because I've always gotten the vibe that the two of them had a close relationship, this is a glimpse into their SHIELD days.

enjoy.

"You wanted to see me, Boss?"

Nick glared at Natasha, wholly unimpressed by her cheeky comment. It had taken her a long while to get comfortable enough around him to throw around the sarcastic quips and tease him on occasion, and while never outright disrespectful or rude, she had an annoyingly astute knowledge of how far she could push his buttons and get away with it. Not to mention that it seemed — at least to him anyway — that she was doing so more often nowadays.

"Call me that again and see where it gets you," he warned brusquely.

"Would you prefer I call you Nick?" Natasha said with an amused glint in her eye and the barest lift of an eyebrow.

Someone's feisty today, he thought as he continued to glare at her.

He had never been so arrogant as to believe that an echo chamber resulted in the best outcomes; dissenting opinions and the ability to freely — and respectfully — express them were important. It was precisely the fact that they felt free to offer their thoughts that made Natasha, Clint Barton, and Maria Hill valuable to him as Director. And besides that, he had to admit that a small part of him was always amused when they decided to push the envelope, whether for teasing or with legitimate grievances.

Still, he tilted his head ever so slightly in a silent warning that she'd come up too close to the edge with that one. He was, after all, still the Director of SHIELD. Cut that shit out, Romanoff.

She arched her eyebrow fully now, as though considering going one step further, then held up her hands in a show of surrender, though he saw amusement twinkle in her eyes again briefly. "Got a mission for me?" she asked, refocusing them.

"I do," he confirmed before he gestured for her to sit. "You'll like this one," he added.

Natasha made no move toward the chair in front of his desk and instead narrowed her gaze. "Something tells me I won't," she said drily.

"Sit," he said, then gestured again for her to have a seat. He momentarily wondered if she would protest that she wasn't a dog, but he dismissed the thought. Too easy an opening for her to take.

"See, now I'm worried," she said as she relented and sat in the chair, "because the last time you made me sit here for a briefing, I ended up getting stuck crawling through mud for the next three weeks."

She wasn't wrong. The last time Nick had asked her to sit for a briefing in his office, she'd been sent into a jungle where some individuals of interest had set up a smuggling ring. Ordinarily, it wouldn't have rated any attention from SHIELD, but this group had dealt in highly advanced weaponry that they had no right to handle, let alone distribute. It had been a shit op, and he'd known it before he gave it to her. But the importance of taking the ring down trumped any potential argument about sending a more junior agent, and she'd known it. Still, she'd been grumpy about it for weeks and had threatened Hill with sending her the receipt from her hair salon to fix the damage from the mud. Truthfully, he'd probably have told Hill to approve the reimbursement if Natasha had submitted it. Even as a bald man, Nick knew if he'd been the one crawling around in the jungle, his barber would have been aghast at his head being caked in mud.

"No jungle this time," he promised. "At least, not a natural one," he added, thinking of the political shitstorm they'd be walking into.

Her eyebrow arched again in a silent question, and he pulled a folder from his drawer before sliding it over to her. He watched as she opened it and skimmed the contents. "You're tagging me for your own protection detail?" she said in surprise, then looked up. "Nick, I'm touched," she added with a small, amused smile.

He stared at her again, glowering grumpily at her insistence on throwing out quick, sarcastic quips. You've been spending far too much time with Barton, he thought. "You know, I preferred when you were quiet as a mouse and just said "yes, sir" when given a direct order."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You never take an actual security detail to these summits. Why this time?" she asked, ignoring his comment.

"If it were up to me, I'd go with the regulars, but it's been made clear that's not an option in this case."

Her brow furrowed into a gentle frown, and he watched her begin to puzzle out his motivations. "What's the worry?"

"Same old shit mostly," Nick answered breezily, leaning back in his chair, then pausing momentarily. "Except that there's some chatter that someone's gonna try to assassinate me," he added casually.

"How exciting," she said drolly, glancing up to meet his gaze for a beat and then looking down at the folder once more to continue perusing the contents.

"It's nothing new, as I'm sure you're aware, but this one is apparently spooking the Council. They were mollified when I told them I'd take a senior agent."

She looked up again. "A senior agent or me?" she asked shrewdly.

Nothing gets by her, he thought. "You," he clarified.

"Ah, so they'd prefer they get their wish from all those years ago and let me take a bullet?"

