Rapp hailed Barton in the hall as he headed away from the conference room.

"Barton," he began, falling into stride next to him.

Barton grunted, watching Natasha vanish down the hall ahead of them.

Rapp exhaled. "I'm gonna get straight to the point. There's nothing going on between me and Natasha. She came into my room last night and we talked. That's all."

Barton frowned doubtfully at the floor, again replaying the scene in his mind. Then he said accusingly, "She was wearing your clothes."

"Not mine," Rapp said simply.

Barton looked at him in surprise. "What? Whose, then?"

Rapp merely shrugged.

Barton looked at the floor again, bewildered. Then Natasha's words came back to him: 'I had stepped into your closet when you got there.'

Barton's shoulders relaxed; he almost smiled. Of course… She'd stolen his clothes before. He should've recognized his own stupid shirt.

The thought of Natasha wearing his clothes cheered him for some reason. It was also beginning to seem as though she hadn't slept with Rapp after all; perhaps he owed her an apology.

"Look, thanks for telling me," he said to Rapp in a low voice.

"No problem." Rapp looked relieved. "It was just a kiss, that's all. Nothing more."

Barton stopped in his tracks, something jolting unpleasantly in his stomach.

Rapp paused and looked back, his eyes quickly sweeping Barton's face.

"Nat didn't tell you," he said after a moment, looking sheepish.

Barton glared at him, his anger rushing back in full measure.

Rapp stepped closer, dropping his voice. "She was drunk. Okay?" he said, speaking quickly. "She was upset. I stopped it as soon as it started."

Barton glared at him a moment longer, then stepped past him and stalked to the elevators. Rapp didn't try to stop him.

. . . . .

Barton spent the rest of the day working off some anger in the shooting range, preparing for the mission, and getting the sleep Kennedy had prescribed. He made an effort to avoid Natasha—not so much because he knew things would be uncomfortable between them, as because he figured she wouldn't particularly want to see him. Not after last night.

But Barton knew he couldn't head into the field with things the way they were. It would be difficult to concentrate with all of this hanging between them. Uncomfortable though he knew it would be, he resolved to talk to her. Even if he could not abate all the tension between them, perhaps he could relieve some of it.

Seven-thirty found him knocking on her door. Her muffled voice welcomed him, and he let himself into her suite.

She wasn't in her bedroom. But the bathroom light was on, and the door stood open, so Barton headed over. He stopped in the doorway.

Natasha was leaning towards the mirror, painting her lips a provocative shade of red. She was wearing a short, black, form-fitting dress that, for her purposes, presented her figure to its best advantage and showed as much skin as possible. It was sleeveless, backless, and scandalously low in the front. Her hair was arranged in loose waves around her shoulders, and her makeup made her eyes appear even larger and more luminous than normal. Every detail of her appearance was designed to entice, and it was succeeding almost to a fault.

Natasha's eyes met his in the mirror, then quickly returned to her task. "What do you want?" she asked quietly.

"Uh…" Barton blinked. What did he want? He couldn't remember. All he wanted now was to pin her to the counter, bury his hands in her hair, and kiss her till she couldn't breathe.

Barton cleared his throat, trying to focus, and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. "I want to apologize," he recalled. "For… last night."

Natasha glanced at him in the mirror again. "There's nothing you need to apologize for."

"Yeah, there is," Barton said, crossing his arms. "I should never have said those things. I should've known you wouldn't be interested."

Natasha was shaking her head, eyes downcast. "Don't say that."

"Well, it's true," Barton began, but she whirled to face him.

"Don't," she ordered. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, not you. All you wanted was to talk about your feelings, and I shut you down. It was thoughtless, and—and juvenile."

Barton didn't reply. He felt that she was being a bit too generous about the whole thing—he had figured that she would be more reasonable now that some time had passed and she was no longer drunk, but he hadn't expected her to take the blame.

