There's many things you could say about Clint but the first that enters my mind is 'persistent'. He isn't aware that I know this but he'd watch me in his nest atop the law firm right next to his work place. And every evening when he was released from work he'd always try and catch me off guard. A man of routine, I guess. I'm not sure what he wanted out of all this, it seemed like a colossal waste of time if you ask me. Actually, now that I think about it, a lot of things about him mystify me. If you asked me to give you a brief of Rodgers, for example, I could tell you everything. And not just the basics like 'a WWII lab rat turned war hero'. But more importantly what makes him tick. I don't think he even knows this himself, but every time he thinks of Peggy he will begin to hum the melody of Arty Shaw's Stardust. But Clint… I-I just don't know. It's like his glasses are a firewall preventing me from hacking into his core. It infuriates me. Nothing he does makes sense; he has millions of dollars and yet he chooses to shack himself up in that boxy, grungy apartment that he shares with that scum bag Wilson. And the way he looks at me…I've never seen anyone else look at me that way. Is he scrutinizing me? Or is he mocking me? I really don't know. But when I felt him touch my shoulder, I couldn't help but smile. I hated smiling. I hated feeling. This feeling. I'd tried my absolute best to blot them out and I'd succeeded, like everything else I do. But he managed to make it crumble with such a gentle graze.

"Right on the ball as always, Tashy." The way he said my name…I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks. But I wasn't about to let catch on. I refuse to participate in his childish game.

"Pain in the ass as always, Barton."

"Take it or leave it, Romanoff." He stood moved so that he was standing directly in front of me now.

"So, care to join me for a coffee?" The delivery of these words were accompanied with a slick grin and a seductive wink. Of course I was going to refuse.

"Alright..fine then." No. That is not what I meant to say at all. Damnit, Natasha. Pull yourself together. But his face lit up. I guess that means he was glad I complied?

So we sat of opposite sides of a small, round, glossy, wooden table whilst he eyed me up.

"Clint, what are you doing?"

"Wondering why you didn't ask me that sooner." God. He is so irritating. Yet…I couldn't help but feel something there. A spark, that if given even the slightest bit of fuel, could ignite into something beautiful and unpredictable. I detested situations that were out of my control.

"Well, Nat, you wanna get out of here?"

"Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

"Woah, hey. Miss Russian Assassin has an attitude, excuse me!"

"Yup. Excuse you." He offered his hand out to me, in a dramatic attempt to get me to follow. Nonetheless, I took it. With an extremely unenthusiastic sigh, though. Of course. As I did so, a smile diffused across his face. Not his usual playful, seductive smile but one that just seemed to take my breath away. Ugh. What am I saying? Maybe I accidentally inhaled some of that joint Tony was smoking earlier.

He didn't let go of my hand. He had such a gentle grasp, which you wouldn't expect for someone as well built as Clint. I had no idea where he was taking me. The only guess I could make was his apartment but I doubt he'd try a cheap trick like that on me. I finally got it. He had taken me to the Ballet. The only part about myself as an individual and not a Black Widow that actually remains.

"How'd you kno-"

"I saw you dancing in your apartment the other day."

"You're such a stalker, Barton." I just couldn't help but turn bright red. He'd found my weakness and taken advantage but I just didn't seem to care. All I wanted was to live in this moment forever. He saw it too. He didn't say anything, just pulled me into his arms, my face buried in his muscular chest.

"Only for you, Natasha."