A few notes on the story: each chapter begins with a flashback, it is almost completely written so updates should come every day, and I will put additional warnings at the top of each chapter as they apply.
This story is rated M for violence, mentions of past abuse, torture scenes, and later sexual content.
Please don't hesitate to review! I would love to hear what people think.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any characters/organizations/plotlines related to them. If I did, we'd have a lot more Black Widow and Hawkeye.
Thank you BlueEden for the review on chapter 10, and for pointing out that I repeated a paragraph in it. That's fixed now :)
Waverley, Iowa—1989
Clint could barely reign in his enthusiasm when his father left that night. His family never got time without Harold Barton around. The man didn't want his wife and kids to experience any freedom at all. He made sure to always be around, or to make sure they knew exactly what they were and weren't allowed to do. But on this night, he had to leave them in order to go to a business meeting. It was really just an excuse to go out drinking, and his boss had implied he'd be considered for termination if he didn't show up. So, Harold had left, instructing his wife and sons to stay in the house and not do anything other than go to bed after dinner.
Clint's mom was in a good mood. She had an easy week at work, and things at home have been good (well as good as they ever are). So she decided they can have a little fun before Harold gets back. As long as the kids are in bed when he gets home, he'd never know. They would eat grilled cheese and drink apple juice for dinner. And do it in front of the TV, Clint getting to pick the movie. He settles on Black Cauldron because it's as old as he is!
It's a bit of a scary movie for the four-year-old, but curling up between his mom and big brother makes everything seem perfect.
Two hours before Harold had said he'd be home, the front door opened and he entered the house fuming. The business dinner hadn't gone well and the alcohol had only fueled his rage.
His roars filled the house as he grabbed his wife and started shaking her.
Clint pulled his blanket up and squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the happy night he'd had until his dad came back home. It almost made the beating worth it.
SHIELD Base, New York —2007
Sanders finished patching Clint up, complimenting Natasha's medical treatment after hearing what she had done and admonishing Clint for getting himself injured. Again.
"Barton, you're banned from training and missions for a month," Sanders said as he finished tending to the injury.
"Now doc, don't you think that's a bit much? How about a week?" Clint negotiated.
"One month then a check up, if everything goes well that's when I'll clear you. And you're on crutches for the next week, at least."
"I don't need crutches."
"Be glad I'm not making you use a wheelchair," Sanders threatened. "If I don't think you're using the crutches, I'll restrict you to base and put you in an infirmary bed."
Clint opened his mouth to continue arguing but stopped when he saw Phil shake his head.
"What am I supposed to do for an entire month if I can't train or anything?" Clint whined instead.
Phil smirked, "You could go out and experience the world."
Clint made a face, "That sounds terrible Phil, how about you guys let me keep training and going on missions instead?"
Phil simply laughed in response.
After leaving the infirmary, Phil led his agents—Clint on crutches—to a briefing room. Inside, Nick Fury awaited them.
"Agents," Fury greeted.
"Director," Phil replied respectfully.
Natasha nodded as she took a seat.
Clint smiled sarcastically at Fury, "Oh Director, you didn't need to come all the way down here just to see if I'm okay. Sanders says I'm fine."
Fury's glare turned to focus on Clint, "Don't be cute Barton. You broke protocol again. Give me one reason why I shouldn't fire you here and now. The Council wants you out, and frankly I'm beginning to agree with them."
Clint had the decency to look somewhat remorseful before he responded, "Sir, as you know, I think the protocol regarding captured agents is bullshit, and I know you agree with me. As it is, my breaking protocol allowed us to successfully complete the mission. That's why you aren't going to fire me: you know I'm going to do the right thing, regardless of orders or protocol, and I'm going to finish the mission."
Fury continued to glare.
Phil sat down and prepared to take notes. He cleared his throat to break the tension, "Start from your last check-in."
Natasha glanced at her partner before speaking, "Agent Barton left around 0800 hours to run surveillance up Bison Peak. I remained at the cabin…"
The debrief had taken most of the afternoon by the time they were free to go.
"Hey Romanoff," Clint called as they left the briefing room. "You staying on base or in the city?"
"In the city…" she said warily.
He grinned, "Great! So you can give me a ride home."
Natasha frowned and started to refuse.
"Sanders said no driving and since you're headed to the city it works out perfectly," he continued, with a smirk.
She studied him for a moment, "You're not going to accept my refusal, are you?"
