Warnings – Possibly T for implied non-con/dub-con. Maybe. If you squint. Also, Clint says hell.

.0.o.0.o.0.

"No way in hell I'm letting you anywhere near the controls of a quinjet."

"Why not? I passed my pilot's exam, I have my license."

"Yes, and I'd rather not have my death come flying at me twice as fast. I already see it in high definition when you drive. You can man the guns."

The partners finished their preflight checks in the cockpit, waited for the other SHIELD agents to finish boarding, and then, with Clint in control of the joystick, they took off, headed back for the helicarrier. As they travelled over the vast, empty expanse of the Sahara, Clint shifted the expensive vehicle into autopilot and turned to Natasha.

"There's something that's been on your mind awhile. It's eating at you. Why don't you just ask?"

Natasha blinked at him, poorly concealing her surprise. "Who says I have any kind of question for you?"

"You do." Clint just looked at her unchanging expression. "It's how you glance at me out of the corner of your eye. I'm not just Hawkeye cause I can hit a target, you know."

"Why are you? Called Hawkeye, that is."

"You, Agent Romanoff, are looking at a living relic of days gone by. A genuine carnie; I ran away as a kid to join the circus and everything. The Amazing Hawkeye; best shot this side of the Atlantic."

Keeping an eye on her targeting systems, Natasha cast what Clint called her interrogation stare his way.

"There's more to it than that, though, isn't there?"

"Oh yeah." When Clint didn't continue his reply, Nat sighed. When he turned back to the controls, she rolled her eyes and opened up the dossier on her lap. They flew in silence for a good twenty minutes before he spoke again.

"D'ya know why my favorite color is purple?"

Natasha cocked an eyebrow.

"I can't see any other colors. Only those with short wavelengths." He paused and took a deep breath. "What I am about to tell you is only known by a handful of people. Me, Fury, Coulson, my SHIELD doctor, and my brother."

"You have a brother?"

"Now is not the time or the place for that story. But I figure, as my partner, you deserve to know this."

He turned his gaze to her.

"This is trust, Romanoff. If you tell anyone… It could go very badly for me in the future. Can I trust you?"

Natasha met his eyes. "Barton, you've had my trust since you turned me down that first night after Paris. This secret will go with me to my grave."

Clint took in more of the sand flying by below them for a moment, then nodded.

"The doctors don't really have a name for it. All they know is that I have over twice the normal number of rods in my eyes than a normal person, and less than a quarter of the cones. My eyes focus like a raptor's, finding moving targets, and I see in mostly black and white, for increased contrast. Only very short wavelengths can get through, hence my favorite color being purple. Sidebar; it gives me the neat little trick of being able to see through two-way mirrors.

"That's my superpower; a genetic defect that gives me good aim."

Natasha processed this for a few moments, then nodded.

"So, when we get to the carrier in Turkey, I'm driving us into Russia. Your safe driving habits will get our covers blown faster than you can shoot."

As she went on, berating his driving, his piloting, Clint smiled. She accepted that that was all he wanted to say on the matter, and she wasn't going to treat him any differently. She wouldn't tell anyone about him.

Finally, a partner he could trust at his back. What a feeling. It was almost enough to make him feel like he could fly.