holdonrelease-blog

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Clint led her to the jet that was practically idling for their departure at the private airspace not twenty minutes from the tower. Tony texted Clint before they left, wishing them a safe flight, and not to leave any stains on the jet. Clint might have blushed at the implication, but he just laughed, shook his head, and boarded the jet.

The flight was relatively short, and by the time they landed, Clint had had adequate time to tease Tasha about not packing her itty bitty bikini, something he knew she didn't even own. Actually, Clint had never known Tasha to swim for the fun of it. Once or twice, they'd swam for their lives, but otherwise, Natasha was all work and no play. He wondered how she managed from day-to-day.

Clint exited the jet with his things in tow, and told the pilot to remain, that they would be back in a few hours. The man seemed content to doze in his seat while Clint motioned for Natasha to follow him to the cab he called.

It took them along highways mostly abandoned at this time of night, and to the huge beach house Tony owned. He'd promised them that the privacy there was impeccable, that it had its own private beach area, and that the bar was always stocked, even when he wasn't vacationing there.

The sound of the waves crashing met Clint before he reached the boardwalk that led to the sand. The smell of the surf, the warm breeze coming in off the water, it was all like heaven to him. He stood at the top of the boardwalk, overlooking the dark beach, and he grinned, holding his arms out to allow the window to pick up his hair, and deposit damp and salt there.

"It's wonderful, isn't it" he asked Natasha over his shoulder. "I love the ocean."

Sex on the Beach

Natasha shifted her weight onto her left leg, casting a quick glance at the clock located on the gym’s wall. They had agreed to meet here nearly fifteen minutes ago - but she reminded herself that Clint was probably off speaking with Tony about their spontaneous trip to the beach and their means of transportation. Her green eyes drifted back to the page of the novel currently held between her fingers, but she found it hard to focus as her mind started to wander. Their little trip could put both of their jobs at risk, and possible send Director Fury into a rampage of fury, but she couldn’t stop the little jolt of excitement that shot through her at the idea. 

The faint sound of footsteps broke into Natasha’s thoughts - steps that were, unmistakably, Clint’s. He walked with a quiet sort of gracefulness that had taken Tasha years to finally recognize, to learn to view as distinctly Clint. Tasha glanced up as her partner strolled in, informing her of the time that had to kill, as she carefully folded down the corner of her page in order to mark it for later. She slipped the paperback back into her purse, pushing off from the weight machine she had been leaning against.

“It’s nice to see how concerned you are about my job, old man.” Her eyes drifted down to the bow slung across his chest, but she simply nodded in silent understanding, knowing that her own concealed weapons were a great comfort to her. Natasha smiled then, pushing the straps of her bag further up her shoulder, before nodding towards the door Clint had just came through. “Well let’s go then.” The redhead started forward without checking to see if he was following, figuring he was. 

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Sex on the Beach

Clint had changed out of his usual clothing, pulling on jeans and tennis shoes, along with a t-shirt and a lightweight zip-up hoodie. He grabbed his quiver and bow, just in case, and brought them along. He had been very careful to talk to Tony about using a jet. The man had seemed all for breaking the rules, and he seemed even more anxious to get he and Natasha out of the tower for the time being. He seemed to think Tasha didn't get out nearly enough.

So Clint had gone down to the gym where Natasha had said to meet him, and this late at night, Clint knew they would be safe to leave. It was rare he really broke the rules this way. Not that Clint was a by-the-book sort of person. But he was very loyal to Shield, and to its mission, and he usually tried not to toe the line with its higher-ups, just for the sake of his job.

But in the end, Shield had not been the one to save his life on multiple occasions. It hadn't been the one to stand back-to-back with him and shoot their way out of a ring of men intent on killing them both. Shield hadn't been the one he'd laid next to, once, a long time ago, as the sun rose over Budapest, and they pretended like nothing had ever happened between them

In the end, the only person Clint was really loyal to, was this Russian, red-headed bombshell, who would always use Clint up, and throw him away without ever knowing she'd broken his heart a million times. Clint would let her break it a million more, too, because love was just funny like that. And for all of the shit Clint needed to do, for all of the things he had done that he regretted, choosing to rescue a brainwashed little girl who didn't know any better had been the best, and worst decision of his life.

