This is an Endgame/Clintasha fix it fic because thanks Joss Whedon. It's canon compliant, trust me.

I do not own the rights to anything Marvel. If I did, Clint and Natasha would have their own movie and Hawkeye would still be deaf.

I only own my storyline.

Constructive criticism is more than welcome and reviews are like crack.

Enjoy.

The mission was simple.

Infiltrate. Acquire the target. Engage the target. Deliver the target back to Rhodes.

Cheragh Abbasi was a simple man, driven by power and money. Enough so that he almost made their job too easy. A quickly executed request for a business transaction was enough to get a response and draw him out for a meeting tomorrow.

For now, Clint and Natasha were settled in a barracks room on the Airforce base, lazily flipping through already memorized files. Barton was brooding. It wasn't the focused kind of brooding she grew used to when it came to missions with her partner. It was the same depression that had become his new normal.

And it was not going to fly when she was relying on him for cover and for him to protect himself.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" One perfect red eyebrow arched just barely because he hadn't so much as glanced in her direction. But of course, he knew.

She had a few options. She could coddle him and try and coax him out of his haze of self-hatred with feigned sweetness, or she could goad him. She could draw out the darkness and try and pull the old him back out.

It was an easy decision really. They didn't have time for sweetness and words because she needed her partner back now.

"Wondering if you've gone as soft as you seem." He heard the challenge in her voice. He knew she was baiting him. He knew he should ignore her, but then she continued. "Because in about 3 hours I am going to be pretending to be somebody I'm not with Abbasi's snipers watching my every move and I'd prefer it if my backup was less than suicidal."

Her Black Widow mask slid in place over the simmering guilt she felt and watched as his walls came up too.

"Romanoff," Shit, he was pissed. His fist was clenched on top of the table and his eyes were harder than she'd seen them in a long time. All crushing sadness was gone, in its place nothing but unbridled anger and darkness. She hadn't seen it in a long time. By the time he'd been sent after her, the unchecked teenage rage was mostly under control. He had more control over his emotions than even she did. There were rare occasions when Natasha pushed him too far, or when a mission broke him down that she had seen this. And she knew she was seeing it now because he was letting her. "I am not soft," he was glaring holes into the table now.

"We both know you pulled punches this morning,"

Silence.

"Hit me, Barton."

Alarmed blue-grey eyes flashed upwards and a hollow scoff tore from his chest.

"You're insane."

"Maybe,"

"I'm not going to fucking punch you, Natasha."

"Soft," she whispered back. His eyes narrowed again. "What makes you think you'll even land a hit?" her voice was dangerous now, daring him to baby her. He stayed frozen and emotionless, even as she stood, wrapped the collar of his shirt around her fist and dragged him out of his chair. "I dare you to hit me, Barton. If you've gone soft, if you're going to treat me like I'm breakable then I don't think we can do this job because I'm not going under hostile snipers' scopes without your-"

Then he was shoving her off of him and throwing the punch with no warning.

Natasha's head whipped to the side and his eyes blazed brighter than before as he stared at his fist and felt the telltale ache in his knuckles.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he hissed.

"Wanted to see if you'd pull it at the last second." She shrugged, moving her jaw back and forth with a small smile.

"You're insane, woman." He scowled in disgust.

"Probably."

He was on her in the next second, crowding her against the wall and breathing hard.

"If you think you are going in there with less than perfect backup then you don't know me at all, Natasha."

His eyes softened just a bit then and his fingers brushed over the budding bruise on her cheek.

Then he was gone, disappearing into the bathroom and leaving her to return to studying the files.

Natasha was still studying the file when Clint emerged from the shower, hair wet and towel clinging to his hips. His following smirk drew a genuine smile from Natasha because it was so Clint that she bit her lip to keep the borderline joy off her face.

"See something you like?"

She scoffed and effectively schooled the appreciation off her face as she made a show of looking him up and down.

"All I see is a wet bird,"

"You wound me, Tasha." He placed one hand over his heart with all the drama in the world.

"You're too fragile, Barton." She rolled her eyes.

His blue grey eyes narrowed at his partner's answering smirk, even as she feigned turning her attention back to the files. He was not going to do this again. No more taunting.

She felt the air shift and stiffened when Clint's hot breath was suddenly on the back of her neck and she could feel the heat and humidity radiating from his still damp skin. His toned arms were suddenly on either side of her, hands grasping the desk in front of her, a weak attempt at trapping her.

All air of playfulness was gone and in its place was the familiar darkness that had been glossed over in their years with the Avengers. The electric adrenaline. The dangerous attraction. The red ledgers. All existed under the surface for so many years. Covered up by kids, brain washings, childish love interests, attempts at apple pie lives and goddamn heroics. In all of that, the reality had gotten lost.

They were fucking murderers.

They were dangerous. They were the best assassins SHIELD - shit, the world – had ever seen.

They'd evolved, yes. They'd improved, matured, made up for some of what they'd done.

They'd played good cop because they were living in the light for once in their lives.

But now…now the darkness was back. The family they had acquired for themselves was ripped away, only a few remaining.

Thanos had taken away what made them happy. Just like the Red Room had. Just like the Circus and the Army had. Just like their pasts that seemed so damn far away.

"Barton," she warned.

He growled darkly at the use of his last name in a way that would have made any other woman shudder. Natasha forced the impending reaction down and held still.

"Fragile?" his voice was somehow everywhere around her and it overwhelmed her even before he started mouthing at her shoulder, slowly making his way up her throat, leaving a burning trail in his wake. Controlling her breathing was getting progressively more difficult. Heat was pooling in her stomach and shit they hadn't played this game in so long. "Is that what I am?"

"Your ego damn sure is." But the sarcasm and bite was lost in the breathlessness of her voice.

"I know what you're doing," he breathed the words directly into her ear.

"Razve?"

Is that so?

"Da. Eto to chto vy khoteli, Tasha?"

Yes. Is this what you wanted, Tasha?"

His hands brushed her hair back over her shoulder, fingers trailing along her neck for good measure. Anyone else might have missed the barely there intake of breath but he didn't.

"Pust budet tak,"

So be it.

And then Clint Barton was gone, Hawkeye left in his place, cold, hard, unrelenting and all business.

Natasha steeled herself, locked 'Tasha' behind her walls and fell into the role of Black Widow.

Strike Team Delta was back.

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Updating again this week!