Clint's POV
It doesn't take me long to come to the knowledge of a hostile in the perimeters and I'm ditching my post when the first droplets of rain splatter across my face. The dirt will soon be mud and there was no better time to prepare for an attack then before a storm.
The weaponry caravan is, thankfully, empty, and I hastily shrug on my tactical gear and listen over the comm as Coulson tries to gain control over the situation. Guards are being beaten to the floor in our own grounds and I wonder if I could stand a fight against the God who has come after his property.
"I need eyes up high, with a gun." Well, that was quicker then I expected, but I supposed I've already lost count of how many guards he's beaten up and further action is required.
I reach for the wall that holds the apple of an assassin's eye; guns. I reach for the sniper rifle at first, but make a split-second decision and choose the prototype bow and arrow that Coulson and I have been working on; it's never too soon to test some new weaponry, right?
The weapon is heavier then my normal bow and we haven't quite matched it with a quiver, so the arrows are fisted in my other hand instead. I don't need more then one, my aim is always perfect, but this is a God and he is powerful, so it's better to be safe than sorry. The bow is sleek and the coolness of the metal seeps through my fingerless gloves. It's a bit too chunky for my likening but with a few fixer-uppers here and there, it would be the perfect killing machine.
I kick open the door and notice instantly that the drizzle has now turned into a full blown rain storm, and the mud is thick and sloppy and I try not to slip but its hard but I don't mind because adrenaline is pumping through my veins because I finally get to do something!
There is already someone controlling the huge crane towering over the large dome tents and I throw the heavy bow and arrows into the rusty crane pit and haul myself over the railings. The crane begins to move and soon I am airborne, the pit wobbling and swaying side to side and I grip the edges to keep my balance.
I go up, up, up until the rain doesn't seem to hit my head as hard and I can see the whole perimeter of our base, and even better, the silhouette of a huge, deadly man causing chaos within the tents. He's much like Natasha in the way he attacks; hit and run, don't clear the bodies.
My comm link crackles to life and Coulson's voice is slightly delayed from my height. "Barton, talk to me."
I pick up and weapons and draw an arrow, the mechanical sound of the bow string pulling taut against its metal binds lie music to my ears. "You want me to slow him down, sir? Or are you sending more guys in for him to beat up?"
"I'll let you know."
I keep my arrow drawn and knocked into place and follow the Gods silhouette until he appears in an opening that leads to that 'magical' hammer I'm not allowed to look at. Not going to lie, it was spectacular and looked like it could cause a lot of damage in the right hands, even if it was wedged into a slab of rock.
The God was even bigger when seen clearly; his hair was blonde and came to his shoulders and his arms were far bigger than mine. Even from this height, I could see a familiar glint in his eye as he looked at his beloved hammer; the same glint I have when I look at my bow and the same look Natasha has when she holds her guns.
He is about to step forward and claim his prize, but an unsuspecting attacker is in the midst and knocks the God right off his feet. I see him grin and say something unintelligible to the guard towering over him, most likely a smart ass comment I was known to make, before he swings a nasty punch right to the guards jaw and sends him stumbling back.
They both engage in a hand-to-hand fight, and are evenly matched, although the God must be weary after fighting such weak guards before this one. They fall through the tent wall and land in the mud, thrashing and punching and kicking violently as the brown sludge dripped down their faces.
And then the God does this brilliant thing where he jumps high into the air, kicked both his legs forward and lands them squarely against the guards chest. They both fall to the ground, but the God is up before the guard, and makes one last kick to him before he can stand. He grins again, wiping the mud from his cheek and flicking his long hair out of his face, and even though it was rather feminine, he still made it look ferocious.
"You better call it, Coulson, 'cause I'm starting to root for this guy." I grin, watching as the God narrows his sight to his weapon and makes his way forward once more.
It's a tremendous moment; he looks at his hammer as if it were a friend, not a weapon. He smiles wide and simply stares down at the reason behind his troubles, marvelling in his victory of defeating an entire base on his own to get here, unaware of the arrow trained to his throat.
Coulson steps forward then, watching.
"Last chance, sir-"
"Wait," he breaths, "I want to see this."
Secretly, so did I.
