HIGH ~ YOUNG RISING SONS

…

Clint and Natasha were sitting side by side, their feet dangling off a fifty-foot drop, the morning sun on their left and a slight breeze coming from the right. There was just something about a rooftop that allowed their type to relax… It most likely had something to do with the open atmosphere and high vantage point; it wasn't hard to be aware when everything was in easy sight. No need to be on such a high guard.

"I've seen enough of this shit to last a lifetime," Clint grumbled, glaring at the picturesque summer sky backdrop.

"You know, your bitchy mood is seriously starting to piss me off," Natasha said.

Clint snorted, and then suddenly had an idea, a small smile tugging at the corners of his eyes. "You know what would make my 'bitchy mood' go away?"

Natasha looked at him in confusion and Clint turned to look at her through his eyelashes, his shit-eating grin making him look expectant. She'd figure it out sooner or later.

Natasha's eyes suddenly lit up and she slumped in disbelief. "Really?" She wasn't really all that distressed judging by the amusement hiding in the corners of her mouth. This was one of her rare expressions that Clint always liked seeing, especially when he was the cause.

He simply raised his eyebrows, waiting. He knew she was acting this way for his benefit and he was repaying the favor poorly… but teasing Natasha was just too much fun. Plus, she hadn't done it for him at least half a year; she was due.

Natasha sighed and finally caved.

"Excuse you!" she began in a Southern twang, her face and body language changing to fit her voice. "Do I look like I'm int'rested in what's gone on in yow pants? I betchoo woun't know what ta do wit' it even if I let you! How's bout you go ask yow pappy where he put it the day you was conceived! Then maybe we cou' talk," she quoted perfectly, every word and expression the same as it had been that day all those years ago.

Clint went into hysterics, falling to lay down on the roof behind them. Not many things could make him laugh anymore; but ever since that utter-failure-of-a-reconnaissance-mission a few years back, her Southern accent could always make him snicker and he utterly lost it whenever she reenacted the whole scene.

Finally getting himself under control again, Clint sat back up, breathing easily. He realized the black weight at the top of his spine was cleared away. "Thanks, Tasha," he said, feeling a lot lighter. "I needed that."

She just smiled and looked back out at the cityscape.

Nat could be so cool when she wanted to be.

Natasha wordlessly gestured across the square, stepping out of his way as if giving him the stage.

Clint rolled his eyes, smiling at her, and moved to stand in his firing stance, left foot in front of his right, chin over his left shoulder. His sharp eyes found the target without difficulty, and in one smooth move, he nocked the cabled arrow and pulled the bowstring to its fullest capacity.

The amount of force behind his specialized bow was well above average, requiring a lot of conditioned muscles in his shoulders and back that Natasha knew she didn't have. The extra tension also lent to the speed behind his arrows, and reduced the height the arrow would need in order to cover distance.

With a slow exhale, Clint let the bowstring slip from his fingers, and the arrow twanged into the air. It hit the mark, of course.

Natasha felt pride bubble up in her chest; she had no right to be proud of him, but she was. "Now, that wasn't hard was it?" she said dryly. She picked up the slack rope and walked the end of it back towards a stable structure.

Clint just snorted and rolled his eyes again.

Natasha finished tightening the slack in the rope, coming to stand next to him on the ledge. "Coming with?" she asked as she removed the belt from her hips.

Clint looked at her sardonically, "This looks like a decent way to reveal identities."

Natasha just shrugged. "Suit yourself. See ya back at your place?" With that, she folded her belt across the taught rope and jumped off the building, zip-lining her way to street level.

The air rushing through her ears made Natasha feel weightless; she was grinning as she flew. Several French civilians pointed and shouted at the woman flying through the air above their heads, but she paid them no heed. With five feet left till she hit pavement, she let herself drop.

Half a second later, the rope above her head began to tremble and the civilians started shouting again.

"You're a goddamn child, Barton."

"You don't have to be a kid to like ice cream, Tasha."

"That's not what I meant. And besides, not every kid likes ice cream."

"All the more reason to eat it! To make up to the ice cream gods for all those ice cream haters."

…arched eyebrow…

"Come on, with our luck, there probably is at least one ice cream god."

"Forget it."

"Just take the damn thing!"

"I said, I don't want any!"

"Take the cone, Romanoff, before I shove it up your nose!" Clint said, holding it up in front of her face.

Natasha adjusted her weight to one hip and folded her arms, her eyebrow cricked lopsidedly. The expression on her face said it all. I dare you.

Clint blinked in amazement. … she did not just call his bluff…

One splat later and Natasha was suddenly looking very much like a snowman, only with an ice cream cone for a nose instead of a carrot. "What the fuck, Barton!" she said loudly, swiping the cold dessert off her face.

Clint took a bite out of his own ice cream, smirking, "Funny, aren't I?"

Natasha proceeded to chase her 'funny' friend up a tree. Literally.

"I'll tell Hill what really happened in Panama."

"What? Are you fucking serious!?"

"Try me."

Clint made a face, "This is revenge for the ice cream, isn't it?"

"Now why would you think that?" Natasha's smile was evil. She knew how much he hated calling attention to himself… side effects of being a professional sniper.

Clint sighed and scratched his forehead awkwardly, staring around at the karaoke bar he'd unfortunately chosen for them to have lunch in.

"Tick tock," Natasha prompted, looking down at her watch.

"Alright, alright!" Clint growled as he quickly stood.

Natasha smirked, "Make me proud, Elvis."

Clint rolled his eyes and marched himself over to the stage in the corner.