Let this chapter note serve as the official warning that this fic is now rated E. Read it, skip it, do with it as you will! It's been literal YEARS since I wrote a sex scene (especially a Clint/Nat sex scene RIP) so plz be kind!

Also, I did far more research on Russian housing and apartment buildings than I ever thought I would, but alas, I panicked about not getting it accurate, so did I base Clint and Natasha's place in Moscow off a real Airbnb? Yes. For those of y'all who like visuals for picturing stuff, you can find the actual listing here: rooms/53916411?guests=1adults=1

ALSO, if y'all watched the Hawkeye finale, I've been obsessed with That Scene at the end between Clint and Yelena and what it means with Natasha sharing things with Clint about her past, so... ;)

If you're still here, thank you for continuing this Clintasha journey with me! I'm still a slut for comments, and as always, enjoy! =)

Chapter 11

Moscow was as familiar to Natasha as the sight of her own face in the mirror. Before she'd defected to SHIELD, she'd spent an incalculable number of hours there both on missions and on personal time, if personal time was even such a thing back when she'd been a KGB agent. At this point, with all of her conflicting memories and stories about her life, she didn't know if her pre-SHIELD time had been KGB or if it had been the Red Room. She had so many questions, and she was determined to get answers.

And the first stop on the way to getting answers was Moscow.

"Feels just like old times, huh?" Clint asked as they walked down the street, their individual bags slung over their shoulders. Landing the plane and hiding it in their usual spot without detection had been remarkably easy, but the next big part probably wouldn't go so smoothly.

"More or less."

"We seem to remember very different things about the same missions." Clint grinned as he caught a hint of Natasha's gleaming smile. "Like Budapest? We still remember that differently."

"You always remember the sex part more vividly than the very violent shootout that left us both pretty fucked up."

"Can you blame me? It was great sex."

Natasha shoved his arm, but the muted amusement in her eyes let him know that she wasn't actually annoyed with him. Then, to his surprise, she slipped her hand into his. His face turned curious, and he looked at her with a question in his eyes.

Got to blend in, she said, switching flawlessly into Russian. If we look like a regular every day kind of couple, no one will think anything of it.

Not wrong, he replied. We just don't get to do this very often.

Do what?

Hold hands in public.

Natasha was surprised to realize that she hadn't really considered that before. They were affectionate with each other whenever it was just the two of them, and they had reached a point where they felt comfortable doing small gestures of love in front of the Avengers, but Clint had hit the nail on the head: they didn't do genuine affection if they weren't undercover. Technically, they were undercover as they attempted to seamlessly blend in with Moscow's citizens, but they didn't have names and backstories to keep up with. They didn't have files detailing their mission ahead, which was a little unnerving but also terribly freeing.

Be careful with your accent, she said, changing the subject.

Clint made a face and almost stopped walking as he looked at her with confusion and disbelief. My accent? What's wrong with my accent?

Your Russian's a little rusty. When you don't use it for a while, you get an American twang on some of your vowels.

Now Clint looked offended, and he scoffed. Excuse me! There's nothing wrong with my accent. There isn't any kind of American twang that comes through, no matter what you think you're hearing.

I'm a native Russian speaker, Clint. I can tell a non-native speaker in a second. And to be fair, when you're back in the swing of it, it's almost possible to tell that it's not your first language. So you're good at it. Just need to polish it up a little bit while we're here. Natasha stifled her laugh in response to Clint's scowl. He never liked hearing when he couldn't do an accent right, and she felt a twinge of regret over making him look so unhappy. Frankly, as good as he was with languages, he had never quite had the natural ability to pick them up the way she had, though that was certainly no fault of his own. As a child, he'd grown up in the American midwest, and then after his parents died, he had become a child of the circus. Hearing non-English slang and crude translations from people who had been born in places most people in Iowa had never even heard of had given him the skills to pick up language quickly, but he hadn't had different languages drilled into his head from the time he could talk. But Natasha? That was what she had known. By the time she was 10, she was fluent in seven languages and nearly fluent in another nine.

So where are we going? Clint asked after he had recovered his dignity over her comments about his Russian. Didn't you promise me some answers once we landed?

Hold your horses, Barton. We've barely been here a hot minute, and you're already demanding the next step.

Don't take this the wrong way, but Coulson was definitely a better handler than you.

Natasha opened her mouth to make a snarky reply but caught herself, watching the triumph sparkle in Clint's eyes. Was that to get me back for saying your Russian's a bit rusty?

Smug, Clint nodded, and his face glowed with the kind of self-satisfaction he got whenever he proved to her that he was right about something. Oh, of course.

