Thank you all for being patient with me! Classes have started up once again and I'm already swamped. Yay college, right? …yeah, whatever. Anywhoo, here it is, as promised, Clint and Georgia's first meeting!

Enjoy.

October 26th, 2012

Clint had never been particularly fond of New York City. For a man of his skill set, he preferred flat terrain that was open and easy to survey. There were too many skyscrapers, too many subways, in the Big Apple. Besides, the only thing crowds of that size were good for was for helping someone disappear.

However, Clint found that after the Manhattan incident, their first official go at saving the world as a team, the city had a certain appeal. A charming familiarity. And with Stark Tower becoming a common rendezvous point for the Avengers, he found himself returning to New York's bustling streets more often. Currently, he sat at a small table outside one of Manhattan's best coffee shops 'Snice, sipping on a dark roast blend, and silently observing the human traffic around him. He had half an hour to kill before he and Natasha would be returning to the temporary headquarters S.H.I.E.L.D. had set up until their base in the desert could be restored. New York was merely a pit stop on their way to file the report on the duo's latest mission.

It had been a simple run – something they'd done a dozen times before. Tango with the target. Switch some documents. Get out without raising suspicion. It was child's play, honestly, and he knew it was Director Fury's way of keeping them busy until the Avengers were needed again - which they all hoped would be a very long time from now. They were still very much so recovering from that whole alien-invasion mess and didn't need anything shaking up Earth any time soon.

"Excuse me." There was a woman in front of him suddenly. His fingers tightened around his cup of coffee. How had he not noticed her approach? He was reminded as to why he loathed cities like New York. On the coffee shop's overcrowded patio, it hadn't been instinct to pick her out. There had been no sense of a threat. He blinked up at the woman. "Yes?"

"I'm so sorry to bother you. This is extremely rude, and you should know that I would normally never ask," she murmured, nervously. "But it's ridiculously crowded in the shop. The place is packed. And there are no empty tables out here and I desperately, desperately need this cup of coffee right now. I was wondering if I could sit here. Or steal a chair..?"

"Oh," he grunted. "Um…yes, by all means, please, have a seat."

"Oh, my God. Thank you so much," she sighed, pulling out a chair and stuffing her bag under her feet. She was pretty, in a sort of girl next door way. Her tanned face was perfectly rounded, her blue gaze a little too doe-eyed. She had dark hair that was pulled away from her face and nearly hidden by the dark red scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders. She wore a pair of thin glasses the same color of her scarf. They sat on the tip of her nose and as she glanced at him, she subtly pushed the glasses up the bridge of her nose and extended a hand across the table top. "Hi, I'm Georgia, but most people call me G."

He took her hand in his, giving a light shake and was surprised by the smoothness of her skin. Nothing at all like his, or Tasha's, or anyone else in their line of duty, for that matter. They had working hands. Rough hands. Hands used to danger. "Hello, G. I'm Aaron," he lied with ease.

"Aaron, nice to meet you," she gave a small grin. "Thanks for letting me crash your party."

He mirrored her grin, tilting his half-empty coffee cup. "Not much of a party."

"Must be just getting started, then," she replied cheerfully. "What brings you to New York, Aaron?"

"Am I that easily marked tourist?"

"It's all in the accent. And, well, the get-up."

Clint raised a brow, motioning for her to explain. Georgia shifted in her chair and took a sip of her latte before murmuring, "Well, you definitely do not have a native New York accent. So you're visiting or recently relocated to the city. You're not a business man-"

"I could be taking time off," he countered but she swiftly shook her head, "Even then, the type of business men loitering around Manhattan wear flashy watches or shoes or jackets and are always on their cell phones. Everything about your outfit is understated. Muted colors, no brand names, no brands whatsoever. You could be a tourist but you look kind of miserable. Vacation gone awry?"

Clint was surprised. She was clearly very smart and a bit on the observational side herself. He gave her a shrug, "Something like that. Well, since you have me so clearly pegged, why don't you tell me something about yourself, G? Why do you need that coffee so badly?"

Her eyes instantly narrowed to slits. "Because my boss is a cruel man, Mr. Aaron. A cruel, capricious man. Get this, are you ready?"

Amused, Clint nodded.

"Okay, this man, who I've been working for less than two months mind you, calls me last night at fifteen 'til midnight and politely informs me that he won't make it into the office today and that I'm to give a presentation on his behalf. The presentation was at eight this morning. I spent all night pouring over his emails, trying to prepare, and finally crashed around five, trying to get a least enough sleep so that I didn't look like a zombie today-"

"I don't think you look like a zombie," he told her.

She paused to give him a sincere smile. "Thank you. My foundation works wonders. But anyway, so I'm sleeping, right? Completely unaware that the power temporarily went out in my building. When the power went out, it knocked my alarm clock out of sync…I overslept two hours."