Clint's smirk grew wider.
Natasha sighed, "Fine." She wasn't going to fight him on this when all she wanted to do was get back to her apartment, get some food, and sleep.
They grabbed their stuff recovered from Yellowstone from their quarters before heading to the motor pool. Natasha checked out a car, ignoring Barton's complaints about not being able to take his bike.
The drive into the city nearly made Natasha shoot her partner. He spent the entire ride fiddling with the radio (but first he mocked her choice of Classical music), singing along to the radio (loudly and poorly), and talking (about absolutely nothing). Natasha had never been more relieved than when Barton got out of the car.
She returned to her apartment and settled in, preparing to enjoy a month of relative relaxation. With Barton out of commission, SHIELD didn't want to send her out in case she turned on them. Not likely, she thought, not with the tracker in her for sure. All she had to do for the month was keep up her training. She'd get to avoid SHIELD, although she knew someone would always be keeping an eye on her.
New York City—2007
Three days into the break, Natasha was back to contemplating killing her partner. The man texted her constantly, trying to get her to come over and watch movies with him. He'd tried everything from bribery to threats. She had stopped responding two days before.
Her phone chirped, alerting her to the new message.
With a long-suffering sigh, she set her book aside and picked up the phone. She frowned as she read the message, "SOS need help can't get a hold of Phil please come #842 door code 90735."
Natasha pursed her lips for a moment deputing her options: ignore the text and assume he was fine, risking being wrong; or accept he needed help and go help, risking it all being an elaborate method to get her to come over. She sighed. She owed him not only for sparing her in Minsk, but now for rescuing her in Yellowstone. She soon found herself headed to Clint's apartment after sending him a text: "This better not be a joke."
She parked the car in the nearby parking garage, using the code Clint had texted to get past security without paying. She headed into the building, typing in 90735 at the necessary keypad. She then began the long climb up to the eighth floor. Natasha avoided elevators whenever possible, simply because they were too easy to get stuck in. Years of survival had taught her to always have an escape plan.
The dimly lit hall outside of the stairwell made her raise an eyebrow. She'd expected something less—sketchy. Various items sat outside of most doors: bills, trash bags, empty bottles, and even some clothes. 803… 805… 807… Natasha sighed, this was going to be a long walk through the dingy hall, dodging obstacles and hoping no one saw her. She might hurt Barton if he made her walk through the filth for no reason. The hall took a sharp turn and continued to the right when she reached 829. Sighing, Natasha continued on until she found 842, one of the few doors without stuff sitting outside of it.
She raised a fist and knocked, unsure if Barton would be able to answer or not.
Movement on the other side of the door, alerted her before it swung open, showing a grinning Clint balancing on crutches. He wore a pair of loose blue jeans, hanging low on his hips, and a purple t-shirt.
"Oh good, you're here," Clint said as he pushed himself out of the doorway. "Shut the door behind you."
Natasha stepped insider, eyes narrowing as she glanced briefly at her surroundings before refocusing on the man in front of her. Her voice was deadly when she spoke, "What's the emergency?"
Clint scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish, "Who said emergency?"
Natasha's eyes narrowed and she took a menacing step forward.
Clint held up his hands in surrender, "You were ignoring me. How else was I going to get you to come over?"
A gun appeared in her hand, aimed directly at Clint's head.
"Hey now, let's not get too upset," he said quickly.
The standoff broke only when a timer went off in the kitchen, drawing their attention away from each other.
"Oh good popcorn's done," Clint said and turned away from her, headed to the kitchen.
Natasha holstered her weapon and followed him, still fuming. "Why the hell am I here?" she demanded.
Clint pulled the bag of popcorn out of the microwave and dumped it into a bowl. He then carefully balanced the bowl in the crook of his right arm before hobbling out to the living room with only the left crutch.
Crossing her arms, Natasha decided she wasn't going to move from the kitchen until he answered her question.
"Why am I here?" she repeated when he returned.
"You said you hadn't seen the Black Cauldron. I figured we could start your American education there and then move on to some other Disney movies."
Natasha growled, "Barton, I don't want to watch movies with you. I don't want to spend time with you. I don't want to bond with you."
Clint shrugged, "Well that sucks because I'm not giving you a choice. We're supposed to work together and trust each other, and you know what, that means I want to get to know you and I want you to experience some fun things for once in your life. So suck it up because you aren't leaving until we've watched at least three movies tonight."
