The second half of this chapter was written in response to a request from the wonderful MME, who wanted to see another scene with the camera. She also wanted to see some more of Tony's snark. I hope this does you justice, my friend.

A major thanks to everyone who has reviewed and to those who have stuck with this story despite the ridiculous wait time. As always, I hope you all enjoy!

February 6th, 2013

Clint truly hated the windiness of New York City, great gusts of winds bursting over the city carried in off the Atlantic. As he trudged down the city street toward Georgia's apartment, his hands tucked stiffly in his pockets, his hood pulled over his head, he cursed at the chill biting his skin. Still, the winds were nothing compared to the freezing blizzards he'd had to face during a handful of missions in Russia – one of which resulted in the successful sway of the Black Widow from an assassin-for-hire to a S.H.I.E.L.D. asset.

Eventually reaching his destination, Clint pulled himself off memory lane and sought refuge inside the heated apartment building.

He'd been seeing Georgia on and off for nearly four months now, dropping by her home whenever he had some down time between missions. And the longer he knew her, the more she continued to amaze him. Georgia was incredibly accepting of their casual arrangement and was often the one initiating sex. Smirking, Clint drew to a stop as he reached her door. He rapped his knuckles twice. He waited a brief moment but no reply came. He knocked once more, calling, "Hey, G. It's me." But still there was no answer.

Sporting a frown, Clint checked his watch. It was ten-thirty on a Wednesday night; she had work the next morning and Clint knew that Georgia wasn't one to stay out late when she had work the following day. He lingered another moment, then withdrew his cell and called her phone. The call rang three times, then went to voicemail.

Suspicion tickled the back of his throat. He briefly debated breaking into her apartment but decided to take things slow and trace her phone first. He called a friend of his back at headquarters. "Benji, it's Barton. I need you to run a sat-track for me."

The quirky British tech replied instantly, eager to help. "Sure thing. What's the number?"

As Clint rattled away with Georgia's cell number, he could hear the Brit typing away. Benji made a few ticking noises, clacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and muttered, "Right, okay, looks like we've got a lock. Coordinates forty-one north, seventy-five west. Looks like the signals coming from downtown Manhattan."

"That's Stark Tower."

There came a short silence and the Brit asked, "Do you need back-up? Want me to call in a team?"

"No, no," muttered Clint quickly. "It's not a threat. She, um, she works there. Thanks, Benji."

"Anytime, Hawk. Honestly, anytime. It's so boring around here. I swear if I have to run one more-well, anyway, you don't want to hear about it. S'boring stuff. Have fun in the field, mate. Wish I was there with you."

Rolling his eyes, Clint replied, "Yeah, it's loads of fun. Just be thankful that no one's shooting at you while you're behind your computer desk."

The tech snorted, "Like you don't love the action."

Another minute or two of their banter passed before Clint hung up and caught a cab back to Stark Tower. He knew that Georgia worked in public relations but wasn't sure where her office was. He also wasn't sure if he was crossing some imaginary boundary of the "relationship". Guess it didn't matter; the second the cab parked outside the massive beacon of Stark, he tossed a few crumpled bills into the driver's hand and trekked inside. At the front desk in the lobby, the night shift security guard recognized him and stood. "Mr. Barton, Mr. Stark is upstairs if…?"

"I'm not here to see Tony. I was actually wondering if you could help me out."

"Absolutely, sir. What can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for a woman who works here. Georgia Downes."

"Yes, sir, Ms. Downes is head of the PR department."

"You wouldn't happened to know where her office is located?"

Returning to his seat behind the desk, the guard tapped a few keys and nodded, "Twenty-second floor, office one-eighteen."

He found her office easily but the door was locked and once again his knock was met with no reply. Growing frustrated, he was one step away from having Tony pull the security footage when he heard laughing down the hall. Turning the corner, the assassin found a very modern, glass conference room. The lights were on, the door open, a handful of yuppie-looking business types scattered about the room. A stack of pizza boxes sat on the table surrounded by half-empty two liters of Coke and Styrofoam cups. Two young women sat on the end of the table, their legs dangling over the edge as they listened to a man at the front of the room speak. He was gesturing to a portable white board where a pie chart had been drawn. Across from the women, another guy leaned back in his chair, his feet propped up on the table, absently fiddling with his tie. The pie chart guy muttered something and the room erupted in giggles once again.

