11:03 27-AUG-09, BRIGHTON, UNITED KINGDOM

"Is that all, sir?"

"Yeah, yeah." There is a wave of the hand and an annoyed expression. "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"

In return, she 'accidently' stumbled into him with a tray in hand. When she fell onto him, he roughly shoved her off, not-so-quietly muttering obscenities. Backing away with a not-apologetic look, the woman stowed the man's wallet into the pocket of her skirt. Snatching the plates and utensils off a recently-emptied table, Natasha Romanoff scowled at a man who was on the other side of the restaurant. Catching his eyes, she mouthed some sour words at him, but all he did was smile.

Sometimes, Clint Barton infuriated his partner. After dropping the dishes off in the kitchen and seeing as there were no customers in need of her, the redhead stomped over to Clint. Even after a long morning of work, her white shirt and short black skirt were still as neat as they were when she received them earlier. Her curly hair was tied up in a tidy ponytail and her eyeliner was only very slightly smudged. Even the apron around her waist looked good on her.

Clint appreciated Natasha's looks, and wasn't afraid to stare at her from across the restaurant. He knew she could feel his gaze, but she didn't turn to call him out.

"Why are we still here?" she snapped, crossing her arms. "We got enough money." She gestured to her pockets which had two wallets, each holding at least a hundred dollars in cash, and a few credit cards.

They'd temporarily gotten a job at a local restaurant along the beach in Brighton after hitching a ride from a boat which carried them to the shores of England. Already having wasted a day finding a decent place to stay and dry off, Natasha and Clint had only three days to contact SHIELD for a pick-up. Having left the majority of their supplies on the quinjet, they had no choice but to steal the things they needed.

It was easy for them, having long-mastered the art of pick pocketing a while back, to get everything. All they needed now was a ride back to Russia. They were almost set, having accumulated over five hundred dollars already.

"Fine, let's go then." Clint went behind the front counter, pulling off his waiter's apron. Natasha followed through, and they sneaked out the back door, sure that no one was going to miss them. They'd mysteriously shown up that morning, taking the places of two waiters that had decided to take a sick day.

Passing by the closet where the two poor waiters were being held, bound and gagged, they quickly unlocked the door then hurried out the back. Once in the alleyway behind the restaurant, they changed their outfits into more casual ones.

Clint couldn't help but stare when Natasha pulled off her dress shirt, revealing her bra underneath. From all the training, her physique was slim and toned, which included her flat stomach. He'd heard other female SHIELD agents mumble jealous comments about the Black Widow's body. Every time he heard something like that, he smirked, thinking of how trivial some people could be. Even so, he still stared.

"Clint, quit gawking at me," Natasha said, pulling out a tank top from her bag. She didn't put it on yet, looking up at her partner. "You've seen me without a shirt on before."

He grinned cockily. "Not often enough."

She smacked him lightly on the back of the head. She was closer to him now, and he felt warmth radiate from her skin- oh, her lovely smooth skin. As if she knew what he was thinking, Natasha smirked, leaning into him. Clint continued to stare at her, his eyes travelling shamelessly to her chest. There, she stopped him, lifting his chin up with her finger.

"That's because you drool whenever you do," she countered, answering his previous statement.

Staring into his blue eyes, and him staring into her green ones, their heads got closer, until their lips touched. Starting off softly, the kiss turned more passionate and desperate, their bodies pressed against each other. Clint's back was against the wall of the building, his shirtless body scraping against the bricks. Once she realized what was happening, Natasha pulled apart from him. She was out of breath, and was frowning slightly.

Even though they'd been partners and friends for many years now, going on missions together and trusting each other with almost every secret, Natasha had to think about what was happening first. The last thing that she wanted to happen was to compromise their partnership.

"What are we doing?" Natasha whispered, more to herself than to Clint.

Clint sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know."

…

12:45 28-AUG-09, LONDON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

Awaiting their flight to Moscow (once again), Natasha and Clint sat further apart from each other than usual. Perhaps it was the heated make out session they had in an alleyway, or maybe the subtle nerves that Natasha was unusually showing. For any reason, they were seated next to each other, staring out the windows to the planes landing and taking off, but not touching nor talking.

Finally, Natasha's restlessness gave in, and she whipped her head to her partner who was staring at the cover of a magazine.