Natasha was too shocked by his suddenly dominating tone to come up with a clever retort.
"Now, before we get started, what do you want to drink? I've got beer, water, milk, apple juice?"
Natasha wrinkled her nose, "Apple juice?"
"You don't like apple juice?" Clint asked, sounding personally offended.
She shrugged, "I've never tried it. Sounds terrible. Why would I want to drink an apple?"
Clint's jaw dropped, "Never… Apple juice… What? Next you'll say you've never had juice at all…"
Natasha stayed silent.
"Seriously, no juice?"
"No, they weren't exactly concerned with giving us fruit drinks in the Red Room."
Clint shook his head and moved to the fridge, pulling out the jug of apple juice before grabbing a glass. He poured a full glass and held it out expectantly to her.
Natasha took it carefully, unsure of his motives. She sniffed it tentatively, sweeter than she expected, and not very apple-like. She raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip.
"Well?" Clint demanded.
She shrugged, fighting to keep the smile she felt hidden, "It's alright."
Clint scoffed, "Alright? It's better than alright. Come on, let's get started on the movie. Bring your juice."
Natasha followed him with an amused half-smile as she took another sip of juice, he was right it was better than alright.
"What if I don't want to watch a movie?" Natasha asked petulantly. She'd already resigned herself to spending the rest of the day here, but it couldn't hurt to ask.
Clint just smirked, "Well I'm going to watch movies and since I'm making you spend the day with me, that means you have to watch with me."
"And what are we watching?"
"The Black Cauldron. Now shut up and drink your juice. It's starting."
Natasha rolled her eyes and sat on the edge of the couch, as far away from Clint as possible.
He chuckled, "You're going to have to come closer if you want any popcorn."
She frowned but slid a few inches closer, refusing to acknowledge the man's self-satisfied smile.
A blue background appeared, with white lines forming a castle with a rainbow and "Disney" written beneath it. A deep voice began to narrate: "Legend had it, in the mystic land of Prydain, there was once a king so cruel and so evil, that even the Gods feared him…"
Throughout the entire movie, Clint kept sending excited glances at Natasha, trying to decipher her reaction to the movie. She did a good job of keeping her face blank, although he caught a few hints of smiles, and she even frowned when Gurgi fell into the cauldron. But her eyes were the most expressive, even she couldn't keep the amusement—and was that almost happiness?—from making her eyes shine.
"Well?" he demanded as the credits began to role.
She shrugged nonchalantly, "Seemed a bit ridiculous. Magic pigs, weird dog creature, evil cauldron."
Clint made an undignified noise, "It's an animated fantasy movie, it's not supposed to be realistic. Watch what you say next, this is my favorite Disney movie."
"I suppose it could have been worse. There's more?"
"Yes. Mary Poppins is next."
"What's that one about? A magic watch?" Natasha taunted.
Clint just smirked, "You'll just have to see. And hey, if you're nice during this I'll let you pick what we watch next!"
After watching the horse race in the chalk drawing, Clint paused the movie and looked at Natasha, "You hungry?"
She shrugged, though the answer was yes. She hadn't had a large breakfast and it was now mid-afternoon. A moment later her stomach growled, betraying her non-answer. She frowned down at it, annoyed that her body was betraying her.
Clint laughed, "I'll take that as a yes. Pizza okay?"
Natasha shrugged and watched as he grabbed his phone and began dialing.
"Do you like pepperoni? And black olives?" Clint asked, holding the phone away from his mouth.
Natasha shrugged for a third time, earning her an eye roll from Clint.
"You can't complain if you don't like it," he said. "Hi, yeah, can I get a large with pepperoni, black olives, and onions? And throw in an order of cheesy bread…"
He rattled off the address and gave the delivery guy the code before hanging up and looking at Natasha, "It'll be here in half an hour."
The movie resumed, once again captivating the two assassins. The sudden knock on the door (exactly twenty-nine minutes later) made both of them whip around and reach for weapons. Clint relaxed immediately when he realized it was the pizza. He grabbed his wallet off of the coffee table and moved to the door, leaving his crutches behind.
Natasha rolled her eyes in aggravation, of course he wasn't using the crutches like he was supposed to. She stayed out of sight of the delivery person, still playing it safe and keeping her identity a secret.
"Thanks man," she heard Clint say, followed by the door closing.