Ok, ok, you got me. Anyway. Our next step. We're looking for someone.

Vague.

Someone I used to know. From before. When I was a kid, before the Red Room got me, I played with this girl who lived in the same neighborhood as me. I can't get to my hometown until I find out where it is, and the only person I can think of who would know is her.

Out of her peripheral, she watched Clint process what she had just said, and he shot her a look full of curiosity. You're going to have to catch me up a little bit. So you remember all of your past now, but you don't know where your hometown is?

Natasha shook her head, her eyes discreet as they scanned over every person who fell into her line of sight. Even now, she looked for threats, targets to possibly be eliminated if they made themselves known. Each person, every inanimate object could be a weapon that she had to be aware of at all times. I was barely older than a toddler when I was taken, Clint. I doubt I could've told you my birthday, let alone the name of my town. Did you know the town where you grew up when you were that young?

Clint squinted his eyes as he reached back across the memories in his head. I…I don't know. Good point. Probably not.

Exactly. And did you know your parents' names when you were little like that, too?

I have no clue. Again…probably not.

Exactly, she repeated and squeezed his hand for emphasis. So all I have to do is find my neighbor and get some names from her.

Easy enough, Clint said. He caught Natasha's wince and cocked an eyebrow at her. Or not?

Well…first, I have to find her last name. Like I said…I was too young to pay attention to or remember any names other than her first name.

Please tell me it wasn't something super popular.

With her free hand, Natasha gave a wavering gesture. Everything's relative. Once we get set up in our room, I'll be able to get to work tracking her down. Shouldn't be too hard.

You've tracked far more invisible people.

Remember that time when I had to track you? Natasha smiled at Clint's pained reaction. Come on. It wasn't that bad.

It hurt my pride a little, but I suppose it could've been worse.

That particular mission really hadn't been that bad. All of Clint's gear had been compromised, and Natasha had had to blow her cover to break him out of the holding cell he was being held in by the organization they were supposed to destroy. She still remembered the pissed but relieved look on his face when she'd unlocked the door after taking down all of the guards outside by herself. He hadn't been expecting to see her, but there she'd been: barely sweating, breathing slightly harder than normal, and very pleased with herself.

Here we are, Natasha said as she caught sight of the AirBNB she had reserved under an alias. The apartment building was nicer than what was typical of what one would find in Moscow, and neither she nor Clint had ever stayed there before. One step harder to track and one step closer to getting the answers she desperately wanted. She sent up a silent prayer to whatever might be listening as the self-check in code gave her the easy access she had hoped for. Thank you, self-check in gods.

As they made their way to the reserved room, Natasha continued to stay alert. She assessed quick exits and entrances, places that could be good hiding spots for equipment in a tight spot, and weak areas that could leave her exposed in a shootout. Even though she wasn't expecting a shootout, it would have been naive of her to be unprepared for one. She was too good at the job she had done for so long to believe that there wasn't a chance things could go south.

When they reached their room, she sighed audibly as she swung the door open and then shut behind them. "And we're home."

"Yay, English again." Clint's sharp eyes took in the room, and he made an approving sound. "This is nice. Cozy. You know, I think studio apartments are underrated."

"Really?" Natasha dropped her bag on the floor and crossed farther into the small flat. Coziness oozed out of every piece of furniture, and even if Natasha didn't particularly love studios, she couldn't help feeling an odd sense of fondness for the new place they would be calling home for a little while.

"Yeah. Look, everything you need is all right here." Clint spread his arms out, gesturing at their surroundings. "I can't think of anything better."

"I can think of a couple things. Not getting shot at. Winning. A walk-in closet with a quality shoe rack. But I do actually like this place." She knelt down to the floor and started digging through her bag to find her laptop. "And now we get to have fun trying to track down old childhood friends."

Clint flopped out across the bed and gazed at the ceiling above him, listening to Natasha rummage through her bag again, though this time for her charger. "So who are we looking for? Olga? Anastasia? Maria?"

"You can't just go through the names of the Romanovs and hope you land on the right Russian name." Natasha's dry tone mirrored the expression she made as she caught Clint's self-satisfied chuckle. "And on top of that, you're doing it to someone with the last name Romanoff, so I know you think you're real funny right now."

"Hell yeah, I do."

She carried her laptop to the bed and sat on the edge, her back to Clint as she opened the device and put her password in. "Varya."

"Varya?" Clint sat up and looked over her shoulder, watching her type.

"The name of my childhood friend," Natasha explained. "We used to play together, and our mothers were friends. That being said, though, I don't know her mother's name."

"What do you remember about Varya?"