Suddenly, the bathroom door opened down the hall and a tall brunette in a tight pencil skirt and cream blouse emerged, drying her hands on a paper towel. She started when she saw him, pausing. A slow smile curved her mouth. "Are you stalking me now, Clint? I thought your duty was to protect innocent civilians, not follow them."

"You are far from innocent, G," he grinned. Finally, he'd found her. "You weren't home so…"

Georgia snickered, "We'll have to get you a key made. Anyway, well, come on. I'll wrap things up in here and we can head out."

Clint surrendered his hands. "Don't let me rush you."

Her eyes rolled and she suppressed a groan. "Please, we've been ready to go since eight but we're having this big charity event in two weeks and it's been a mad house around here."

They left the office shortly after Clint found her. Georgia's arm around Clint's waist, she was tucked into his side seeking shelter from the bitter cold as they strolled down the still-buzzing streets of Manhattan toward the subway. Clint eyed the bodies shuffling to and fro and shook his head, "Go home. It's midnight. How are there still this many people out?"

"It's not called the City That Goes to Bed at Nine," teased Georgia. They took the subway to a stop just outside of Chinatown, dipping in to a twenty-four hour Dunkin Donuts. They ordered some coffee, picked out a few donuts, and slid into a booth by the corner window. Swishing her white chocolate mocha in her hand, Georgia eyed her companion coyly across the table. "Okay, Clint, we've known each other for…what? Few months now? And I still don't know anything concrete about you."

Clint scoffed, "How can you say that?" Georgia knew more about him than most people.

"Yeah, so what I know you're super secret identity? Lots of people know that. And, okay, I know what positions you like in bed and that you are ridiculously sensitive around your ears. And I know what foods you like and what TV shows you watch but I don't know any of the facts. I don't know your middle name. Or where you were born."

"Some people would say that what you know is what counts," murmured Clint, tilting back his cup to gaze at its murky contents.

"I'm not some people," she shrugged. Taking a slow sip of her coffee, she cursed under her breath that it was still hot, and continued, "Sorry if I'm being nosy but I'm a naturally curious person. Besides, it's only fair. You know tons of shit about me. You've even met my sister twice now."

"On accident. That doesn't count."

"Whatever."

Chuckling, Clint nodded, "Fine, fine. What do you want to know?"

"Middle name."

Clint swift cut his head at her. "Nope. Not happenin'. Next."

A wide grin split Georgia's face. "Oh, it must be bad. Ha! Should I guess? Willard? Maybe Ludwig? Clinton Ludwig Barton. Yes! That's definitely it."

His eyes narrowed. "You're not funny, nor are you close."

"Okay, fine. I'll learn that later. Where you from, Clint?"

"Waverly, Iowa."

Georgia smiled appreciatively. "A straight answer. Thank you. Um…did you go to college?"

"No. I, uh, I didn't even finish high school. Dropped out the end of my junior year and joined the military."

Georgia knew surprise was written all over her face at his unexpected reply. He hadn't finished high school? Clint was by far one of the smartest people she knew. But he wasn't just an intelligent thinker, he just knew things all the time. She picked up a chocolate glazed donut from the small box between them. Nibbling off a small bite, she licked her lips and asked, "Can I ask about your family?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched and his grip on his coffee cup flexed. His gaze moved passed her shoulder at the Dunkin Donuts staff, bored and lounging around the shop that was vacant save for them. It wasn't that Clint didn't want her to know about his family; he simply didn't like talking about it. He didn't like thinking about it. Thinking made him remember and remembering made him feel. Fingering the rim of his cup, Clint spoke quietly, almost to himself, "My dad's name was Harold, but we called him Frank. My mom was Edith. My brother, Charlie, was older by three years. He was my best friend, like you and Allie, only with more punching…they died in a car accident when I was nine. They were coming back from Charlie's Little League game. I, uh, I wasn't with them. I was at my grandmother's. I'd been feeling sick that night and, well…that's that."

Georgia wanted to reach over and take his hand in hers but she wasn't sure if that would make him feel uncomfortable or not. Biting her lip, she offered a frown, "Clint, I'm…I can't imagine not having my family, especially my mom. You must be really brave and really strong."

