Several of you have mentioned that a fight between Natasha and Georgia would be hilarious and I whole heartedly agree! I'm tinkering now, trying to figure out where that would best fit, but worry not. You'll see it eventually. In the next chapter, we'll get Clint's explanation on why he dropped off the grid for those five months in Chapter Two.

A major, huge, you're so ridiculously awesome shout-out to: Not. So. Typical. Girl., Dasiygirl95, Hawkeyefan101, miller330, guest, and JohnnyStormsGirl. I love you all. Seriously. Thanks so much for your lovely reviews! I'm thrilled you guys like this little experiment.

As always, mes amis, enjoy.

December 23rd, 2012

Clint stared into the half-empty glass in his hand for a good ten minutes before blinking and righting himself. He touched his cup to the window in front of him, the different glasses clinking as they met; it was a toast to the magnificent New York City skyline that stretched on for miles around Stark Tower, the shining lights of the skyscrapers mirroring the Christmas lights on the twelve foot tree in Tony's living room. Clint felt himself wishing he could break the window and fling himself outward, inflicting himself upon the city to escape all the Christmas cheer around him. It wasn't so much that Clint hated Christmas, because how can you hate something you don't really know? He could count on one hand the number of memorable Christmases he'd had and would still have enough fingers left for complicated finger puppets.

All around him, his friends, too blinded by their own holiday cheer, seemed oblivious to his underwhelming indifference. Tony stood, arms around Pepper, by the piano where Bruce was playing some Def Leppard ballad while Tony's friend Rhodey sang along loudly and a tad off-key. Tasha and Steve lingered by the Christmas tree, the spy running her fingers over the bristly branches. They were chatting softly, secret smiles flittering over Natasha's face every few seconds. Across the room, Thor was drinking eggnog at the bar with his girlfriend Jane, Dr. Selvig, and Jane's spunky, teenage assistant, Marcy. Or was it Darcy? The slight buzz of alcohol on Clint's mind blurred the minute detail of her name.

And then there was Clint and his glass and his window.

Tossing back the glass, he slipped behind the bar, smiling half-heartedly when Thor greeted him. The God of Thunder invited him to join them, boasting about the 'delightful Earth mead,' but Clint politely declined before fixing one last drink and excusing himself. He left Stark Tower without telling a soul where he was going.

Clint was halfway across town in less than twenty minutes. He stared at the already familiar apartment door wondering just what the fuck he was doing there. He'd told himself he wouldn't do this again. He was done with her. There was no way this could possibly end well and yet there he was without a single competent thought in his mind. In spite of this, Clint couldn't seem to stop himself from raising his hand and knocking softly on the door.

The hall was quiet and there was no sign of stirring from behind the door. He went to knock once more but his hand froze midair; he didn't want to wake her if she was asleep. Thankfully, just as he turned to leave, he heard the light patter of footsteps a moment later, followed by a shout of, "Who is it?"

"It's me," he called. Then added, "Clint."

He heard the lock turn. Then, the door swung open and he was instantly met with a warm smile. Georgia wore an LA Dodgers jersey that hung to the tops of her thigh, her hair dripping wet. She propped against the door, greeting him like an old friend, "Hey, you. What brings you to town? Another super secret ass-kicking mission?"

"Not quite," replied Clint as Georgia moved aside and allowed him to enter the apartment. "The holidays, actually. Tony's ha-"

"Oh, yes, his infamous Christmas party. Though I hear the guest list is a bit more selective this year," Georgia finished for him. She shrugged at his perplexed look, "I work a lot with Miss Potts. I hear things."

There came an awkward pause, a brief lapse were neither party was sure what to say. They had not exchanged numbers or emails and thus had not spoken since the third of that month, the morning Clint left for S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters after what was quite possibly the best weekend of his life. Four days locked in her apartment doing nothing but eating take-out, watching old movies, and having outrageous amounts of sex. Good sex. Clint sighed, "I hope I'm not intruding. I know it's Christmas time and, uh-"

"Oh, no, you're fine. My family isn't getting in until tomorrow. Are you staying?"

Her question surprised him. Clint cleared his throat, "Didn't realize I was invited."