A moment later he reappeared in the room and set the pizza on the coffee table.
"You want anything else to drink?" he threw over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen.
Natasha stood and followed him—carrying her empty glass, "Sure."
"Water, juice, milk, beer?"
"Just water."
Clint gestured to the tap, "Help yourself."
She filled her glass and returned to the living room. Clint followed with a stack of napkins and a bottle of beer.
"Shouldn't you be using your crutches?" Natasha said.
"Don't need 'em."
She snorted, "Your limp says otherwise."
"You're not my doctor, Romanoff, so lay off. Anyway, it almost sounds like you care…"
"I don't. But I figured since you brought me here based on the assumption that you were injured, the least I can do is make sure you don't actually hurt yourself further," Natasha said sweetly.
He frowned, opened and closed his mouth, then shook his head, deciding not to respond.
"So we've got pizza and cheesy bread. Eat up," he declared, opening the boxes and digging in.
Natasha watched with one eyebrow raised in condescension.
Clint swallowed a large bite and looked at her, "What you've never had pizza either?"
"I've had pizza. But I've always eaten it like a civilized person before," she snapped.
"Sweetheart, we're in America. Here we eat pizza with our hands unless there's so much on it that it will just all fall off if we pick it up. This is crappy delivery pizza with only a couple of toppings. Get off your high horse and use your fingers."
Natasha glared and hissed at him, "Don't. Ever. Call. Me. Sweetheart. Again."
Clint rolled his eyes and returned to the movie.
When the credits began to roll on the movie, Natasha turned to look at Clint expectantly, wondering what he had planned next. She doubted he would let her pick the next movie, let alone leave (as she tried to convince herself she wanted to).
Clint faced Natasha with a sappy grin, "Wasn't it great?"
"Better than the last one, though still a bit trite. Why would a grown man want to watch it?"
"You liked it. And I watch it because I watched it when I was a kid. I always hoped Mary Poppins would show up and fix my family," Clint explained, his smile turning melancholic.
Natasha didn't know how to respond. She barely remembered her parents beyond vague ideas and impressions. Based on what she knew of Clint, he'd once had a family, complete with a brother. And he'd found family, of a sort, in the circus. Now he had Coulson, but that was it. She'd never had anyone after being taken into the Red Room.
"It's supposed to teach good lessons about obedience and respect and trust," Clint continued after a moment with a smirk at her. "I was hoping you'd learn something from it."
Natasha made an indignant huff but refused to respond further. She stood up and stretched, "Well if that's all…"
The blonde man shook his head, "Oh, we're not done yet. See the stack of DVDs on the edge of the TV stand? You can pick the last movie we watch today from that stack. Feel free to ask questions if you don't know what they are."
Natasha hesitated before approaching the aforementioned stack of movies. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs read the first case. She set it aside with a frown. She recognized that one. Others followed, some titles sticking out in her mind: Sleeping Beauty, Toy Story, The Incredibles, and Peter Pan. She pulled out the one that had caught her eye the most. The deep blue background contrasted with the yellow-gold of the characters' clothes and the redness of the rose seemed to call to her. Natasha turned back to Clint and held up the DVD.
He grinned, "Beauty and the Beast, great choice!"
Natasha shrugged, "The seemingly animate household objects probably mean it's ridiculous."
"Put it in the DVD player."
Natasha obliged and returned to the couch, flinching slightly at the sudden burst of sound as the trailers began to play.
About an hour and a half later, Natasha rose from the couch, stretching, "There, three movies, now I get to leave."
Clint tutted at her, "Not until you give me an opinion on Beauty and the Beast. You did pick it after all."
"The music was decent, at least Belle was fairly intelligent, but still ridiculous—especially the dancing dishes."
"So you liked it."
She didn't deign to respond, but rather moved around the couch and towards the door.
"See you tomorrow, Romanoff!" Clint called over his shoulder as she let herself out.
Natasha woke early out of habit and though she wanted nothing more than return to sleep, she couldn't. Indistinct images from the nightmares she'd suffered plagued her mind. After tossing and turning for thirty minutes, she rolled out of bed and changed into yoga pants, sports bra, t-shirt, and running shoes. The chilly New York weather raised goose bumps on her bare arms as she stepped out of the building. She set out at a light jog, allowing her muscles to warm up. No need to risk an injury when she could take the time to start slow. Pacing herself for the first mile, she sped up soon after, focusing on the burn in her lungs and the building ache in her legs.
