Short one from a list of NSFW Tumblr prompts: Footsie during a meeting. It's SFW I promise. :3
Natasha startled as the pen shot across the table and into her lap. Clint caught her eye, waggled his eyebrows.
She slid the pen back and arched a brow in return.
"Alpha team takes position at 1300 hours…." Fury droned on, probably too accustomed to their antics by now to even bother admonishing them. She turned her attention back to the dossier open on the table in front of her. Fury's much thicker file overlapped hers at the corner, wedged as tightly as they were beside each other at the skinny cafeteria table for the briefing.
Clint coughed, and this time when she looked up he cocked his head to one side and gave her a smirk.
God, what was with him? The biggest operation they'd had in months and he wasn't even paying attention.
"Beta team waits on standby to provide air support and…."
'This is important,' she signed, and gave him a frown. Clint unfolded his hands from where they rested atop his own unopened file.
'So is this.'
He slumped a little in his seat. Natasha studied him intently, but didn't get it. What was important? Poor posture? Inattention? Going into the operation completely unprepared?
"Delta team," Fury said pointedly.
Natasha aimed a kick at Clint under the table, then sat straight and dutifully waited for Fury's explanation of their orders.
Across the table, Clint's eyes had gone wide and panicked. Odd. Her foot hadn't connected with anything vital.
She kicked him again, furrowed her eyebrows in silent question. This time Clint made an odd keening noise. He signed one word across the table, over and over, fingers shaking.
'Dead. Dead. Dead.'
Natasha warily scanned the cafeteria, her pulse jumping as adrenaline spiked. Three full STRIKE teams crowded the space, in addition to Fury and Hill and a handful of others.
Had Clint's sharp eyes noticed something she'd missed? Rogue agent, maybe?
A swelling murmur of voices signaled the end of the meeting. She had missed Fury's closing remarks. He stood, and the noise of his chair scraping across the floor started a new round of noise as the other agents followed suit.
"Agent Barton," Director Fury added, pushing his chair in and turning to leave, "I would like to remind you that you're not my type."
Clint's forehead whapped the table with a dull thud.