Pausing, Natasha reached back into her memory and thought about the little girl she had been forced to forget for decades of her life. "Well…she had brown hair. She liked swimming and playing with dolls. Actually, we used to make our dolls act as each other. So my doll would pretend to be her, and her doll would pretend to be me, and that was a game we did a lot."

At the thought of Natasha as a little girl, Clint couldn't keep a quiet smile off his face. She must have been a firecracker even then, and all he could picture was a tiny red haired girl with burning eyes and a wide smile, demanding adventures and pretending to be someone else just for the fun of it.

"What?" Natasha asked, breaking Clint's concentration. "Why are you looking like that?"

"Just trying to think about what you were like as a kid. That was a cute image." He shrugged. "Can't help thinking you were probably the most adorable little girl to ever grace the face of the Earth."

"I was usually covered in grass or some kind of dirt from all the playing I wanted to do," she wryly replied. "Huh. Weird."

"What?"

"It's weird just announcing what I remember from my childhood. I've never really had that before, and I'd grown to accept it, so it's just…weird. Not having a blank spot there." She frowned, her mouth twisting with unhappiness. "I never thought I'd have these images and names that I do now. I've got all these feelings that I remember having. I remember feeling excited when I got to play with Varya. I remember feeling pissed when she would have her doll say something that I would never say. It's all so much, one after the other."

"Is that really what made you mad?" Clint asked. "That she wasn't in character enough?"

Natasha's frown faded away, and she bit back her smile. "Yeah. I had a very specific way I liked to play. Even then."

"Some things haven't changed." He rocked into her so his shoulder brushed against hers, playful and sweet. "You still get mad when you don't get your way. I recall many times you've been a sore loser."

"Why do you think I rarely lose?" she countered. Clint's smile warmed her, and she nudged her shoulder back against him in return. "I'm a winner for a reason, Barton."

"I know, Nat." His voice grew softer, and he held his hand out to her. Taking it, she pressed her palm firmly against his calloused one, and she pulled it close to her.

"And you know something else?" she asked.

"What?"

"I won you."

She was the one to initiate closing her laptop, setting it off to the side, but Clint was the one to initiate the kiss. As soon as the laptop was clear, he leaned in and captured her lips with his. Natasha's heart flipped beneath her ribcage as her pulse started an uphill climb she was so familiar with she knew every step of the way. She dragged her hands through his hair, pulling it the way he liked, and was rewarded by a sharp inhale against her lips.

"Nat," he groaned, his voice husky and full. "Natasha."

"Clint."

Before he could say or do anything else, Natasha moved so that she had him pinned beneath her. Curiosity and desire colored his face, and his body pressed up just the slightest bit to test the boundaries of how much he could move. "Jesus, Nat."

Her hands pressed his shoulders down into the mattress, and she leaned down to nip a kiss. "You want me like this?"

"I always want you."

Electric heat shot through her stomach, and she moved back just enough so she could yank his shirt up and over his head. Scars and lines across his skin drew her gaze back to his body once his shirt was on the floor, and she was incapable of stopping herself from leaning back down to get closer to a scar left by a bullet on his shoulder. She flicked her tongue against his warm skin and savored the strangled moan that escaped his lips.

"Tasha."

Clint had always been a talker during sex. She loved that about him, loved hearing him swear and murmur her name when he wanted more from her. No matter who they were supposed to be or what their mission was, she loved his voice in her ear and against her neck. She needed to hear his whispers, his moans, his promises. Her expert hands dragged down his torso until they reached the waistband of his pants, pausing only to undo the button and zipper. Back behind her eyes, a dull flash of pain sparked hotly enough to make her grit her teeth. She saw red–literal red as it escaped Wanda's outstretched fingers. With just a glance, Wanda had been able to break through her mental blocks, and the memory made Natasha's stomach turn, sick and stale.

"No," she said out loud. Confusion passed through Clint's eyes, and he opened his mouth to ask her what was going on, but she cut him off with a kiss. She wouldn't allow Wanda's effects to be in her head while she was with Clint like this. She would be damned if she let a headache ruin this time of being intimate with the only one with whom she could truly share this intimacy.

"Nat–" Clint started to say, but she kissed him again.

"I'm ok. I'm ok. Are you ok? Can I keep going?" She nipped a spot against his ribs, making him jump a little.

"Yeah. God. Yeah."

Moving faster, Natasha undressed and climbed back on top of him in one fluid, graceful sweep of her body. Her breath came quicker, matching Clint's in a powerful standoff of inhales and exhales, and she just needed this time with him to be the two of them. Nothing else. She locked eyes with him, and when he nodded, she sank down onto him with a quickness that made him physically jerk up into her.