"Always." She smiled easily at him and her comfort settled the unease in the room. That is, it settled Clint's unease considering that the blissfully normal girl before him seemed totally at peace. Georgia folded herself onto the couch and felt around for the remote. "I have no idea what's on. I just got out of the shower. If you're hungry there's some pasta in a pan on the stove."

"You know how to cook?" The inquiry wasn't meant maliciously, but Georgia shot him a glare nonetheless, "Yes, I know how to cook…I just don't like to that often. It's a lot of work to fix dinner for one person. But I've run out of ramen and the Chinese delivery guy is starting to learn my name so I figured that was a nice sign from the universe to give take-out a break for a while."

Muttering that he wasn't hungry, Clint slid out of his jacket and took a seat beside her on the couch and felt the muscles in his back and shoulders immediately relax. His feet propped up on the table, he slung an arm over the back of the couch and watched Georgia flick through the channels, completely undisturbed by his presence. He watched her carefully, "Something tells me you knew I'd be back."

She grinned, not sparing him a look, and shrugged. "You didn't give me reason to think otherwise." After four minutes of channel surfing, she tossed the remote in his lap with a groan, "I give up. Find something."

There was absolutely nothing on TV so Clint turned on Netflix and flipped through the horror movies. Georgia sniggered beside him. "Someone's got the holiday spirit."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "Call me Mr. Scrooge."

Eventually, Clint selected one of the Paranormal Activity movies, after receiving Georgia's approval, of course. The credits of the movie began to roll, the sound quiet and eerie, effectively setting the movie's tone. Someone appeared on the television screen. There were a few lines of dialogue, exposition. It was a slow beginning and Clint struggled to keep his focus maintained on the movie. Every few minutes his eyes darted over to the woman beside him. They were so close on the couch that he could feel the heat from her body, but not close enough that they were touching. Why weren't they touching? And why was she so composed?

Clint shifted. "You seem very at ease with all this."

Georgia's brow furrowed. "The scary stuff hasn't even started yet…"

"That's not what I meant." He laughed, tugging at the tie around his neck. "I mean…this. Me."

"Well, how should I feel?" Her words were light, airy. Almost teasing. His stomached flipped. He licked his lips, "You're telling me you don't feel even a little morally compromised?"

The tanned planes of Georgia's face smoothed. Her mouth twitched upward, "I didn't peg you for the religious type."

Clint shrugged. "I'm not," he said honestly. "But I thought you might be."

"Can't say I am. Not overly anyway. I believe in God but I haven't been to church since I was eight and I don't pray as much as I should. But even if I was some overly religious, avid Bible reader, why should I feel guilty? We aren't hurting anyone. We're just having fun by having sex. Unless this is some kind of reverse psychology thing and you feel bad?"

"No, no. I just…" She was staring him down now, her body angled toward his. There was a playful grin on her face. Her utter lack of discomfort was unnerving and he abruptly grew very defensive. "Why are you so calm? You don't know me. I could be a serial killer."

A quick laugh burst from her, short and sweet. "Okay, buddy, calm down. You literally save the world for a living. Besides, I'm getting more of a serial rapist vibe. You're a total sex fiend."

Clint snorted. "You were more than willing, if memory serves me correctly."

"Maybe I'm a sex fiend, too," she murmured. Georgia was temporarily distracted by the movie, eyes widening as a shadowy figure crossed the screen and scared the soccer mom character. Forcing herself to look away from the television, she gazed him, biting her bottom lip. "Or maybe I just like the way it feels being with you."

Clint wasn't really sure what to say to that. What exactly did she expect from him?

"Look," she grinned, sensing his confusion. "We barely know each other, I don't even know your last name. Som-"

"You don't know my last name?" he cried. How many times had they slept together now? It was at least eight times that one weekend, maybe nine. Plus twice the night of the gala. And she didn't even know his full name? He knew hers! Georgia Lorene Downes. Born in the Tennessee Mountains and raised in Glendale, California just north of Los Angeles. Graduated from Boston College with a degree in Communications. This he knew thanks to a little tool he called The Background Check. With an indignant pout, Clint muttered, "Barton. My last name is Barton."

Georgia smirked. "Clint Barton. That's nice. It suits you."

"Thanks."

