“Fuck.” Clint swore as his computer shut down without warning for the third time that afternoon.

“Need help with that?” A familiar voice, one that Clint had tried to forget, came from the entrance to his office.

“Natalie?” Clint said in surprise.

“Good afternoon Professor Barton,” she said as she sashayed into the room.

“You can’t just show up here four years later." Clint spluttered. "Get out.”

---

Four years ago

Clint made a game of bouncing a tennis ball throughout the room was he waited for office hours to end. A soft knock at the door tore him from his game. A young blonde woman in a white sundress hovered at the entrance to his office. The morning light streaming through the window turned the dress partially transparent. She smiled and Clint suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

“What can I do for you, Miss...?” Clint asked, trying to remember the last time he’d washed the shirt he was wearing.

“Rushman. Natalie Rushman. I’m told you’re the man to talk to about artifact recovery. I have a proposition for you,” she said, seemingly ignoring his disheveled appearance.

“It’s the middle of the semester. I’m busy. I can refer you to one of my colleagues,” Clint said, professional to the hilt.

“I’ll stick around. I can be very persuasive,” Natalie said, eyes sparkling.

He believed her.

---

Present Day

“It’s Natasha now,” the woman in front of him said. Her hair was red and cropped short. She wore a black singlet and cargo pants, her curves turning the simple clothes into art.

“I know. I saw the TIME article. ‘Archaeologist Natasha Romanoff, the real-life Laura Croft.’” Clint’s tone was wry. “What’s a big-shot like you doing in a podunk college town?”

“What do you think?” Natasha asked.

“I think you should leave,” Clint replied, jaw firm.

“Clint, I know you’re angry, but I need you to listen,” Natasha set her hands on his desk and leaned forward to look him in the eye.

“You left me tied to a tree. Naked,” Clint protested, looking down at the desk and Natasha's splayed fingers to break eye contact. He could already feel himself losing control of the conversation.

“Well I’d say I’m sorry but...” Natasha let her sentence trail off, shamelessly undressing him with her eyes.

“Nat, what do you want?” Clint closed his eyes in resignation, gesturing for Natasha to sit down.

“What do you know about Hortensia’s tablet?” Natasha asked, doing as he indicated and primly crossing her legs.

“Oh no Nat. Do your own tomb robbing,” Clint said, forcing down the memories he had of her in this room.

“We made great partners last time,” Natasha said.

“Until the part where I ended up naked and tied to a tree.”

Natasha shrugged. “Nothing’s perfect. Hortensia’s tablet? You're a walking encyclopedia, you must know.”

“A wax tablet that gave its bearer a silver tongue? It was destroyed by the Church in the eleventh century,” Clint said almost absentmindedly as he walked to his bookshelf to find the relevant source.

“It turns out priests lie,” Natasha said, mock outraged.

“And now that you've located it you can't steal it yourself?” Clint said, paging through a thin book with small print. The half faded lettering on the cover read 'Curious artifacts from the Greco-Roman world.'

“To enter the crypt where it’s hidden you need two keys, and two people to turn them. My buyer had one key, your podunk museum had another.”

“Had?” Clint turned to Natasha, book still in hand.

“It was replaced by a good replica early this morning,” Natasha said, giving Clint a naughty grin. She uncrossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. “You get two million, I get two million."

“So you figured all you had to do is waltz in here, flutter your eyelashes and I’d suddenly abandon any academic integrity I still have?” Clint asked coldly.

“It’s been a bad few years for humanities at public universities. You can have whatever else we find down there, and the credit for the discovery. It might bring the funding your department so desperately needs.”

Clint stayed silent. Natasha took it as permission to continue.

“It couldn’t have been fun for your colleagues to be forced to take a pay cut. Some of them are putting their kids through school. And the archaeology department hasn’t offered a field trip since 2009, which might explain why so many of your students are abandoning history for business and accounting.”

“You want me to sell my soul on the black market.” Clint stated flatly.

“It’s one artifact only five people in the world know exist, and with little historical value at that. It’s not like I’m asking you to fence the Orb of Atlantis.” Natasha said, getting up from her chair and moving towards him.

“And the buyer? A third-rate dictator looking to prop up a country he’s sucking dry?” Clint asked.

“A mousy businessman who needs the charisma boost.” Natasha took the book from his hands, brushing her fingers against his as she did so.

Clint cupped her cheek, thumb at the edge of her mouth. Natasha leaned into his hand and widened her eyes. He leaned closer, until his mouth bypassed Natasha’s lips to brush her ear.

“After we get the artifact we’re done. I never see you again,” Clint whispered, voice low and harsh.

Natasha pulled back, hurt in her eyes. Clint ignored it. The only emotion she showed was the emotion she wanted others to see.

---

Okay, I have this story in my head of Indy!Clint who is slightly technologically inept and Laura Croft!Nat who likes her flashy gadgets. And I figured why not cross it with the UST prompt, but it’s just not going onto paper the way I want. Continue, y/n? Advice?

Edited 2012-09-22 02:33 am (UTC)

I really liked this! And I lurve the idea of Clint and Nat having had something in the past that ended badly (and maybe a not so bright and shiny history) but still maybe also carrying a torch for the other. Plus adventure! Plus Lara Croft and Indiana Jones!!!

To summarize: I approve this fic. Yes, yes I do. :D