Avengers 1. A Different Call

**So yeah, I watched the Avengers on Blu Ray and it gave me a strong urge for some Clintasha love. So I look up the tags on tumblr and I found, posted literally every day, Clintasha Week! You can look it up for yourself but the gist of it is that everyday you make some fan piece dedicated to a certain prompt. Considering that I found this literally the day before it started, I called it fate and wrote outlines for each day right on the spot. Hope you all enjoy :)**

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Clintasha Week Prompt #1

"Agent Barton was sent to kill me; he made a different call."

Tracking one Natalia Romanova had been no small task.

Small is taking down a Cuban drug ring using 12 arrows, a lighter, and some conveniently placed oil rigs. Fury gave him hell for that one.

But no, tracking down one of the Red Room's finest 'emphasis on the fine' proved to be a challenge rather infamously got passed around the S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ. It was some kind of morbid joke, to give the assignment to agents who showed up late to a meeting, stolen someone's sandwich from the communal cafeteria, or had accidentally gotten a third of their team killed in the last op because of arrogance. It was basically an excuse to keep irritating or cocky agents away for months at a time only to come back with a bruised ego and virtually no lead.

Odd how there never seemed to be any fatalities on this particular mission.

So, when after years of searching the file finally been given to Agent Clinton "Hawkeye" Barton, the man only looked at his newest handler in confusion,

"What did I do this time, Coleman?" He grumbled as he flipped through the rather thick manila folder labeled 'The Black Widow'.

"It's Coulson, Agent Barton," The man easily responded; almost as if they had had this conversation multiple times in the past, "And this is not punishment, this is an assignment just like any other."

Clint raised an eyebrow and the handler continued, "And this may or may not have anything to do your rejection of three team ops. And this may or may not be Director Fury's way of getting you, hypothetically speaking, to 'Grow the fuck up and learn to play nice with other fucking children for once."

"That would do it. Hypothetically speaking of course." The agent said as he rifled through the woman's impressive kill count. "Natalia Romanova. Girl has style; virtually no paper trail to follow, and identity hidden under countless aliases. 50 confirmed kills, possibly hundreds more off record, only consistent method of assassination seems to be either intravenously administered poison or strong electrical shock, more commonly found around the spine or neck region of the target." He flipped through assassination after assassination. He reached the personal information and was not surprised to see the page mostly blank.

"She's quick, clean, and practically a ghost on S.H.I.E.L.D's radars. And you expect me to find her?" He closed the file, already knowing that he would not learn anything he hadn't already heard about.

"Well you have some leeway this time," Coulson explained as he slid a series of photos in the other man's direction,

"The Widow was last seen at a train station in Burma two days ago. Agent Morris was on her trail before he was intercepted by Red Room operatives. Right before Morris's death, he placed a tracer on one of his attackers. You are expected to maintain radio silence until either the mission is compromised or the target had been being said, assuming that they are either following her or hunting her down as well, we have a destination for you. Hope you brushed up on your Thai."

* * *

Coulson had been correct in assuming that the woman was now on the top of the hit list from her former organization and the S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives on her trail had been the least of her worries. He had managed to trail the Widow upon arriving in Bangkok for about three days now, which was odd since according to her file she never stayed in one place for very long, especially the major cities. By the third day Clint realized that she was dodging through the city trying to lose the flunkies of her former organization. He wondered if she even knew that he was tailing her.

Eventually, the woman caught a snag in whatever she was planning; it would seem that the Widow had finally decided to move but had been stopped by customs, no doubt the Red Room had tampered with her passports. For the time being she was being held in a local Bangkok PD facility to be transferred to the russian embassy in the morning.

Barton had prepped his equipment on the top of a dingy apartment complex two streets away from the Police Department. True to S.H.I.E.L.D protocol, the sharpshooter scoured the area within a 100 yard radius to find the most advantageous spot to roost, claiming to be working on anything ranging from plumbing, electrical, or even pest control. A flimsy excuse but it was Bangkok; they only half heard his excuse anyways and did not seem to care as long as he was not a cop.

Snapping his rifle into place, the man eased down onto the grimy cement until he was laying flat on the ground. The neon sign that was once visible atop the complex had long since burned out and while the street below him was filled with lights and activity, he remained unseen.

