Natasha was still sitting on the girls bedroom floor, surrounded by pink. Pink walls, pink butterflies, pink bed, pink drapes, pink carpet, pink door handle, pink closet door. It was almost overwhelming, save for the innocent girl who honestly couldn't be any more excited to have someone to play Barbie's with. So Natasha put up and shut up, acting out the part of a princess Barbie like the girl had politely asked of her.
After an hour of dressing, undressing, and redressing two blonde dolls over and over, and imitating the high pitched voice of the stuck up snobs Natasha had been forced to pose as many times over her lifetime, Adalia finally put her doll down and looked up at her red head body guard with an expression that was much too mischievous for Natasha's liking.
"Are you an Mister Cwis in wuv, Miss Thiara?" she asked, smiling innocently and batting her long eyelashes. Natasha laughed. Actually laughed. Out loud.
"No honey. He's just my friend." The older girl answered.
"Nope. He likes you." She sang happily.
"Oh? And how would you know, Adalia?" Natasha laughed, picking up all of the princess dresses and tossing them in the basket at the foot of the girl's bed.
"Because Daddy looks at mama's picture the thame way Mister Cwis looks at you." The little girl's voice quieted substantially. Natasha's eyes softened.
"Between you and me kid, I think he likes me too." Natasha smirked.
"Do you like him?" the seven year old asked, cocking her head to the side.
"I don't really know. Sometimes, I guess." Natasha laughed. Adalia giggled, and opened her mouth to reply when a knock on the door drew both girls' attention. The older of the two quickly got to her feet, smoothing out her skirt and folding her hands behind her back as she noticed her boss standing in the doorway. Bartolome rolled his eyes and chuckled.
"At ease soldier." He ordered calmly. Natasha relaxed her rigid posture and let her hands fall to the side, allowing the forced blush creep over her cheeks.
"Yes sir." She nodded sharply.
"Como le dije a tu amigo, Miss Roison. No hay ninguna necesidad de formalidades." The widowed man chastised. Natasha nodded again as her lips twitched upwards in the beginnings of a suppressed smile.
'Like I told your friend, Miss Roison. There is no need for the formalities.'
"Well, Miss Roison, I see you and my daughter are getting along very well." He added with a warm smile as he looked around his daughter's mess of a bedroom. Adalia nodded furiously.
"She's so nice, papa." She grinned in her lisp, her brunette bangs flopping down in front of her eyes as she jumped up and down.
"Glad to hear it." The smile on his face widened further. "We must be at the dock by ocho de la manana." He addressed his daughter, unknowingly slipping into Spanish. "Probablemente sea major para meterte en la cama, Addie." He gave the sentence the air of suggestion but the girl's bodyguard caught the undertone of an order. Coulson often used the same trick on Barton when he was being difficult.
'It'd probably be best to get you in bed, Addie.'
"Dock?" Natasha clarified, suddenly realizing what Andres had said. Clint frowned from his place behind his boss when he caught the expertly disguised tone of fear and irritation.
"Oh yes. We had planned to take the boat out tomorrow. Is that going to be a problem, Miss Roison?" he asked, concerned.
"No, no of course not." She recovered, smiling excitedly.
"Must I go to bed papa?" Adalia interjected, batting her eyelashes up at her dad, pouting as he nodded. "Fine." She huffed. "Can Ciara tuck me in, at least?" she cocked her head to the side, shifting her pleading gaze to the only other woman in the room.
"I do what your dad tells me. If its ok with him, I'd love to, honey." Ciara smiled. Adalia's smile brightened and she slipped her hand into the Russian's.
"I don't see why not as long as she has no problem with it. See you girls bright and early. Buenas noches." He responded, crouching down to kiss Adalia's forehead and make it easier for her to kiss his cheek.
"Buenas noches, papa." She echoed, waving at him as he disappeared out the door with Barton trailing behind. Once the door shut, Adalia knelt down in the center of the mess, still holding tight to 'Ciara's' hand, forcing her to get on the ground beside her. They cleaned up the doll's together for a grand total of five minutes before Adalia's hand went slack in Natasha's and her eyes began to flutter as she yawned. Natasha chuckled softly and pushed off the floor, leading Adalia over to her bed so she could sit down.
"Where are your pajamas, honey?" Natasha asked slowly.
