They remained silent until Natasha finished her cigarette and took out another. She tapped it a few times on the railing before bringing it to her lips, lighter in hand. She hesitated before lighting it and took it out of her mouth.
"What time do they want me back at medical?" She asked Clint.
"In an hour." He told her. Natasha sighed and put the cigarette back in her mouth and lit it. She took a long drag and let it out slowly, the smoke curling artfully from her lips.
"You really hate hospitals, don't you?" Natasha tensed and shut her eyes, gripping the railing hard.
"You could say that." She replied tersely, knuckles turning white over the railing. Clint took a step closer to Natasha and placed a hand on her back, running his thumb over her spine and she relaxed, leaning back into him and resting her head against his shoulder. Clint took Natasha's broken in arm in his other hand, turning it over, examining her odd injury carefully.
"Is it because of the people who made this possible?" It wasn't so much of a question as a statement. Natasha simply nodded as her response as she took another drag from her cigarette. There was a long stretch of silence as Natasha finished her cigarette, only after she had put it out did she speak up.
"You know that whole 'super-solider' thing that the US had goin' on in the forties?" She asked somewhat nervously.
"Yeah, SHIELD's got a pretty big stake in it. It's been a while since I heard any talk about it at base though." Clint continued to rub Natasha's back softly even as she stiffened at his words. "I'm going to guess Russia had some stake in it all too." He tacked on softly at the end.
"Of course they did." Natasha snapped bitterly, then relaxed as she took a deep breath. "But, it was only designed to make us more resilient." She continued. "They were afraid if they made us stronger we would overpower them. Turns out that they didn't ever have to worry about the we, considering I was the only one of the test batch who survived the injections." She elected to not tell him that she wasn't the only test batch. There were some things that SHIELD just didn't need to know about the Red Room.
"Did it hurt?" Clint asked as Natasha turned to face him and leaned against the railing.
"They rewrote my genetic code. What do you think?" She shot back sarcastically.
"Sorry." He amended. "Stupid question." They lapsed back into silence. Clint was loving the moment though, being both relieved and grateful that they weren't fighting today.
"Well," Natasha began, looking up at Clint with mischief in her eyes. Clint hated that look. "now you know why I hate hospitals, what's your excuse?" Clint was taken aback by her question.
"What?" Natasha rolled her eyes at him.
"It's obvious you hate hospitals. You patch yourself up or have me do it for you whenever possible and always check yourself out of medical early when you end up there." That was true actually, Clint wasn't fond of hospitals or doctors at all, and Natasha was clearly his medic of choice when it came to most injuries. He should've know she'd notice.
"If you must know, it's just a series of bad encounters from my circus days. I lost a lot of trust for doctors back then." He explained, her face when he said 'circus' was priceless though. It was a cross between amusement, and utter confusion.
"You were in a circus?" She practically bounced with excitement, her face smiling widely. He smiled a bit too, though more because of her than reminiscing his circus years.
"Yeah. It's actually where I learned to shoot, believe it or not." He told her and her jaw practically hit the floor.
"No." She said disbelievingly and he nodded. "You were a circus wonder-boy?" Again, Clint nodded and she laughed.
Natasha was practically hysterical at the thought of her partner in a circus. She was confident that Clint had her beat on the sheer weirdness of their pasts. She, never in a million years, would've guessed that he'd learn how to shoot in a circus.
"Oh, god, that's priceless." Clint only smiled at her, letting her enjoy the moment. The circus hadn't been the best of times for him, but he did agree with her that it was funny that he ended up there. Maybe he'd actually tell her what it was like one day. He hadn't even told Bobbi, but he had a feeling that if anyone could understand what it was like, it would be Natasha.
"Are you quite finished?" He asked amusedly as her laughter died down. She took a deep breath and stilled, a smile still etched into her features.
"Yeah, I'm good." She said after a minute, then ducked through the window back into her apartment. "C'mon Wonder Boy, we've got to get back to base." She called over her shoulder as she pulled her leg through.
"Dear god, if you keep calling me Wonder Boy I'm going to punch you." He called back, climbing through the window and shutting it behind him.
"Consider it payback for every variation of my name you've ever called me." Clint sighed and rolled his eyes. He was going to be stuck being called Wonder Boy now, goddamn it. Natasha ducked into her room and emerged a minute later in a pair of jeans instead of her sweatpants, and slipped into a pair of flats by her front door. They rode in silence again, as usual, back to base and made their way back to medical. Natasha tensed gradually with every step towards the double doors until she looked like a spring itching to be released when they pushed through the doors.