"Fuck," she gasped. Clint made a sound that resembled her name, but she didn't wait for anything else. Instead, she set a quick, hard pace that signaled she wasn't in it for the game, for the tease and the drawn out kisses; she was in it to take what she needed and to make Clint feel everything she needed to feel.

"Nata–" Clint tried saying her name but cut himself off with a moan that heated Natasha to her very core.

"Say my name," she breathed. "I need to hear you."

Clint's eyes landed on her, his gaze glassy but sharp. "Natasha."

"Come on."

"Natasha." His hands grabbed her hips as she rose over him, and he brought her back down on top of him in a satisfying slap of skin. Sliding his arm around her waist, he moved them in a swift roll so that he was now on top of her. "Natasha."

For a moment, they both stilled, simply staring at each other. Natasha's legs locked around his waist, and she rolled her hips beneath him, needy and eager for him to continue what they had started. His eyes–God, his eyes–were dark with want, hunger that only she could satiate. She would never tire of those eyes, no matter how many times they peeled her apart and saw her at her most vulnerable.

When he thrust into her, taking back the control she had wielded since initiating sex, Natasha's head fell back, and a low groan ripped its way out of her throat. "Yes. Clint…yes."

"Natasha." His breath skated over the tender skin at the base of her throat, and she jolted against him. "Natasha."

His hips slammed into her, and she cried out, feeling the tell tale signs of orgasm writhing down deep within her. "I'm c–"

But before she could finish her declaration, Clint's voice rumbled in her ear and severed her voice. "Natalia."

And then Natasha saw stars.

She clung to Clint as she lost herself in the sensations that threatened to smother her until she couldn't breathe, couldn't see. Subconsciously, she registered Clint's orgasm, and if she had been in her right mind, she would have whispered him through it, telling him all the things he loved to hear as he fell over the edge, but she could only focus on the electric heat that Clint had triggered so intensely with just one word.

Natalia.

Natalia.

Natalia.

"Nat? You ok?"

Natasha's eyelids cracked open, and she turned her head to look at Clint beside her. "Mm."

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Mm."

"Maybe?"

"That was…wow." Turning on her side so she could face him directly, she stifled a yawn and snuggled closer to him. "You ok?"

"Of course. That was…definitely wow," he murmured, placing a hand against her cheek. Questions danced across his face, and for a moment, he looked as though he wasn't going to say anything, but he lost the battle with himself. "What happened? Earlier…you said no, but you kept going."

Leave it to Clint to pick up on that and to want to check in with her about it. Natasha wanted to be annoyed with him, but she found she just loved him more for it. "I started getting one of my headaches, and I didn't want that. I needed that to be just us. I didn't want any monsters or witches or aliens or killer robots or anything in my head. I just…I needed to fight it out."

Clint's face turned thoughtful as his thumb began running along the bottom of her jaw. He always listened and thought about everything she said, making Natasha feel like the most important person whose focus was all that mattered. "Did it work?"

"Yeah." She smiled a little and moved closer to touch her forehead against his. "It did."

"Good." He leaned into the touch and pulled her even closer, locked together in a tangle of limbs and skin pressed against each other. Closing her eyes, Natasha deeply inhaled the scent that was undeniably Clint. So many things about Clint would never grow old for her, and his smell was one of them. She never truly felt like she was home until she smelled him, and that was how she had originally learned that home was where Clint was. No matter the safehouse, no matter the headquarters, no matter the country, home was Clint.

"We've got so much we need to do," she murmured with a sigh. "You distracted me."

"Ok, I think an argument can be made that you were the one who was doing the distracting."

"Mmhmm. Yeah. Ok. Anyway, we really do have a lot we need to do. We've got to pick covers for ourselves while we're here. Clint is a very American name, and you won't be fooling anyone going around introducing yourself that way."

"I was planning on not introducing myself as much as possible. Kind of the whole point of being a spy. Certainly doesn't help matters that the Avengers are probably going to be on our asses soon for hacking their system and then taking off without saying anything."

"Fuck 'em." Natasha knew she needed to move, but the thought of untangling herself from this man who loved her despite her ghosts made her heart crack a little. "But we really do need to come up with covers."

"You can be a pastry chef trying to hunt down the secret family recipe for the perfect bread," he suggested to make her laugh. "Olga Stepanova, baker extraordinaire, baking bread to save the world."

Natasha didn't bite back the laughter that burst out from her. "That's a big no."

"No? I think it's a great cover."

"No. No way. Besides, I already have a name chosen."

"Yeah? What's your name? Who are you going to be this time?"

A pang of remembrance made Natasha's heart ache, and she closed her eyes. "Yelena."