Down time on stakeouts can be amazingly rewarding…or terribly unproductive.
Clint and Natasha get paid either way, so they choose to make the best of it.
…
For this particular assignment, Nat and Clint are stuck in yet another seedy motel room.
"Feel like Sam and Dean a little?" Clint grunts, grabbing Natasha's duffle from the backseat of the beat-up Cadillac she sweet-talked the salesperson into giving them for $1,000 less than he originally quoted. "Jesus, what you got in here?" Natasha turns to him and shrugs.
"Guns, ammo, throwing stars, nunchuks…couple knives…the usual."
"No salt? No Holy Water?"
"Phil's really got you hooked on Supernatural, doesn't he?" Clint shrugs.
"Dean's voice is cool…" he finishes lamely, embarrassment pinking his cheeks. Natasha rolls her eyes.
"Get inside, weirdo."
…
The TV barely works and offers minimal channels, so Nat and Clint play War with a deck of cards that looks like it has been through battle.
Well…it was in Budapest.
Natasha slams down a six of diamonds down and so does Clint. They grin and proceed to flip cards rapid-fire until Natasha finally flips over a king of hearts and Clint turns a mere two of clubs. Natasha lets out a squeal of delight and collects her cards, kicking her feet.
"Yes! Beat your ass! Fuck yeah!" Clint takes a sip of whiskey out of one of the chipped tumblers the motel offers, the ice slipping gently towards his face, hiding his smirk in the drink and rolling his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah. Deal again."
Sometimes, it's War. Sometimes, it's Egyptian Ratscrew. Sometimes, it's poker. And every so often, it's Go Fish.
But, late at night, when the stakeouts are stale, when the channels are scarce, while the pizza grows cold and the cards start to fray, Clint and Nat are allowed to enjoy themselves.
At least until Coulson beeps in and alerts them to a break in the case.
Because after that, it's arrows and arms.
This is one war Natasha and Clint always win.