"You jump in front of a bullet for me, and I'll kill you myself," he warned immediately, tone still grumpy.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "If it gets to the point that I have to jump in front of a bullet, I've done a shit job," she volleyed back, then fixed Nick with a look. "And I don't do shit jobs," she added firmly. Her expression had the tiniest touch of amusement, but for the most part, it conveyed how offended she was at the notion she would put in anything besides a stellar performance.

It amused Nick that she was offended by the idea of having to take a bullet being a failure because most would chalk it up as a badge of honour. For all that she liked to push his buttons, he couldn't deny she was ruthlessly efficient in her work. "And that's why I chose you," he said.

"And because Barton's off on paternity leave," she quipped, arching an eyebrow up quickly to tease him again.

"We both know you're more suited to this. Besides, Barton hates using the photostatic veils from R&D."

"That's true," she agreed with a nod. "He moaned for weeks after the last time that it had made his face break out."

They fell into silence as she continued perusing the file, then she looked up suddenly. "This is credible intelligence, Nick. It's not just rumours."

"I'm aware," he replied, nodding slowly.

She eyed him, undoubtedly scrutinizing every tiny twitch of his facial muscles. "It's not the Council's request, is it? You're the one worried."

"Not worried," he quickly corrected, shaking his head for emphasis. "I'm making sure I'm prepared. You know I like to anticipate all outcomes. And the Council is worried. At least the ones who aren't salivating at the thought of replacing me, anyway."

She looked at the file again and flipped through the last few pages before meeting his gaze. "I'll need a second agent. There's too much ground to cover with just me."

Nick nodded, having known she would come to that conclusion. "Take your pick. It's your op."

Natasha thought for a moment. "Morse?"

"She's on assignment."

"Can she be pulled?"

Nick tilted his head. "You know...we have a lot of agents that work here. Some even have more than a few years of seniority over Morse. I wonder if maybe you would pick one of them instead of a junior agent," he said drily.

"And yet you picked me for this, an agent with fewer years of SHIELD employment than everyone else at my clearance level."

Touché. "Pick someone else, Romanoff. She's on assignment."

"No," she replied stubbornly. "Barton's out, May and Hill aren't options, and Coulson's not what's needed here. Who would you have me pick?"

He shrugged. "Not my problem."

She laughed darkly. "Right, because providing a capable and preferred agent for your protection detail isn't under your purview," she said flippantly, and he held her gaze unblinking for a couple beats. "I trained her, Nick. I know what she's capable of and I say she's up for this."

For a silent moment, he held her gaze with a stare of his own, then pushed a button on his desk to open his comms. "Hill, I need an update on Morse's mission."

Natasha smiled, clearly feeling as though she'd won. A pop-up appeared on the laptop shortly with the latest progress report from Morse's supervising officer. He skimmed it, looked up to meet Natasha's gaze, and nodded. "Fine. I'll make it happen."

"Anything else I need to know?"

"Yeah, find some good restaurants. I'm sick of eating in hotel restaurants. The food is always overpriced and awful."

"Okay, this isn't bad," Nick conceded with a nod as he paused between bites of his burger. He'd been skeptical when she said she knew a place that made a good burger, but he had to admit it was up there with the best burgers he'd ever had.

"I told you," Natasha said with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Where's Morse?"

Natasha grinned. "Paperwork."

He held in a laugh. "You've got a cruel streak in you, you know that?"

"Oh, like you wouldn't have pawned off the paperwork," she replied with a roll of her eyes.

"I would have," he agreed, "but you're not me."

"What is it you Americans say? She has to earn her stripes."

"You know, you keep saying "you Americans" but last time I checked, you're a citizen of the same United States as me."

She wrinkled her nose. "Doesn't make me American."

He laughed. "I think by definition it does. Not like you're keeping a Russian passport these days anyway, huh?"

"I've got three, actually."

"And they call me paranoid."

"You're telling me you don't have multiple boltholes with different IDs in them? Bullshit."

"I never said I didn't. But we're not talking about me, we're talking about you and your paranoid ways. You gonna eat those fries?" Nick asked, eyeing her plate of fries that sat untouched.

She didn't respond, and his gaze slid up to find her staring at the entrance. "Oh for fuck's sake," she muttered.

"We been made?" he asked. Given Natasha's body language, he didn't think so — she seemed less ready to jump into action and more irritated than anything else.

"No."

"Then answer my question."

