Thanks to everyone for sticking with me on this so far! I appreciate you all so much!
Oh, and for those of you playing at home, there are two more chapters and a short epilogue to go after this. Hope you enjoy!
She woke up with a headache the size of the Lower East Side, groaning as she rolled over.
Or, rather, she tried to roll over because the first thing she noticed after she determined that the world hated her was that there was someone else in the bed with her.
She looked down, carefully peeking at the arm wrapped securely around her waist.
That most definitely was Clint's arm. She screwed her eyes shut.
Oh, fuck, she thought.
When she worked up the courage to open her eyes again, she noted that she appeared to be fully clothed (though not in her own clothing), and when she twisted her neck around to look behind her, she found Clint fast asleep, wearing his clothes from yesterday. Drooling and snoring, to be sure, but wearing his clothing from yesterday.
She let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, unsure whether she was glad or disappointed that nothing had apparently happened.
She frowned. Had anything happened? She wasn't in her bed back at the SHIELD apartment, but rather the motel Clint was calling home for the duration. She wasn't wearing her clothes, and she thought she would remember it if she took her dress off …
Come to think of it, she didn't remember much of anything at all from last night, not after she'd arrived at the party. She remembered picking out that tacky dress, she remembered getting there, she remembered …
Handsy Mark offering to get her a drink.
Seriously? she thought. At a work function?
She was going to kill that motherfucker when this was over. With an axe. Or a spoon. Better still, with her goddamn hands because there was no way in hell she was going to let someone drug her and live to see another day. Oh, she was going to make him pay, she was going to tear him apart, bit by slimy bit, she was …
She felt something twitch against her ass.
A very substantial something.
Oh, my, she thought. Was that …?
She wriggled, and he wriggled right back and that most definitely was what she thought it was. He must have still been sleeping though because instead of springing back, mortified like she knew he would if he were truly aware of the situation, his arm clenched more tightly around her waist, and he ground his erection against her ass.
She was going to need a handful of painkillers and a gigantic coffee before she could properly process this situation.
"Clint?" she said, wincing at the timbre of her voice. She cleared her throat, trying again when he didn't respond. "Hey, uh, Clint?"
"Mrmffrg," he said.
And then his hand dropped down toward the bed, splaying across her belly, and she found herself even closer to him.
This was getting ridiculous.
She elbowed him a little.
"Clint," she said, louder this time. She felt him start awake, mumbling something else incoherently in her ear.
She also could feel the exact moment he realized where he was and what he was doing.
"Oh, fuck me," he said, drawing away from her quickly. She rolled over, turned to face him where he lay on his back, the same hand that had just now been touching her pressed firmly over his eyes.
"There's no point, I suppose," he said, "in pretending that you didn't notice that?"
She couldn't stop the huff of laughter that escaped at that, even though it rang through her head and made her wince.
"Yeah, no chance of that," she said. Feeling sorry for her obviously embarrassed partner, she changed the topic. "You mind telling me how I ended up here?"
He looked like he wanted to say a number of things, but all that came out was, "Um …"
She sighed. "Tell me over breakfast?" she asked.
Nodding gratefully, he bolted for the bathroom.
Men.
She waited until the shower started up before she moved, wanting to make sure she was totally alone before risking movement. She'd felt like this before, and the aches in her body didn't presage anything good. She winced when she sat up, the pain in her ribs only exacerbated by the throbbing in her skull.
"Fuck," she muttered, dropping her head into her hands, but the motion just caused a shooting pain to jolt up her side. What the hell happened last night?
She managed to choke down a few painkillers and shuffle over to the small table in the kitchenette by the time Clint got out of the shower.
"Hey," he said, steam spilling out of the door behind him. "How're your ribs?"
He was in nothing but a pair of drawstring pants as he ran a towel over his hair, and she hoped her interest in the play of muscle under his damp skin wasn't obvious.
She remembered not to shrug just in time. "Not too bad," she said instead. "Took something to cut the pain."
He nodded, tossing the towel backward into the bathroom, and he sauntered over to the kitchenette to dig around in the fridge.
"I don't have much," he said, "but there's eggs, if you want. And coffee."
She smiled. "That'd be great."
"How do you want them? I make a mean sunny side up …"
He told her about the night before while he cooked for her, and she was grateful that he told her the story from the other side of the room. She wasn't sure that she could have handled the whole thing if he'd been staring at her. Hell, she wasn't sure how well she was handling it even without him looking at her.