"Relax, Tasha. You're going to be fine, and I'll be right here." Natasha seemed to relax a bit at Clint's words, but only minutely. Still, it was progress. They spoke briefly with a nurse at the front desk before being lead to get Natasha's arm x-rayed so they knew where and how to break her arm. An hour later she was sitting on a medical table, mentally preparing herself to have her arm snapped again by the man standing not 5 feet away from her. Clint was there too, looking more nervous than she was about the whole situation. But, and hour and a good deal of pain later, Natasha was set and ready to go. By the end of the night she would be as good as new.
Clint drove Natasha home and they parted relatively unceremoniously when she got out of the car. There was a definite shift in their relationship that day, and a big one too, but neither of them were keen on acknowledging it so they carried on as if nothing had changed between them. Clint made sure Natasha made it inside before driving himself home. They didn't see each other for another week until they were called into a mission.
"How's your french?" Coulson asked as he tossed both of his two agents a standard manila file folder.
"Parfait, comme toujours." Natasha replied without looking up.
"Comme c'est le mien, coup de chaud." Clint shot her a sarcastic look, and she smiled slyly at him. Natasha was impressed, she knew Clint spoke a few languages, not as many as her, but not that many people did, but she didn't know he spoke french. Or that he spoke french well.
"Impressionnant, Barton." She complimented, eyes still skimming over the file pages.
"J'essaie, Tasha." He had a small smile on his lips, compliments from Natasha were a rare and treasured thing to him. Clint looked up to see Coulson staring at them in disbelief. Usually his agents were trying to kill each other during briefing, this was a welcome change to the usually tense meetings.
"Good. You're target is a political spy that's infiltrated the French government. You'll have access to the target at a charity ball at Versailles. Get her alone and eliminate her. Easy enough, call when you're ready for extraction. Your plane leaves in an hour." They both nodded, engrossed already in the file, and Coulson took his leave. After about 5 minutes, Natasha got up and left to.
"See you in a few." She mumbled as she closed her file and pushed back out of her chair. Clint nodded, still going over the papers. He was a slower reader than Natasha, she always ended up leaving first. When he finished reading he started on his routine that, no doubt, mimicked Natasha's. He picked up his tactical and weapons from weapons storage and headed home to pack for the mission. He exchanged a few brief words with Bobbi, but he was kind of behind schedule so their goodbye was brief. He was just arriving at the hangar as Natasha was walking up onto the plane with her things. He really did need to work on his efficiency when it came to getting ready for missions.
Natasha saw Clint getting out of his car as she walked onto their small plane and smirked. She was always ahead of him, and it was oddly satisfying. It was kind of a petty thing to be competitive over, but she liked beating him. She waited on the top step for him to catch up to her.
"Are you ever going to get tired of me beating you?" Clint rolled his eyes, and shook his head slightly at her.
"You know, not everything's a competition, Tasha." He pointed out, but Natasha only smiled.
"Now, where would be the fun in that?" Clint rolled his eyes at her, but didn't say anything more as they threw their bags on a chair, and hung garment bags with their formal clothing on a hook.
"So what will the lovely Miss Romanoff be wearing to this event?" He mused aloud as she smoothed out the floor-length bag. Clint reached for the zipper, but she smacked his hand away and he looked at her quite puzzled.
"It's a surprise, Barton." She told him sternly. Clint raised his eyes questioningly at his partner. She sighed and pulled him into the seat across from her.
"It's new. I'm excited, and I want to do a 'big reveal' type thing." She explained a little timidly, not meeting is eyes. Clint smiled, taking her small hands in his and she looked up at him.
"Whatever makes you happy, Tasha." He told her, completely serious. If she wanted to do something that was completely ridiculous and frivolous, however out of character for her it was, damn right he was going to let her do it. If something that was 'normal' made her happy, he wanted it for her more than anything.
Natasha's happiness seemed very closely related to his own. He hated to admit it, but whenever she smiled or laughed, it made his day. This was a girl who had seen and done countless horrors, but with Clint, she still smiled. And, it made his heart melt. He was slowly beginning to realize that Natasha was his weakness, and it was going to get them into trouble one day.
Natasha didn't really say anything in response, and they settled into their usual comfortable silence on the plane ride over. Natasha seemingly lost in thought, just staring out the window, and Clint staring at her. About four hours later they began to talk about the mission and what they would do.
