The walk back to his quarters is kind of nice he hasn't shucked his wet weather coat even though he dropped the compound bow back to the armory. He's enjoying the dampness. It's been three weeks of dust and sun and the way it makes you feel like bleached bones after thirty minutes, the storm coming from out of nowhere was a relief. The blond offensive tackle who'd showed up in it to play wrestlemania with the agents on the ground had been a delightful bonus.
He didn't really think he was going to have to take the guy down even in the crow's nest. So now the guy is in Coulson's custody and he half expects that Coulson's offering him a job or tasering the poor dude. You can never rule out the taser. It's a good day when it rains in New Mexico and you don't have to fire an arrow into anyone.
His phone is ringing when he opens the light weight metal door. He pulls it from the desk and answers without bothering with caller ID. It is a SHEILD cell; you don't get wrong numbers on a SHEILD cell. "Barton."
"Is this line secure?"
"Romanoff? That you?" It's been months since he spoke to her. At first he felt like he was becoming a Dickensian recluse all hording his memories of her, replaying everything she had said in his mind and snapping at other agents, but he'd got his strength back, his mobility and brushed up on his hand to hand. Coulson sent him on a one on one, in and out op and then dragged his sorry ass to New Mexico. In the same time Natasha had worked her way up the corporate chutes and ladders of Stark Industries and had been there to watch Stark almost get whipped to pieces by electric whips. Just goes to show you make yourself a superhero and suddenly you get supervillians… with whips… seriously?
"Is it secure Barton?"
"Nat, you called me. On my SHEILD cell I might add. Aren't you supposed to be maintaining your own cover?"
"Didn't Coulson tell you anything?" she laughs softly and he throws himself down on the bunk.
"Nah but then I didn't ask, been under orders to stay out of trouble."
"Stark knows I'm SHEILD. Had to call Fury in when his birthday party went further downhill than the usual egotistical, far too much money for your own good nonsense. He's been instructed to keep silent on my role here but I don't think Mr Stark is that in control of his impulses." He can hear her roll her eyes.
"And you missed me," he adds rubbing the last of the rain from his short hair.
"And if Ms Potts hadn't have been in the room the other day I might have pulled out the Widow's kiss." He sucks in a breath noisily. That knock out gas is not to be trifled with Stark must be getting on her last nerve. He's almost jealous, he likes that he is often the most annoying person in her life.
"You aren't worried that Virginia Potts is keeping you under surveillance?"
"With what time? I suspect she's been running the company for years but now she has to do it while death wish Tony is trying to run it into the ground. No, Potts is only interested in me doing my job and Stark was only really interested in finding out if I had a boyfriend."
"I saw you in some of the Monaco footage, I'd be interested too."
"Intelligence indicated that it was a look most likely to be effective in getting me out of legal and shadowing the mark."
"Tash if intelligence told you to go in dressed like a large chicken would you?"
"Thankfully such an advisory has yet to be made Barton."
"Missed you too," he says because she isn't going to say it.
"Is it good to be back?"
"It's been fucking boring. Till tonight anyway. We are babysitting a…it looks like a prettied up hammer but it gives off radiation like a satellite and is sitting inside a giant crater. The biggest thing we'd done was commandeer all of this uptight astrophysicists work."
"Till tonight?"
"Yeah, big ass storm and this giant polar bear of a guy shows up tears through Coulson's agents and tries to pull the fancy pants hammer from the rock. He couldn't do it and so he just drops down in the mud and has himself a good ol' cry."
"Sounds like SHEILD material," she says and he laughs.
"Just what I was thinking. I was rooting for him by the end of it."
"Oh Ястреб , that big heart of yours, will you never stop bring home strays," she sighs at him but he can't stop smiling. It is wonderful to hear her voice again. It is wonderful to have this easy back and forth again. He'd almost managed to convince himself that it had never been that good. He hasn't stopped loving her. The faded ache of it still follows him around arriving two seconds after he does wherever he goes. But if she doesn't stop calling him Hawk and making him laugh he is pretty sure it is enough.
Clint was never taught that if he worked hard enough or was brave or good enough he'd get the girl. He was taught he was worth nothing; he was but an arrow and a target. Strange to think that years of a shitty childhood can throw in some good coping skills in among all the crappy ones.
"The folks I root for never let me down."
"Never?"
"Never." He can hear her throw shoes down on hard wood floors and the clip of heels is replaced with a soft shuffle. She opens a refrigerator. "You're not just getting home?"
"Mm Hmm. The PA to the CEO of a multibillion dollar company does not go home at five."
"Please tell me you aren't intending to cook?"
"Natalie Rushman is a good cook."
"Right but the second drawer down to Natasha Romanoff is just a place to keep the unconventional weaponry. Tell me you aren't starving because your cover can supposedly cook?"
"Cold Chinese takeout." She rattles through a drawer and he can hear her tap chopsticks together near the phone.
"Mothers milk to spies everywhere. I approve."
"I live for your approval," she replies dryly.
"I know it's a little pathetic really." She laughs at him, a low and honey marinated laugh that makes his toes curl. "Hang on, gonna pull off my boots. Just realised I've got mud on the sheets." She is quiet while he grunts and yanks the heavy boots from his feet and only speaks again when she hears them hit the metal floor.
"I should go," she says and he wishes he could stop her. "Stark expo stuff tomorrow."
"Sure."
"Clint?"
"Yeah?"
"I do miss you."
"Calm down Romanoff anyone would think you were in love with me," he jokes and instantly realizes he has got the tone and the timing all wrong. There is a long pause before she answers. He can actually feel himself freeze like a deer in headlights, like a henchmen in front of his bow, in the goofiest way possible, it's like he thinks if he doesn't move somewhere in Los Angeles she will forget he's on the other end of the phone saying the most appallingly inappropriate things.
"Anyone might," she says softly. His brow furrows and he blinks slowly confused by what she's just said.
"Tash?"
"Night Barton."
"Yeah 'night Nat."
He's always seen better from a distance. From on high, from far away, the patterns are not disrupted by the noise of intersections and anomalies. Pulling off his socks and dragging the oil skin coat from his back her comment clicks into place with other comments he's let slide not understanding them at the time, not having enough information to make the call. He tries to let this one slide too. He tries to let the analysis run in the background of his mind while he writes up his report.
"Dying men can only be counted on to tell you what you want to hear."