Clint could see directly into her apartment from the building across the alley. He had scouted out several possible vantage points in a complete circuit of her building, but this one had been the best: direct line of sight through three of the four windows into her apartment, comprising two separate rooms; at least three direct escape routes and two more indirect ones; sufficient cover that even directly across from her apartment he wasn't going to be obvious. There was even a secure place to cache his equipment without danger of it being found so he didn't have to lug things back and forth between his periods undercover and those when he was able to keep a more surreptitious eye on her and further add to his chances of discovery. Even with all of these advantages his surveillance to this point had been more or less useless. She avoided windows like the plague and hadn't even given him the opportunity to make a difficult shot, let alone a clean one, at any point since his surveillance had started. He didn't know whether Romanoff was anticipating a hit, or if her tradecraft was just that good, but thus far she had avoided slipping in any way that would have made his job easier. But then that was why they had sent him. He was the man who could make the impossible shot. All he needed was an eyeball and a target.
Sitting back on his haunches while he waited, Clint ran through the events of the evening in his mind. The 'date' had been fine. Hell, if this hadn't been a mission, if she hadn't been his mark, if he didn't know exactly who and what she was and that she'd be as likely to snap his neck as sleep with him (frankly she'd be likely to do both at the same time) he would have said it was damn near perfect. Their farewell at her doorstep had been nothing short of electric and he almost raised his fingers to his lips where he could still feel the burn of her kiss. He was beginning to get a whole new perspective on the Black Widow and her targets were starting to look a lot more like sympathetic victims than merely the lust-addled dupes he had previously taken them for. He shook his head ruefully. "Get a grip, Barton. It wouldn't be the first time a pretty face made a fool of you, but you don't need to end up in a body bag if you can help it."
When a shadow passed in front of one of her windows Clint immediately came to attention. He gripped his bow more tightly and eyed the window through his scope. It was Romanoff of course. She was moving from the bedroom to the main living area and running one hand through her long hair. Apparently she had just gotten out of the shower since she only had a towel wrapped around her shapely frame and her hair was still glistening with moisture. She wasn't in front of the window for more than a few seconds before disappearing behind the wall that fronted on her kitchen. Her kitchen window was the one on the other side of the building that he couldn't see, but he simply sat back again, waiting. Clint was used to waiting.
The Widow emerged from the kitchen a few minutes later a drink in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She seemed to be looking at something on her phone's display as she took a slow sip from her drink. She had stopped directly in front of the window. The angle was perfect. The chances of him ever getting a cleaner shot than this were nearly nonexistent. What was she doing just standing in front of the window? Was she finally certain that there was no danger? That wasn't like the Widow at all. In all the files he had read about her exploits, in everything he'd seen with his own eyes, in everything he had picked up from hearsay and rumour the Black Widow did not ever let down her guard, she never lost her edge, she never provided an easy target. Of course if Clint had noticed anything, if his gut was leading him in any direction, it was that something had markedly changed in the Widow's modus operandi on this mission. She wasn't the same agent she had been only a few months ago and he was starting to get a strong inkling of just what was going on.
The shot though. The shot was perfect. He had never had such a perfect chance. All he had to do was loosen his fingers on the taut bowstring and that would be the end of it. The end of a seemingly endless chain of death and destruction. The final scene in the horror show that had been the life of the Black Widow. The termination of the Red Room's greatest work of art…and the making of Hawkeye's career.
Clint lowered his bow and let out the long breath he had been holding. He un-nocked the arrow and placed it in his quiver, his movements almost mechanical. He sat back on the roof of the building and lowered his hands between his knees. This wasn't what he did. He could follow orders and he could kill when he had to. He was no neophyte unaware of the realities of the world they lived in, he wasn't a fool to mistake a jumble of lust, confusion, and desire for anything other than what it was, but this was still all wrong. There was something going on here that went deeper than case files and known behaviours. His gut told him that there were answers he needed before he made any irrevocable decisions. There was a mystery to the actions of the Black Widow and he was going to get to the bottom of it before he put an arrow through her throat. He thought he recognized something in her eyes, a haunting shadow that he knew only too well. She might be the greatest actress in the world, but that was a look that didn't lie.
Suddenly Clint's 'work' cell phone from Cross Technologies vibrated and he looked at it quizzically, wondering who could be calling him now. He smiled despite himself when he saw the number on the display.
Things had gone well at the bar. She had been pleased to note that he had chosen one of LAs 'up and coming' spots that was still new enough that they had side-stepped the need to possibly wait in line or even not gain entry, but that was popular enough that he had shown himself a man of means with his finger on the pulse of the LA scene. The effort he had expended in his choice was a detail she had appreciated. The place itself had been sufficiently crowded and noisy to make true intimacy a non-existent factor, but there had still been enough lulls in the background noise to allow them to go through the motions of their 'conversation'. The get-to-know-you chit-chat was almost interesting in its way. She had to admit that Benton had a certain rough charisma and he had somehow managed to be more charming than annoying despite what previous experience would have led her to expect. Despite this it had been obvious that he was acting a part as much as she was. He was good enough though that it hadn't been apparent whether the act revolved around him gathering intel on her, or simply reflected the desire of a man to play a role he thought would get her into bed. Ultimately, after several more drinks and some meaningful glances, Natasha had cut to the chase and decided to invite Benton to take her home.
She was certain of what she was going to do right up until the point that she stopped in front of her apartment door. Suddenly a strange pang of doubt, something she had never experienced in these situations, arose in her gut. For some reason she no longer wanted to invite him in, either to force his hand and deal with any unpleasant revelations, or to further ensnare him in her web and milk him for any intel that might prove useful. She had no idea what had precipitated the sudden change in attitude and that in itself bothered her more than the actual feeling itself. Luckily Laura Matthers was a role with enough leeway for her to play her cards as the situation, or her feelings, demanded. She decided that as far as Benton went it was ultimately in her best interests to keep him off balance.