When Clint finished, he moved seamlessly on to other topics, like how they were going to have to step up their timetable now. In between all of it, he handed her parts of her breakfast, first a glass of juice, then a mug of steaming coffee.
"Hey, Clint?" she asked as he brought two plates to the tiny table. She took a swallow of her juice to steady her voice.
"Yeah?" he said, turning a glance in her direction, but still very much focused on the heap of food in front of him. She was glad; that would make this easier.
"Thanks," she said.
He looked up at her, brow furrowed. "For what?" he asked, like he couldn't fathom what she was thanking him for, like he had no idea that what he'd done for her last night, had no idea what it meant to her.
"For … just … for being there last night," she said quietly, inspecting her glass carefully now that he was looking at her. "For having my back."
She could see the soft smile on his face out of the corner of her eyes, could see him staring at her like she was something special when he said, "Always."
He reached out, put his big hand over hers, warming her skin, and she wanted to fall into him suddenly, wanted him to wrap those hands around her, wanted to feel his callouses rough on her skin, his fingers digging into her flesh. She wanted him to …
Oh, wait. No, that wasn't it at all. It wasn't that she wanted him to do something. She wanted him.
She wanted him.
All of him.
Not just his body, but his stupid smile when he thought he was being funny, and the way he would tell her ridiculous jokes over the comms when watching her from a distance. She wanted to go to sleep beside him, to wake up in his arms like she had today. She just wanted him.
That was … not as much of a revelation as it could have been.
She turned her palm over, grasping his hand between hers. Without thinking about it too much, she bent down and dropped her lips onto the center of his palm, kissing him gently. He started at the contact, and she felt the way he was forcing himself not to move. When she looked up, she caught him staring at her with half a dopey grin on his face.
"Thank you," she said again, sincerely.
He nodded, finally closing his mouth and swallowing hard before he spoke. "Any time, red."
By the time they'd finished going over the new plans and had electronically submitted the paperwork to Coulson, it was past noon.
Clint's stomach rumbled, reminding him that they hadn't eaten in awhile.
"Sounds dire," Natasha said dryly, pushing back from the table. He didn't fail to notice the wince she tried to cover up. She hadn't taken a second dose yet, and he knew she had to be hurting.
He nodded. "Matter of life and death, really," he said, mentally cataloging the food he had in this place as he grabbed the bottle of painkillers. He handed them to Natasha along with a small cup of water that she took gratefully.
"How are you holding up?" he asked.
She stood up, gingerly moving her torso back and forth. "I'll live," she said.
"Think they're cracked?" he asked. If they were, there was no way she could finish this assignment, not if this place turned out to be HYDRA front like they expected. He didn't think they were, not after inspecting them last night, but she would know better than he did.
She shook her head. "No, doesn't hurt badly enough. Just bruised a little."
He nodded, trusting that she would tell him if she were more injured.
"So what've you got to eat?" she asked, changing the subject.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Just the eggs and coffee, and I'm out of the former, I'm afraid. Haven't gone for a grocery run in a couple."
She rolled her eyes, then headed over to the other room, picking up her ruined dress and heels. "Well, come on then."
"Come on where?"
"You're taking me back to my place so I can change," she said.
"Oh," he said, rummaging through his suitcase for a t-shirt and trying not to sound disappointed. Spending the day with her had been wonderful, even if it was spent neck deep in paperwork. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed her company, forgotten how well they got along. He'd missed her, and he realized that he'd been hoping to spend the rest of the day with her, if not the weekend. He supposed that's what he got for hoping, though.
And then she added, "And then you're going to take me to the nearest big box for food and a movie."
His back to her, he grinned widely. "Sure thing, Nat."
True to his word, Clint drove her back to her place and waited in the tiny living room of the apartment SHIELD had set her up in. It wasn't a bad place for its size, a hell of a lot nicer than a lot of the places they'd placed in her over the years. Really, all she needed was a place to shower at the end of the day, and the little two room apartment was more than enough for that.
"You okay to wait so I can get a shower?" Her hair felt stiff in places, and she was certain she didn't exactly smell fresh. Clint hadn't - wouldn't - comment on that, though, but she wanted to wash the remnants of last night off once and for good. Clint just settled down onto her couch with a nod and a wave.
