An update! Shocking, I know!

You guys know how this works. We're going to start with a major thanks to: Dasiygirl95, AGirlWithAWritersSoul, Ahsilaa, Mai reLillian, Gina-B-ookworm, MME, raya, and Not. So. Typical. Girl. I am so utterly happy that you like this story and I hope you still stick with it even though I'm mean and hardly ever update. I swear it's not because I don't love this story or you guys.

This chapter is mostly smut and playful whatever but it has two important plot purposes. Mostly, it leads to the Natasha/Georgia showdown I know you guys have been waiting for.

As always, my friends, I hope you enjoy!

February 19th, 2013

Clint's steps were light, almost cheerful or giddy, as he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and headed for the lobby of Stark Tower. Three weeks. He had three weeks to kill before he headed back to base. Just thinking about all the ways he and Georgia could pass the time brought a smile to his face.

"Where're you going, Clint?"

Natasha's voice caused his up-beat steps to falter. He half-turned and gave her a quick, wolfish grin, "Out."

The Black Widow raised a perfectly manicured brow. Her lips twisted into a sour purse as she murmured, "You don't think they're getting curious as to where you've been going? You don't think anyone's noticed?"

Clint snorted. "Didn't realize I had to check in with mommy and daddy."

Arms crossed over her chest, Natasha reached his side and faced him boldly. "Where have you been going, Clint?"

"That's none of your business, Nat."

"You're my partner. My teammate. My-" Friend. Her lips settling into a firm line, Natasha continued, "It's exactly my business."

"You can watch over Bruce and Tony and Thor and even Steve, all you want, Tasha. But you don't have to watch over me. Don't forget, kid, I've been doing this longer than you."

"That's why I'm worried...this isn't like you, Clint. Disappearing for days at a time. Not checking in with Fury. What's going on?"

"I'm a Level Fourteen Clearance Agent, Nat. It doesn't get any higher at S.H.I.E.L.D. unless you're Coulson or the director. And with everything that we do for the agency...for the world, I think I deserve a little down time."

"You do. But why hide it?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm enjoying my right to privacy. The same way you enjoy that right every November when you fly to Moscow and visit Liliana's grave. You don't report. I don't bother you. I'm only asking that you repay the courtesy."

Clint knew it was a low blow, bringing Liliana into things, but he didn't see any other way to get her off his back. He knew Natasha. She was like a hound dog, only sexier; once she caught onto a scent, there was no stopping her. And it didn't suit him that she was starting to sniff in his business. Georgia was Clint's. She was off-limits to S.H.I.E.L.D. She was that one little slice of life that made him feel normal and sane and, well, fun. All be damned if he was going to let his job ruin that. Especially after all the sacrifices he'd made.

Without another word, Clint turned on Natasha and stalked out of the building.

He'd been standing outside her apartment door knocking for the past ten minutes and finally decided enough was enough. Fishing in his bag, he withdrew the key she'd given him only weeks before. The TV was on. He could tell the moment he opened the door. The lights in the apartment were dim and two steps in she spotted her sprawled out on the couch, eyes closed, arms under her head.

He dropped his duffle bag by the door, relocking it and making a mental note to get her a security system installed. Tossing his key on the counter, he approached the back of the couch. She was adorable when she slept. Adorable in the way that she kind've looked like a kid, all relaxed, her hair in shambles around her face, one leg tucked close to her body, the other throw out.

Taking the throw off the chair, he draped the blanket over her, trying not to stare at the way her Dodgers jersey rode up her bare thighs, and went to the kitchen. He fixed himself an omelet, having finally convinced Georgia to by a new set of pots and pans and a few more essential cooking utensils. He ate in the living room. At first, he just sat there watching her sleep while he ate his eggs. Then, he realized how creepy that was - even though that was his thing; he was a watcher with hawk-like observational skills - and turned his attention to the television. Some reality show trash was on and he scoffed.

By the time he'd found a show on Netflix, his plate was empty and he just managed to catch the first few minutes of it before returning to the kitchen to wash his plate and fork.

