CLINT- "We can get a DNA test if you want" She says to me. I look at her and then go down into a crouching position, and pick up my bow. "No, I believe you. I don't know why and I know I shouldn't but I do. I believe you." I tell her and its true I believe her and I have no clue why but this woman is incapable of telling me lies that I don't see through. "How far along are you? Four months I presume as that was our last meeting." I say standing up grabbing my bow and polish. "Four months, not sure the gender but… Why am I here with you? You probably don't even care about me or this child. It's all just another mission to you. Except this one has a few bumps in the road." She yells at me. One moment she is unsure of what to say and the next she is talking to me so sternly it is like she is yelling. "You are here with me because I saved your ass and because you don't really have a choice. If I recall properly I not only saved you and our child but I am also recruiting you for SHEILD don't make me regret it. I do care about you and this child but I had a one night stand with you and I barely met you that night and we haven't been able to talk since now. So yes I am having issues adjusting but trust me I'll be fine in an hour or so and you will be to." I say back to her entirely serious. She nods her head and sits on the bed. I leave her alone for a few minutes while I attempt to take apart my gun. I hate that Coulson makes me carry it. I can barely take it apart to clean it. I can at least fire it accurately. After about twenty minutes of struggling to get the gun back together Natasha reaches over and puts it together in five seconds flat. She turns and shrivels against the wall that the bed is pushed up against. She looks so small curled up but I know she is deadly so I leave her be, and I pull off my shirt. I peek out the shutters and see a picturesque scene of the Eiffel tower. When I don't notice anything out of the ordinary, I sit on the bottom corner of the bed and mess with my comm unit. It doesn't work anymore. I think I crushed it when I jumped from one building to the next and I had to do a roll to avoid injury. I shrug and place it back in my pocket. "So did you really have an abusive dad?" Natasha suddenly asks. "Yup. He blamed me for my mother's death. The other scars are from bullets, knifes, cattle prods, fists, guns, swords, you know the typical day for me." I say and I turn to look at her face. She quirked her lips up at my dark joke. "Scoot over it's my bed time." I say getting into the only bed and she's on it. "Wh…What?" She asks me clearly startled but she gets up from the bed entirely. "I am going to bed and I'm not sleeping on the floor. You aren't either. You may be a free-lance assassin bad ass but you are also pregnant." I say scooting against the wall. Natasha shakes her head no and attempts to sit on the floor. "Come on I don't bite, and there is plenty of room on this luxurious twin size mattress." I grab her arm and pull her up from the floor. "Trust me for the night. I won't kill you. Promise." I say after a few moments of hesitation on her part and me convincing myself that she will try to sit on the ground again. She reluctantly sits on the bed and then lies down not facing me. I notice that she attempts to not touch me at all but fails because of the size of the bed. Her breathing evens out and eventually so does mine. NATASHA- Barton stands at the window and looks out the shutters. His skin glows a pale golden color in the moon light from the window. He is quite fit and his muscles are very well defined. Scars criss cross his back and his shoulders. His chest and abdominals are covered in scars as well. Large scars, small scars, half way healed cuts and the most recent one on his shoulder from my bullet. I can't believe that I actually missed his heart or his head. I never miss. I remember what having him hold me felt like and a sudden pang of longing hits me. Snap out of it. You can't let him get to close. You are red room. Incapable of love. I tell myself. Snapping out of my admiration of his body. Reluctantly I go to bed, with him on one side and me on the other. I wake up warm and against another person. My hands rest against his chest and I feel almost content. My hands explore his chest and trace his scars. I smile slightly remembering that he told me what some of the scars are from. Lazily I begin to feel content and curl up further in his arms. Then I have to pee, and I remember where I am, who I am, who has their arms wrapped around me protectively, and whose scars I was tracing. I lay there for a few more minutes and I study Barton's face. He looks peaceful and happy, and something else that is only for children. My urge to pee grows so I nudge him to get him to wake. "Barton wake up." I tell him, as I shake him to get him to release his arms around me. He doesn't in fact to my dismay he pulls me closer, even though my stomach flutters slightly I frown. The only space between our bodies is what is created by my swollen stomach. "Get up Barton." I growl, and I poke his face. "Go back to sleep Tasha. We aren't in danger right now." He mumbles and smiles slightly. "Barton, you're in danger of getting peed on if you don't release me now." I say, he grudgingly releases me and I sprint to the bathroom just barely making it. I decide to shower also; in the middle of