Clint swallowed and offered a quick, forced smile. "You're very kind to say that, G, and I feel like it really would've touched me, were I not distracted by the chocolate icing on your chin."

"What?" Georgia hesitantly touched her chin. "Where?"

Clint smirked. He pointed. "Right there."

Georgia swiped at the chocolate covering the lower half of her face. "Oh, piss. Well, that's embarrassing."

April 18th, 2016

Bruce approached the marker for home plate like a skittish animal. The steel bat hung loosely in his grip and he winced as he raised it, preparing to swing.

"Bend your knees a little," advised Georgia, her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted over the wind. "It'll help your body naturally follow through when you swing."

The doctor did as she suggested, his grasp on the bat flexing. "I can't do this. When other kids were playing baseball, I was busy at the science fair."

"No worries, buddy. Everybody can play baseball. I'm sure Rogers even played it before he got all super-juiced up. Right, Cap?" Tony smirked, though no one could see it behind his Iron Man face. Fully donned in his suit, Stark hovered in the air behind third base. Like him, Thor was hovering behind first base. Steve, who ignored Tony's jab, was on the ground. Err, Helicarrier. He stood twenty yards behind Georgia, ready to pounce. Natasha sat on the "sidelines" watching the affair with an amused boredom. Her partner stood beside her, his beloved Nikon poised to capture all the action. Grinning, he cheered on his teammate. "Alright, Banner! You got this!"

Georgia waited for the doctor to give a reluctant nod before curling her arm back, her left leg rising just so as she shifted her weight. Then, her arm abruptly shot forward like a coiled spring let free. The baseball soared through the air and with a resonating thwack! the bat and ball met. Stunned, Bruce stood stock-still, the bat clattering out of his grasp, his mouth agape, his eyes wide. Clint screamed, "Run, Bruce!"

Blinking back to life, the doctor turned on his heels and took off.

He'd hit the ball toward what was supposed to be right field, the small white sphere flying too high for the Captain to reach and toward Thor. The Asgardian caught the ball easily, proudly chuckling and hoisting the baseball high like a trophy. With it being so easy for Thor and Tony to catch the hits, the team wasn't counting that as an out. The only way to score an out was by tagging the batter. Being from another world, Thor wasn't too familiar with the rules of the All-American passed time in spite of a breakdown of the game from Tony and Clint. He held on to the ball, continuing to thrust it into the air like his hammer as Bruce rounded on third base. Giving his boosters a kick, Tony zoomed over to the God of Thunder and snatched the ball from his teammate. He waved the baseball in Thor's face. "You gotta throw it! God, you're killing me, Smalls."

Jetting downward, Tony made a beeline for his best friend, who was mere steps from the home plate. "Oh, no you don't. Jarvis."

"Sir?"

"Give it all we got."

Iron Man's back up boosters roared to life and he shot forward, arm extended with the ball pointing straight for Bruce's back. However, just seconds before Tony was able to clip Bruce's shoulder, his friend pulled an old trick, dropping to his side to slide into home.

"Hell yeah!" Clint shouted, the camera jolting as he pumped his fist into the air. Spinning on Natasha, he thrust the camcorder in her face. "Did you see that? Did you see that? Our boy's growing up."

The Black Widow pointedly stared at the Nikon's lens. "You have approximately three seconds to get that out of my face before I take it and shove it up yo-"

Shaking his head, Clint tisked his partner. "Stop being such a spoil sport, Tasha. Let yourself have some fun…" He trailed off as a panting Bruce jogged over. Clapping his back, Clint complimented the doc. "Hey, man, that was awesome. Great job."

"Thanks," Bruce gave a bright smiled that quickly dissolved into a grimace. He clutched his side. "It hurts to breathe."

"Why don't you take it easy for a minute? Here, you can take over for me." Clint handed Bruce his prized Nikon and Bruce sank down beside Natasha. He carefully cradled the camcorder. The Widow smirked, Clint replacing Steve in the field now that the Captain was up for bat, and muttered in Bruce's ear. "Don't drop it. You might wake up one morning with an arrow in your throat."

"Ten years ago that statement would've frightened me," replied Bruce honestly. Natasha's brow rose. "And now?"