He reaches forward then, no hesitation in his movements. Despite his bulky build and strength, he is almost graceful in the way he wraps his hand around the handle of his hammer. His grip is gentle at first, savouring the feeling of his success in the battlefield before he claims it as his own.
He tightens his hold, his knuckles bone white before he takes a deep breath and makes one almighty pull. Time seemed to stop as I waited for the outcome; but the hammer didn't budge.
The Gods expression changes from triumphant to confused in a split second, his blonde brows knitting together in confusion. He pulls again, harder this time, but the hammer stayed put, even after his expression turns to rage and he uses to hands to pull, the muscles in his arms bulging out of his shirt and the veins in his neck becoming noticeable under his skin.
I can see that he's groaning as he tries again and again to pry the weapon from the rock, but his voice doesn't reach my ears until his ear-splitting roars echoes over the land. He steps away, almost in shock, staring at the hammer as if it betrayed him to an unforgivable degree.
And then he drops to his knees in helplessness, head bowed and arms limp by his side. He's given up; the one thing he fought so hard for had refused to succumb to his touch. He forgets the enemy's prowling the area, watching, and admiring, and by the way his body sagged, it shows that he has surrendered himself.
"Alright, shows over." Coulson's voice cuts through the sentimental moment, and suddenly, everyone is now alert. "Ground units, move in."
The God is hauled away and I let my bow string go limp as I set my arrow aside. That's the last time I see the God, who I learn to be named Thor.
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Natasha's POV
It's late in the night by the time I clock off from the busy duty as Tony Starks secretary and finally retire for the night. I bid goodnight to Tony and Pepper, who are sitting on the couch, arguing over security measures over his home. Ever since Ivan attacked, Pepper's been worrying over Tony's safety like an over-protective mother.
Stark glances up at me as I collect my coat and gives me this sarcastic I'll-pretend-to-like-you-while-you-spy-on-me look and tells me to enjoy myself for the rest of the night. Pepper calls over her shoulder, not bothering to turn and acknowledge me, which gives me the perfect opportunity to give Stark a keep-your-mouth-shut-or-I'll-decapitate-you-with-a -spoon look.
The taxi is already waiting by the driveway and I am sure to keep tabs on where the driver is taking me in case he is some sort of secret spy, but my paranoia is vanished when I arrive outside of my hotel. I keep up my act as Natalie Rushman, smiling when necessary and using my 'polite' voice when spoken to. As soon as I reach my door, my shoulders sag and I let out a sigh. Each day was mentally exhausting in this mission, acting as an up-to-date secretary, keeping tabs on an unpredictable billionaire and also watching his back for any enemies.
The hotel door swings open and I kick off my heels as soon as it closes behind me, cracking my sore toes and flexing the muscles. My skirt is in a pool of fabric by my feet once I reach the main area and my blouse is thrown over the chair in my haste to rid of the uncomfortable clothing I am forced to wear all day.
I feel kind of stupid for not realizing there was another person in the hotel suit until I walk into the bedroom and see Clint lying on my bed, reading the journal I've been keeping up-to-date for the Stark mission. He glances up at me when I pause mid-step in the doorway, eyes raking over my nearly naked body with a certain hunger in his gaze.
"Good to see you're getting some use out of the lingerie I bought you," he says casually, closing the journal and sitting up.
"That's classified information you've got there," I say, changing the subject.
"Indeed it is. I do hope you will be addressing Tony Stark by his proper name, not one of the rude ones you've got written in there." He smirks, patting the bed next to him.
I roll my eyes and make my way to where he sits. He watches every step I take, eyes focusing mostly on my bare legs than anything else. When I sit, he instantly reaches out for me, drawing my closer to his side and breathing in the scent of my hair.
"What are you doing here, Clint?" I breathe, melting against his body and letting my entire frame go limp.
"New Mexico mission is over for me now," he mumbled against my hair, drawing back to look at me with a smirk.
"But Coulson left the other day to head back there to sort some more stuff out?" I raised an eyebrow, remembering when Coulson told me he'd been reassigned two days after showing up at Starks front door.
"Yeah, well, my role was done, anyway. I got to nearly kill a God from another dimension, but, y'know, Coulson's a softy and told me to withdraw." He shrugged, and I listened as he told me his exciting story about being lifted into a crane and aiming his arrow at a Gods throat.