"Hm?" she asked, rubbing her eyes with her fists. Natasha shook her head and walked over to the dresser opening each drawer until she found a princess nightgown and pulled it out, slinging it over her shoulder. She crouched down in front of Addie again and pulled her shirt off, helping her out of her shorts, replacing both with the nightgown then carefully shifting her under the covers. "Buenas noches, Mama." She muttered out of reflex. Natasha stiffened considerably and stood, hurrying to the door.
"Good night Miss Adalia." She replied before crossing her arms over her chest and slipping out of her heels, walking down the stairs to the room Adalia had pointed out as hers, shutting the door softly behind her and walking forward to the bed, bracing her palms against the mattress and working to inhale a steady breath.
"Tasha." A familiar voice coming from her right had her shooting upright and pointing her gun at her partner's head.
"What are you doing in my room?" she snapped, ignoring the fact that he was standing there in nothing but athletic shorts, his hair still dripping wet.
"Our room." He corrected, rubbing a towel through his hair then tossing it onto the foot of the bed… the only bed.
"Where's Coulson?" she asked evasively, keeping her weapon held to his forehead.
"Already asleep in the next room." He replied, crossing his arms nonchalantly.
"You can sleep with him, идиот." She hissed through her teeth.
"He's sleeping on a couch." He rolled his eyes. "He snores anyway. And you're much prettier." He flashed her a cocky boyish grin. She scowled and shoved past him into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her, only to have it swing open again to reveal Clint's foot in the way. Pointedly ignoring him, she pulled the rubber band out of her hair and let it fall in even waves down her back. "What was that about, Tasha?" he asked seriously.
"None of your concern, Barton." She growled, pulling off her button down shirt and smirking slightly as his pupils dilated helplessly but remained trained on her face. She rolled her eyes; gentlemen.
"Stop messing with me, Romanoff." He said lowly, shoving one of his shirts into her hands, refusing to let his eyes wander. She sighed and pulled the shirt on, sliding out of the skirt and draping it over her shirt on the edge of the sink. She could see Clint working to beat back the image of his sexy partner standing in front of him in nothing but a black bra and pencil skirt.
As she tried to use his momentary distraction to brush past him, he stuck his arm out, pushing his palm against the frame, blocking her way out.
"What's wrong Romanoff?" he asked warily. She glared icily and crossed her arms.
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with me, Barton. Move your arm before I snap it in half." she warned directly. He shook his head, water droplets spraying onto the walls.
"Not until you talk to me." He replied evenly. Her green eyes blazed in fury while Clint, to his credit, didn't so much as flinch when a dagger buried itself in the wall centimeters from his head with a thud.
"Move." she repeated. Clint stayed silent. The anger in her eyes surged liked a stoked fire and Clint tensed.
"I'm not moving, Natalia." The bold American froze when he realized what he had said. Natasha pursed her lips and Clint cried out from sheer shock when he felt hot lead scrape his bicep. He heard the shot second. "Are you insane woman!" he yelled, clutching his arm and therefore reopening the doorway for her.
"If you're just now realizing that Barton, you are more of an idiot than I thought." Her unaffected tone sent Barton over the edge with his own temper.
"You shot me!" he yelled accusingly, watching her walk out of the bathroom, hips swaying.
"I barely grazed you, you American baby." She rolled her eyes and leant over her weapons bag, starting to lay each gun and knife out in a perfect line. He groaned and spun on his heel, stalking out of the bathroom, letting go of his arm to grip her shoulder and push her away from the lineup of weapons. She stiffened and stood again.
"Russian beast." He growled in retaliation, staring down at her unwaveringly.
"American scum." She countered.
"Red Room Princess." He hissed in her ear mercilessly. He almost regretted it when pain flashed in her emerald eyes but then he didn't. He needed to get her off her game even if that meant royally pissing her off. He felt her fist connect with his jaw and grimaced as his head snapped to the side, stiffening in suspicion when her gentle hand caressed the curve of his shoulder and she stood on her tip toes and tilted her head until her lips were moving against his ear.
"Wannabe soldier." She murmured inaudibly. Clint ignored the somewhat low blow, suppressed a shudder and grabbed her wrist, twisting it up and over her head until it was locked behind her back and his arm, as a result, was wrapped around her waist.