Running kept her distracted from the nightmares.
But allowed her mind the space it needed to dissect her day with Barton.
She frowned as her thoughts turned towards him. Loath though she was to admit it, yesterday had been enjoyable. She appreciated his efforts to befriend her, though she balked at the idea of actually becoming friends with him. No, she was the Black Widow. She didn't have friends, because friends were a weakness. You never knew when they'd turn around and stab you in the back. That was a lesson she'd learned the hard way in the Red Room. At least she'd come out on top of that confrontation. Admittedly, his desire to educate her on American culture could be valuable. She really didn't know as much as she thought she did, as evidenced by her complete lack of knowledge of the movies he'd shown her yesterday.
Two hours after she began running, Natasha was approaching her building. She'd resolved to ignore all of the texts and calls she received from Barton for the next several days. He'd said he'd see her today, but she had every intention of doing the opposite. Trudging up the stairs to the eighth floor, she pulled her keys out of her shoe and stepped into the hallway. Her apartment lay directly opposite the stairs, making it easy to spot any approaching threats and to escape from the building if necessary.
She froze as her eyes lit upon her door. And the man sitting outside of it with a black backpack on his lap.
"There you are," the blonde man said with a lazy smile as he struggled to his feet. "I've been waiting for an hour."
Natasha approached slowly, keeping her face emotionless in order to avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing he'd touched a nerve. How dare he show up here, at her apartment, without warning her? Furious didn't even begin to express her feelings.
Wordlessly, she opened the door to her apartment and stepped inside.
Clint crowded in behind her, not giving her the chance to close the door in his face.
Sure, come on in, she thought sarcastically at him.
He let out a low whistle as he took in the surroundings, "Dang Romanoff, you did good with this place."
Natasha spun around to face him, invading his personal space and making him step back, "Why are you here Barton?"
Clint fought not to flinch at her snarl, he wasn't sure he'd ever made her this angry before, "We're hanging out today."
"No. We aren't."
"But we made plans," he whined.
"You saying 'see you tomorrow' does not constitute us making plans. You tricking me to come over to your house yesterday does not mean I want to hang out with you. You showing up on my door step does not give you the right to barge into my house and demand we spend time together."
Clint had the decency to look abashed.
"I'm going to take a shower," she continued in a deadly calm voice. "You had better be gone by the time I get out."
Without another word, Natasha stalked into her room, shutting and locking the door behind her.
Clint looked around the apartment for a moment before sighing. He'd screwed up, he admitted to himself. He'd pushed her too fast and now she wanted nothing to do with him. His aching leg forced him onto the couch, and into admitting that he should have brought the crutches. He'd climbed the stairs to her floor, craving the exertion he'd been forbidden from, but maybe Sanders was right.
Looking around the sparsely decorated living room, Clint realized just how empty her space was. Nothing personal sat in the room, other than a few books on the bookcase, but even those seemed to be related to the job, not to Natasha. Hell, she didn't even have a TV.
Smirking slightly, Clint came up with a plan and settled back into the couch cushions, determined to wait until she finished her shower. He might die for his choice, but he thought it was worth the risk. She was worth the risk. Though his plan was going to be a bit more challenging without the crutches… He definitely should have brought the crutches because hanging out with Natasha would probably never just be hanging out with Natasha.
Emerging from her bedroom, Natasha frowned when she saw the man sitting on her couch. She squeezed her wet hair with the towel in her hand and moved into the kitchen, ignoring Clint. After filling the kettle with water, she grabbed a mug and bag of tea from the cabinets. She returned to her room to hang the towel, still studiously ignoring Barton. He had to go away eventually.
When Natasha headed back into her kitchen, Clint stood and followed her. He leaned casually against the bar trying to act nonchalant but actually hoping to reduce the weight on his leg. Natasha's raised eyebrow told him she wasn't fooled and knew exactly what he was doing.
"I'm sorry," Clint said after she had finished making her tea.
Natasha finally faced him, her blank expression making him continue.
"You're right," he said with a shrug. "I shouldn't have shown up here unannounced and I am pushing you too hard. I also think that we could be great friends. You may not have any experience with friends or trusting people but you can trust me. I just want to show you that you can."
Natasha's gaze softened slightly, allowing Clint to see that she accepted his apology for the moment.
"Let me make it up to you."