Eventually we lie down and pull the blankets over our bodies. Clint kicks off his boots and shrugs off his shirt and the warmth of his skin draws me even closer to him. It's been nearly a month since I've been able to touch this man and having him so close was enough to relieve all the stress upon my shoulders.
He traces odd shapes against my lower back and I curl into his side, kissing his shoulder and resting my lips against his skin. It's a peaceful moment, but is ruined when his hand lingers too close to the waistband of my panties and I get the impression he is interested in something far more intimate than cuddling.
I don't drift off to sleep until I'm covered in a thin layer of sweat, completely naked and laying mostly on top of Clint's body from when I collapsed. His heart thuds loud and clear and I can feel it echoing in my own chest. His breathing is uneven but he tries to regain it as he pushes my hair out of my eyes and wipes the sweat from my brow. The blankets have been pushed to our ankles and he uses his leg to bring it into his hands so he can drape it over my shoulders and keep the chilled air off my bare skin. With a final kiss pressed to my forehead, I close my eyes and let the feel of his hand resting firmly on my hip lull me to sleep, and if I remember correctly, he started humming an unknown tune as I lost consciousness.
.
He leaves the hotel room twenty minutes before I do and it's the last time I hear from him throughout the mission. It ends up fucked, of course, with 70% of Starks exhibition up in flames and exploding drones and evil Russians (more even than me, anyway) and I kick some serious ass and I miss feeling the adrenaline pumping through my veins and every punch and kick is fierce and vicious and even though Ivan wasn't in the room I was searching for, it still felt good to move my body in the way it was trained to move.
Being enclosed in pencil skirts and button-up blouses is so not my thing. That can be left for Pepper.
My job isn't finished, though. I still need to complete my report on Starks acceptance in the Avengers Initiative and I feel the need to set things straight between the billionaire and myself.
I'd just finished gathering the last of my hidden weapons from Starks Malibu home by the time he arrives. He's bruised and bleeding but he hardly notices me as he heads straight for his bottle of scotch. It's not until I zip by duffle bag shut that he turns to look at me, eyebrow quirked and lips set into a straight line.
"Agent Romanoff," he says gruffly, tilting his glass my way, "I didn't expect to see you here. Thought you were headed back to your super secret organization to spy on more innocent billionaires and worm your way into their trust just to crush it."
"It's part of the job," I shrug, and he scoffs, looking my cat-suit up and down in disapproval (or approval? Who knows?) "But I don't want it to end like this."
"So you're apologizing?"
"No." I shake my head. "I never apologize. I just want you to know it's nothing personal. And everything you told me will be kept a secret."
"Why do you care?" he cocked his head to the side, walking over to where I stand.
"I don't know. I just don't want there to be any debt between us. I'm still trying to owe one to my partner."
"Partner? Partner as in 'partner-in-crime' or 'partner-in-bed'?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" I smirked, and he drained the remaining contents of the scotch from his glass, clamping his eyes shut momentarily at the burn.
"Well, I vote for the latter. I bet you have mad assassin sex, and use your skill in the field in the bed as well."
"We haven't reached that stage yet." I smirked, and his mouth dropped open in mock shock.
"I knew it! He is your partner-in-bed! I just manipulated a master assassin!" he fist pumped the air.
"Actually, you didn't manipulate me at all. I chose to confirm your suspicions; you had nothing to do with it."
He snapped his mouth shut with a pop and turned around to re-fill his glass. "Whatever. I'm going to bed."
"So are things…?"
"You mean do I forgive you? Sure."
I frowned. "That was quick."
"Yeah, well I figured that since you just told me about your personal sex life that the debt was pretty much clear. Now go wipe the one with your partner." He waved me off, and I brushed past him, towards the door.
"If only it was that easy."
.
The report takes less then half an hour to complete and I hand it over to Fury as soon as I land on base…
Well, the new base. The Helicarrier.
It's huge and it's impressive and there's so much military equipment but it gets even better as it lifts from the ocean and I'm rushed inside and there's hall after hall and room after room and there's just so much that it's overwhelming and I now know why Coulson was so excited about it.
Clint's already waiting for me inside but we must act professional and I greet him with a nod. He gives me a brief tour of the place, telling me the important places to remember, such as Fury and Coulson's office, the gym, the weaponry room, cafeteria, dormitories and so on. Oh, and the special screening room where meetings with the Council will be held. Ugh.