After about an hour of intense conversation they had worked out a rough plan that was very similar to that of their first mission, but reversed. Clint would find and seduce the mark, getting her back to either her place or their hotel, while Natasha provided backup and made sure he was clear to get out. Clint not-so-secretly hated the idea of being forced to seduce somebody, but he would have to learn to deal with it to make this work.
Half and hour before their plane landed, they both changed into civilian clothes. As per usual, Natasha looked like a freaking runway model in her girly clothes. She wore a sleeveless navy blue dress with a high neckline that came down about mid-thigh. The front and back of the dress had white horizontal stripes white while the sides had vertical white stripes. And of course, a pair of killer nude pumps that made her legs look like they were carved from marble.
"You know, I don't think I'll ever get used to seeing you like this: unarmed." Natasha chuckled as she sat back down.
"Not quite, Barton." She said mischievously, pulling up her dress to not only reveal a dangerous amount of her thighs, but also her favorite gun strapped down to her leg under her dress.
"Old habits and all that." She stated simply, pulling her dress back down to its proper length. Clint wasn't at all surprised she was packing, but he gave her a pointed look anyways as he got up to go change out of his tactical.
"This gala's in one week, right?" Natasha asked as Clint took his seat across from her upon his return.
"Yeah, why?" Natasha let out a breath and picked up the guest list, her eyes darting over the page quickly.
"I need a date." She mumbled, looking over the names and RSVP's carefully. Clint's brown knitted together and he sat forward on his seat, crossing his arms.
"Why do you need a date?" He asked a bit harsher than he intended. Natasha finally glanced up at him and saw his stern body language and didn't even try to hid her confused reaction to his response. Her confusion quickly morphed into annoyance and she went back to her list.
"Because, unlike you, I can't show up to a gala without an escort. This is high-society and I'm a woman, I have to have a man. And, it's not like you can be my date because you're supposed to be hooking up with our target." She explained, letting her frustration with Clint seep into her voice. Clint didn't respond, but she could feel the tension coming off him in waves. She simply rolled her eyes and went back to work. A few minutes later she finally found what she was looking for.
"Alright, Blaize Frances. RSVP'd as an unregistered plus one. And, bonus, he's a duke." She was talking to herself more than Clint, she knew he didn't like this. But, then again, she wasn't too fond of the idea of Clint doing the seducing here, but she wasn't going to bitch about it.
"You couldn't have picked someone a little more conspicuous, Tasha?" He asked irritably.
"My options are a little limited here." Natasha snapped at him. "So, unless you want me to be groped by a sixty year old that will no doubt want to make me light myself on fire, the duke it is. Deal with it." She was gripping the armrests of her seat tight, her jaw tight and her eyes dead cold. Clint opened his mouth to respond, but Natasha quickly cut him off.
"Listen, I am done with your goddamn protectiveness. I did this job for years before you ever walked into the picture. I know what I'm doing and I can handle myself. If you can't get it into your thick head that I don't need a bodyguard, then we're done." Natasha knew that was harsh, perhaps a little harsher than she intended, but she still meant every word. She wasn't going to work with someone who doubted her and would let personal emotions interfere with getting the job done.
"Could you just drop the damn ice queen act for five fucking minutes, Natasha?" He shouted at her, throwing his arms up in frustration. "I doubt doubt you, at all. In fact, I'm the only one at SHIELD right now who actually believes in you."
"Then why are you always in my goddamn business?" She shot back heatedly.
"Because you're my partner and my friend, Natasha. I fucking care about you and I don't want to see you get hurt again because of something stupid and dangerous."
"How the fuck is conning some random guy stupid or dangerous? Because for me, it's practically routine. You seriously need to learn to keep your goddamn emotions is check, Barton." She warned, dangerously. Her whole body was rigid and tight, from her lean legs to her clenched jaw she was pulled taunt like a bowstring ready to fire. Clint's own posture mimicked his partner's as they squared off against each other.
"Why are you always so fucking eager to throw yourself at some random guy to do the job, like there's no other way, huh? You know, I'm beginning to think you actually like being some prick's personal barbie doll." Clint spat angrily at her. He was rewarded by hard punch to the jaw from Natasha, and was shoved back against the seat a moment later, her small hand closing tightly on his throat. He looked up and met Natasha's eyes, they blazed with all her pent-up rage and frustration. But, there was something else in them too, something Clint would have given anything not to have seen or caused: hurt. She leaned forward, until they were inched apart.