She turned on the shower, letting it heat to scalding while she stripped down in front of the mirror. She grimaced when she caught sight of the bruising along her ribs. It was worse than she thought, even if the pain wasn't bothering her too much any more. She downed another pill though, just to be safe.
She tried to hurry her shower along, even though the water felt heavenly as it streamed down her body, loosening up spots she hadn't realized were stiff. Washing her hair proved doable, if difficult, and when she stepped out of the stall, she was almost feeling human again.
Heading back into her bedroom, she rifled through her clothes, feeling uncharacteristically self conscious. Clint had seen her at her worst, why the hell was she suddenly worried about what she was going to wear to go shopping of all things?
Because you want to look good in front of your partner, she thought.
She rolled her eyes at herself and reached for a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.
She managed to dress herself with a minimal amount of discomfort, and when she came back out, she found Clint leafing through one of the many home magazines she'd bought as a decoy in case she invited anyone over.
Seemingly knowing that she hadn't purchased the title out of genuine interest, Clint tossed the magazine down when she came back out. "Do people really read that stuff?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Only the normal ones."
"Well," he said, standing, stretching and giving her an entirely too interesting view of the thatch of hair that led down under the waist of his pants. "That'll never be us."
"I'm okay with that," she said and ushered him out the door.
They ended up at the local WalMart. She'd long since given up trying to avoid the place in small towns in America - the chain had driven out almost all other business to the point that you couldn't get much of anything at a physical store unless you shopped there.
She let Clint push the cart when they were inside, glad to let him take over. Her ribs were feeling better, so she was sure there was no serious damage, but she was happy for the chance to rest anyway.
"I'm going to grab some cereal," she said when he turned the cart toward the refrigerator section. "Can you get me some more orange juice?"
He nodded. "You want almond milk, too, right?"
Something fuzzy landed in her heart then, a pleasant little ache that was gratified that he'd paid enough attention to her eating habits to know something like that.
She wandered away with instructions to grab "something with too much sugar in it" (because Barton was an actual teenager). She was debating whether to grab herself a box of Cheerios or Grape-Nuts when a familiar voice rang out behind her.
"Rosie! Hey!"
She turned to find Sally coming down the aisle at her, one of her kids walking beside her with his nose in a book and the other nowhere to be seen.
"Fancy running into you here, Rose!" she said, smiling brightly at Natasha.
"How are you?" she asked politely, deciding on Grape-Nuts and sliding the Cheerios back onto the shelf. She liked the crunch.
"Oh, good, good. Me and Beth were wondering where you'd gotten off to last night," Sally said, wasting no time in cutting to the chase. She turned away for a moment to tell her youngest to put the box of Poptarts back. "Saw you talking with Creepy Mark, though."
Natasha shrugged, not really wanting to talk about the incident with Mark. The fewer people who knew about that, the better. She was willing to wait until they were done to expose that asshole for what he was.
Sally, mistaking her reticence for something else, blinked rapidly at her, looking for all the world like a fish. "You didn't go home with Creepy Mark, did you?"
She laughed at the unexpected absurdity. "Oh! No! No, I didn't," she said, waving her hands rapidly in front of her. "No."
Clint chose that moment to round the corner with his cart.
"Hey, did you want the regular juice or the kind with extra pulp?" he asked, before he noticed who she was talking to. She sighed internally. Guess they would have to revise those plans again to include a semi-serious relationship. Good thing he hadn't used her name, at least.
She smiled a little too brightly at him, hoping he got the message to say as little as possible and to let her talk their way out of it.
"Oh!" Sally said, turning an appraising eye Natasha's way. "I didn't realize you had company, Rose!"
"Hey, Sal," Clint said, stopping the shopping cart next to them. "How's it going?"
The three exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, with both of them complimenting Sally for the refreshments at the party. Eventually Sally's children grew tired of waiting around, and they dragged her off to finish their shopping.
"That was interesting," Clint noted as they headed toward the electronics department. "We're going to have to change our plans again, aren't we?"
She let out an exasperated spy, exhaling in a huff. "Well, there goes our Sunday," she said, imagining all the paperwork they were going to need to refile.
He shook his head ruefully. "Coulson's going to pitch a fit."
"You'll just have to explain it from our perspective."
"Me?" he asked incredulously. "Why me? He likes you better."