He took a shower after he ate. In her walk-in shower, he realized she'd changed shampoos. She'd apparently moved on to a strawberry scented one that he decided he liked. A lot. Scrubbing down, Clint wondered if he should let her sleep or not. She was probably tired. They'd been keeping in touch via email lately, a new concept for him, and he knew she'd been working non-stop these last few weeks trying to do damage control on some video of Tony that was released - a video involving Stark's college days and an entire Delta Zeta sorority.

But, he hated to admit, he'd missed Georgia. And he didn't want her to sleep. He wanted her to wake up and be just as excited to see him as he was to see her. And then he wanted them to fuck. Several times before dawn, if possible.

Exiting the shower, he towel dried his hair lazily and dressed in a pair of navy boxers. He knelt beside the couch and smirked. Georgia's nose was scrunching in her sleep, her lips drooping in a pout. On impulse, Clint leaned forward and kissed her heartily.

Georgia came awake with a start, pushing him away with a shout. "What th-get off me!"

Clint chuckled and threw up his arms in defense but his efforts were useless as Georgia tackled him. She straddled his waist and began shoving her fists in his face. Her move was only successful because of the pure shock radiating through Clint. He'd simply been too stunned to stop her. Usually when he kissed her awake, she came up purring; she didn't throw haymakers at his jaw. "Ow. Ow! G, it's me," Clint hollered. Though her attempts to defend herself were sloppy, she'd gotten a good jab in at his eye. Shifting his hips, he took hold of her waist and one of her hands, rolling and positioning her under him. He pinned her arms above her head. "G, it's me!"

She continued to struggle for a moment against his hold, bucking her shoulders up, trying to get leverage off the floor. Cursing furiously, Georgia's face scrunched in anger and sleepiness as she finally realized who it was. Then, she blinked hard and snapped, "Clint?! What the fuck?!"

He gave a dry laugh and shrugged. "Sorry. Thought I'd surprise you."

"What…what the hell?! Wake someone up first! Christ, I thought you were a rapist!"

Clint frowned, his grip on her wrists loosening. "That's twice now you've accused me of being a rapist."

"Because you act like it, creep," muttered Georgia. She groaned, collapsing back onto the carpet when she realized he didn't pose a threat. She took several moments to calm down. Wiggling under him, she gradually relaxed, her sudden adrenaline rush fading. Clint relaxed, too; he lowered his body onto hers, his hips pressing into her stomach. He licked his lips and gave a half-smile. "I'm sorry I startled you."

"Yeah, whatever," she mumbled. Her wrists rolled so that she could lace her fingers with Clint's. Lifting her head off the carpet, Georgia pressed her mouth to his. "You scared the piss outta me," she spoke against his lips. She felt his smile and nipped at his bottom lip. "Jerk."

They remained in a lip-lock on the floor like a couple of teenagers for nearly half an hour. The floor was digging into Georgia's shoulders and when the uncomfortable-ness grew distracting, she detached her lips from his. Georgia licked her lips happily and gave him a sleepy smile. "Mhmm…it's only been two weeks since I saw you last but I really missed that. How long are you staying for this time?"

Clint cupped her face, his thumb brushing back a stray eyelash that had fallen. "My next flight doesn't leave until March seventh."

Georgia's jaw dropped. "Three weeks?"

"Three weeks."

Her mouth spread into a brilliant grin. "Oh, Agent Barton, what will we do to pass the time?"

Clint tipped his head. "I've got a few ideas…"

Two hours and fourteen minutes later, Georgia rolled off of Clint, her breaths growing heavier by the second. Her thighs still quivering, she gasped, "Holy shit."

Beside her on the living room floor, Clint smirked. He was equally out of breath and seriously questioning his ability to move should the apartment suddenly catch fire or should another Hurricane Sandy abruptly strike the city. "You're welcome."

She scoffed and lazily elbowed him in the side, tossing a caustic remark his way. They lay on the floor for nearly fifteen minutes. They memorized and studied the patterns of the stippled ceiling above, finding faces and shapes in the dried joint compound that coated the ceiling while they regained their breath. "My uncle," Georgia told Clint as they gazed on at a pair of stipple-flowers directly above their heads. "-was a handyman. I don't actually know what he did for a living when I was growing up but he used to come over all the time and help my dad with projects around the house. He re-tiled our kitchen and bathrooms. Put down hardwood floors in the hallways. And once, he re-stippled our dining room. My sister and I volunteered to help. It's a lot harder than it looks."

