fate, n.

definition: the development of events beyond a person's control, regarded as determined by a supernatural power.

rating: K

Clint and Natasha were relaxing at Clint's apartment after a physically taxing mission. Physical taxation of which included Natasha holding her breath underwater for two and a half minutes and Clint shooting the deploy button on a parachute from a little over one thousand feet below. It was all in a day's work, though, as the saying went.

Clint was channel surfing while Natasha dozed next to him on the couch with her head in his lap. At least, Clint thought she was dozing until she said, "Clint, I'm seriously starving."

"Me, too," Clint agreed, stabbing the power button on the remote. "And I'm in the mood for Chinese takeout."

"Mmm." A smile crossed Natasha's face. "That sounds so good."

"I want fried rice so much right now," Clint said, then continued tantalizingly, "and tofu, and some of that vegetable chow fun…"

"And kung pao," Natasha added longingly, "and rice noodles. And fortune cookies."

"Definitely fortune cookies," Clint agreed wholeheartedly. He jogged his leg, unsettling Natasha's head. "Get up, you, I'm going to call in and order our dinner."


A little while later, the two assassins were settled on the couch to eat, surrounded by small mountains of takeout boxes and the aroma of Asian food. They ate in enjoyable silence until Clint pulled out the fortune cookies and tossed one to his partner. He cracked his open and read aloud, "Many good days are ahead in your future. Wow. That's like, not vague at all." Clint tossed the scrap of paper away. Natasha snorted lightly, reading her own fortune.

"What is it?" Clint asked curiously. "What does yours say?"

"Soon, you will be kissed by someone you love." Natasha laughed and wrinkled her nose, re-reading the words. "If you ask me, that sounds desperate, like they're running out of—" She broke off suddenly as Clint leaned forward and kissed her, taking her face in his hands. She closed her eyes, and leaning into him, she wrapped arms around him, causing multiple takeout boxes and chopsticks to fall unnoticed to the floor. Finally, she drew away, resting her forehead against his.

"Clint," she said, breathing a little faster than normal, "what was that for?"

Clint pulled his forehead away from hers and grinned at her sheepishly. "I was just doing what the fortune cookie said. Who am I to stand in the way of fate?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Are you telling me that's all that was?"

Clint ran a hand through his hair, his smile growing more embarrassed by the second. "Well… I mean…" he trailed off, seemingly unsure of what to say, then shrugged apologetically.

Natasha smirked. "Well, I guess my fortune wasn't the only one destined to prove true."