She glared at him and pulled her fries closer to her. "Yes, I'm going to eat my fries. Order your own."

"Who's at the door?"

"Nobody."

"Certainly seems like it's somebody," he volleyed back.

She sighed in irritation. "Trust me, it's not."

"See, I don't trust you, that's your problem. So, I'll ask again. Who is it?"

"The asshole who's been hitting on me all day," she answered curtly, tone all annoyance and grumpiness.

Oh, this could be good, he mused. Unbidden, scenes of potential vicious verbal takedowns she could no doubt unleash on the guy rose in his mind. "Is he coming over here?"

"No, heading to the bar."

Damn. There goes my chance for entertainment with dinner. "Did he follow you or is it just a nice coincidence for him?"

She glanced down at her phone. "Coincidence, according to Morse."

"And you trust her?"

She looked up, clearly offended by his question. "My protegés aren't shitty agents," she said firmly. "If she says it's coincidence, it's coincidence. Besides, this guy didn't strike me as overly intelligent."

"You know, if I remember correctly," he began as he put down his burger and reached for his beer, "you didn't believe there were any capable rookies. Barton had to drag you in to observe."

"What's your point?" she asked as he took a long drink from his beer.

"Now look at you. Like a proud mama bear, defending her cub." Her glaring at him continued, but he saw an edge of irritation — or perhaps embarrassment — had crept in. "You're going soft, Romanoff," he accused, amusement plain in his expression.

"My last few sparring partners would tell you differently. As would the idiots who thought it was a good idea to try to kill you today in broad daylight."

He picked up the remainder of his burger to finish the last of it. "How many of them were there?" he asked before taking a bite.

"I took down four and Morse handled one."

"Are we expecting more fireworks tomorrow?"

"Definitely. Morse is compiling the latest chatter. We'll be ready."

"Oh, I don't doubt it. Now finish your damn fries. I want dessert. And you better eat fast, or I'll make some noise to catch your new friend's attention."

She glared at him in irritation again. "Sometimes I really hate you, you know that?"

"Feeling's mutual," he replied. "Now eat."

She rolled her eyes and then picked up a few fries. "What are you thinking for dessert?"

"You tell me. Anything worth having around here?"

"There's a gelato place that's half decent near the hotel."

"Define 'half decent.'"

"Not as good as true Italian gelato, but not nearly as bad as Americanized gelato."

"That's a big window," he replied.

She shrugged, and her expression shifted, telling him she was enjoying being vague about it.

Nick held in a retort to her amusement and instead refocused their conversation. "So, these people who want to kill me...they motivated?" he asked casually.

She nodded. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, I guess you'll have to earn your pay cheque again tomorrow."

"Yeah, about that pay cheque..." she said, trailing off with a smirk.

The goddamned sass on this one, I swear... "You better not be angling for a raise, Romanoff. I already pay you too much."

"Some people would say you don't pay me nearly enough."

"And who would these people be? Hmm? Because the sheer amount of chaos that follows you and Barton is enough of an argument against a raise for either of you."

"Not our fault you give us the missions no one else wants. Special missions require a different approach."

"We're still fielding requests for payouts for damages as a result of your mission in the Czech Republic last year," he replied flatly.

She shrugged. "We got the job done. Not sure what you would have done differently. It's not like we knew the building was—"

Nick held up a hand to stop her from continuing. "Stop talking and eat. I want dessert."

"So demanding," she teased.

"You ready for tomorrow?" Nick asked as he lingered outside his hotel room's door.

Natasha stopped walking down the hall and turned to face him. "We've got it, don't worry," she assured him, her tone firm and unwavering.

"I'm not worried," he said pointedly with a minute shake of his head. They may have been joking at dinner about the chaotic fallout of her missions with Barton, but she hadn't been wrong about them getting the more difficult ops. They were somehow successful where everyone else had said it would be impossible. It was a big reason he put up with their quips and sass. "Just the same old shit, on a different day, huh?"

"Yeah," she agreed.

"Night," he said, tipping his chin in farewell.

"Goodnight," she returned with a nod before turning on her heel and heading to the room just down the hall from his.

"Hey," he called out just as she reached her door. "You know any good breakfast places?"

A smile curled on her lips. "Yeah, I know a place."

as always, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the portrayal of their relationship here. comments truly make my day, and are so deeply appreciated.

updates will continue to be slow going, but I'm not abandoning this one!