"I can imagine," Clint grinned in appreciation. He tucked his arm under Georgia's head as she continued, saving her from the uncomfortable-ness of the thinly carpeted floor.

"Well, we took our paint brushes and started 'pouncing'. That's the technique you use to stipple. Instead of brushing from side-to-side, you push the brush down, spreading the bristles out. It was like kindergarten art class all over again. Anyway, me and Allie got to stipple a whole corner. Just us. And Allie got this bright idea for us to try and draw something in the stipples…and well, let's just say that night at dinner we couldn't stop laughing. Or staring at the stipple-penis in the corner."

"Oh, Jesus. That's just wrong."

"Yep. It took our parents three months to notice. I thought dad was going to take a wrecking ball to the dining room. It was so bad and so hysterically funny."

"Why di-"

Clint was interrupted by a knock on the apartment door. Her brow furrowing, Georgia lifted her head to glance at the clock above the stove. The clock showed half-past nine. She shrugged at Clint's inquisitive stare and shouted, "Just a sec!"

She pulled on her Dodgers jersey and Clint's boxer briefs before skirting over to the door. She flattened her hair as best she could. Then, she opened the door and couldn't stop the squeak of surprise from escaping her. "Oh, hey."

The man's eyes not-so-subtly swept over her frame before surrendering themselves to her face. In his defense, he blushed at being caught and nervously shuffled his feet. He tucked a hand into his jeans' pocket and smiled. "Hey. Um, I hope I'm not bothering you. Were you…?"

"No, no, I wasn't asleep. You're good. Is there something…?"

"Yeah, um, I was just hungry and I didn't know if maybe you knew of a good place to go. Around here. You know, cause I'm new to the area. If you haven't eaten, you're welcome to join. My treat."

"Actually," Clint called. He moved next to Georgia, a blanket from the back of the couch loosely draped around his waist, and smiled at the stranger hitting on his-err, on Georgia. "We already ate. But thanks for the invite. You like Chinese food? Or are you more of a Chipotle man?"

The man floundered. Sputtering quietly, he glanced between Georgia and Clint several times before sighing. "I, uh, I like Chipotle."

Georgia's heart squeezed. Oh, this poor guy. He was super cute and obviously super nice but, fuck, if Clint hadn't made it awkward. She shot him a frown of sympathy and made the introductions. "Clint, this is my new neighbor, Jonathan."

Jonathan corrected her, "It's Jeremy, actually."

Georgia flinched. "I'm so sorry."

"Jeremy, hey," Clint leaned forward, extending a hand. "I'm Clint."

"So I gathered," Jeremy sourly replied. The men shook hands, the veins in Clint's forearm flexing ever-so-slightly. Jeremy winced and retracted his hand. He shot Georgia a brief, polite smile. "Thanks, anyway. I better be going."

"Don't you want the directions to Chipotle?" offered Clint, a mischievous glint in his gaze.

Jeremy shook his head. "I suddenly feel inclined to take a walk. I'm sure I'll find it. You two have a nice night."

"You, too, Jeremy," Clint mocked, earning himself another elbow from Georgia. She shoved him into the apartment behind her and called goodnight to Jeremy before slamming the door shut. "You're such a tool," she went to chide Clint but before she could speak, he captured her between the door and himself, the length of his body pressing into her in all the right places. "Tool, sir, you are."

"Turning Yoda on me, G?"

"Turning asshole on me, Clint?"

The spy rolled his eyes. "He's a schmuck. Besides, you're spoken for," he replied. Then, he sunk his lips into her flesh, tenderly sucking and kissing a path over her shoulder and collarbone. He gripped the edge of her jersey. Carefully, he peeled the beloved shirt over her head and when it fell to the floor, his knees buckled at the look on her face. Her hands cupped his face. Her fingertips were so soft and smooth against his tanned, sun-beaten skin. "What did you just say?"

He went to repeat himself and realized his error. She was spoken for? Since when?