"Now, I just trust the other guy to spit it out."

As Clint jogged to his position in the so called field – really it was just a piece of yellow tape they'd stuck to the top of the Helicarrier – he passed Georgia and slapped her playfully on the ass, earning him a playful glare.

Stark barked from above, "Hey, Barton, none of that. It's time for your Game Face," to which Clint promptly responded by giving the billionaire the middle finger. Tony scoffed, "How original. The Bird Man shooting me the bird. Not very clever, Tweety."

"Jealousy isn't a flattering color on you, Tony," hollered Bruce in Clint's defense. "Why don't you save being a green monster for me, huh?"

As expected with Captain America batting, the game rose to a whole new level, his super strength sending the ball soaring well passed Tony and Thor. Unsurprisingly, he earned himself a home run. Now, it was Clint's turn to bat. Hawkeye sauntered towards the home plate, the steel bat abandoned a few feet away. Georgia smirked teasingly as she caught the ball, Tony finally retrieving it and tossing it to her. She called to her husband, "I'd sure hate to have to follow the Capt'in."

But Clint merely flexed his arms, knowing they were one of Georgia's major weaknesses. As a skilled archer, Clint's arms were one of his best features, all smooth and taunt muscle. "You of all people should know how well I can hit it, G."

The tips of her ears turning pink, Georgia fought a smiled and reared back, the baseball clutched tightly. Thor grinned from above, "Now, this I know. Friendly competition between a man and his wife. Often on Asgard we-"

"Yeah, yeah. Save it, E.T.," Tony swiftly cut him off. "We've got a game to win."

Thor neglected to point out to his metal friend that no one was keeping score and instead focused his eyes on the assassin at bat. Below, Bruce zoomed out the focus on the Nikon, "This outta be good."

Georgia's breathing slowed, her arm tense and ready to strike. But, right as she prepared to release, a young S.H.I.L.E.D. agent appeared. "Dr. Banner, you have a phone call."

On the field, the game paused. Bruce glanced up. "Oh, uh, alright. Thanks." He offered the Nikon to the Widow. "Take over for me?"

As if it was a gross injustice to her, Natasha unwillingly accepted the camcorder with a scrunched face. Bruce shot her a small smile. "Don't drop it."

"Hey, Cody Banks!" Tony called to the young agent. "Who's calling? Is it the Pentagon, again? Look, tell Jerold it's okay he cancelled poker night. We'll just have drinks at his Saturday, yeah? Or maybe-" Stark dipped down, hovering just inches above the Helicarrier, "-it's that little blonde number from the other night calling. What was her name? Mandy? Or was it Candy?"

"Her name was Veronica and it's not her," Bruce replied.

"Now, now, Brucey, you never know."

"Brucey?" snickered Natasha.

Banner rolled his eyes. "Actually, I do know, because I never gave her my number."

Gasping in shock, Tony went to chide his friend but Jarvis interrupted, "Sir, Mrs. Barton is about to pitch." Sure enough, the second Jarvis spoke, Georgia's arm shot forward, sending the baseball flying. Cursing, "Son of a bitch," Stark whipped back into position and watched Clint's body gracefully pivot, bat and ball colliding with a glorious crack!

Unlike Bruce who'd simply had beginner's luck, or Steve who'd relied on his brute strength, Clint was methodical in his approached. He knew Tony or Thor could catch anything he'd hit their way and tag him out in a second. He also knew that Steve was a quick runner, whose leaps and bounds were quite literally leap and bounds. So, he found the precise angle to twist his body and the steel bat to strike the baseball and send it gliding off to the side, between Steve on the ground and their friends in the air.

Unfortunately, his perfect hit sent the baseball soaring right toward Bruce and the young S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

The baseball struck Bruce smack dab in the back of his head, sending the doctor to his knees.

"Oh, shit," hissed Clint, his comrades drawing short, their eyes wide.

"You can say that again," muttered Natasha as she zoomed the Nikon out of focus, the camcorder trained on Bruce's shaking form.

And then everything kinda went green after that.

Disclaimer: There was a special guest appearance from the British tech Benji. He was stolen from the Mission Impossible series. I just loved the chemistry between Benji and Jeremy Renner's character in Ghost Protocol so much that I couldn't resist!

Let me know what you think!