The corner of her lips quirked, showing her piqued curiosity.
"You're house is pretty sparsely furnished. Let me take you shopping. We'll get a TV, DVD player, maybe some movies. Heck, even books to help fill in that empty bookcase. I'll help carry everything while we shop and then bring it up here and get it set up. Then I'm gone."
Natasha sipped at her tea while considering his offer; finally, she nodded once.
Clint couldn't help the relieved grin that spread across his face. He'd half expected her to try to kill him.
"So, when should we get going?" Clint asked, hoping she wouldn't change her mind.
Natasha raised an eyebrow, "After you sit down for a few minutes. Your leg clearly hurts."
"Nah, I'm good."
"Sit. Down." The glint in her eyes warned Clint that she would put him down if necessary.
Sighing, Clint pushed away from the wall and headed back to the couch. He threw a glance over his shoulder, "It sounds like you care."
Natasha snorted, "You said you'd carry everything for me, I can't have you giving out halfway through the day." She washed out her mug before setting it in the drying rack and moving back to her room in order to put on shoes and grab her wallet.
Clint couldn't help smirking at her back as she returned to her room. He muttered, "Totally cares."
"Let's go," Natasha commanded when she emerged from her room. She didn't know why she'd agreed to go shopping with Barton, other than the enticing option of making him carry everything. His apology had thrown her for a loop, she hadn't thought that he would realize the boundaries he had crossed by just showing up. And she wouldn't mind getting a TV for her apartment, purely so she could keep up on news. As for the books he promised, well Barton was in for a surprise. She had every intention of filling her shelves to the brim.
Clint stood up and led the way out of her apartment, "We'll start with the smaller things. That way we don't have to carry the TV for as long."
"We?" Natasha asked condescendingly.
"Okay, so I don't have to carry the TV for as long," he amended. "I guess books first because we'll get the DVDs at the same place as the TV and DVD player."
Natasha nodded.
They reached the street when Clint came to a stop. He lifted one arm to scratch the back of his head before speaking, "So… I don't really know any good bookstores… I don't read a whole lot…"
The red head rolled her eyes and turned away from him, "Come on Barton, there's one just a few blocks away. And an electronics store three blocks past it."
Clint happily fell in beside her as she began walking, "How's New York treating you?"
All Natasha did was shrug in response.
"C'mon Red," Clint cajoled. "Can't we have a decent conversation while we shop?"
Natasha rounded on him, "Enough with the nicknames, Barton. The next time you use one will be the last time you have the ability to produce children."
The man flinched at her threat, "You wouldn't…" He stopped and looked at her before shifting away a step, "Okay, you would. Sorry. No more nicknames. But you still haven't answered my question. How's New York?"
Natasha sighed before answering, "It's fine. Loud but at least it's entertaining."
"Good," Clint said. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't love New York."
"Are you from here?" Natasha asked before she could stop herself, allowing her curiosity to show.
Clint shook his head, "No. I was born in Waverley, Iowa. Lived there until I was about ten, then ran off to the circus and spent the next several years traveling all over."
They continued walking before he spoke again, "I didn't truly get to know New York until I joined SHIELD. Four years has given me quite the appreciated for it."
"Has it?"
"Yep. It's always nice when you can come back from a mission and order food to your house at three in the morning."
"That's a good way to get killed."
Clint frowned.
"Tap someone's phone line and wait for them to order food. When they do, you show up as the delivery person and they open the door," she elaborated.
"Do you spend all your time plotting how to kill people?" Clint asked incredulously.
"No."
He rolled his eyes in response, "So it's just that you don't trust anyone."
"You're right. I don't trust anyone."
Clint stopped again, "You're going to have to trust someone eventually. I hope that someone is me, because we're partners. And you can trust me."
Natasha was struck by the earnestness of his words. She cleared her throat and turned away, not wanting to continue the conversation, "We're here."
In front of the assassins stood a large bookstore. The windows filled with displays and posters of the new releases. Large free letters spilled across the red-brick façade, spelling out "Barnes and Noble Booksellers."
Clint chuckled, "Well you've clearly adapted to American life. You picked one of the largest bookstore chains in the country."
Natasha shrugged, "I haven't had a whole lot of time to explore. Eventually I'll find some smaller shops."
Clint shrugged and followed her inside. He wasn't a big reader but he could appreciate a good book when he found it. Maybe he could talk Natasha into getting the book form of the movies he wanted to show her. With any luck, that would make her more willing to watch the movies.