my shower water splashes out of the shower and soaks my t-shirt and pants. The only ,thing in here was Barton's shirt from yesterday which has surprisingly no blood on it. I pull it on and look at my reflection in the mirror. My face has rounded slightly, my skin is clear, my eyes are still green and my hair as always is still red. I walk to the bathroom door and pull it open. Barton stands there with his mouth wide open and his eyes the size of saucers. I turn around quickly to make sure nothing or no one is behind me and then I realize that he is staring at me. "Shut your mouth Barton or I will shut it for you. My clothes got wet when I was in the shower. I need to wait for them to dry." I say and look sternly at him. "Okay, I have sweat pants that you can wear if you want." He says pulling out a bag that I didn't even know that he had and tosses me a pair of grey sweat pants that says S.H.I.E.L.D down the left pant leg. I put them on and wait for my clothes to dry. Clint takes a shower and changes his clothes too. While he is showering I notice that his shirt smells just like him and I like it. With a quick glance in his bow case I notice that he doesn't know how to clean his gun. I pull it out and take it apart and clean it. Re-oiling all of the moving parts and then I make sure all of the bullets that are in his gun are for his gun and are in the right way. They are, at least he is competent to know that much. I begin to spin the gun on my finger and wait for Barton to get out of the shower. The clicking of the bathroom door startles me and I immediately aim the gun at the guy leaving the shower. "Romanoff put down the gun." Barton says slowly. His hair is slicked back with water, he is standing in the bathroom door way. "Oh. Right, I'm just used to being alone." I say placing the gun on the table. "Hate to break it to you but you aren't going to be alone again." He says with a slight smile looking at my stomach. "Shut it Barton." I say feeling an alliance beginning to form between us. He places his hands up in surrender. "Alright, so we are going to go back to the safe house today and my handler will probably try to kill you. I won't let him so don't worry." He says trying to gauge my reaction. I put on a mask of indifference. "Ha! You're going to protect me from your handler! Didn't he train you?" I say slightly amused. "No, he didn't he is pretty good but I am better. Don't doubt me." He says seriously. It was my turn to place my hands up in surrender. "Okay, continue with your plan." I say. "So once my handler is neutralized he will listen to what I have to say. Then he will help me. The Director is going to be pissed but he'll get over it. After you have the kid you'll probably be my partner because I brought you in. Hope you like spending time with me." He says sassily. "What's the catch?" I ask him knowing that something is up. "We can't tell anyone but my handler and the director that I'm the father of the baby. We'll be compromised." He says running his hands through his short dirty blonde hair. The sunlight glints through his hair creating a halo like effect, my heart flutters on my chest as I notice that his shirt is tight on his muscles and he looks really attractive. Why does he have to be so attractive? Nope stop it, remember where you came from and who you are. I snap out of my reverie. I nod my head to let him know that I understand. "Handler, partner? Who would they be?" I ask dancing the rag over the handle of the gun. It leaves small shiny marks from where the rag had oil on it. "Most likely Coulson and I. Fury would attempt to punish me for this stunt and I gladly accept the punishment. Also I would hate to work with anyone else because I get the feeling that we make a pretty good team." He says with a grin and his hand pulls through his hair. I raise my eyebrows at that statement but I don't say anything. Instead I walk into the bathroom and notice that my clothes are still wet. I begin to dry them with the crappy hotel hair dryer. I don't even bother with my shirt, and only dry my pants. I can wear Barton's shirt, it's more comfortable than my wool sweater anyways. I toss on my jeans and my shoes. Noticing Barton's bag that had the clothes in it before I grab it and toss my wet sweater in, he raises his eyebrows but says nothing. Instead he grabs his bow case and runs a quick inventory check on his weapons. "Here." He says tossing me his gun. "Thanks but I thought you didn't trust me." I say tucking his gun in the waist band of my pants. "No, I trust you completely; it's you who doesn't trust me." He says staring into my eyes. The walk to the safe house is long but not nearly long enough for me to complain; even if it was complain worthy I wouldn't complain. It's been ingrained in me since I was five to not complain and if I did I'd be punished. We arrive at a non-descript gray office building in a trashier part of Paris. I raise an eyebrow at the building but say nothing. Instead I am lead into an alley way and up a fire escape to a small covered door that looks like it is meant to be a roof top stair access. Barton knocks and passes his eye by a scanner on the outside of the door. The door is flung open by a man who looks to be in his early thirties, I guess this is Barton's handler. The Handler's face is relieved and a smile is spread across it. Then he catches sight of me.