He nearly choked on his coffee. She glared at him over his cup and he fought his own laughter. "That is unfortunate."

"No shit," she rolled her eyes. "By some grace of God, I just happened to wake up and look at my cell phone. So now I'm sleep deprived, basically unprepared for the presentation, and am running two hours behind. I was forty-five minutes late. And guess what the presentation was on?"

Clint raised a brow. "Shirking off one's responsibilities to other employees?"

Georgia's face deadpanned as she replied, "The presentation was on time management."

A great, barking laugh erupted from him and he was promptly met with a glare from the small woman across from him, despite the grin on her lips. "It's not funny! It was so embarrassing. Late…for a presentation on time management. But, on the upside, since I knew my boss wasn't coming in today, I decided to treat myself for not murdering him and have taken the rest of the day off."

"That was quite a story," chuckled Clint as he polished off his coffee. He chucked the empty cup into the nearest trashcan, a circular bin about seven feet away, by the door of the shop. He watched Georgia's jaw drop, her eyes darting between him and the trash bin, "Um, that was seriously impressive, sir. Did you even look? How did you do that? There were like three people walking by. How did you…huh, impressive."

He merely shrugged, "I just have good aim."

"I'll say. Did you play basketball in high school? I bet they loved you."

His lips twisted into a wry grin. "No. I was on the archery team."

Georgia gave a full blow smile. "Badass. I bet you get a lot of Hunger Games jokes nowadays, huh?"

"A few," he admitted. "Though the Legolas cracks are a bit more common. At least Orlando Bloom's a man."

"And an attractive one at that," added Georgia with a wink as she brought her latte to her lips. Pulling back the sleeve of his jacket, Clint checked the time. Georgia gasped, "So you do have a fancy watch. A true business man, indeed."

"You've got me all figured out, G," he murmured, a smile ghosting over his mouth. He glanced down the block, across the large square, to the entrance of the newly rebuilt Stark Tower where he spotted Natasha exchanging goodbyes with Pepper Potts and the Iron Man himself. He tapped his watchface before pulling his sleeve back down. He smiled at the pleasant woman across from him, "It was lovely to meet you, Georgia, but it looks like my time is up."

"And what a shame that is," she replied coyly. She motioned the table, "Thanks for sharing."

"Thanks for the story…who's your boss, anyway? Some media mogul or…?"

"Uh, no." She turned in her chair, pointing down the street. "He's, uh, Tony Stark, actually."

Again, a deep laugh rumbled within him and Clint shook his head. "Of course, he is."

"Well." She blushed a bit, Clint noticed, her cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink. She pushed back her glasses once more and explained, "I work for Stark Industries, so he's my boss's boss, I guess. I work in the public relations department."

"Two months, right? Transfer or new position?"

"Transfer from our Los Angeles office."

He saw Tasha making her way towards 'Snice through the busy New York crowds. As he stood from the table, he asked, "Your choice or there's?"

"Mine. I needed a fresh start."

"Yeah?" he grinned. If there was anything Clint knew about, it was fresh starts. "How's that working out for you?"

"I'll let you know," she said softly. Clint grinned down at her; she really was quite lovely. His eyes subconsciously drifted to her left hand. No ring. A small feeling of satisfaction trickled down his throat.

Perhaps in another time, another place…but today, he simply said, "It really was very nice to meet you, G," before flashing her a dazzling grin and disappearing into the mass of people on the sidewalk.

A smile on her lips, Georgia sipped her coffee and watched the attractive stranger go.

November 4th, 2012

She was calling his name. Not his real name. His Avengers name. Hawkeye. She was calling him over the COMM frequency, her voice right in his ear though she was actually two blocks away. "Hawk!"

"I'm here. Quit yelling. You'll draw attention to yourself."

"Why weren't you answering?"

"I had a situation," Clint replied. "It's been handled."

That was a total lie. He hadn't responded because he'd been temporarily off in some distant, imaginary word. Some false, foreign world where he didn't spend his days chasing down international threats in the sewers of third world slums. Another world, a fictious world, where he was able to walk into a room without automatically scanning for escape routes, where he could go to a public restaurant or store without picking up on every conversation in the building. A world where he wasn't alone.

He started to slip back into his land of day dreams and barely caught his partner's sigh. The concern was clear in the Russian's tone. "You've been getting distracted an awful lot lately, Clint."

He scoffed. "No names, Widow. Who's distracted now?"

"Is this because of Loki? Why are you letting this continue to bother you?"

Clint felt his body become instantly rigid at the mention of the Asgardian. It was pure instinct the way his body clenched up as if preparing to fight off another internal invasion. "I'm over that. I told you."

Another lie.

"Fine. Just keep focused. The target should be leaving soon."