Even with his time in the Special Forces, the familiarity of a gun never quite felt like his bow, and his hand itched to pull out his preferred weapon from the case slung over his shoulder. But he couldn't risk discovery; his bow was a bit too attached to his "Hawkeye" persona and he'd rather not be a target of the Red Room any time soon. He adjusted the stand keeping his rifle upright and looked into the scope. By his guess it was around 2:25 and any minute now the guards will be switching their rotations. If she was half as good as he was, and he pretty much thought that he was the shit, then she'd be hopping out of the left side of the building, closer to the alleyways and much more concealed from the main street, any minute-

_'There.'_ Sure enough, a small blur seemed to materialize off the side of the building and slink away in the blink of an eye.

"You don't get to get away that easily." He mumbled as he took aim. Even through the sound and movement that was Bangkok, someone would be bound to recognize the sound of a .50 cal sniper rifle going off. And being so close to the local authorities, that could cause some potential complications. No, in a vein similar to his target, his ammunition consisted of darts laced with deadly neurotoxins. If injected through the bloodstream death would occur in under a minute.

He lined his shot to the deadly blur of red and held his breath.

_'Hmph. Too-'_ His train of thought was cut off by the Widow's movements. What was once smooth strides suddenly became jerky. Clint flicked the custom fitted night vision on his scope to life and quickly saw the cause of the confusion; the Red Room had read her movements better than he had.

"Spoke too soon." The man muttered to himself as he watched the impending conflict. From what he could see the ex-spy had been outnumbered 6-to-1. But that did not seem to deter the assassin. From behind the scope of Clint's rifle, he watched in awe as the woman almost danced around her enemies; taking advantages of blind spots, propelling herself over trashcans and emergency ladders to gain the height advantage, and an almost encyclopedic knowledge of pressure points and other vulnerable points in the body.

To put it simply, poor bastards did not even have the chance to fire a single shot.

_'Girl doesn't even look like she's out of breath.'_ Agent Barton almost regretted that he had to kill such a capable fighter. Almost. As soon as the last body hit the ground he took aim. Easily lining the redhead up with his cross-hairs he held his breath, angled the rifle up to compensate for the downward arc, and pulled the trigger. What happened next , would shape their relationship for years to come.

In the few seconds it took for the dart to reach it's destination just below the point of her ear, what he had believed would barely nick the jugular vein, the Widow stumbled. Over the body of one of her fallen comrades no less.

This would be Clint Barton's first career miss.

He tracked the dart to just barely flying past her ear, and in the blink of an eye, before he could reload the empty chamber, he saw the Widow grab a gun from the dead operative and face him down. From two streets away, three stories up, she aimed her gun right at him. Not around his general vicinity, but right at his scope, dead in the eye.

_'She can't see me, there's no way.'_ He'd like to lie to himself but he knew better, read her file. The modified Super-Soldier serum flowed through her veins, improved her reflexes and senses just enough to be considered inhuman. The Widow backed away slowly, both slowly cocking their guns, contemplating their next move.

'_She has penetrating power and speed, but I have range.'_ He thought as he just watched her movements, caught in a standoff he did not expect to be a part of. He also realized that if she could see him from up here, what's to say that she would not catch the movement of the much slower poison dart and fire off accordingly. He sighed, 'God dammit.'

In a move that surprised himself, he backed away from the edge of the building and collapsed his rifle. His squad leader back in the Special Forces always told him to pick his shots, and no result seemed to fall in his favor. He would want to see the woman's surprise for himself but he was not stupid, knew she would take the opportunity to run now and ask questions later. The walk out of the building and into his motel almost felt like the walk of shame after a disappointing one night stand. As he laid in bed, bottle of cheap bourbon clenched in one hand and a prototype arrowhead in the other, he contemplated the thoughts in the deepest corners of his mind.

Any vein would have done the trick. Her exposed arms and shoulders, the base of her neck, a plethora of available skin to pierce and his job would have been done and he'd be heading back to HQ with the infamous Black Widow's head on his kill count. But he chose the riskiest place, almost as if he had wanted to miss.

_'Please.'_ He scoffed at his internal musings as he took another swig of the rat piss bourbon,_ 'It's the largest vein in the body, she would've gone into a seizure right in that alleyway. That way I could see the death and not just wait for it to show up on some late night news show.'_ Satisfied, with his internal reasoning, he rolled onto his side and prepared to rest for an hour before he called in Coulson and briefed him on his next location.

