Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me.

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Remembering Budapest

by Kristen Elizabeth

Los Angeles

May 2011

"He's an arrogant, hyper-sexual bastard." Sitting on the balcony of her hotel room in the dying light of another California day, Natasha added, "And if he hadn't just made his former secretary the new CEO of his company, I'd be tempted to add 'misogynist' to that description."

On the screen of her laptop, Clint chuckled. "I watched his Expo entrance the other night. Not exactly what I'd call subtle."

"There is nothing understated about Tony Stark," she agreed. "I don't know what Fury is thinking, trying to bring him on board."

"He must have a plan."

"Working with Stark is like trying to give orders to a cat." She shook her head; the dark red waves of her hair brushed against her bare shoulders. Except for the occasional trim, she hadn't taken a scissors to it since Budapest. "It'll never work. He's not a team player. He's a rogue element with a massive superiority complex. There's no telling what he would do in a combat situation, but I promise you it wouldn't be what he was told to do. In fact, it would probably be the opposite."

Clint was quiet for a second. "You like him."

She frowned. "I just spent the past five minutes telling you how much I don't like him."

"I know."

Unconsciously, Natasha slipped her fingers underneath the neckline of her dress and touched the small, round scar that she would carry for the rest of her life. "You've been spending too much time in the desert heat," she informed him.

He smiled briefly. "Can't argue with that." Another moment passed. "So, you're all dressed up. Heading to a Stark Industries function?"

"In a manner of speaking." Natasha lowered her hand. "It's his birthday; I've been asked to help him get ready for his party."

"Isn't that a little out of your fake job description?"

The edge in his voice caught her off guard. In all the years she had known Clint Barton, she had never once seen him lose his cool, not even in Budapest. If she didn't know better, she would have concluded that he was jealous of Stark.

It had to be a male ego thing. Stark, for all of his many personality flaws, was still a billionaire superhero who was, she had to grudgingly admit, very easy on the eyes. Although it went against everything she knew about Clint, she had to conclude that he was feeling a little inferior.

There was only one other explanation that made sense, but it wasn't something she was ready to contemplate just yet.

"My real job is to evaluate him. There are no business hours for that, Clint."

"Just...watch your back," he advised her. "Especially if he's only interested in watching it for the view."

"Since when do I need anyone to watch my back?" Natasha leaned forward, unknowingly displaying more cleavage than she had intended. "Wanting them to is another matter entirely."

With that, she closed the laptop. After another second, she stood up and walked to the edge of the balcony. The sun was just barely touching the edge of the ocean and the sky was every shade of orange imaginable.

She should have enjoyed the moment, having come so close to never seeing any sunsets ever again, but something was preventing her from taking any pleasure in the brilliant display.

There wasn't anyone there to share it with her.

And while the one person who would have appreciated having a bird's eye view on the setting sun was closer to her now than he had been for the whole long year of her recovery, he was still so very far away.

New Mexico

When Clint very nearly put his fist through his computer screen, he decided to take his anger to the training room.

As most of the staff of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s massive underground complex were at dinner, the room was blissfully empty. He tugged on a pair of protective gloves and walked to the nearest bench press. After loading up either end with weights, he sat down, lay back and grasped the bar.

Still, he couldn't work the image of Natasha out of his mind and it wasn't even the perfect curves of her breasts that had gotten him going. No, what had him really sweating was the way the sunlight had turned her hair into a waterfall of fire.

She'd grown it out. Had she done that just to torture him? Did she know how badly he wanted to lose his hands in those curls, even if they would only end up burning his fingers?

And yet she could just sit there and go on and on about Tony Fucking Stark in front of the man whose confession of love she had chosen to ignore.

Clint's face twisted as he strained to push the bar away from his chest. That one was on him, though. He hadn't pressed the issue, even when they'd gotten back in contact. He hadn't wanted to do anything that would slow down her recovery. And then he hadn't wanted to complicate her return to work. And then...and then...

There was always something.

"I shouldn't have to tell you that you shouldn't be doing this by yourself."

He opened his eyes only to see Agent Maria Hill standing over him. Rather than the sleek black uniform he'd only ever seen her wearing, she was clad in a pair of grey workout shorts and a white tank top. Her dark hair was braided over her shoulder.

"Give me a hand then," he said, gritting his teeth.

She reached out and took hold of the bar, helping him guide it back onto the rack. When the weight was gone, Clint let out a sigh.

"You're welcome," Maria sniped.

He slowly sat up. "Bad day?"

"Would you care if it was?"

Clint grabbed his gym towel and started mopping sweat from his neck and forehead. "Would you tell me if it was?"

Maria sat down at the leg press and put her feet against the bar. "I barely know you, Agent Barton."

