HI everyone! Only one person guessed the correct answer (mac' and cheese) so, give kudos to them! Yay!

anyways, some sad new XP I have band camp all this upcoming week, staring tommorow, and it goes from 9am to 8pm, meaning i have no time to type and or post updates :( i'm sorry about that, but ill make sure to post a chapter of my one other clintasha story before tommorow.

anyways, thanks again for anyone who reviewed last chapter! You guys rock!

read an enjoy as i think we have some nice clintxtasha interaction here :) but tell me what you think about it!

~Chapter 12

"Ummm…" Clint manages after a long moment. "I think you ought to explain yourself first." He says, still seeing stars.

"What? For this?" She asks, kissing him again.

"Yeah. That." Clint squeaks.

"The dance is tonight." She murmurs, smiling seductively. "And I am in need of a dance partner, as well as my husband."

"Clint, this seems a little sketchy…" Becky whispers.

"It's just Nat, Becky." Clint mutters, rolling his eyes. Beckett goes silent on the other end, but he thinks nothing of it, happy to have reunited with Natasha.

Natasha's eyes widen a bit, but she doesn't say a word. She stands still, as if listening for something, then says simply. "I have your dress clothes in my room for you, Michael." She says, stressing the name slightly to grab his attention.

Clint is a spy, and spies are known for their ability to adapt. So he adapts—though the kissing had thrown him a curveball, that's for certain.

"Very thoughtful of you, love." Clint says, smiling. Natasha very rarely kept up such an intimate act when they were alone, so there must be eyes and ears in the hotel that wouldn't allow her to drop the act. He would just have to play along and question it later when he had a chance.

Natasha pulled him into her motel room by the collar of his shirt, and showed him the single bed room, with what he assumed to be his tux strewn across a chair.

"We'll be leaving in a half hour, so get ready." She tells him simply, retrieving a dress from the closet.

Clint smirks as she heads to the bathroom to dress. "All right," He replies, turning to his own apparel, his smirk reforming into a grimace. He was not a fan of playing dress up, especially when it came to clothing that didn't allow him much movement. Movement is key in a fight, and giving the enemy the upper hand is the last thing he needs when he's still healing.

He starts getting ready, but the grimace stays stuck on his face until Tasha breaks his concentration a few moments later. "How's your shoulder, Michael? Any better from when you sprained it the other day?"

Clint reads into between the lines; she wanted to know how well he would hold up if things got bad. "It's sore," He admits, "But it's not as bad as it was."

"Well, make sure you don't make it worse." Tasha replies musically, her voice sweet as sugar.

Clint really feels like he married his partner. Except she had a nice personality replace her other, less caring one. But the nice personality was a bit much for him. If he married her, he would prefer her normal self. But we aren't getting married, so who cares, he tells himself firmly, though he isn't sure why he feels it bit saddened by the thought.

"Are you finished?" He calls, straightening his bow tie. He just wanted to get this done and over with.

"Yes, I'm done." She says, smiling and rolling her beautiful eyes at him.

Clint couldn't ignore how gorgeous she looked in the scarlet gown. The strapless and backless satin fabric showed off her flawless skin and perfect curves.

Her smiles widens as he continues to gape. "Shall we go?" She asks.

"Go we shall." Clint agrees, the two locking arms and walking out together.

As the pass the man at the front desk, he would smile at the couple.

She must've said yes.

*(*)*

"So. Mind explaining a little, Nat?" Clint asks from the side of his mouth as they get into an expensive rental car.

Natasha glances around and throws her purse backon the dashborad, getting in on the drivers side. He gets in on the other side, and waits expectantly for her to start explaining.

She ignores him, and digs through her handbag for something. She pulls out her phone and starts texting.

Clint groans.

"I'm here to find the woman who started the Black Widow program." She says, still looking intently at the small screen.

He stares at her tensely. He had known at least that much, but he didn't know her intentions of what she would do once she did find this person. "And then what? Kill her?"

Nat says nothing, and Clint is beginning to fear for her, hoping to the gods this wasn't some sort of suicidal mission she had plotted. If she managed to get herself killed, he wasn't sure if he could take that. It would kill him too. He had already lost enough people in his life, he wasn't going to lose her too. "Gods, Nat, you're not that kind of person anymore. If you even think about-."

"Here's a list of the people that will be there. One of them started the program. And they want to do another experiment. Make more girls that are like me." She hands him the phone, and Clint can't help but notice the clipped tone she used only when she was overly stressed or holding something back. He hated when she was like this.

But the text was not a list of people.

Don't mention Becky at all when we get there. I don't know what's bugged and what isn't, so be careful what you say. We need her to watch. Text her and get her following at a safe distance.

Clint looks back up at Natasha, but she had started the car and stared intently at the road. He frowns at the text, and the single name that had been underlined beneath the sentence.

Tonia Merenov.

"Are you sure this is right?" He asks.

"Yes. I'm certain."

"Natasha." He says, his voice breaking slightly as unwanted thoughts come to mind.

"What?"

"Promise me you won't do something stupid."

For a long moment she says nothing, hiding her eyes behind her black dyed hair, concentrating on the rough street ahead of them.

"Promise me Natalia won't do something stupid." He corrects himself.

Natasha bites her lip. "Fine. I promise."

Clint smiles, at least somewhat assured by the promise. "Okay. Now what do you want me to do at this party of yours?"

Natasha manages a crooked grin. "All I need you to do is stand there and look pretty."

Clint smirks. "I think I can do that." He quickly texts Becky, telling her the address, and to wait a while before setting off. She replies in a moment, saying over the comm, "Jeez, Hawky. You had me worried. I couldn't hear anything over the quartet once we had to start playing, and you left me off on a really sour note there."

He chuckles at the distraught Beckett and says out loud, "Sorry Beck. Didn't mean to worry you. You understand my text?"

"Yeah. Should I bring my pointy objects?"

"Only if you can manage to hide them while wearing a dress. You're gonna have to fit in here. Find a way to sneak in, but don't look like you know us."

Becky groans upon hearing the word 'dress'. "You are just looking for ways to make me kill myself, aren't you, Hawkeye?"

"You bet, Phantom. Radio silence from now on, unless you're in trouble or we're about to be. Got it?"

"Sure."

"Just like old times." Clint mutters to no one in particular.

"Old times?" Natasha asks curiously. He notes how tightly she grips the steering wheel and decides it would be best just to tell the complete truth this time.

"Beckett and I used to be partners. For a year, until we had a bad mission. Barely made it out."

Natasha nods, frowning thoughtfully. "We've been partners for four years."

Clint raises an eyebrow. "Umm…yeah. We have."

She turns to look at him for a brief second, a triumphant smile making her eyes sparkle with pride. "I win."

"Clint," Becky whines, sounding very disgruntled.

Hawkeye returns his attention to his former partner. "What? Something wrong?"

"Yeah…. Where the heck am I supposed to find a dress?"

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