Running her hand through her wet hair, Georgia twisted her lips, trying to keep from laughing. "Umm…anyway, I like you, Clint. You're fun, easy to get along with. There are no pretenses with you. At least, I don't think there are. You don't bullshit and I love that. But if this is too much for you…"

He allowed his fingertips to graze her shoulder. The Dodgers jersey was a thick, cottony material. Warm. "It's not too much," he replied quietly. "But is it enough? I can't give you commitment. I can't tell you where I'll be tomorrow, much less next week."

"That's perfect. I have commitment issues," she told him, before adding, as if it were an explanation, "I'm too independent. I've never had a relationship that lasted longer than two months."

"I've never had a relationship." He leaned forward then, his finger slipping into her wet hair to draw her forward. Their mouths met roughly. The kiss was intense, unforgiving, and soon she was panting underneath him, his back arched, the horror movie still playing, forgotten in the background. She clawed at his shoulders, hips thrusting to meet his. "God, why didn't I know you in college? Four years of being very sexually unsatisfied and you've made up for it in the span of five days."

His ego swelling, Clint grinned against her skin. Her longs legs were wrapped around him, squeezing like a vice. A low growl brewed in the back of his throat. "And are you satisfied now?"

A teasing glint in her eyes, Georgia peered up at him, her chest heaving with hot, heavy breaths. "I don't know. I'll tell you in an hour."

Clint smirked. Challenge accepted. Again.

Several whimpers and once glorious scream later, they sank into the fluffy couch cushions, Georgia's back to his chest. Her hair, now semi-dry, was splayed across his skin. He picked up one of the dark locks, twisting it around his finger. It was almost the exact same color Natasha's hair used to be. He continued to play with her hair for a moment, but ceased when Georgia shivered against him, an aftershock of her orgasm. Smirking, he drew his mouth to her ear, huskily asked, "What's the verdict?"

"Satisfied." The word was airy, her heart still hammering in her chest, her legs still quaking from his powerful thrusts. "Very satisfied."

He nibbled her ear. "Good."

Georgia stared at the television screen, slightly dazed. "I think we missed the movie…wanna start it over?"

"Sure," he murmured, lips inching down her neck. These gentle kisses carried on for another few minutes or so before Clint felt his stomach began to rumble. He was hungry again, but this time not for sex. "I think I'll have some of that pasta, now."

Snickering, Georgia let him up and grabbed her jersey off of the table, thankful it hadn't knocked anything over when it was thrown from her body. She slipped the cozy shirt back on, running her fingers through her hair once again. "I'll be right back." She went to the bathroom, brushing her hair and peeing quickly. When she returned, Clint was back on the couch, a bowl of noodles in red sauce on his lap. He, too, had put his shirt back on and zipped his pants, though his tie and jacket remained discarded.

Halfway through their second attempt at watching Paranormal Activity a quick knock echoed through the apartment. Georgia met Clint's curious glance before checking the clock above the stove. It was nearly four a.m.. "I'm so popular tonight," muttered Georgia, eyebrows raised as she stood and crossed to the door. "Who is it?"

"It's me! Who the hell else is going to be at your apartment at-oh, shit, it's late. Were you asleep? I'm sorry!"

"Allie?" murmured Georgia, yanking open the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I caught an early flight. I would've been here two hours ago but those idiots at LaGuardia lost my luggage." And suddenly, there was a younger, shorter version of Georgia bursting into the apartment dragging a large suitcase behind her and looking alarmingly alert for the late hour. Ripping off her gloves, the girl dropped her luggage behind the couch and rubbed her hands together, "Damn, it's cold in here. Wh-oh, um…there's a man on your couch. G, you have a man on your couch."

Clint cleared his throat and stood. "Hi. I'm, uh…"

"He's Clint," offered Georgia. "Clint, this is my little sister, Allie. Allie say hello."

Cocking a brow, the young woman shifted her weight and thrust a hand at him. "Hey."

He shook her hand politely and glanced at the door. "I'm, um, I should go."

"Oh, dude, don't let me interrupt. I can just…go in the bedroom for a couple of hours. Or if you'd like the bedroom I can-"

Georgia swiftly cut off her sister, "You can stop talking right now or I swear to God I'll kill you in your sleep."