"Kiddo," he said as he rounded the corner with his satchel over his shoulder, and his bow slung around his chest. He saw Natasha waiting for him in the gym. "Tony lent us the jet. We got--" he checked his watch, "--about twelve hours of really good nighttime down there. Should be long enough to see the ocean. Gotta leave before daylight though, I don't mind risking your job, but hell if I'm losing mine."

He winked at her.

[holdonrelease-blog]

Text to: Tasha

Tasha: I don't know how to relax.

Tasha: I don't think I've ever laid on the beach either.

Tasha: I'd suggest we go in one of Tony's jets while I'm on lockdown, but you know. Lockdown.

You: Lockdown? Yeah right.

You: You need to go out with someone who really knows how to do things secretly

You: You in?

You: ;)

Tasha: Why Agent Barton... Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?

You: Hey, I think you know what I'm suggesting.

You: Not that I'm going to incriminate myself via text.

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: I don't know how to relax.

Tasha: I don't think I've ever laid on the beach either.

Tasha: I'd suggest we go in one of Tony's jets while I'm on lockdown, but you know. Lockdown.

You: Lockdown? Yeah right.

You: You need to go out with someone who really knows how to do things secretly

You: You in?

You: ;)

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: For the last time, my ass is anything but skinny. Acknowledge that or I'll attack you in your sleep.

Tasha: And I'd make a beautiful, badass bride, wouldn't I?

Tasha: And then my honeymoon would be a mission.

You: You're so boring.

You: Don't you ever want to relax?

You: My old tired ass just wants to lay on some beach somewhere.

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: Shut your mouth, Barton.

Tasha: They're just pretty, that's all. Isn't like I'll ever own one.

Tasha: I mean, can you imagine me in a wedding dress? Pfft.

You: I cannot.

You: Even if you did believe in getting married, your skinny ass would wear a leather jumpsuit and double pistols.

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: NO.

Tasha: ... I can just recognize the time and effort that went into the bodice

Tasha: And the other stupid shit on it.

You: Oh. I'm not deleting these texts. Ever.

You: This is the single greatest moment of my career.

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: These dresses are a waste of money, honestly.

Tasha: Okay look at that dress though.

Tasha: It's all lace and

Tasha: Shut up. Whatever you're thinking, shut up Barton.

You: Oh. Oh my God, does the great Natasha Romanoff -like- a wedding gown?

You: Stop the presses.

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: Because it's this or Save Yes to the Dress.

Tasha: And I'll be damned if I watch that.

Tasha: ... but this is so bad oh my god.

You: Ha, Say Yes to the Dress. I'm turning there now.

You: This is the funniest show.

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: I'm not.

Tasha: Right, that is.

Tasha: Not in your case, I think.

Tasha: So Saving Private Ryan is on and it's so inaccurate it hurts.

You: I hate that movie.

You: Why subject yourself to it?

You: I prefer Mission: Impossible.

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: I didn't know fabric could defend against my icy-heart

Tasha: Good to know though.

Tasha: .. Sorry about what I said. Whatever you choose to do with your life after Shield isn't any of my business.

You: I know it isn't any of your business.

You: Nothing I do outside of my job is your business.

You: But I tell you because you're my best friend. I -want- to tell you.

Tasha: I'll keep my cynicism down to a bare minimum of only slightly obnoxious.

Tasha: You know I don't do well with.. that stuff.

Tasha: It's not how I was programmed.

You: I never asked you to do well with it, Tasha.

You: Just respect that I might be better at it than you.

You: Anyway, it doesn't matter. You're probably right anyway.

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Text to: Tasha

Tasha: I didn't know fabric could defend against my icy-heart

Tasha: Good to know though.

Tasha: .. Sorry about what I said. Whatever you choose to do with your life after Shield isn't any of my business.

You: I know it isn't any of your business.

You: Nothing I do outside of my job is your business.

You: But I tell you because you're my best friend. I -want- to tell you.

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Text to: Tasha

You: Hey

Tasha: Hi

You: Hadn't seen you on anything but the monitors in my room for two days. How are you?

Tasha: I figured you'd get too cold with me around.

You: That's why I wear a jacket, smartass.

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Text to: Tasha

You: Hey

Tasha: Hi

You: Hadn't seen you on anything but the monitors in my room for two days. How are you?

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Text to: Tasha

You: Hey

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Clint tilted his head and looked over at her. He felt a sudden rush of annoyance at her words. He reached back, and pulled off the quiver on his back. He slid the arrows he had used back into it and then walked back to the bench where he picked up his bow, and then looked down at her, almost scolding.

