Several years ago...

"Hey." Clint rapped on the doorframe with his knuckles. Natasha looked up from lacing her boots and saw him, lounging with his back against the lockers and one of his lopsided smiles spreading across his face. "I'm glad I caught you before you left."

She knotted the laces and sat up on the bench. "You do know that this is the women's locker room, right?"

"Of course. I wasn't going to find you over in the men's." He jerked his thumb in the general direction of the men's locker room. "Besides, it stinks over there."

She couldn't help but smile. "Not a good enough reason, Barton. Out. I'll meet you in less than five minutes." After brushing out her hair in the mirror and repacking her messenger bag, Natasha emerged from the locker room to find Clint in the same basic pose he had taken against the lockers, just against the concrete block wall. "How was the mission?" she asked.

"Cake," he answered, waving the question away with his hand. "How was this place?"

"Fine." Natasha bit her tongue to keep herself from giving away the lie, but somehow Clint had already detected the deception.

"So the bastards are still rubber-necking and whispering?" When she didn't answer, Clint stopped walking and examined her. "Nat?" She opened her mouth to reassure him everything was fine, but he shook his head. "Don't lie to me. I never want you to have to lie to me. I'm sorry they're being that way, Looks like Coulson is going to have to crack some heads." Resuming their walk, he spoke again, brightly, "I know they've got you locked down pretty tight here, but I got permission from the boss if you want to go somewhere with me."

Natasha was both intrigued at the opportunity and irritated at the implication. "So you're my babysitter now?" she asked as she followed him out the front doors of the building.

Clint turned to face her and leaned in conspiratorially. "I think we both know that I make a terrible babysitter. So either Coulson has lost his damn mind or he trusts you."

She mulled this over. "True. What were you thinking?"

"There's a drive-in movie theater behind my building. From the roof, you can see the screen clear as a bell." When Natasha didn't immediately agree, he sweetened the pot. "I've got a rib-eye steak waiting for me at the grocery. I could be convinced to pick up a second one and grill it up for a friend."

Natasha's mouth watered involuntarily. A few weeks of institutional food, even relatively healthy institutional food, had bored her on it, and she longed for complex flavors and richness. She raised both hands as if she was surrendering. "OK, I'm in."

Barton's grin spread across his whole face. "Great. I'm parked over in the south garage."

They had only taken a few steps when a woman's voice called from behind them. "Clint! Hey, Clint!" They both turned to see a woman with long dark blonde hair jogging their way. Natasha recognized her as an old adversary – and, according to the whispers around SHIELD, Clint's on-again, off-again girlfriend. "Glad I spotted you!"

"Hey, Bobbi!" Clint greeted her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Good to see you back!"

"It's good to be back. Six months is a long time. I'm having a barbecue tonight at my - " Bobbi stopped mid-sentence when her eyes fell on Natasha, and dropped into a fighting stance. "You!"

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Mockingbird." She spread her legs further apart, bent her knees, and brought her arms up defensively.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Clint stepped between them. "Stand down. Bobbi, I'm going to guess you haven't heard about our newest SHIELD recruit, Natasha Romanoff." He looked at Natasha and mouthed "please." After one more glance at Bobbi, Natasha returned to a more normal posture. Clint beamed in gratitude at her. "Natasha, this is Bobbi Morse. I believe you two have previously met."

"Yeah," Bobbi confirmed. She kept her eyes on Natasha but released some of the tension in her shoulders and stuck out her hand. The redhead shook it, carefully watching the interplay between Clint and Bobbi.

"That's better," Clint pivoted out from between them and let his guard down.. "I really appreciate the invitation, Bobbi, but Tasha and I already made plans for the evening. Catch you next time?"

Bobbi, looking bewildered and a little disappointed , nodded her head. "Yeah, sure." She stood still as Clint and Natasha walked away. Once they were out of earshot, she shook her head as if to clear it and repeated the nickname Clint Barton had used for the Black Widow. "Tasha?"

As she opened the passenger door of Clint's car, Natasha commented. "If you want to go to the barbecue, you should go. I've got a stack of books to read back in my room."

Clint shook his head. "Like I told her, we have plans. We're going to have dinner, watch a potentially horrible double feature, and have a few drinks." He slid in the car and shut the door. She followed suit.

"And you'd rather do that with me than go to a barbecue she's hosting?"

Clint hesitated before putting his key in the ignition. "Is this because you've heard me and Bobbi are together?"

Natasha nodded. "Yes."

Clint massaged his forehead with both hands. "Spies really are like a bunch of gossipy high school girls, aren't they? Bobbi is – she's a great girl, and after her divorce, we kind of fell into a thing for a while. That's over, and now we're just colleagues and friends again. So she's not my girlfriend, and I'm not going to ditch on one friend for another." He put the car into reverse and pulled out of the space. Natasha felt a pleasant warmth in response to his words.

An hour later, Clint was working at the grill while Natasha basked in the last rays of the setting sun on the wicker couch. She looked around the otherwise very industrial roof and looked up at him. "Should I assume your landlord doesn't know about your little rooftop oasis?"

"Are you suggesting that I might have set up all this illicitly?" Clint asked. "You wound me, Nat." They both chuckled. In addition to the grill and wicker couch, there was a side table on each side of the couch, a wicker ottoman, and a large rolling cooler. "We didn't discuss anything per se, but since the burglaries in the building have dropped to zero since I moved in, she seems content to look the other way." He added the steaks to the grilled vegetables already on the plates and closed up the grill.

Natasha's mouth watered at the aroma of steak as Clint handed her a plate. "Bon appetit, mademoiselle." He joined her on the couch. "How's your drink?" he asked, pulling a beer bottle out of the cooler.

"Still good," she confirmed, holding up her half-full wine glass. "Looks like the previews are starting." Clint turned up the volume on the radio, and the preview narration came in clear.

Natasha's eyes flew open at the sound of an explosion, and then remembered she was still on the wicker couch on the roof of Clint's building. Training must have worn her out. Clint was next to her, his arm slung across the back of the couch, and Natasha realized her head had been leaning on his shoulder. A blanket was now spread across their legs.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. Are you warm enough or do you need to borrow a sweatshirt? I wasn't sure if the blanket would be enough." His expression was open and genuine, concerned only with her comfort.

Natasha smiled at the first real friend she'd ever made. "No, I'm good," she assured him, referring to so much more than than her current physical state.