His eyes swept over a four block radius, then searched the sky. They were clear. "Roger that."

And off he went again, fading into that dream world where he sat at a coffee shop with a cute brunette whose witty commentary made him feel more than normal. Their meeting had been brief but memorable, and as he perched on a broken fire escape waiting to tail a Scandinavian spy, he couldn't help but remember the sight of her left hand. Her ringless left hand.

And then Natasha was calling him again. And he was still distracted.

"Fuck," he cursed himself. He had to shake this. But then, she really had been cute.

November 16th, 2012

This didn't usually happen.

Clint was a hard man to take by surprise. His observational and perception skills made it difficult to hide anything from him and he saw and dealt with some pretty weird shit working alongside the likes of a demi-god alien and a hulk. So, for Clint, surprises were usually out.

And what's more, this was one surprise he should've seen coming. He knew the girl from the coffee shop worked for Stark Industries. That was about all he knew about her. She was cute. She was from Los Angeles. And she worked for Stark. So why was it such a shock for Clint to see her at Stark's annual company gala? But maybe he wasn't surprised by her presence so much as her appearance. She'd lost the glasses and, unlike their first meeting, her dark hair hung loose around her face. She wore a strapless, silver dress that fell to her ankles, barely reaching the floor, and that gave light to curves that had been hidden by a winter's coat when they'd met. She was lingering at the bar, a martini glass in hand, and looking slightly pained. Probably had something to do with the tuxedoed, older gentleman standing in front of her, swishing around a glass of scotch and eyeing her without the slightest hint of subtly.

Scoffing, Clint felt the compulsion to go to her; after all, she was practically all he'd been thinking about for the past month. She'd become a familiar fantasy for him. But that's just it. She was a fantasy, some phantom hope for a different life he knew he could never have. Still, he stared after her with a bitter longing, then suddenly grew frustrated with himself and all his conflicting emotions.

He crossed the room in mere seconds, halting at her side before he could stop himself. "Georgia!" he beamed. "There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere. Thought you'd run off on me."

Her eyes widened in, what Clint hoped was pleasant, surprise and she placed her glass on the bar to loop her arms around him. "Aaron, hey!"

Clint felt oddly satisfied that she'd remembered his name, however fake it had been, and returned her gentle hug. She was a lot taller than he recalled; but, then, that might've been the heels.

The older man miffed at Clint's interruption, stalking away when Georgia murmured, "I'm sorry, could you excuse us for a moment?" When they were alone, Georgia smiled softly at him, "I have to say this is a definite surprise. What're you doing here? You really are a business man, huh?"

Clint smirked. "Something like that. I, uh, I work with Stark."

He watched her brow furrow adorably. She chewed her lip. "Work with Stark? Wait, are you…you aren't one of them are you?"

"Them?"

"The Avengers. That's what they're called, right?"

Clint licked his lips and glanced out at the dance floor briefly before meeting her gaze. "And if I say I am one of them…?"

A slow grin lifted her lips. "I would say your job is insanely cooler than mine and that you're kind of awesome, Aaron."

He gave a small chuckle. "Oh, I'm awesome alright. But, um, my name's actually Clint."

She blinked. "Uhh, okay?"

"Working for the government, one develops certain habits. I very rarely use my real name."

"Then I should feel touched," she smiled, lifting a hand his way. As they shook hands for the second time, Georgia said, "It's very nice to meet you, Clint. I'm Georgia, but, please, call me G."

He inclined his head to her. "The pleasure is all mine."

"Oh, that wasn't cheesy at all, was it?" she teased him, before turning to order a martini. "What're you drinking?"

"I'm not," he replied.

"Another G-man habit? What, no drinking in public and rendering one's self vulnerable?"

While she had a good point, this was actually a personal rule. Clint explained, "I get kind of…friendly when I drink. Nothing too inappropriate, but apparently I'm an affectionate drunk who really enjoys hugs."

Georgia giggled into her virtually empty martini glass. "Well, if that's the case, why don't we just get you an entire bottle of bourbon. Or are you a tequila kinda guy?"

"I prefer to be flexible. A little bit of everything." As she turned to accept her fresh martini from the bartender, Clint shamelessly stole a glance at her ass and was not disappointed. Grinning at her, he motioned the dance floor, "You couldn't tempt me with a drink but maybe I can tempt you with a dance?"

Her blue eyes became saucers. "Oh, no. No, um, I don't…I don't dance. At all. Ever."

"Never?" he questioned skeptically. "Not at your prom? Or a cousin's wedding?"

"Never. I have two left feet and absolutely no sense of rhythm."

Clint took her hand in his own. "I refuse to believe that."

