A/N: If you don't know what Mystery Science Theatre is, it might help to look it up before you read this chapter. Also, to every single reviewer, I must say how very much I appreciated all of your kind, enthusiastic words. You keep me writing! Here we go with one more! Clint's commentary is in bold italics.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little bit. Bummer.

Hotel bars, the sanctuary of the migrant lonely, and the disgustingly desperate. This particular one was a bit more up-scale, open-air on the roof, mood lighting was subtle, but it didn't do much to disguise the naked want written on the faces of every man present. Clint felt sorry for the poor bastards, all of them lusting after the one woman that would most definitely not be going back to their rooms with them. Okay, maybe not so sorry. Ogling assholes.

Natasha perched on the stool, sipping delicately on the watered-down drink the gentleman at the end of the bar had sent over. So far, three drinks, two business cards, and a handful of propositions had been sent her way. The only person who hadn't hit on her was the one person she needed to get close to, and she was starting to get frustrated. She needed his access card, and her window of opportunity was dwindling. Another man walked out of the elevator, surveyed the occupants and started to make a beeline for the seat next to her.

"Oh, I think this one is a keeper. I'm thinking he is a 'did it hurt when you fell from heaven?' type, what do you say?" Clint had been playing Mystery Science Theatre-Bad Pick-up Lines Edition all night. Every time a man had approached, all she could hear was her partner whispering over them, using every cliché men had ever dreamed up.

Thirty-something, balding lawyer. "Are you tired because you've been running through my mind all night?"

Muscled, spray-tanned, mid-20s. Personal Trainer. "Was your father a thief? 'Cause someone stole the stars from the sky and put them in your eyes."

Slacks and a polo, flushed from the free-flowing alcohol at his bachelor party, which was happening at the corner table. "I'd better get a library card, because I'm checking you out."

60-year old, ill-fitting suit, lecher. "Do you have a mirror in your pocket? Because I could see myself in your pants."

Surely this boy wasn't legal drinking age. "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

Natasha would never admit it, but she was enjoying his running commentary tonight. It was much more entertaining than what the bar flies were coming up with to try and catch her.

"Cut that out! The last guy thought I was smiling at him, and it took me ten minutes to shake him." She whispered into her drink, shuffling quickly to gather her purse and head to the ladies room, much to the disappointment of the latest arrival. She touched up her make-up in the mirror, adjusted her cleavage, and plotted.

"Tash, this is taking too long. Any way you can speed up the process?" They had to get the card before their mark decided he was ready to turn in for the night.

"I have this. $100 says I have the card in less than ten minutes." Natasha didn't wait for an answer, but instead strolled out of the ladies room, carving a path straight for the target. She tapped him on the shoulder, pressed her body against him, whispered in his ear, and took his hand as he followed her from the bar like a puppy dog, complete with a hanging tongue.

"What the hell did you say to him? The poor boy looks in shock." Clint watched as the pair disappeared into the elevator. He quickly re-sighted to the hotel room they were using as rendezvous, ignoring the whispers and the rustling over the comm. Within a few moments, Natasha led the man into the room. Clint could tell he was already under the influence of the drugs Natasha kept in a vial tucked inside her dress. She pushed him down on the bed, and within a couple minutes, he lay unmoving, divested of his pass and his consciousness.

"Nat, we have about 20 minutes. Get changed." Clint looked at his watch and then back at his partner. She turned to the window and gave him a look. "What? A gentleman doesn't peek. Just get going."

Natasha turned and began unzipping her silk dress, sliding it down her body. Clint tried to draw his eyes away, but that proved an impossible task. As she was first revealed and then concealed by her uniform and gear, she did not turn back to the window. Once she was dressed, she looked over her shoulder, and he could swear she was making eye contact with him, one eyebrow curving sarcastically.

"Gentleman, hmm?" She strode out the door without another word.

Clint scrambled to his feet, relocating for extraction. "Shit." He was in trouble, he thought with a grin, but damn if it wasn't worth it.

A/N: Okay, this will be the last pre-relationship drabble. I will begin posting my movie/post-movie story Tuesday, and after I get a couple chapters into that, I will start posting drabbles of a more romantic nature. These drabbles are so much fun, I can't leave them for long. Last time, I asked for raised hands (I am a teacher, after all) but this time I am going for something more ambitious. If you want to see some flirty, sexy banter from our favorite assassins, dance for me! I am not picky, any dance will do for a review! See you soon!