"You know, contrary to what you believe, that's not actually such a bad idea for some people," Clint told her sharply. He pulled his things up onto his shoulder, and then sighed, looking back down at Natasha. "I wasn't talking about quitting altogether. But I was hoping for like, I don't know, a desk job, maybe? I don't know that I want to go out on missions anymore. You know, seeing what a life might be like made me see that maybe I do want a house, and a wife, and a dog. I know that sounds totally horrible to you, but. I don't actually care."

Clint sighed, and then turned to leave. He paused at the door.

"Maybe I want to fall in love, Natasha," he said over his shoulder, not looking at her. "We can't all be as cold as you."

Target Practice

Natasha felt completely blindsided by this new information. She wanted to flinch away from his words, to demand he take them back, to explain that he didn’t really mean them. The Widow without her Hawk - it was ridiculous. Almost every single mission she had run since being made into a Shield agent had been with Clint at her side. Like the time in Rio when they had fought side-by-side against a group selling children into slavery, or the time in Kenya when he had saved her life with a well placed arrow, or Budapest -

But instead of saying those things, Natasha did what she did best. She closed off, shutting down any and all emotion from her face, focusing on keeping her body still and her eyes empty of feeling. She had been trained to be emotionless, and she was damn good at it after so many years. “If that’s what you want,” she replied evenly, shrugging her shoulders like she wasn’t fucking furious that he was even considering that. Who was she supposed to take on? Johnson, or McKinnon, or one of the other idiots back at base? How would they understand her silent cues, know exactly when to cover her, or when she needed someone to be brutally honest with her? 

She wondered if it was because of Loki, the innocent blood that now rested on Clint’s hands thanks to the mind control, but pushed away those thoughts. Tasha didn’t want to assume his reasoning for wanting to quit, because it would ultimately lead her down the path of him just not being interested in being tied to her any longer. 

“What are you going to do then? Settle down in some house, buy a dog, have some babies?” Natasha scowled up at him despite her better judgement, knowing she was starting something unnecessarily. “You can’t just leave a life like the one we live.”

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Clint watched her talk. He could tell without fail that she was fishing for information about Rosaline, the girl he had met in the Caribbean. But there was very little he could tell Natasha that he would feel comfortable sharing with her. That seemed odd, since they usually shared everything. But what Clint felt about Natasha made things a little more complicated. He didn't feel exactly right telling her about the nights he'd spent with Rosaline on the beach, in the torrid heat of the beach house she owned. Satin sheets, and sweat, and the way her brown hair had fallen in his face when she'd leaned over to kiss him.

These memories were things Clint didn't need to share, so he just laughed, and stood up to retrieve his arrows from the training dummies on the other side of the room. He listened as she spoke, and he reached up, grabbing his arrows from the dummies' faces. He turned back towards her, and blinked slowly at her.

"Not sure I really wanna be back in the field, to be honest," he told her bluntly, looking down as he ran his fingers over the arrowhead. He glanced back up at Natasha. "Once they instate you, I think it might be best you ask for a new partner."

Target Practice

Natasha snorted, shooting him a look that clearly disagreed with his teasing. Her - jealous? As if that feeling was even available in her range of very, very limited emotions. 

“Jealousy has nothing to do with it, Barton. I’m merely curious as to who you’ve been wrapped up in for months. And you’ve been awfully tight-lipped about it all, so it peaked my curiosity.” She quirked a brow over towards him, obviously expecting some sort of elaboration on the topic. It wasn’t every day that Clint would admit to being in love, so that must have been some fantastic eight months, or at least a fantastic girl. 

Tasha secretly hopes she was hideous. 

The redhead grabbed her water bottle and begun to fiddle with the wrapper, gaze focused on the words there. She traced over the black little letters, thinking over the rumor, before Nat rolled her eyes. “Of course he will. I’m his best goddamn agent, and he chose to put me on leave in the middle of a press shitstorm with Banner. You and I should be his body guard, but instead I’ve got you babysitting me.” She didn’t think the wavering of her voice was noticeable, but she never really knew with Clint. He could read her like a book, much to her displeasure. 

She cast a glance his way, expression guarded. “Not that I’m not glad to have you here. You’re far better than Johnson, but…” She shrugged, shifting her attention back to the wrapper. “It’s not the same as working with you.”