Plus, her lips were such a distracting color that he was having a harder time grasping her words than he might usually.

Natasha dropped her head, fiddling with the hem of her dress. "I don't know why I reacted that way. I mean, you would've had to tell me at some point, I imagine."

"I—maybe, yeah. I guess so." Barton flushed slightly. Clearly she had grasped that his feelings would have been hard to hide permanently. "But the point is, you shouldn't have to listen to that if you don't want to. You have every right to shut me up."

Natasha folded her arms. "But you're—you're my best friend. You can talk to me about anything."

Barton raised his eyebrows. She would let him blabber on about his feelings for her when she didn't even return them?

"Uh… that's… nice, of you," he stammered. "But if you don't want to hear what I have to say, I want you to shut me up. Please."

Natasha exhaled, looking relieved, and nodded.

Barton cleared his throat. The silence stretched on, and he tried to think of something else to say.

"Oh! Uh… also," he began. "I talked to Rapp, and uh… he said you were telling the truth. About last night. So. Sorry for not trusting you."

Slowly, Natasha began stepping closer to him.

Barton froze.

"It's okay," Natasha said. She drew to a stop directly in front of him, eyes locked with his.

Barton swallowed.

Natasha tilted her head at him. "Um…"

"Yeah," Barton agreed quickly. He could smell her perfume now—he was pretty sure it was chemically engineered to make men go weak at the knees.

Natasha's mouth twitched. "Is it okay—?"

"Totally," Barton assured her.

"—if I, um…?" Natasha gestured past him, and realization struck.

"Oh!" Barton sprang out of her way, clearing the passage. His face flushed hot as she edged past him.

"Sorry," he mumbled as she entered her closet. He moved back into her bedroom as she rummaged through her hangers, inwardly insulting his own intelligence.

"Ready," she announced, seconds later. Barton turned as she emerged from the closet, and a grin spread across his face.

Natasha was frowning with concentration as she buttoned up a blue and gold varsity jacket. It was faded and worn, drawing a stark contrast to her slinky black dress and glamorous appearance.

"It's been getting colder, so I thought I'd wear a jacket," she was saying. She looked up at Barton and stopped when she saw his expression. "What?"

"Nothing." Barton tried to straighten his face.

Natasha crossed her arms over her half-buttoned jacket, amusement sparkling in her eyes. "No, tell me."

Her manner and tone were playful for the first time in days, and his smile grew. He folded his arms and nodded at her top. "Was just gonna say, that jacket really sells the whole seductress look," he teased.

Natasha rolled her eyes, smirking. "Smartass."

Barton chuckled, drawing closer to her. "So… we good?" he asked quietly.

Natasha smiled. "We're good," she said.

Natasha ducked her head to tackle her buttons again. Her hair was still tucked into her collar, and, on an impulse, Barton slid a hand behind her neck and slipped it out.

Natasha sucked in her breath.

Barton jerked his hand back, abashed. "Sorry."

"It's fine," she said quickly. She dropped her head again, and another silence fell as she finished buttoning the jacket.

At last, Barton cleared his throat. "Well. We should probably head down now. Rapp's waiting on us."

Natasha glanced up at him and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, we should go."

She stepped around him to the door and slipped into a pair of black stilettos. Then she paused with her hand on the doorknob, and her bright eyes alighted on him. "Ready?"

"Yeah, I just—" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just gotta grab some stuff from my room. Go ahead, I'll meet you down there."

Natasha left the room.

Barton waited until her footsteps had faded before he headed to his own room. Somehow, he couldn't decide whether he'd succeeded in his object of decreasing the tension between them, or had made it worse.

Aah idk, I feel like this story's pretty good overall, but chapters like this one make me realize just how farfetched this all is. If one of them had been even slightly more clear during their conversation, this spider's thread of a plot would dissolve.

That said, I'm having fun posting this and I hope you guys are enjoying it! I can't wait for you to see what happens in the upcoming mission! :D