You gotta be fucking kidding me!

Clint had decided to take a break, as far away from the Widow's hotel as he could manage. After doubling back and using every trick he knew to make sure he wasn't followed, he ended up at a small café in the late afternoon, somewhere between rural and urban.

Here he was, in Sao Paulo completely alone and without back up; the brass refused to help him out at all. They wanted confirmation that he had actually found the Black Widow. Considering they didn't have picture of her on file, how the hell did they expect him to do that? He sure as hell was not going to get close enough to get a sample of her lethal cosmetic collection.

If he got that close to her he was certain he would lose any advantage he had over her at all. After last night, every unexpected noise had him twitching nervously.

Who knew what kind of back up she had. She could be baiting him while someone else took him out. Her scowl last night had probably been because someone had dropped the ball and missed their chance to take him out.

Hell, for all he knew this whole thing could be a ploy by the council to rid themselves of a sarcastic pain in the ass, though he trusted Fury enough to prevent that from ever happening.

He would have to try again tonight, this time at a closer range so he could use his bow. It was quieter and would not alert any backup to his immediate position.

Hell, he might even use an explosive arrow just to make sure she was down for good. Who knew what those freaky mad Russian scientists had put in her cocktail or could do with a dead body? With how crazy the world had become lately, it would not surprise him.

Only problem with that was that he would need to catch her while she was alone so no one else got caught in the explosion. It would be pointless to take her out just to have Liev go with her. Not to mention the brass would still want definitive proof that she really was the Widow.

Right. So the explosive arrow was out.

So he'd strike fast, tonight as she left the hotel to go dancing he would take her out then call in a clean-up team to clear out her room and spirit away the body. No more hesitations, get it done and get out. This time tomorrow he'd be sipping hot coco and laughing at the poor freezing recruits.

He didn't even care if the brass got their proof he just wanted it to be over. He'd had a foul nagging feeling in his gut since he left Melbourne. Something about this mission was off and it was making him more and more uneasy by the second.

Nothing like a friggin fantastic Brazilian cup of joe to sooth the nerves. He'd finish this cup and then go set up to finish the job. Hopefully she wouldn't change anything up, because he just didn't want to deal with that shit. Next shot he got he was going to take it.

"I hear that coffee comes from cat shit."

He froze. Oh God no…please don't… he turned to find the very last person in the world he wanted to see. There she was, gorgeous red curls and pink smirk. Gone were the flirty sundresses and dainty sandals replaced by sturdy boots, skinny jeans, and a light blouse.

Fuck.

This wasn't going to end well.

Maybe he could play it off, pretend he was some clueless tourist?

"Actually, that's an Asian coffee, not Brazilian. But it's some expensive shit." He replied pushing back his anxiety and giving her his most charming smile.

"hmm"

The look on her face told him she wasn't buying what he was selling.

Crap. Fuck. Shit. Damn.

"Wanna join me? I'll buy ya a drink." He tried again.

She simply raised an eye brow at him as if to say Really? Your still gonna try this shit. Face it man, you're caught.

She gave him a candy sweet smile and he groaned internally.

She leaned in close to him, bringing those hazardous lips close to his ear. "You're not afraid of little old me are you?" she teased. "Care to escort a pretty girl on a walk in the warm sunshine?" He swallowed slowly, turning his head just enough to meet hre gaze and pulling slightly away from her perilously pink lips.

She pulled him out of his chair and threaded her arm through his, pulling him out the door.

She was close. Way too fucking close.

He felt all the control he ever had over this mission quickly slipping away and his mind scrambled for a solution. He wasn't sure he could win in a fight against her. All she's have to do was get in a good bite or kiss and he'd be a goner.

The gun tucked into the pack of his pants and knife at his shin were both burning into his skin. She probably knew he had them, better to overestimate than underestimate. He'd have to be quick. Lucky he was quite the quick draw.

She was leading him slowly down the street as if they were a couple of lovers taking a leisurely stroll just to be in each other's company, leading him away from where there might be any interference. She pulled him into an ally as the sun began to set and then, without preamble, attacked.

Clint threw himself against the nearest wall to avoid her as she went on the offensive. She wasted no time launching herself at him again. He caught her leg, trapping it against his side and threw a punch at her face. She dodged to the left and grabbed his wrist. Throwing her weight back to add his momentum, she sent him tumbling over her and hard into his back. The move brought her down to the ground as well, but she was up quick as lightning.

Dodging her as she attempted to make his face a permanent part of the alley, he rolled to his feet drawing his gun on her. When confronted with a pistol staring her in the face, she hesitated, causing Clint to hesitate as well. What kind of spy worth her salt hesitates like that? He didn't have much time to dwell on it because in the next moment she was clearly over her hesitation and was trying to wrench the gun from him.

The ridiculousness that was this fight carried on till well after darkness had settled over them. Each move she made had him thinking there was something crucial he was missing and had him glancing around for a second attacker which never came.

He got her on the ground, pinning her hips with his body and drew his knife on her, caught in a struggle as he pushed the knife toward her throat and she pushed to keep it away. Her strength was steadily giving way. His arm was close enough to bite, but she didn't make a move for it like anyone in their right mind would.

Alright, enough of this nonsense. He'd had enough of this farce.

He pulled himself off of her and simply stood there staring at her; she gawked right back at him, befuddled. Clint had to admit, it was fucking hilarious to see that confused look on the fearsome Black Widow.

All the fight had gone out of her. But then, Clint thought, it seemed like it was gone before she even picked this fight. He brought the hilt of the knife down hard, knocking her out cold.

None of it made any sense.

He should not have won that fight. He was anything but humble, there was no way in hell he beat her into submission.

Then suddenly it all seemed to clink into place. The effervescent pink, the postcard, the lavish spending and dancing, the scowl, the hesitation. He laughed almost manically when he figured it out.

"Lady, you're a real piece of work."