Georgia protested weakly as he tugged her out onto the dance floor amidst the couples of New York's hierarchy. His placed his free hand on her waist, pulling her against him, and caught a faint whiff of strawberries. Her shampoo? As she brought a hand to rest on his shoulder, she glanced around nervously, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. He watched her chew her lip in worry, delighted at the feeling of her body on his. "This is so uncomfortable," she whispered. "I hate dancing."

He stroked her hip comfortingly. "You're doing fine."

She glared at him. "I really hate dancing."

Clint smirked. "So you've said."

They continued to dance for the rest of the song, Georgia growing more miserable by the second, and when the orchestra completed the piece, he felt her sigh of relief. They clapped along with the crowd and Clint leaned in to murmured, "You weren't kidding about those two left feet, huh?"

She slapped his arm jokingly. "I have a condition, okay? Don't judge me."

Clint caught her hands before she could escape the dance floor. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Honestly, you aren't that bad."

"That bad?"

He winced. "Well…you are a bit rhythm-less."

She dropped her head to his chest, pitifully hiding away in the folds of his tuxedo shirt. "Please don't make me dance again."

He tugged her closer, cradling her body to his as they slowly twirled through the maze of couples. Clint spoke into her ear, "Did you not enjoy yourself at all?" He felt her tense ever so slightly beneath his touch and when she lifted her face to look at him, they were so close h e could almost kiss her.

"That's not the point."

"That's exactly the point," he corrected. "As long as you're having a good time, rhythm be damned."

Georgia's eye narrowed at him. She seemed to think his words over for a moment before a smile ghosted over her lips. She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. "You're very charming, you know that?"

"I might've been told that once or twice before."

"Oh, I bet you have…"

"Georgia…this is going to sound very forward, but would you like to get out of here?"

Georgia smiled at him slowly. "Clint, I thought you'd never ask."

He had no idea what had made him ask. Okay, that's a complete lie. He knew exactly why he'd asked her to leave the gala with him. For weeks he'd laid in bed dreaming about her, this seemingly perfect stranger. But he knew she wasn't the same woman from his dreams and knew that it wasn't fair what he was doing to her. They had a freak, chance meeting at a coffee shop. She had been cute and smart and somehow he'd built her up in his mind. Somehow he'd made her represent everything he wanted out of life and now that Clint had run into her again, all of those dreams came rushing back to him.

They went to his hotel for drinks and the whole affair felt foreign to Clint. It had been so long since he'd been alone with a woman in such a personal setting; well, aside from Tasha. He was so unsure of every move he was making, every word he said. About two drinks in, Georgia seemed to pick up on his hesitant uncertainty and very promptly kiss him.

"I figured you'd relax if we got the pressure of the first kiss out of the way," she later told him. And she hadn't been wrong.

When she kissed him, it was like something inside of him snapped. She had broken him, turned him into putty beneath her fingertips. Every worry, every pressure he felt went flying out the door and suddenly all he wanted was to get that very stunning dress off of her and to explode every ounce of skin underneath it. So he did just that.

That was the first time they made love and afterward as they lay in his bed, Georgia stroked her finger down his cheek and murmured, "I don't usually do this kind of thing."

Clint replied that he didn't either.

Eventually, the buzz of alcohol began to dwindle and as they sobered up, Georgia declared that it was time she went home; apparently, she had a promotions project due Monday and she was meeting with Pepper Potts, the company's CEO and Tony's girlfriend of sorts, the following morning. They dressed, Clint zipping up the back of dress and placing a kiss on her bare shoulder as he offered to drive her home. Georgia shivered at the intimate gesture, her shoulder burning hot where his lips had been, and accepted.

When they reached her building, he walked her up to her apartment and tenderly kissed her goodbye. Or, that's what he was supposed to be doing, anyway. Somehow the kiss had turned from one of goodbye, to one of hello, again. Georgia barely managed to get her apartment door unlocked before Clint's shirt was off.

"I swear, this is so unlike me," breathed Georgia as Clint pressed her against her living room wall, his lips trailing a path of hot kisses down her neck. She was panting, her chest rising and falling heavily, her head spinning. Damn, if this man didn't know how to use his mouth.

Clint cupped her face and brought their lips together. "I know. I'm usually traveling and preoccupied with work. I honestly can't remember the last time I slept with a woman."

Georgia ran her hands up his arms to lock around his neck. She kissed him soundly. "It was about an hour ago in your hotel."

Smirking, Clint lifted her, her legs instantly wrapping around him. "What do you say we go for round two, G?"

Georgia bit her lip, her heart hammering in her chest. "Let's do it."

Once again, I'd like to thank: Dasiygirl95, snowangl05, JohnnyStormsGirl, miller330, Kay1104, and Not. So. Typical. Girl. for your kind reviews! I'm so glad you guys like the story so much. You all rock and I love you a lot…and so does Clint.

See you next time!