"We have to talk," she said, snatching the magazine from his grasp and putting it on the ground.

Clint frowned. He didn't like those four words. From stories and from personal experience, whenever a girl said that to a guy, it meant they were in for a deep conversation about… feelings.

"About what?" The words came out a bit sharper than he intended so he softened his gaze instead.

"About the- you know what," she snapped. She exhaled rubbing her temples. "Never mind."

"I'm sorry, Nat." He scooted closer to his partner. "I know what you're going to say. It's about what happened outside that restaurant and I- if you promise you won't shoot me or something- just want to say something."

She didn't say anything, but nodded, telling him to go on.

"I have no regrets about it." When her eyes burned through him, he continued, ignoring her look. "It's only because I know that no matter what happens between us, I know that we'll be able to get over it. I mean, we've been through so much together over the years. I've saved your life a lot, and you returned the favour." He let out a breathy laugh. "Wow, that's the sappiest thing that I have ever said."

The corner of Natasha's lips quirked up the tiniest bit and Clint took it as a good sign. He didn't want to continue, or else he knew he would ramble on and might say the wrong thing. Waiting for a response from Natasha, he stared at her straight-faced profile.

Finally, she said, "Well, Romeo, I think you've talked enough. Our flight's about to start boarding." She got up, sauntering ahead of him. When she looked back, Clint was still sitting there, looking expectant.

Natasha stood in front of her partner with her arms crossed. "I'm no good with confessing love or otherwise, you know that." He just glanced at her. "I don't know exactly what I feel about you, except that I trust you with all my heart," she continued, talking slowly and choosing her words carefully. "Maybe when this mission is all over we can work things out."

After a moment of silence, Clint nodded, satisfied with her answer. "So we're not completely friend-zoning each other then."

She laughed. "I guess not. Now come on, Shakespeare, we have a plane to board."

…

Natalia had on a tight, dark green dress that reached only halfway down her thigh. The neckline dipped low, although she was used to it having been sent on many missions before to seduce their targets. On her feet were five inch pumps with a sharpened heel which made it difficult to walk normally in. Her curly red hair was formed in a neat bun with many bobby pins. As she studied herself in the mirror, she sighed. This would be the twentieth assassination she would do this week.

The man who she was doing the job for wouldn't show her his face, but he gave her a name: Charles Brandt. Brandt had sent her a plane ticket (disappointingly, economy) and instructions via a mysterious entity. It was a typewritten note that had no signature. It only told her the target's name and picture, and the information for the party where he would be that night.

She had arrived at 8 o'clock on the dot at the Weatherby Hotel. It was a grand building with chandeliers strewn everywhere and shiny golden wallpaper lined all of the walls. The guests at the party were all dressed as nicely as she was. Waiters roamed the rooms with silver platters in hand, offering bits of caviar and wine glasses.

Natalia glanced around the room, not yet spotting her target. As time went on, she realized that her target wasn't there. Throughout the evening, she'd seen a few men dressed in black suits touch their ears once in a while and mutter inconspicuously. Since her senses had been heightened from her time in the Red Room, she was more sensitive to the smallest movements than anyone else.

It was a trap. She became aware of that the moment one of the men glanced at her, and then turned around quickly. Placing her empty wine glass onto a passing silver platter, she started towards the side doors. Glancing into mirror, she saw a couple of the men talk into what Natalia assumed was a communication device. Casually making her way into the ladies' washroom, she powdered her nose for a few moments, and then stood in front of the mirror. When some other women entered the washroom, she left and made her way down the hallway.

Just as she suspected, there was a man following her from a distance. Finally reaching an unlocked door, Natalia pushed it open to find herself on a rooftop. It was facing the lights and buildings of downtown Los Angeles. The Hollywood sign could be seen in the distance, nine white letters standing out. Natalia had always loathed the populous cities with their traffic and pollution, but she had no choice. She had arrived to do a mission, and to find that it was just a trap.

She immediately thought about jumping off the roof, but the ground was over eight stories below her. Breaking bones was not an option for Natalia. She had no intention of dying on her own accord either. As the man who'd been following her appeared on the rooftop, she took a breath.

"Are you here to kill me?" she asked, facing the skyline. "Charles Brandt."

In response, Natalia heard an unfamiliar noise. She turned around slowly to see the man holding a bow and arrow, aiming it at her. Smiling slightly, she looked him straight in the eye.

