat up, feeling slightly embarrassed about what had happened the previous night.

"Looney Tunes?" She asked, seeing what was on the TV.

"Needed to get my Earth-shattering kabooms someplace, and they won't let me use the exploding arrows anyplace but off the flight deck of the Helicarrier or on a mission." Clint took a close look at Natasha. "Feeling better?"

"I still want to shoot Ivan in the head, but yes." Natasha glanced at Clint, before lying back down and resting her head on his chest. "Did you sleep last night?"

"Nope. Lots and lots of coffee and television." Clint yawned. "Although I could use a nap, Coulson wants to see us in about an hour. Just enough time to grab some breakfast."

Natasha shook her head, grabbing for the blankets to pull them over her head. "Fuck breakfast. Not hungry."

Clint hummed, grabbing his cell phone. "Thirty minutes, then I'm kicking you out of bed." He programmed an alarm, then turned off the TV, shifting down and falling asleep himself.

"Unfortunately, Natasha, your request to shoot Shostakov was denied. He was sent to the Helicarrier last night, and the detention cells aren't in your list of green areas, so while I can get you in to watch the interrogations, you won't have any face-to-face meetings." Coulson was drinking straight from a thermos, ignoring the mug sitting next to the computer monitor.

"Tired, Coulson?" Clint hadn't even bothered to try and sit upright, slumping in his chair. "Because if you're doing that, then you must not have gotten any sleep for a couple days."

"Three." Coulson nodded. "And once we're done here, the fluffy pink bunny rabbits are telling me that if I don't get horizontal, they'll bring in their friends, the giant green rage monsters." He sorted through some papers on the desk. "So, Natasha, Shostakov. Red Room whatever. How did you know that you'd be able to drag him off?"

"He likes the women, and is always watching them." Natasha said. "Once he saw me without the wig, I knew he'd follow. I'm actually surprised he didn't recognize me before that. Clint told me to take him to the catering hallway. We fought, somebody took him down. Clint wouldn't let me go after Ivan and kill him."

"Okay. Debrief over." Coulson rubbed his eyes. "If needed, we'll talk more later, Natasha, but Clint's given me just about everything." He stood up. "Out."

In the hallway, Clint looked over at Natasha. "Hungry?" When she shook her head, he just nodded. "Okay. And I'm not surprised that he didn't recognize you, that wig was damned ugly." He led the way back to her room. "Can I come in?"

She nodded, opening the door and crawling back into her bed, turning on the TV and leaning against the headboard. "So?" She didn't look at Clint.

"So, not upset that you didn't tell me all that." Natasha wondered if Clint could ever not flop into bed. "Don't blame you. Haven't told you everything, might one day. How're you doing?"

"Good." Natasha didn't take her gaze away from the TV. "I came to terms with everything a while ago. Ivan just brought it back." She shook her head. "I want to see the interrogations."

"Okay." Clint sounded half asleep.

"Sleep." Natasha ordered. "You didn't have to stay up all night, you know."

He shook his head, closing his eyes. "It sounded like you were starting to have a couple nightmares." He yawned. "Didn't want to experience a full one without being rested. You can be touchy enough on a good day, but after last night? Yeah."

"I am not touchy." Natasha firmly poked Clint in his chest with each word.

"Ow, woman! And who was telling me just the other day that if I didn't shut up about watching some chick flick that she'd do all sorts of unspeakable horrors to me? After beating my ass down in the gym?" Clint swiped his hand in her general direction. "Really have to work on your threats, you know."

"My room, my TV, and you're so noisy with your complaints, I can't focus on what I'm watching. I don't complain about watching the things that you like when we're in your room, do I? And the day before, you beat me. Fair's fair." Natasha watched as Clint felt around next to him on the bed.

"You do this little sniff and get a look on your face. So yeah, you do complain." Clint's hand had finally made contact with Natasha's leg, and he moved it until it was resting on her thigh, giving her a light squeeze. "Women," he grumbled with no real anger, and Natasha felt his hand relax.

"Men." She shook her head and went back to watching TV. Starting to feel hungry, Natasha looked over at Clint. He was fast asleep, and so she just turned off the TV and climbed out of the bed. Digging in her backpack, she left him a note, and went to find the mess hall. Surely they couldn't ruin toast.