She smirked, then coughed theatrically and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "I'm injured."
He rolled his eyes and pushed the cart ahead.
They'd argued over what movie to watch for a good ten minutes. Clint wanted to seeDie Hard ("We've seen that movie, like, at least a dozen times!" "And you loved every minute of it."), but Natasha was pushing for Planet of the Apes ("Charlton Heston is the worst, Nat." "But monkeys."). Somehow, they settled on Predator, agreeing that brainless entertainment was in order for the evening.
They ended up back at his place, curled up on the bed after dinner and sharing a bag of popcorn while Schwarzenegger fought an alien. By the time the credits rolled, she was leaning against him, relaxing with his arm wrapped companionably around her shoulders. It felt good. Damn good, if he were honest, and he hoped he didn't say anything to fuck it up.
He reached over to the side table for the remote, flicking off the tv and hoping like hell that she still wanted to stick around after the movie. The only light source was from the small lamp by the window, which cast strange, uneven shadows in the room.
"I'm really not looking forward to going back to that dump on Monday," she said quietly against his chest, so quietly that he thought for a moment that he'd just imagined it. When he turned to look down at her though, her eyes were glittering in the dim light as she stared up at him. He felt a surge of protectiveness wash through him, one that she would probably slug him for were he ever stupid enough to express it aloud.
He reached out to her face, running his forefinger along the length of her jaw. She leaned into his touch, closed her eyes, and he swore his stupid heart stopped for moment.
"I don't want to go back there, I don't want to pretend that I have no idea what that bastard did, I don't want to do this," she said. "Fuck, Clint. Sometimes I really fucking hate this job."
She pressed her face against the side of his neck, and his hand moved of its own accord to cup the back of her head, to hold her while she shook. She didn't cry, not like he might have expected from someone else, but he could tell that she was deeply affected by what had happened, that she was remembering all those times she hadn't been in control of her own body, knew what that meant to her.
"If it means anything, I'll be there," he said into her hair. "I'll be watching your back."
She made a strange, choking noise, and it took him several minutes to realize that she was laughing.
Rocking her lightly in his embrace, he said, "I'm that funny, am I?"
He felt her shake her head, and then she pulled back to look him in the eye. "No, it's not that. It's just … It does. Make a difference, I mean."
"Good," he said, and then her hands were on his face and his were tangled in her hair, and he wasn't sure where this was going except that her cheeks were kind of flushed and she was a little out of breath and then …
Holy shit, Natasha Romanoff was kissing him.
He didn't have the first clue where to put his hands, didn't know what he was supposed to do at all, really, because he'd been thinking about doing this, really doing this, with no excuses or interruptions for too long. Now that he was faced with the reality, it turned out that he had far too many options to choose between, and he stalled with indecision. He wanted to touch her tenderly, cup her face, and skim his hands so lightly over her skin that she shivered. He wanted to grasp at her hips, tug her so close that he could feel her heat through his pants. He wanted to touch her everywhere, wanted to feel her so badly that he just forgot how to do any of that, almost even forgot how to breathe, and he just sat there, perfectly still while she pressed her lips against his.
Eventually, she drew away.
"Sorry," she said, as if she'd somehow wronged him, as if she'd violated some unwritten rule between them. "I thought …"
"Yes!" he said too forcefully, and his voice sounding like a desperate squawk.
She blinked once at him, slowly like a cat. "What?"
He reached out blindly, grabbing her hand, needing to hold on to her for this because he sure as hell didn't want her to get the impression that he wanted her to go. Christ, why the hell did he feel like a damn virgin all of a sudden?
He swallowed.
"You turn me into an idiot," he said plainly, because what else was he supposed to say? And maybe that was the right thing at that moment because a grin peeked its way around the edges of Natasha's face until it blossomed fully on her features, and her gladness, her complete joy would have shone forth unfettered except that she was in his lap right then, kissing him again, and holy shit, he was kissing Natasha Romanoff.
She tasted like popcorn and Natasha, and he'd never sampled anything better in his life. Her tongue moved restlessly against his, running along his teeth, along the edges of his mouth, and when she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, it was like he'd died and gone to heaven.
He felt her suck in her breath when his hands brushed along her middle, but whether it was from pain or arousal, he didn't know. Though it ached to do it, he pulled back to look at her.
"You okay?" he asked.
She just grinned slyly and kissed him again.