"Archery. Uncommon weapon choice. Very medieval ." She threw her small purse aside; there was only cheap makeup in there. "Are you Charles Brandt?" she asked for confirmation.

The man didn't answer her question. Instead, he said, "You are Natalia Romanova. Of the Red Room."

Natalia was impressed, but at the same time, also a bit unnerved. She didn't possibly know how he could know who she really was. She'd used many different aliases and forged passports when she travelled.

"Are you here to kill me?" Natalia repeated, tilting her head to the side. "Because that's not going to work out. For you, at least."

With a snap, the man fired the arrow at Natalia. Reacting just as she heard the noise, Natalia rolled to the side, out of the path of fire. As the man made to fire again, Natalia charged at him, ducking as he aimed the arrow at her. He released it again and again, and Natalia continued to dodge. Once she got within arm length of the man, he grunted and used the bow as a weapon instead. He swung a sharp tip of the bow which missed Natalia by an inch. She grabbed the bow and using all her strength, tugged it out of the man's grip and over the edge of the rooftop.

The man hissed. Abandoning the bow, he pulled out a knife instead. Natalia kicked her high heels off and picked them up, wielding them as weapons. The man slowly made his way closer to her, not charging like the other men that Natalia had fought before. He was making calculating steps instead of brash movements.

Natalia liked that. It was more fun that way.

Soon enough, the fight was much more than a challenge for Natalia; it became the fight for her life. The man was much bigger than her and admittedly a bit stronger as well. He managed to clip her on the shoulder with his knife. Then, he grabbed her hair, which had come out of its bun, and pulled her head back, putting the blade to her neck. She winced as the sharp tip pierced her skin.

Natalia kicked out blindly, her bare foot making contact with the man's shin. He didn't budge. Fear clouded her vision.

She was about to die.

Natalia looked into the man's light-coloured eyes, seeing no mercy. The smallest of tears threatened to fall down her cheek as she prayed. No god would listen to her after all the sins she had committed, but she was desperate. She deserved death, she knew that, but she was still afraid.

Suddenly, the man tossed the knife aside and let her hair go. Natalia pushed herself away from the man, falling onto her behind. Natalia roughly wiped the tears in her eyes away and looked at him defiantly. If she was going to die by torture, she wouldn't cry. She wouldn't say a word.

Instead of pulling out another weapon, the man ran his hands through his short hair, muttering to himself. Upon closer look, Natalia could see an earpiece in the man's ear, and realized that he was talking to someone else.

"I can't kill her," the man said, touching the comm. "She's only a kid. She doesn't even look twenty yet." He listened for a moment. "No. SHIELD sent me to assassinate her, but I don't want to. I'll take her to base and train her myself. If she kills anyone, then put the blame on me."

The man pulled out his earpiece and pocketed it. He took a step closer to Natalia. She stood up, staring at the man.

"I'm Clint Barton, of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division, also known as SHIELD." He held his hand out for her to shake. She didn't take it.

"I am not going with you to this SHIELD of yours."

Clint raised his eyebrow. "It's either you come with me, or they'll send someone else after you to kill you." He shrugged. "Your choice, Natalia."

Natalia licked her lips. She sorely wanted to stop running and getting only small pay for her jobs. But at the same time, she was afraid to go with the American back to whichever corporation he worked for.

"Why did you not kill me?" she asked, shifting on one foot to the other. Her feet hurt from walking across the gravelly rooftop.

"You remind me of myself," was all he said. He picked up her high heels which had been tossed to the side. "Here," he said, handing the shoes to Natalia. "Come on, a helicopter's waiting for me- well, us."

Natalia warily followed him to the edge of the roof. Clint attached a rope to a fixed pipe and clipped the grip to his belt. He gestured for her to go closer to him.

"Hold onto me," he said. "I'm going to rappel us down the building."

She grudgingly wrapped her arms around his neck. Usually, if her hands were anywhere near someone's neck, it was to suffocate them or break their neck. Natalia felt a sort of trustworthiness emit from Clint. As soon as they reached the ground, Clint unhooked the rope from his belt and Natalia quickly let go of him.

"Clint," she said, as they walked down a grassy pathway.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." The words felt foreign in her mouth, although they were filled with gratitude.

She truly owed Clint Barton with her life.

…

A/N: As usual, R&R! :)