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Chapter 1: Fight Night

He was particularly leaping for joy as he headed to the gym, arriving a few minutes earlier than the time he scheduled with Natasha. He couldn't wait to actually show off her progress so that when the time came he could tell the council where they can stick their Deconditioning plans for Romanoff.

As expected, Romanoff hadn't shown up yet. He shrugged his shoulders and began warming up. Ten minutes later he anxiously awaited as he knew his partner would walk through these doors any minute.

He busied himself with some weight training, ignoring the fact that she was supposed to be here five minutes ago.

Another 25 minutes passed. He refused to go looking for her. She was an adult, she'd come when she decided. He passed the time taking out frustrations on a punching bag. Another half hour passes. He runs the elliptical, practices targets, and does set after set.

Others that have been in and out of the gym take notice of the tense attitude of the archer and the way his head snaps back to the doors whenever any of them are opened. It all makes sense when a restless looking Natasha Romanoff appears two hour late to her appointment. Barton remains sitting on a mat as she makes her way cautiously over to his location. The gym has quieted some, agents all around lose discretion as they openly take in the lethal agent's presence and stressed appearance.

Now standing in front Barton, Natasha partakes in her only visible nervous tick of rubbing her wrists slowly. She is, from head to toe, decked out in all standard SHIELD clothing and her long flaming hair has been messily tied into a secure ponytail.

Barton attempts to look her eyes but they shift away shyly. "This is the wrong Black Widow", he concludes to himself. Fear, anxiety, nervousness, it's almost as if she's human.

"Glad you could make it," he says with an admirable amount of genuineness. Natasha only respond is another bout of wrist rubbing. "Are you still up for sparring?"

That catches her ears she perks up, shocked that the offer was still on the table. She was late, disobedient, and didn't deserve to be rewarded.

Clint finally stood, catching sight of her disbelief. He places his hands on her shoulders, drawing not only Natasha's attention but many side glances from their audience. "Hey, its okay that you're late, I'm just glad you came. So, will you please spar with me?"

She looks up. It feels like the first time he's ever really seen her eyes. There always so guarded and tough. He's never seen her as anything but a strong, resilient woman but right now she's having emotions, deep ones. He can't ignore the fact that she's Natasha Romanoff, the independent and self-reliant mastermind. She's his friend that's going through a tough time of change. Clint vows to stop treating her like just another partner and like an actual friend

She nods. She nodded! Clint smirks, he's been so distracted with hoping she'd show up he's forgotten that he actually has to spar with her and all the dangers that could possibly be associated with it.

They make their way to an empty mat, conveniently placed in the middle of the gym. A showcasing, basically.

They took their positions. Starting in opposite corners, Natasha rolls her shoulders observing where his weak spots were and what side he favored. This felt vaguely familiar. They had gone on heavy combat missions before, she secretly loved fighting with him. He was precise and swift and moved like his body was made to fight.

They circled each other. Barton with his classic smirk and Romanoff with her default mask of emotions. She launches first. A low kick to his left hip. He narrowly deflected it, rolled into a leg sweep that she flipped over to maintain her balance. Swinging to hook his unguarded right shoulder.

It was gracefully beautiful. Their precision matched with skill, they all but floated across the mat. Deflecting, kicking, spinning, and flipping it was an even opposition. A crowd was now forming around them unable to pry their eyes away. They didn't grunt or allow any noise to escape only the sound of except for the flesh connecting with flesh. It was poetic.

The match lasted maybe an hour each opponent having their own moments of having the upper hand. It must have been past midnight when the crowd dissipated that both chose the same moment to call truce. Clint collapsed dramatically at Natasha's feet, panting.

She stares down at him curiously, wondering why he being so… natural?

"Hungry? The cafeteria closed but there's a pizza spot around the corner we can grab some, if you like."

She shakes her head, she does know why. She is hungry, she's had pizza a couple times and she enjoys it but The Routine.

The Routine is already angered by her behavior. She needs to do damage control, some sort of punishment. The Red Room would've put her on a "nutrient siphon" by now, a fancy term for starvation until further notice.

"Why not?" Clint whines. Natasha creases her eyebrows, even more off put by his friendly behavior. He stretches his arm out asking for assistance. She grabs his hand and he raises, towering over her. "Please?"

Routine can go screw itself. "Okay." She whispers. Clint gives her a puzzled look, wondering why she acted as if she was moving mountains to have a slice of pizza.

"I'm going to shower real quickly, can I meet you at your dorm in ten?" Natasha nods slowly wondering what she's gotten herself into.

Clint's dressed casually in jeans and a black tee, while Natasha opts for another variation on SHIELD-issued clothing. They walk in slightly uncomfortable silence. Natasha spends most time observing this unfamiliar city.

The pizza is rather good. They sit across from each other in a booth with red leather benches and creaky wooden table hoisting there plain cheese pizza. Clint was willing to let her choose what toppings would go on the pie. It was evident that he was dismayed and offended when she simply responded with none. Still, he had no words and smiled pleasantly at her.

"So, we need to talk," Clint sighs after polishing off his second slice. Natasha figured this outing would be less innocent than Clint originally played it off to be. "I want to help you, but I need you to meet me half way."

She stares at nervously. Still nibbling at her first slice. He continues, "You're an amazing agent, the best most of us have ever seen. But your bosses spend entirely too much time focusing on the little things, like your social skills outside of missions. They're becoming alarmed and they want to breathe down your neck again. I will make sure that doesn't happen if you do a few things for me."

Natasha breaths deeply before agreeing to make more of an effort to care about keeping her job. He begins to lists small things she must do in the next few weeks to reduce the worry of the council. Eating at least one meal a day in the cafeteria, attending all mandatory meeting, training in the gym, and most importantly spending time with her partner.

She's internally regretting this agreement, she knows she'll disappoint him. He'll be upset, SHIELD will abandon her, and she'll lose the one opportunity to renew her life.

"Hey, hey. Don't overthink this, I'll be here. One step at a time, okay?" Clint's leans forward, his words are all earnest, this she doesn't doubt.

A week then two goes by. Routine isn't happy. Natasha wakes up on time but instead of a meager breakfast and an unquenchable thirst to clean, Clint picks her up every morning and they grab something hearty to eat at the cafeteria. He reviews her agenda for the day, mostly meetings and debriefings. She works out most afternoons and makes a habit out of sparring with Barton.

Still even though Routine is loosening its control over her, she continues to bind her wrist night. She wants to break the restraints but she's locked in, immune to escape.

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