#avalord

“You never came back last night,” she says in reply, exhaling a ribbon of smoke into the slate grey sky of Russia.

“You didn’t stay up for me, did you?” He means it to come out jokingly, but instead it comes out half in wonder. Natasha shoots him a sidelong look that still somehow manages to hold disdain. “Right,” he coughs. “Of course you didn’t.”

She doesn’t answer, instead says, “How was your mission?”

“Fine,” he says, and then, because he can’t quite escape the feeling, “Nat, are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s just – this city. I never liked it. I still don’t. You being off sleeping with girls of the Russian mafia every night doesn’t help.”

Clint sighs, rubs a hand over his face. “Look, I’m sorry, I wouldn’t leave you alone if I didn’t have to. You know I just need information – ”

“I know,” she interrupts forcefully, stubbing out her cigarette and letting it drop onto the streets below, “I know. Believe me, I know. I’m not a rookie. It’s just Russia, okay? Don’t worry about it.”

“Nat,” he says, catching her wrist before she can leave, “Nat. Look at me.”

She doesn’t, not until he cups her face with his free hand and tilts her head up. Her eyes are burning, vivid and haunted, and he swallows as his brain tries to formulate words. Dealing with Nat is difficult, especially when she looks so pretty in the dawn light, especially in Russia where the city streets seem to be unwinding in her curls, and he probably wouldn’t do it if he didn’t care so damn much. But he does.

“I do worry,” he says, and she rolls her eyes upwards again, this time not looking back down, and he takes a deep breath. “I worry about you. I wouldn’t have made you come if it were up to me, but Fury says we work better together.”

“No, it’s because you can keep an eye on me,” Natasha says with a flicker of a smile, half bitter and half amused. “Make sure I don’t defect. He thinks I won’t betray you.”

Clint raises his eyebrows. “Will you?”

She waits  a beat. “No.”

He smiles at her, fluttering his fingers over her cheekbone until her eyes close. “I know that,” he says. “And I know you hate Russia, but you’re good at this, Nat. You’re good with us. And I’ll be with you for the next two days, until we go back home, I promise.”

“You try really hard with your pep talks, don’t you?” she murmurs, a ghost of a laugh in her voice when her eyes open, and Clint chuckles. “I should get ready, I have to go interrogate one of the leaders.”

“Right,” he agrees, though he doesn’t move. “Nat?”

“Yeah?”

“One more thing,” he says, and then he leans down to kiss her, softly at first then deeper as she responds, her body curling into his and her hands twining in his hair, holding him close until they have to part for air.

“Good luck,” he murmurs, leaning his forehead against hers, and Natasha smiles at him, blinding in her radiance, and he wonders how exactly he managed to fall in love with the assassin girl he was sent to kill all those months ago.