"Don't you ever presume you know anything about me, Barton." She hissed through her teeth before roughly releasing him, grabbing her things and stalking off to get as far away from him as possible in the tiny plane, her heels clicking sharply on the floor as she left. Natasha settled herself on the opposite end of the small plane with her back to Clint, though she could still feel his eyes on her the whole time. She was beyond pissed at Clint. She couldn't even remember the last time she had been this angry, her whole body was shaking with energy as she fought to keep herself under control. The Black Widow was scratching under her skin, her mind yearning to snap back into it's old ways of thinking that had been etched into her brain long ago. She shut her eyes tightly and focused solely on shoving the dark thought out of her head, thinking of the problem in front of her instead.
She needed as much information on her target as possible in the next few hours. That would mean she would have to cash in an old favor, but couldn't get the ball rolling until the plan landed. She occupied herself then with the smaller details of the mission, only broken from her thoughts when the pilot announced their descent. Natasha gathered her things quickly, shoving the loose papers lazily back into their file, jamming the file into before tossing it, and her duffle over her shoulder. She stubbornly ignored Clint as they got off the plane and made their way to the car even though she saw him try to start saying something multiple times. She also ignored his slightly surprised expression as she absentmindedly climbed into the passenger seat of the car, leaving him to drive. Usually they argued for a solid five minutes before determining who would get to drive. He got in without a word and set off for their hotel
About five minutes into their journey, Natasha pulled out both the mission file and her phone and started dialing a number, hesitating for a moment in the middle, brow furrowing and her mouth quirking to the side as she tried to remember the rest of the number. It clicked a few seconds later and she finished dialing and made the call. Clint looked at her questioningly, but she ignored him and he turned his attention, listening to the conversation next to him.
"It's Romanoff." Natasha stated the second the call was picked up on the other end. There was some shuffling and shouting in the background that was soon replaced by another person taking the phone.
"It's been a while, Natasha. What can I do for you?" It was a man on the other end, one Natasha was clearly on good terms with. Well, as good as someone like Natasha can be.
"Hey, Auggie. I need a favor." There was a small chuckle at the end of the line and Natasha smiled a bit.
"Anything for our Golden Girl." She flipped to the guest list in the file and found the name she was looking for in a second.
"I need you to give me any and all information you can find about a man named, Blaize Frances."
"Anything specific, or just the generics?" Natasha bit down on her bottom lip as she thought for a moment.
"Only specific is where he'll be for the rest of the day today and tomorrow morning." She concluded after a minute.
"This one going to end up dead too" Both parties laughed and she shook her head, though only Clint could see that.
"Not this one. I've got bigger plans for him."
"Lucky boy." Clint tense a bit at the reply, and Natasha noticed. She shot him an intimidating glare before turning her attention to the man on the phone.
"When can you get me what I'm looking for?" The was a decent stretch of silence over the line, the sound of clacking keys being the only sound as they waited.
"Give me an hour." There was a certain kind of finality in his tone which Natasha seemed to appreciate.
"You are a god among men, Auggie. See you in an hour." She hung up and put both her phone and file back in her purse before leaning back in the seat, closing her eyes with a satisfied smile. Clint was dying to ask her about what just happened, but wasn't quite sure if it was a good idea. Natasha practically read his mind and, in a few minutes, explained her phone call.
"August Morey, I worked with him a little a while back. Owes me a favor. He works mainly in intelligence gathering, he's got a pretty impressive network running now. He's the fastest, cleanest, and easiest way to get information, if you can afford it, of course." Clint was a bit unnerved by her knowing him, and was more than interested in finding out why exactly he owed Natasha a favor, but quickly decided he didn't really want to know and left it alone.
The remainder of the ride was spent in harsh silence, not unusual, but Clint still hated it. Natasha was indifferent, not fond of conversation to begin with. They were staying a five-star hotel to help keep up the appearance that they belonged to the high society that they would be infiltrating in a few days. When they made it up the their room, Natasha sent off a text message to Auggie, it read:
Park Hyatt Paris, room 1012
To be expected, there was no reply, and Natasha spent the next forty minute pacing around the room out of sheer boredom. She couldn't do anything without the information she was waiting on, and she definitely wasn't as patient as Clint. When there was a knock on the door exactly an hour from her phone call she practically leapt to the door, removing her gun from her holster in the process, and carefully swung the door open.