She turned around, looking up into his face as she leaned against her door. "So, here we are," she said simply.
"Here we are," agreed Benton, placing his hand on the doorjamb near her head and leaning in a little more closely, though not so close as to cause discomfort. A nearly electric tension filled the space between them, though neither made any immediate move to resolve it.
Suddenly Natasha leaned forward, her hand grabbing his collar and pulling him in close, while her lips sought out his in a kiss filled with hunger and the tacit promise of something more. Just as quickly she disengaged and pulled back slightly, looking at him with a mix of shy surprise and slight embarrassment behind her hooded eyes. The new pause that hung in the air between them was just starting to become uncomfortable when she looked away from his face and sighed, her hand disengaging from his shirt and slowly travelling down his chest.
"Oh! I…I'm sorry I didn't mean to…" Looking back at his face she gave him a lop-sided smile. "I really had a nice time tonight Alvin, but I think, all things considered, that we ought to say good night."
The surprise that flashed across his eyes was accompanied by something else that she couldn't quite place. Was it disappointment as she at first expected, or relief? She couldn't say for sure.
"Are you…sure?" he managed after waiting a beat, calculation apparent in the pause.
She smiled demurely as she looked down at the carpet, fishing her keys from her purse. "Yes, sorry. I…I just think we ought to make sure we don't rush into anything." She allowed her embarrassment and shy nerves to take full control of her features as she looked up at his face and shrugged. "We have plenty of time after all. I really did have a wonderful evening, though, and I do hope we'll be able to do it again." She turned to unlock her door, stepped in slightly and then waited on the threshold as she looked back at him before adding, "Soon."
For a moment as she held the door slightly ajar Natasha wasn't sure what Benton was going to do. Was he going to throw a fit and threaten her, demand what he was 'owed'? Would he shrug and walk away, disdain for the pretty little tease apparent on his face? Would he smile his smarmy smile and drop some more innuendo?
She wasn't surprised when he leaned in, conceivably for another kiss, though she was a little startled when she found herself moving closer towards him in response. Suddenly he stopped, his lips just short of hers before he whispered, "Well then, there's always that to look forward to." He waited for only a second and then that shit eating grin was plastered on his face again and he turned around and walked back to the elevator.
Natasha's smile disappeared as she closed and locked the door, her features all business once again and all trace of Laura's demure shyness gone. Leaning back she closed her eyes and ran through the events of the op as she always did at the close of any mission, evaluating what had occurred.
She was certain she hadn't been mistaken in thinking that that the meeting she had witnessed in the diner had been a connection between an agent and his handler, so there really wasn't any doubt in her mind about who, or at least what, Benton was. She was still uncertain, though, about what his mission parameters might be. There were plenty of reasons for an agent, freelance or otherwise, to be snooping into what Cross was working on, especially given the Stark angle. He definitely wasn't Red Room and while it now seemed unlikely to her that he was in any way centring on her as the object of his mission she couldn't discount it. His interest in her might be nothing more than desire for a quick lay while he was on a mission - no one said there couldn't be fringe benefits to undercover ops after all - and she certainly provided an enticing target in that regard. Add to that the fact that she was posing as Cross' PA and might therefore have access to intel he needed on other fronts and it almost seemed likely that he would have made a move on her for no other reason than to make his real job that much easier. Still, something about him was off. He had a laser focus on her whenever they were in the same room that went beyond the way he interacted with others. She could flatter herself that it was merely physical attraction, but that kind of assumption got you killed in the field. She hadn't become the most successful assassin in the history of the Red Room, a history full of spectacularly bloody acts and daring manoeuvres, by allowing herself to ever make assumptions.
That left two options: kill Benton now and make sure the blame landed elsewhere or dig deeper into who and what he was in order to better arm herself against him if need be. The former option removed an unknown quantity from her concerns and had the appealing, though admittedly unlikely, benefit of creating a further distraction in the hive of Cross Technologies that might lead to some openings hitherto blocked to her. The latter would allow her to get much closer to him without making waves that frankly would be more likely to backfire and cause Cross to go overboard with his already rampant paranoia. Either way she thought she had baited the hook nicely and all that was left was maintaining that interest and reeling him in.
She could have gone ahead and done that tonight. She could tell that he had been expecting to be invited in when they were at her door. She had even toyed with the possibility of doing just that. But, she had decided upon reflection, that would have been for purely selfish reasons not germane to the task at hand. He was after all an attractive man. She had instead decided to play the interested co-worker worried about propriety. By now he had to be wondering why she was running so hot and cold and while that might make him wary she knew ways to mitigate that circumstance.
Natasha sighed. She didn't think Benton had been too bent out of shape by her sudden turn- around at the door, though that in itself rankled her a bit, and ultimately she thought that it was perhaps the more logical response. Laura Matthers was first and foremost a professional however much she might be willing to let her looks tease what she wanted from the men in her life, and a one night stand with a new co-worker after the first date was not something she'd do unless the benefits far outweighed the possible disadvantages.
She took a shower while she considered her options, luxuriating under the warm water as the tension of the day was washed away. Wrapping a towel around herself she sauntered to the kitchen to prepare herself a drink, picking up her phone as she returned to the living room. Lost in thought she stopped before the window, her eyes looking at the number she had almost unthinkingly brought up on her display. She smiled to herself for a moment, before hitting dial.
"Hello?" came Benton's voice after a few rings, hesitation apparent in his tone.
"Alvin, it's Laura," she replied coolly, "I know we just saw each other, but I just wanted to make sure I told you how much I enjoyed our evening. I really do hope that we're able to do it again."