Once inside, Natasha steered towards the classics section. She'd read Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky as part of her Red Room education. The classics section had given her the familiarity she had sought. She had begun to branch out, away from Russian literature, though she couldn't resist buying more.
Browsing the shelves she gathered a couple of novels, including Pride and Prejudice and Anna Karenina.
Clint obediently followed her through the store, making small comments as she stopped and looked at books, he did get distracted when they made it to the sci-fi/fantasy section, "They have the fiftieth anniversary special editions of The Lord of the Rings still!"
Natasha shrugged in response, she didn't know what he was talking about, nor did she care.
"You've gotta read these," Clint exclaimed, trying to shove the stack into her hands. "They're the original high fantasy novels! Tolkien practically invented the genre!"
"I'm not interested in them," Natasha said after reading the back of the first book.
Clint's jaw dropped, "But-but…"
"Sounds slow and boring."
"We'll watch the movies and then you'll wish you'd got the books!" he said.
Natasha didn't say anything, merely moved away and towards the front of the store once again.
Clint reached out and touched her arm, immediately drawing his arm back when she spun violently.
The sudden touch had caused Natasha to return to her training and get ready to fight. She didn't like when people touched her so the unexpected contact had her on the defensive.
Clint held up his hands and gave her an apologetic look, "Sorry. We should go into the children's section. I mean, this is all about exposing you to American culture… Heck, exposing you to having a life outside of work. So, children's section and we'll try to keep you up to date with the new trends."
She considered his words before nodding and allowing him to take the lead. They walked into the brightly lit and colored section. Natasha raised an eyebrow at the elaborate cartoon landscape painted around the top of the area. They wandered the stacks for a little while, Natasha finding herself focusing on the classics once again. She had added Peter Pan to her stack when Clint came back.
"Okay," he said, holding something behind his back. "You have to humor me and buy these two books. They're the first two in the most popular series in the world. They're really good. And you have to read both both without complaining."
"What are they?" she asked as she nodded. She'd humor him this once.
"Harry Potter."
"I've actually heard of that," she said with a smile, accepting the books. "Okay, I'm done here. We can pay and then go get that TV. I look forward to watching you carry everything."
They paid and exited the store, heading over a few blocks to the electronics store.
Clint laughed when he realized Natasha was leading him into a Best Buy, "Once again, you've shown your ability to adapt to American culture by picking one of the largest electronics chains in the country."
Natasha shrugged and led the way inside.
"Let's get you some DVDs before we go get the bigger stuff," Clint suggested hopefully.
Natasha smirked, "Sure. Just remember you have to carry everything."
That reminder helped reign Clint in, and he only convinced her to buy three movies: Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, Toy Story, and, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. He had seen the last two, and wanted to the see the first.
Purchasing the TV took a while, simply because Natasha refused to buy the sixty-inch flat screen Clint had first suggested. They progressively worked their way down in price and size from there, settling on a small but nice flat screen for her. The DVD player took only a few minutes, mainly because Natasha decided that if she was going to buy one she would go ahead and get the Blu-Ray player, just because that seemed to be where the technology was headed.
Walking back to the apartment provided endless entertainment for Natasha. Clint held the TV box flat, his hands on the edges, with the DVD player, DVDs, and books stacked on top. He often had to stop and adjust the pile to ensure nothing fell off. His leg seemed not to bother him (though she supposed that was probably a combination of sheer determination and an act). People on the street gave them strange looks while they walked.
When they finally reached her apartment, Natasha unlocked the door and watched as Clint shouldered in, setting the pile down on her kitchen table. He then collapsed on the couch with a sigh, "Okay. I'm never offering to carry everything when we go shopping again. That was excruciating."
Natasha went to the kitchen and pulled down two glasses, filling them with water. She took one glass and a bottle of painkillers to the couch, where Clint was massaging his leg. He gave her a grateful smile and took the pills before downing the entire glass of water.
"Do you have anything to eat?" Clint asked hopefully.
Natasha shrugged, not much, "You're welcome to look. I'm going to put these books away. Then you're setting up that TV and DVD player."
AN: Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, so leave a review :)
Preview of Next Chapter: Clint accepted a large teddy bear, "This will make my girl happy, she gets the prize in the end."
"Ты умрешь," Natasha whispered at him. (You will die.)