We have separate dorms but that doesn't mean we can't sneak and Arrow will be allowed on board in the sniffer dog department; he might even be trained to one day make his way to the field, which is great.
But the best thing is Clint's quin jet licence that was approved. This means we can fly on and off the Helicarrier when desired and park the jet at ground base. It was perfect.
So that's what we did. I was the co-pilot and we flew home in no time at all. The jet was faster then the standard plane and can perform sharp turns and can be upgraded to hold weapons, which Clint is more than excited about.
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Clint's POV
It feels like the two missions hardly took place at all as soon as we entered our apartment and let our assassin masks slide off. I made crappy pasta and we ate it with flat cola, not really speaking but simply enjoying. Later that night, Natasha curls into my side and I glide my fingers through her hair, letting the ringlets encircle my digits.
"I think I'm going to get it cut," she whispers suddenly.
"How short?"
"Short short."
"Why?"
"It gets in the way sometimes. And I feel like doing something different."
I tried to imagine Natasha without her signature hair; the long red curls cropped and hardly hanging below her neck. It would be strange, and I knew her features would change, too. He face would look slimmer and her eyes sharper, but it wasn't bad at all.
"I think you should." I decided, looking down at her and smiling.
"Soon." She nods against my chest, tightening her hold on my waist. "But for now, lets sleep. I've missed this bed."
.
It came as a surprise when Coulson knocks on our door early the next morning. Natasha and I swear in two different languages and do rock-paper-scissors over who should answer the door, and of course, I do.
I hold the pillow over my crotch because Coulson would feel uncomfortable seeing me in nothing but some tight jocks and answer the door, hardly even looking at him before making me way back to bed. He goes straight to the kitchen and gets himself a bottle of water, following me into my room and finding me half asleep once again. At least Natasha had the decency to sit up and acknowledge him.
"You really need to re-stock your kitchen." Coulson says as he opens up the bottle of water.
"Maybe we could if we weren't sent on missions that last for months." Natasha grumbles, running a hand through her soon-to-be short hair.
"Preservable food does exist. Anyway, I need your advice, Natasha."
It those words, my eyes snap open and I'm sitting up beside Natasha, bewilderment in my eyes because why would Coulson ask Natasha for advice?"
"What's up?" she asks, just as curious as I was.
"You know the Christmas party coming up?"
"Yeah." We say together, and Natasha shoots me a glare because this was her conversation.
"Well, I have a friend that I want to invite but I don't know how-"
"Wait," I gawk, holding my hand out in front of me. "You mean, you have a date?!"
"She's not a-"
"And it's a girl?"
Coulson's eyes narrowed and I felt Natasha elbow me in the side a little harder then necessary.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he said between clenched teeth, cocking his head to the side in barely contained anger.
"Hey, I'm not the only one who thought you were gay, I remember Natasha asking waaaay back when I first bought her in."
"Wrong." Natasha butt in, shaking her head, "I also thought that you were gay, too, Clint."
"Well, I think I proved to you that I'm not-"
"Can we get back to the subject?" Phil finally snapped, stomping his foot slightly and Natasha and I shared a sideways glance, trying not to snicker like teenagers being shouted at by a teacher.
"Okay." Natasha smirked.
"Like I was saying, I want to invite her but I'm not sure how and I don't know how she'd feel being in a room full of assassins in a floating fortress with countless of weapons and-"
"Does she have the security clearance to be invited?" Natasha asked, smirk nowhere in sight and she switched from giggly to serious within seconds.
"I can sort that out." He grinned.
"Well, if she knows what she's in for, then I don't see why not."
"You think so?"
"Yeah. Don't be too desperate though – just suggest it and ask if she would be interested. That's the best way to go on such a sensitive topic." Natasha nodded with finality.
"Okay. Should I call her? Or ask her over coffee?"
"Coffee. Definitely coffee."
"Okay. Okay." He clasped his hands together; smiling as if he'd just solved a mystery. "Thanks, Natasha."
"Anytime."
"So is that all you came for?" I asked as he beamed to himself.
"Yeah."
"Well, can you go? I'm tired." I said, falling back onto the bed and rolling to my side. "Next time you want to come this early in the morning without warning, bring some Maccas."
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