"Close family," commented Clint with a soft laugh. He scratched the back of his head, reaching for his jacket and tie. "Really, Nat's probably getting ready to send out a search party right about now, anyway."

"Nat? Is that your wife? Serious girlfriend? Daughter?"

"Allie!" Georgia smacked the shit out of her little sister's arm, shoving her toward the bedroom. She growled and pointed menacingly, "Go."

Hands in the air, Allie giggled, slowly making her way toward the bedroom at the end of the hall. "Okay, okay. Sorry. Hope I didn't offend you, Clint. It was a long flight and I think I had one too many of those in-flight glasses of champagne. Goodnight. It was nice to meet you." She disappeared before he could reply.

Georgia hung her head. "I am so sorry. We don't let her out much, least she inflict unspeakable horrors on humanity."

Clint chuckled lowly. He had seen unspeakable horrors released on humanity. Her little sister wasn't even close. Fingers slipping into her hair, he pulled her to him, kissing her tenderly. Kissing her goodbye. She whimpered, responding by resting her hands on his chest, her thin fingers fisting in the silk material of his shirt. He swiped his tongue across her bottom lip, coaxing her mouth open, and was not disappointed when she complied. She stroked his tongue with hers, lifting up onto her toes to give her better leverage. Her lips spread into a grin as they kissed; he tasted like spaghetti sauce.

Eventually, Clint, with a Herculean force, managed to pull himself away. Georgia fell to the flat of her feet and blinked up at him. He cupped her chin, running his finger over her pouty lips, red from his ministrations. "I'll, um…" He grinned, swooping to kiss her once more. It was quick and playful and when he drew back he stepped out into the hall. Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, he nodded, "I'll see you later."

She drew her teeth across her bottom lip, arms crossing as she leaning against the door frame. "Okay. See ya then…and Clint? Be safe out there, okay? I've seen the Bourne movies and Matt Damon gets his ass kicked at least twice in every single one. Don't be Matt Damon."

Clint snorted. "G, you insult me. I'm much better than Matt Damon."

"Whatever you say, Treadstone."

And then he was gone.

October 5th, 2013

She heard the clicks of his overly expensive, Italian shoes on the tile floor only moments before Tony Stark popped his head inside her office. "Afternoon, Ms. Downes. Lovely space you've got here. There's a nice feng shui thing going on. I like it."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Stark?"

"Oh, nothing. Just came by for a visit." He dropped into a chair in front of her desk, kicking his feet up. Georgia glared at the soles of his leather shoes, "Not to be rude but I'm a little busy. Can we-"

"I happen to have it on good authority that your boss won't mind you taking a break. In fact, he highly encourages it."

The pen in Georgia's hand paused. "Oh, that's cute. You think you're my boss."

Tony blinked. "Uh, I am."

She let her pen fall between her fingers, the reports momentarily forgotten, and fixed him with a gentle but stern look. "No, Pepper Potts is my boss. You're just the pretty face of this company whose bank account gets a little bit lighter every time your girlfriend signs my check."

In true Tony fashion, he replied without missing a beat. "You think I'm pretty? How pretty are we talking, like Brad Pitt pretty or more of a George Clooney thing?"

"What do you want, Tony? I really am working."

Dropping his feet, the Iron Man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Truthfully? I came by to see if you needed some socks."

Georgia subconsciously glanced at her feet. She half expected to see them bare, her boots and socks mysteriously vanished. Thankfully, her boots where there, her toes warm within them. She raised an eyebrow. "Okay, even for you that's strange. What do you want?"

Tony's jaw twitched, as if fighting a smirk. He cleared his throat, running his finger over the name plate on her desk. "I want to make sure you aren't getting cold feet about the whole Mrs. Barton deal."

There was no missing the way Georgia's shoulder automatically tensed. She said, low, "If you're here to try and talk me out of marrying Clint, you're wasting your time."

His gaze narrowed. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling someone's already tried. Tell me, who was it? Fury, maybe? Didn't want his best man getting distracted. Or was it the good ole Captain? Don't think I didn't notice how chummy you two were at the Halloween party. Oh, wait, I know…" Tony's voice dropped low. He studied her for a moment, almost as if out of respect, nodding, "It was Agent Romanoff."

"Natasha's very protective of him," was Georgia's only reply.

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