"Russian experiment." He spat back, forcing contempt as he dragged her flush against his body. She growled lowly and jerked her knee up, spinning out of his unrelenting grip on her wrist once he was doubled over. Once Clint had caught his breath, he straightened, gasping slightly and cursing under his breath when he realized she was gone.
"I know what you're doing Barton." She breathed silently from behind him before dropping down and sweeping his legs out from under him. Clint twisted in midair, landing on his hands and grunting in pain when his still bleeding arm flared. He kicked upwards into a handstand, bending his arms and somersaulting to his feet.
"All you need to do is talk to me, Romanoff." He said gruffly.
"Мне не нужно ничего делать!" she hissed angrily in reply. He rolled his eyes. He knew she was speaking too low and too quick for him to keep up on purpose.
"You're being a child, Romanoff." He sighed breathlessly, aiming a blow at her stomach.
"I'm not the one who can't keep my emotions in check Barton!" she brought one foot behind her and lunged forward jumping up and diving towards the floor, pushing off and wrapping her legs around his neck in a loose thigh choke, bringing them both to the ground.
"But at least I'm not afraid of mine." He whispered sadly, rolling her underneath him and pinning her to the wood floor with his weight. He was forced to lean back at a nearly ninety degree angle as the butt of her gun passed dangerously close to his face. She kicked her leg out from under his body and tucked her knee up to her chest, drilling him in the sternum with her foot, sending him crashing to the ground gasping for breath. Before he had a chance to catch it, Natasha's knee came down on his throat and she braced her hands on either side of Clint's head.
"Never call me Natalia. Ever again. Slip up and I will slit your throat with a paper clip then hang you from the ceiling with Ella." She hissed dangerously. His eyes went wide with comical terror.
"Leave her out of this." He huffed.
"That's the part you worry about?" she rolled her eyes. "It's just a weapon, Barton." She pushed off of him, purposely pushing her hands against his chest as she stood.
"Ella is not just a weapon. Ella is my baby." He cooed as he coughed for air.
"Bathroom." She ordered, sticking a hand out to help him up. Taking her hand, the archer allowed her to haul him up. "When's the last time you even fired her, Barton?" she asked rhetorically as she followed him into the bathroom. Natasha paused.
She did not just acknowledge that Barton's bow was a she.
Clint grinned. Her slip up didn't go unnoticed by him. Victory. But then his smile faded as he contemplated her question. She reached around him and knocked the toilet cover down motioning for him to sit. Barton stayed quiet for a minute and sat down obediently, watching as Natasha looked under the sink for a first aid kit.
"Not since Yokohama. I don't trust myself with her right now." He sighed. Natasha bit back a sarcastic comment about him talking about his bow like it really was his baby and instead nodded quietly. She might not get it but Ella meant a lot to him. She was heartless but she knew when to shut up. She crouched in front of him, shuffling through the first aid kit. Keeping one eye on the sluggishly bleeding cut, she set the suture kit and rubbing alcohol on the floor beside her, yanking a towel off the rack.
The partners stayed quiet, both watching Natasha's steady hands clean the bullet wound she had inflicted with the red head tactfully ignoring the white knuckled fist at Clint's side. The corners of his eyes tightened as she threaded the needle.
"Adalia called me mom." She finally answered him as she brought the needle closer to his skin.
"Ah." Clint nodded understandingly as she slid the needle through his skin, wincing almost imperceptibly as she did so.
"It was an exhausted reflex but…" she sighed in frustration as she continued to stitch his arm back together.
"You're getting attached to her." he assumed.
"You try spending a day with that girl." She muttered defensively.
"What bout the boat?" he asked through gritted teeth as she tied off the last stitch. She stiffened and he sighed, knowing he just lost her.
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Barton." She slapped a piece of gauze over the raw wound a little too forcefully, taping it down and grabbing her partner's hand. He raised his eyebrows at her in tired confusion. Before he had a chance to ask she upended a bottle of ibuprofen, shaking two pills into his hand before cleaning up her medical mess and dropping onto the bed, hardly caring that she was still in Barton's shirt.
By the time Clint appeared in the doorway, she was already passed out on top of the covers. He sighed and sat down in the desk chair, watching her back while she slept like she knew he would.
Night Tasha.
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