Clint Barton knew it had been a while since he and Tasha's had gone on a date, just by themselves. And he knew he had to change that.
The same Friday evening that Tony and Steve went to the Shakespeare performance (just to be safe; a public environment may prevent those two from getting into trouble), Clint told Natasha he'd pick her up, and they'd have a nice, quiet evening.
He must have been far too excited for this rare date, because when he pulled up to the huge Romanov Mansion, he was about 15 minutes too early.
Nonetheless, he rang the doorbell.
"Hello?" A stout man with a thick Russian accent answered the door.
"Yeah, hi, I'm Clint Barton, Nat-"
"Dah, Natasha's boyfriend." The man extended a hand to Clint. "I'm her father, you may call me Gaspadin Romanov."
"Uh..." Clint said as he shook Gaspadin Romanov's hand, "how about 'Mr. Romanov'?"
The man's heavy eyebrows lifted as he burst into a short, strong laugh. "Yes, Mr. Romanov is good. Please, come in."
Clint was starting to think all his friends had huge mansions as he walked into the foyer, but his train of thought was interrupted.
"Natasha is still in room, still getting ready," Mr. Romanov divulged, his heavy Russian accent still distracting Clint. "You may go wait in her room."
Clint nodded, and headed up the stairs, but he stopped halfway up. "Ah..."
"Is third door on right," Mr. Romanov hollered, followed by a jaunty chuckle as he left the foyer.
"Right." Clint finished his trek up the stairs, and walked into the room. The walls were a deep maroon colour, spotted with a few black picture frames of Natasha and a group of people who looked like they were all at a boot camp of sorts together. The bed was nicely sized (not that Clint should care, but nonetheless, it was a nice perk...), with white and red decorative pillows spotting the head of the black comforter.
The bed had some under-bed storage drawers and... Clint's eye caught a corner of a manila folder sticking out from one of the drawers, like it had been put there in a hurry.
"Huh," he muttered as he grabbed it, careful not to make any noise to disturb Natasha in her bathroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing away from the bathroom door, and opened the file. What he found and what he expected were two very different ideas. The first page had a picture of a brutish, German looking man, with a defining scar tracing his eye and a snaggletooth that just barely protruded from his lip.
"Victor Baasch," Clint read, following down the writing to see a birthdate, places of previous residence, last known location, and-Clint opened his eyes wide and dropped his jaw-victims. Hoping this was a fluke, he flipped to the next page.
This one sported a picture of a man with finely kept, light hair and a fair face. "Roger Foss..." Clint muttered and noticed that, again, there was a birthdate, previous residences, last known location, and... yep. Victims.
The next one was an American, with mid-length brown hair, normal features, dark heavy-set eyes. "And this is Cameron-" Clint stopped himself when he heard the click of a pistol being armed.
He dropped the file onto the bed, papers sprawling out, and slowly turned around to the source of the noise with his hands above his head.
"What," Natasha huffed, a sleek black pistol pointed at Clint, "do you think you're doing?"
Clint stared in awe at the fact that his girlfriend had him under gunpoint. He had to admit, despite the Glock 26 aimed right at his head, Nat looked good with a gun.
Tasha pushed her pistol closer to Clint's head. "Explain exactly what you're doing in my room," she moved around her bed, keeping the gun aimed at Clint, and grabbed the folder and papers, "and why you're looking through these files."
"I just thought-" Clint began, thinking her weapon was dropping, but Natasha fixed her aim again in a swift motion.
Clint took in a deep breath and moved his hand slowly, so that his two first fingers pushed down to lower Natasha's weapon. Luckily enough, she went with the motion. "Look, curiosity may kill the cat, but that doesn't stop it from snooping," he feigned a smile and a laugh.
All Natasha did to respond was raise her eyebrow at Clint before pushing the skirt of her black dress up to place her gun back in its concealed thigh holster.
"Ohhh-kayyyy," Clint said, quickly attempting to come up with a plan to figure Natasha out and not get killed.
"Can I just ask," he began, standing up with open arms to offer to Tasha, "Why you had files on the world's most notorious assassins under your bed?"
Natasha physically let down her barriers, giving Clint his requested hug and proceeding to sit down on her bed. Clint followed, wrapping one arm around her side and holding her hand with the other.
"As if you haven't witnessed enough weird stuff this past month," she chuckled, shaking her head. The words sounded forced.
"C'mon, Nat. I've realised some of my greatest friends are composed of a US Soldier, a guy with a blue circle for a heart, and a man with a green, angry, super-strength monster for an alter-ego. And I'm keeping it together pretty well."
"Okay," Natasha forced a laugh, but her voice sounded slightly different. "Russia wasn't just my birthplace; it was my training facility. I've been training to be an assassin myself ever since I was a little girl." When she spoke, her voice was flooded with a light, elegant Russian accent.
And Clint almost fell over from shock. "Oh... my god. Nat? Is that your whole story, and your... your real accent?"
Natasha's gaze met Clint's, and she smiled. "My American accent works pretty well, huh? I certainly didn't realise you were that easy to fool," she replied, using her American accent. "But yes, that's my story. I'm guessing yours isn't as interesting...?"
Clint laughed. "Nah. I mean, sorry to disappoint, Nat, but there's nothing more to this guy than a passionate archer with some pretty fucking high-tech stuff."
"Well," Tasha pushed herself up from her bed, "we gonna go get dinner or what? I'm starved."
Smiling, Clint stood up after her. They followed through with their plans, took a walk through the narrow streets neighbouring the restaurant, and returned to the Romanov mansion in about 2 or 3 hours.
Just as the two concluded their good night kiss, Clint's phone rang. He looked down to see Tony's name on the lit up screen.
"Oh, for the love of-" He picked up the call. "Hello?"
Natasha locked her eyes with Clint and mouthed, Who is it?
Clint responded with a mouthed Tony as the other party began speaking, and Tasha's hand flew to her forehead in an "I hope they didn't do anything too stupid" facepalm.
Hey, Clint, it's Tony. The guys at SHIELD need us to form a 'league of heroes' I guess, and your archery's landed you on the list. We're doing uniform stuff tomorrow. You in?
Progressively through the conversation, Clint's jaw dropped further and further. "Hold on." was all he could reply as he held his hand over the mic on the phone and looked at Natasha. "The guys at SHIELD-you know?" She nodded. "They're in need of a band of heroes, apparently. Can I tell Tony about your assassin badassery?"
Laughing Natasha shook her head. "No, but you're going over there tomorrow. I'll bring a little something that'll let them know themselves."
Clint nodded and brought the phone back up to his ear. "Sounds good. What time?"
So, I could give you every excuse that's in the book for why you haven't seen an update in little over half a year. And those excuses could range from massive writer's block to senior year of high school to work to studying to AP Exams, etc. etc. etc.
But! You have a chapter! And there is DEFINITELY going to be more to come in the next month or so before I'm off to college!
Review, etcetera. And please, tell me if I'm giving you guys an excellent story!