smitten, v.

definition: be strongly attracted to someone

rating: T

A/N: The inspiration for this came when I started wondering if Clint and Natasha had met on a mission before the time he saved her life. ALSO the international trailer with the Clint/Nat fight scene came out and I have watched it too many times oops ;D Enjoy and look out for a reference to the first time Jeremy and Scarlett met in real lfe! Xx

"Identification, please."

Clint flashes his ID at the security guard, excitement thrumming in his veins, and is waved through. It's his first high profile mission, the location an exclusive club for young people between the ages of twenty-one and twenty-five. He's a fairly new recruit and he's only been chosen for the job because of his young age. But he's trained hard for this and is the most skilled of the recruits, and he intends to impress his superiors above and beyond their expectations of him, and maybe even level up early in the process. He knows these are lofty goals that are dependent on the mission at hand going well, and his sweaty palm slips on the door handle a little when he grasps it.

His target?

The Black Widow.

He's read her file so many times he could recite it backwards as well as forwards. It's impressive. She's killed important people even in high security situations. She's gotten out of seemingly inescapable traps. She's accessed supposedly impenetrable locations. She's known as the Black Widow, the Slavic Shadow, the Red Death. Her primary weapon is listed as "thighs".

But Clint is at least seventy percent sure he can complete his mission. He doesn't have to kill her, that's too much expectation for a single young agent. He only has to drug her to keep her from poisoning the Prince of Belgium, who's rather infamously known for being a party animal. The prince's security detail is light tonight because of the club's age restrictions.

Clint's only concern is that he won't recognize his target. The only confirmed photograph of her is blurry and at a bad angle, taken just as she's disappearing around a corner, her red hair flying. The picture had been taken quite a few years ago, which meant that she was only about twelve or thirteen at the time.

Okay, so maybe sixty percent sure is more realistic. Fifty-five.

Clint swallows and taps his comm on.

"Testing."

"Loud and clear, Agent Barton," his handler, Agent Phil Coulson replies.

The room is packed, filled with intoxicated, extravagantly dressed young men and women. Clint pushes his way slowly through the crowd of bodies rocking to the music of some famous singer crooning into a microphone.

Within a few moments, he has located the Belgian prince, drinking at the bar surrounded by at least three scantily-dressed, flirtatious girls.

Clint mentally groans. He had been partly counting on the Black Widow hanging close to the prince to identify her, but he now realizes that there are so many people in the room that she could easily slip by and poison the prince's drink without anyone noticing.

"Hello, handsome."

Clint turns sharply and jumps when he finds two sparkling green eyes only a few inches from his own. He swallows hard, his eyes taking her in from her perfect blonde curls to her pouty pink lips, down her scandalously short, dazzling dress, following the line of her smooth legs to her small feet, clad in a pair of dirty old sneakers.

Somehow, she pulls it off.

"H-hey," Clint stammers, his voice cracking. Pull yourself together, he admonishes himself sharply. He hadn't thought about the fact that he was an eligible man at a classy club. But this girl is way out of his league, even in his wildest dreams.

"Barton, are you focused?" Coulson asks. Crap. He must have heard the voice crack.

"Wanna get a drink?" The girl asks in a voice that is attractively hoarse, blinking her enticing emerald eyes.

Clint feels confused and light-headed, like he's already intoxicated just from drinking in the sight of her.

"Yes," he answers Coulson out loud. The girl grabs his arm and pulls him towards the counter. Great. She thought he was talking to her. Maybe he had been.

"No drinking on the job, Barton," Coulson warns. And his first mission is off to a great start.

"What do you want?" She asks. They're at the bar, and he's standing beside one of the girls next to the Belgian prince.

"Um, I'm not drinking tonight," Clint tells her a little shamefacedly. She raises an eyebrow and orders two gin and juices, raising her voice over the sounds of laughter and too-loud music.

"Everybody's drinking tonight," she says, smirking roguishly as she hands him his glass. Clint accidentally takes it. She smiles again and he watches in amazement and admiration as she downs her drink. He studies her face when she sets down her glass, noticing that she's quite a bit younger than he is.

"How did you get in?" He finds himself asking, leaning close to her so she can hear him over all the noise. "I'm twenty-two and I can tell you're younger than I am. Too young to be in here." She leans forward too, and takes his glass. A soft hint of perfume teases his nose and he subconsciously inhales more deeply.

"I know people in high places," she says vaguely, and tips her head up to take another drink, exposing her smooth throat. She places the glass on the counter and pauses, studying him. He holds his breath, his ears pounding with the music and the wild beating of his heart.

"Dance with me," she says next, and before Clint knows what's happening, she's pulling him out on the floor, next to the wall where no one else is dancing, and her arms are twined around his neck and his hands are on her small waistline. She pushes up against him, and her hip fits perfectly below his like it was made to. Clint closes his eyes for a second, enjoying the sensation of her hand in his hair at the back of his neck and her body pressed to his, and pulls her closer, his hands moving to the small of her back.

"Barton, what's happening? Fill me in, did you find the prince yet? Is the Black Widow here?" Coulson's voice cuts into his thoughts at an opportune moment.

Clint's eyes fly open instantly. Oh, how stupid of him. She smirks. It's her. He's dancing with, he's basically hugging the Black Widow. The drug feels heavy in his pocket.

"Let's get another drink," he suggests, his heart pounding now for a different reason. She probably has at least ten different weapons on her, not including her killer thighs. The quicker he can drug her, the better for everyone, especially the Belgian prince. Her eyelids lower for a second, and she tilts her head at him, her eyes catching and somehow holding the changing light.

"What's this?" Her fingers dart forward and his ear tickles for an instant when she pulls out his comm.

"Hey! I need that!" Clint says, panicking. His hand is still on her waist but she leans away, holding it out of his reach.

"Why?" She asks teasingly. Clint feels fear rising in his throat. She knows exactly what it's for, and there's no way she's going to give it back. So he improvises.

"It's my hearing aid," he says, and mentally congratulates himself on his method acting. "I can't hear a damn without it."

"Then read my lips," she sighs, and her mouth crashes into his. He starts to pull away, but she grabs his lapels and spins him around, slamming him into the wall. Her fingers spread over his chest and her teeth bite down on his lower lip. Clint doesn't mean to kiss her, but somehow, it happens anyway. His stomach twists and he's dizzy, and one hand is beneath her soft curls and the other tightening on her hip, and the scent of her perfume is crowding out any other thought, and her lips are warm and sweet. And the floor is tilting, and he's falling, he's taking a nap on the floor. Somehow, he manages to peel his eyelids open long enough to see her walking towards the bar, towards the prince. She twists around and smirks, blowing a kiss in his direction. Clint groans and his eyes slide shut. It was the lipstick. Why is it always drugged lipstick? Damn femme fatale, is his last thought before he slides into peaceful oblivion.

A/N: The reference, if you caught it, was Natasha's shoes. Jeremy Renner said during Scarlett's Hollywood Walk of Fame that the first time he met Scarlett was at a party and she looked amazing in this gorgeous dress and she was wearing a pair of dirty old shoes. :D