* * *

_Little did he know that the hunt for the elusive Black Widow would be one of his longest manhunts to date. He was now under her radar and more often than not she would lead him to ambushes after ambushes that were originally meant for her. He honestly did not know if he wanted to kill her or give the damn mission to someone else. But 5 months later, after destroying what was left of the Red Room, when she was finally tired of running and fully prepared to make one last stand, he offered her a place in S.H.I.E.L.D. Her response? "Just hope you don't miss as often with your toy bow as you do with a gun."_

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**So yeah, that happened. After a good three years on hiatus, I write this. *headdesk* sorry bout that folks. As usual, this is unedited, mostly because I think you're supposed to write this out the day of each prompt right? I was going to write each individual encounter up until the eventual recruitment, but then I realized that it would either be really repetitive or not fit for a quick week long prompt and should be it's own story. It was the first "meeting" that is the most important despite the length of the encounter; in my head the entire exchange after the confrontation between the Red Room agents only lasted a few seconds, half a minute tops. Hopefully I'll be able to improve my writing just a tiny bit after this week. See you all tomorrow!**

**P.S: If anyone was surprised by Natasha being injected with the super-serum, I based it off the DC wiki so I'm not totally sure how accurate that is. If I'm wrong about that, feel free to tell meh!**

**~G-R**


	2. Budapest

Oh man, the ideas for Budapest! Alright, I went through a lot of possible situations for this one, all of which were so cliche to the fan base that I pretty much scrapped most of them. Then I realized; who cares if it's been done before?! So here's my take on it ^-^

Also, none of these MARVEL characters belong to me! (thanks to MarvelHippie999 for catching that brain fart for me! I swear I know the difference between Marvel and DC xD)

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Clintasha Week Prompt #2

_"You and I remember Budapest very differently..."_

She supposed that the archer was not really wrong in that respect. And by respect she had assumed that he was judging their adventure in Budapest to the stand-off of 6 highly...unique individuals versus an armada of aliens and one delusional God. And in that sense Budapest was nothing like what they had experienced only a few hours ago.

But that did not mean he was right.

As she bit into her lamb, the master assassin chanced a glance at her partner. The archer seemed perpetually torn between eating his shwarma, passing out right on the spot, or continuing to read up on his post-mission Vonnegut. Eventually the man settled for a combination of two, casually flipping through_ Cat's Cradle_ with one hand and grabbing a handful of fries in the other. As he dipped some fries in humus, an act that caused Natasha to glance away in slight disgust, she felt a tap on her back from the boot propped up behind her. Looking back she noticed her partner reading, and to the untrained eye most would assume that he was reading his chosen literature with rapt interest. But Natasha knew that his attention was focused on the red head next to him.

Quirking up the corner of her mouth ever so slightly, she casually bumped his foot underneath the table with one of her own before she continued to eat her sandwich.

Maybe one of these days she would tell him just how close to Budapest the entire fiasco had been, but for now she opted to enjoy her moment of solace.

* * *

"Russian arms dealer, Kostya Morlov. Former KGB assassin turned weapons specialist. Nothing special really, originally dealt low-grade weapons to local gangs in Tver City. But suddenly Morlov's small business has experienced an unexpected boom."

Natasha Romanoff, formerly Natalia Romanova, had read the file before Coulson had entered the briefing room. She already knew all that she needed to know but had managed to pay attention for protocols sake. Her partner, on the other hand, seemed itching for some action. While his upper body had remained rigid, his leg bounced off his heel sporadically and his hand underneath the table not clenching the file was twirling an arrowhead absent-mindedly. Natasha glanced at the man from the corner of her eye and kicked his bouncing leg from underneath the table. He did not spare her a glance nor a grimace of pain, but his leg stopped moving and he sat up just a bit straighter. If she did not know any better, he looked like a kid that just got caught falling asleep in class. Smirking internally, she returned her attention to what their handler was saying.

"You will meet back here in 0600 hours for drop off and will enter the borders of Hungary in approximately 0900. Remember this is strictly recon and any and all information should be transmitted back to me." Clint bolted up right as Coulson finished up his speech and in a few strides exited the briefing room. Coulson raised an eyebrow,

"Remember when it was _you_ that wanted to get out of these as soon as possible?" Natasha, who was just comfortable enough to trust the man in front of her, smirked,

"We grow up so fast, don't we?" The older man chuckled in return before glancing at the open doorway,

"Look after him, alright?"

"He just needs to adjust is all." She answered but both knew that she would watch over him regardless of whether he asked or not.

"See you in a week Ms. Romanoff." Coulson said as he strode out of the room. Upon exiting herself, she made a beeline for her room, knowing that her partner would already be suiting up. Once she was dressed and armed with her trusty Widow Bites, she had refused to let S.H.I.E.L.D keep these in the armory, she went over to the shooting range.