Maybe a better man wouldn't have noticed her fabulous legs. Clearly, he wasn't one because it took him a full thirty seconds to realize he was staring at her thighs and calves as she worked out.

"Not much to know," he finally replied. "Nice talking to you, Hill."

"Hey!" she called out as he walked towards the exit. "I could use some help, too."

Clint counted to five before he turned back around. "Planning on hitting the bench press?"

"Maybe. But that isn't the only thing in here that requires a partner." Maria lowered her legs and gracefully stood up. She was just about his height. Just like Natasha. "Are you up for it?"

He looked back and forth between her eyes. "We are talking about the machines, right?"

"We don't have to be."

Clint blinked. He hadn't seen that one coming until it was right up in his face. He was losing his touch.

All of a sudden, Maria moved forward, grabbing him around the back of the neck and kissing him with enough force to compel him to grab her in return in order to keep from stumbling backwards. She took it as a sign of his agreement and the kiss grew deeper.

His mind and his body were screaming two very different things at him, but his body was in control for the moment. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back...she was everywhere, touching every part of him that hadn't been touched in far too long.

She smelled like soap and laundry, a generically clean smell that was so far from Natasha's hint of exotic spice. Her body was thinner than Nat's, possessing almost none of her enticing curves. Still, he grasped her, pressed himself against her much to her pleasure.

It was only when they landed on the padded floor that Clint's mind overpowered his body. He drew back, gasping for air, and looked down at the woman beneath him.

It wasn't right. Yes, it felt good right then, but it wouldn't later when the haze of lust passed. Even if Natasha didn't love him, he was still in love with her. He couldn't even kiss another woman without comparing her to Nat; sex was out of the question. He might have been a killer, but he was determined not to be an asshole.

"I'm sorry," he told Maria. "I can't do this."

She looked down at the rather prominent bulge below his waist. "Really?"

"Never hold that against a guy." Clint sat back and watched her sit up. "You want to know me better, Agent Hill? Here you go." He paused. "I'm in love with someone who's decided not to be in love with me."

Maria touched her swollen lips. "Love usually isn't a decision. It's either there or it's not."

"Well, then...I guess it's not." His throat closed up for a second. "At least not for her."

"I'm still not seeing why this means we can't finish what we started."

"Do you really want to be with someone who will be thinking about someone else?"

After a moment, she shook her head. "I figured you'd be like the others." She half-smiled. "I was almost hoping you would be."

"Ten years ago, I was." Clint stood up and offered her his hand. "Sorry to disappoint."

"I'm not totally disappointed, Agent Barton." Maria picked up her gym towel. "If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

Tony Stark wouldn't have said no. He consoled himself with this fact after Maria was gone. In this regard, at least, he was the better man.

Los Angeles

"How did he take it?"

On the other side of the town car, Nick Fury snorted. "I think you bruised his ego."

"Every word of that report is true." Outside the windows, the city streets gave way to rocky desert landscape. "He's not the man for the job."

"Then who is?" the director asked her. "Banner? Hawkeye? You?" Natasha looked away. "I need a team and a team needs a leader. He could be that leader."

"Iron Man could. Not Tony Stark."

Fury studied her. "Did something happen between the two of you that I should know about?"

She fixed him with a cool look. "I'm going to forget that you asked that, sir."

"I'm serious, Agent Romanoff."

"So am I."

A second passed before Fury sat back against the leather seat. "I saw you put in a request for the Moscow job." She inclined her chin. "That's a deep undercover assignment."

"I speak the language and I know the culture." Natasha glanced out the window. "It's not much of a stretch."

Fury's good eye watched her closely. "I figured you'd want a transfer to New Mexico."

"Do you need me in New Mexico?"

"We might. Especially now."

"I'll go where you tell me to go," she said evenly. "But I'll do a better job in Moscow."

He leaned forward again and she braced herself for whatever came next. "I make it a habit not to care about the personal lives of my agents, but when those personal lives start to affect the job..."

She whipped her head around and swiftly cut him off. "With all due respect, sir, you're leaping to a conclusion that is way off base."

"Am I?"

"You are."

Fury nodded. "All right, then." He reached into his jacket and withdrew an envelope. "Here's your new identity. You'll be briefed on the job when you arrive in Russia." He waited for her to take it before he went on, "I expect you to be ready, though. When this thing comes together, I want you to be a part of it."

"Have I ever let you down?"

"Nope," he had to admit. "Not yet."

Ten hours later, she was halfway around the world. And in the deserts of New Mexico, Clint was guarding a hammer no one could lift. Neither of them had any idea that the next time they met, it would be in combat...and that thanks to a petty god, they wouldn't be on the same side.

TBC