He awkwardly swallowed and set her back on her feet. Backing up a few paces, he put space between them and leaned against her kitchen counter. "G, I'm sorry. I don't know where that came from."

"From some primal male instinct to claim and possess, I'm guessing," Georgia teased. "Clint, relax. It's not like you proposed. Unless that's what that was. In which case, I accept on the condition that you make Captain America your best man just so I can say he was the best man at my wedding. Or Iron Man. Either is acceptable."

Clint snickered at the thought of Tony and Steve duking it out to be his best man. Yeah, that was so not going to happen. Anyway, in reality, Natasha would totally be his best man. Obviously.

"But since you brought it up…" Georgia murmured as she sauntered passed him and into the kitchen. All that talk about Chinese food and Chipotle had her craving some teriyaki tacos. As she hunted for the skillet Clint had used only hours earlier for his omelet, she said, "I just want you to know that I haven't slept with anyone else since we started sleeping together. This isn't me asking you to go steady or anything, I just…I don't know, I just know guys can get jealous even when they aren't in a monogamous relationship. As made evident by you just now."

He snorted. "That was not jealously."

"Dude, you nearly broke my neighbor's hand."

"I was not squeezing that hard."

"But almost," she insisted. Clint shrunk a little under her stare. He confessed, "Almost."

Georgia rolled her eyes. "Jea-lous," she sing-songed. "But I understand. It's human nature to get defensive when someone tries to play with what's yours."

"Are you trying to say that you're mine?"

Georgia shrugged casually. A little too casually. "I'm saying I'm not someone else's. You've got me all to yourself."

Clint wasn't sure he liked where this was going. She said it herself that she wasn't trying to coerce him into a relationship but what else could she be doing by saying, 'Oh, hey, by the way, you're the only guy I'm fucking?' Then again, he wasn't screwing anyone else either so did that mean they were already in a relationship? And wasn't a relationship defined as simply a bond between two people who were frequently in each other's company?

He and Georgia had a bond. They may not have been frequently together but he saw her more than anyone else besides his team. Hell, he only saw her and his team.

Clint blinked. "Damn, I think we're already dating."

Georgia paused from sliding the chicken around the frying pan. "Come again?"

"I'm not sleeping with anyone else, either. And aside from you I don't see anyone but other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and affiliates. We don't just have sex. We watch movies and go out to dinner and play Monopoly-"

"Which I kick your ass at, by the way."

"Fuck, G, we're dating."

Georgia turned off the stove eye and pushed her chicken back to a cold burner so it wouldn't overcook. She wiped her hands on a dishrag and faced Clint. His eyes were saucers, the full weight of his realization nearly crushing him. He looked prepared to panic at any moment. "Oh, Clint. Stop it. Stop freaking yourself out. So what? So we have a friendship that sort of resembles a dating couple? We can just pull a Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis – we're good friends who fuck for fun. If commitment or labels freak you out that much, just don't think about it. No one's making us analyze what's happening here. Just let it go and please help me cook this chicken. Seriously, it's starting to smell."

Clint gave a small laugh. "You've got the burner too high. Turn it down to four and flip it in the pan. Did you season it?"

Georgia bit her lip. "Does water count?"

Rolling his eyes, he shooed her from the stove and set about to properly season and fry the chicken. A few seconds longer and all hope would've been lost for the poultry. As he slid the chicken breast around the skillet, he paused and glanced over his shoulder. Georgia was seated at the bar watching him through half-lidded eyes, her expression sleepy but content with life. He licked his lips nervously, an action he didn't make a habit of, and asked, "Hey, G…would it really be so bad? You know, us…being an us?"

The corners of her lips barely lifted into a smile. She yawned quietly and rested her chin in her palm. "I don't think it'd be bad at all."

Clint nodded, "Okay."

And that's how Clint and Georgia totally became boyfriend and girlfriend.

The Black Widow hugged her phone tighter, pretending to talk into the small device, while standing on a dimly light street corner in the heart of Manhattan under some scaffolding. She peered up at the window several stories from the ground, saw the figures moving in the shadows of the dimly lit apartment. Her brow drawing, she took a deep breath. "Shacking up with civilians...what are you up to, Clint?"