Her partner was shooting arrow after arrow at the moving targets, each one littered with arrows right at the head, neck, and heart. Natasha frowned when she saw his hearing aids next to him.

A grenade going off a little too close for comfort a few months back blew out his eardrums and ripped into his acl. This was his first mission back from surgery and physical therapy, hence the recon mission normally given to new recruits.

"You don't have to hover over me Nat." His gruff voice caught her attention; she had merely been watching until a few moments ago,

"Thought I'd see you down in the tech lab by now." She responded easily, not surprised that he knew she was in the room with him. Even without his ability to hear he always had this uncanny ability to sense whenever she entered a room. It was probably why he was able to follow her trail back when he was originally sent to kill her. "You gonna put those in?" she motioned to his hearing aid once she got close enough. She never once slowed her speech but she spoke clearly enough so that he could read her lips.

"Gotta learn to work without them. Can't be dependent." He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and stuffed the aid in his pocket before her began to walk out. She understood the notion, so she followed the archer to the tech lab and over to the weaponry without a word.

They made a habit early on to check each other's gear before departure; if they knew where their partner's weapons were they could grab a weapon from the other if they were ever disarmed and continue on with the firefight without missing a beat. It took months for Clint to get Natasha to agree to the terms and a little over a year before she was completely comfortable with him adjusting _her_ holsters and loading clips into_ her_ guns; It was intimate and close and nothing that she was ever introduced to. As the Russian spy placed arrowheads into his specialized quiver, she finally spoke her thoughts,

"You know those aren't weaknesses." He scoffed as he checked the charge on her Widow Bites strapped to her wrists,

"Says the ex-Russian superspy with the Captain America juice running through her veins."

Years ago, when she was new to the organization, she would have been offended; speaking your mind was a rare occurrence in the Red Room that was rarely met with positive reinforcement. But now she simply frowned and swatted his hand away,

"Stop bitching. So you're deaf, that sucks. Overcome it." She huffed as she strapped his loaded quiver onto his back, "Name a single person in S.H.I.E.L.D that can set an arrow on your bow." After not hearing a retort, she moved ahead of him and walked over to the helipad.

The ride into Hungary was uneventful. Hell, the recon itself was boring and monotonous. The most exciting bit of action had been knocking out the maintenance man and planting a transmitter into Morlov's security feeds and a few mic's around the premises. For six days they watched the weapons dealer from afar. From what they could gather through radio chatter and the footage, it seemed that Mr. Morlov was enjoying a peaceful vacation alone in his spacious villa. From what they gathered, he only had a few guards on call aside from the housekeepers and the man never left his home, preferring to prune his garden in the mornings and read with a bottle of Russian vodka in the evenings.

It was boring as hell.

* * *

"You gonna check the comm traffic?" Clint asked as he felt his partner's body move from underneath his arm and lift off the futon.

"No, going to get something to eat." The readhead mumbled as she tugged on some shorts, "Want anything?" She asked as she was walking out the door. Clint rolled out of the sheets and walked over to the equipment pushed against the wall,

"Maybe some of that spongecake shit?" He grumbled as he fiddled with the various knobs before he cringed. That was the fifth time today his hearing aid had screeched from the feedback of various electronics in the room and Natasha could tell that the other man was about to snap.

"Hey, you wanna go get the food instead? Maybe get some time out of this room." She came to his side in a few long strides and ran a hand down the contours of his arms, tracing the tense muscles in an attempt to calm down the archer. It was the middle of summer and being cramped into the one room apartment did nothing to relax the irate agent and it took all of Natasha's willpower to not knock the man out and load him on drugs until the week was over. Clint took a deep breath before resting his head in the crook of her shoulder. Natasha's anger quickly deflated and she merely patted his shoulder before taking his place near the equipment.

She heard his footsteps fade away before adjusting the thick headphones over her head.

"I'm going soft." She muttered to herself in her native language as she scrolled through the different security feeds. Furrowing her eyebrows, she clicked through the different monitors and found...nothing. Black screens reading 'Connection Disabled' on each and every window. Warning bells sounded off in her head when she did not hear anything either. Cursing in her native tongue, she pulled up the recordings from the past hour. From what she could see, Morlov rounded up his staff into the main security room before calmly sending them away. He looked up to the nearest camera, smiled, and spoke in a gentle voice,

"I'll come for you soon, моя прекрасная балерина." Walking to the back of the console, she could make out the man walking behind the security console and grabbing the transmitter before the screen went dark. The name triggered something inside her and before she experienced an intense headache. She shut off the equipment with a blind hand and stumbled out of her chair. With a deep breath she sank to the floor and tried to focus her blurring vision. The blood was pumping through her veins and a high pitched shrill echoed off of the walls as little voice from her past whispered into her subconscious,

"Вы Вдова..."

"Вы находитесь машины из ваших товарищей задатки..."

"В комнате своей матери, отца вашего, и вашего создателя!"

"Убейте меня, прекрасная балерина." She gasped as her vision came into focus. With a shaking hand, she ran raked her fingers through her damp hair.

It was then that she noticed she had slipped on her Widow's Bites and had suited up in her confused state. Snarling in disgust, she tore her gloves from her body and stalked over to her radio transceiver.

'Now is not the time to lose control.' She repeated that mantra to herself. She had hoped that the Red Room's conditioning would have worn off by now in the years she had watched her old organization burn to the ground. Gone through therapy that not even Clint had known about to keep from waking up one morning to dead S.H.I.E.L.D agents surrounding her.

But it would seem that with the apparent survival of the Room, Natalia Romanova had also simply been lurking in dark corners.

Tracing frequencies she attempted to contact her partner,

"Delta, Sigma, Foxtrot, Oh Niner. Respond." The Russian heard static on end and tried once more,

"Delta, Sigma, Foxtrot, Oh Niner. Hawkeye, respond." Still nothing. Cursing once again, she stood up and was prepared to hunt the archer down herself, when a loud explosion shook the building and swept the assassin off her feet.

Screams could be heard from the streets below and Natasha, already expecting a conflict, grabbed her Widow's Bites and a handgun. She cursed at how unprepared she was for a fire fight and regretted only bringing the bare minimum for this assignment. She leapt out of the nearest window and slid down pipes and ledges before she tumbled to the ground to break her fall. In the distance, she saw an intimidating figure in red armor walking towards her. When the local law enforcement attempted to shoot the armored figure down, it glanced at them before a small rocket launcher popped out of it's shoulder and fired on the cop cars right behind the officers. The explosion once again knocked the Widow off her feet and consequently knocked the gun out of her hands..

"America has made you soft, Black Widow." A mechanical voice echoed from the rubble. Struggling to maintain her balance, she saw the mechanical man approach her through the fire of the explosion, like a devil straight out of hell.

"Natalia, my прекрасная балерина." The ringing returned as he uttered those words and she could not find it in her to wonder how he knew that phrase.

"I hope you are aware that I missed on purpose." The man squatted down next to her and lifted a metallic hand to her face. In defiance she spat in it.

"Ah, ah," He admonished as sparks formed in the palm of his hand and steaming away the saliva she spat at him, "Now is that any way to treat family?"

"I don't have any family." Natasha ground out, flicking her fingers and setting her Widow's to life. Once she left the Room and realized all her memories were forgeries, she never bothered finding out about her life prior to the Black Widow program.

"So Ivan Petrovitch does not ring ANY bells." The voice ground out and forced her to look at the metallic mask.

"My handler from the Room?" She asked, genuinely confused.

Further down the street, another explosion rang out and Natasha from the corner of her eye saw Clint in a firefight against the guards and "housekeeping" Morlov had brought with him.

"Focus on me, сестра." The voice lost it's metallic edge and she looked up to see his face mask slid away to reveal the man's scarred face. Nothing she had not already seen from his file and the security feeds-

"Yuri..." Natasha realized with wide eyes. The man sneered at her revelation,

"I knew you had it in you." His voice rough, but so familiar she wondered how she never connected the dots.

"You should be dead." She answered with a glare,

"As should you and my father. But it would seem agents with talents such as ourselves never seem to truly be dead." He responded in heavily accented English.

"Ivan's...alive?" She thought he had died when she destroyed the Room. A sad casualty, but she did not know how accurate her memories of him had been, nor her fondness of him.

"He survived, barely. Now the Super-Soldier Serum runs through his veins as they run through yours." He spoke as the fight at the other side of the street had ended, with Clint managing to obtain a guards rifle and easily out gunning Yuri's henchmen..

"No matter, we have spoken for long enough. I want you to kill the Hawk and join me."

"And you can burn in hell." She seethed as the man finally stepped out of her personal space.

"Natalia, you have no choice in the matter. Now, Убийство агента Hawkeye, моей прекрасной балериной." Her body seized as her vision once again became hazy and the phantom whisperings came back in her head.

'No!' Natasha panicked as she slowly started to lose cognition. Everything she worked for, everything she tried to have wiped from her ledger, gone. She struggled from her mental bonds as she felt herself go into that state she had remembered herself in all those years ago. Her brain sanctioning off all non major functions, heightened senses, and a faux clarity of what target to go after next. She could barely make out the blonde from all the red in her vision, but she knew she was approaching fast.

But he was engaging Yuri already and did not seem to notice her change in demeanor.

Natasha's body shook with each step, desperately trying to gain control of herself, trying to keep Natalia at bay. Clint had ducked behind a near collapsing wall, just narrowly managing to redirect the lightning that was aimed at his heart into the barrel of his gun. She could see him nursing his burned hands as he scurried back, the gun smoking a few feet away from him.

It would be so easy. She imagined coming up behind him, pretending to hide in cover as well, then snap his neck in one swift movement. Or come up from the front and kick his collarbone in and end it with a electric charge to the face-

Her movements were sporadic now, jerking any which way but still obviously moving towards her partner.

В комнате своей матери, отца вашего, и вашего создателя!

Убейте меня, прекрасная балерина.

She could not even be disgusted in herself. She only felt the thrill of the impending kill. She thought she was stronger than this. Against her will, she charged the devices strapped to her wrist. The near silent hum of her preferred weapon coming to life of all things is what caught her partner's attention. Through the rubble and mayhem, with a heavy heart she saw relief reflected in his grey eyes and she nearly sobbed on the inside as she saw the relief quickly transition into fear.

Her grief was all the distraction her body needed.

She shut down. Lost all control and Natasha felt an out-of-body experience. Watched as her body suddenly ran at Clint, weapons at the ready to end him one fell swoop.

Except he was running to her as well. With the strength of an olympic rugby player, Clint burst from cover and tackled Natasha to the ground.

Hitting her head hard against the pavement incidentally enough.

Behind them, the electrical shocks tore through the open conduit that burst from the walls of the building and short circuited everything, causing the whole building to spark dangerously and smoke.

Natasha heard Clint say something along the lines of, "The hell was that just now Nat?!" But she could care less. The whispers had stopped. The ringing, while still heard, could be pushed back at least temporarily._ 'Does it even work that way?'_ She mused, amazed at such an occurrence. But she could not dwell on it for long, because Clint mentioned something about retrieving his bow, from the_ now burning building_ and she needed to get them out of there.

* * *

Natasha doubts Clint ever really knew how close to death he had been on that particular mission. Sure there was some wannabe Iron Man knock off attempting to fry them to death, such attempts curiously increased in ferocity once it had been obvious that the Widow had at least temporarily broken free from her old conditioning, and he risked smoke inhalation from searching for his prized bow as the building was slowly coming down, and they probably should not go to Budapest for a long while. But for at least a few moments Natasha knew what Clint felt like under Loki's control. Had been in that state of mind for years before he saved her. So she considered it ironic that she snapped him out of Loki's control the same way he had inadvertently saved her.

Clint came up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"So," He murmured against her skin, "Budapest huh?" He trailed lazy kisses up and down her bare shoulder, champagne flutes forgotten hours ago. Smirking, she turned around to face him, all deliciously bare skin and ruffled hair and shining grey eyes.

"Yup." She hummed and she placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

"Nat!" The archer whined as he tightened his grip on the Russian. She laughed as they were interrupted by JARVIS. Something about Tony threatening them with Thor's cooking if they did not get down to the movie room this very minute.

So no, it was not an armada of space aliens funneling out of a rift in space, and they were not dealing with a megalomaniac with a god complex. But there was the battles within themselves and like always, the only person who could pull them out of the dark was each other.

* * *

**And by pull I totally mean bash each other's heads in! First off; thanks for all the follows and views over the past few days. I honestly didn't think this would get that many O_O I'm really flattered :3 Sorry bout the lateness of this; I kind of wish the people who thought up Clintasha week knew of my midterm schedules x.x that and family birthdays all over the place, it's safe to say I've been busy. But it's the weekend for college students like me (yay 3 day weekends all the time!) so I'll try and put up a double update tomorrow to catch up! See everyone tomorrow! **

**~G-R**

**P.S I pretty much copy pasted some Russian from google translate so sorry if it sounds hella off to all the native speakers Dx**


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Avengers, Adventure, Romance