Well, in my head canon, when they’re not on the job, they bicker. Over Clint refusing to eat any vegetable that isn’t an olive or a potato (Natasha thinks his approach to nutrition makes him more likely to die from high cholesterol than a bullet); over the amount of time Natasha takes with her make-up when she gets ready for a job (Clint thinks she’s just fine without mascara and lipstick, in fact, she looks much better). Sometimes they even do it on the job, like whether to take out the mark and his three body guards from up high with an arrow just to be on the safe side (Clint) or whether the situation is much better dealt with on the ground (Natasha). In that case, Coulson usually referees and/or pulls rank.

Things will, of course, get more complicated if/when they’re romantically engaged. Here’s a little scene I’m working on for “The Skies Over Manhattan” (slightly abridged, without proper italics and stuff. I hate .html!!). [Tried to put this under a "spoiler cut" -- please don't yell at me if it didn't work ...]

Natasha sighs heavily. She’s trying to do this right, she really is, but he’s not exactly helping. Clint Barton is not a social animal on his best days, a pain in the ass on his worst, and an acquired taste at any time. Right now, she is wondering whether she is doing the smart thing, trying to drag him kicking and screaming into a place where he obviously doesn’t want to be: Normal.

“It’s just drinks. Two hours, tops.”

“Just drinks? People like us don’t do just drinks, Tasha. When we go to a function, it’s for a purpose. To take out a mark, or walk off with some useful intel. Or both. We … I … don’t just stand around with a glass of wine and make small talk.”

Coming out of Clint’s mouth, the word small talk sounds like something slimy, with retractable fangs and a frilly dress. He gives her a baleful blue-green stare, fuelled by twenty-four-karats worth of Barton pigheadedness.

Natasha holds his eyes with hers. Is this what domestic quarrels are about? Normal couples have them; she’s read about them those books, and some magazines. But this can’t possibly be it. Uh-uh. She and Clint aren’t … they don’t do … normal.

The irony that this is exactly what she’s been trying to achieve hits her in the face with the power of Mjolnir.

...

“Fine. I’ll go alone. You stay here and feel sorry for yourself, and fletch some more arrows. I’ll tell Pepper my date developed a sudden case of shingles and hope Steve didn’t bring someone. Maybe we can get our picture on Twitter and start some rumours.”

Clint broods for a minute, looking for an out, wondering just how badly he should be looking for one given that she really seems to want this, for whatever reason. They’re supposed to be doing this couple thing now, right? Talk about being compromised.

Natasha hasn’t moved; she is still staring at him, scanning his face for signs that he might crack. She can hold that kind of posture for hours, just like he can his bow.

Dammit.

Sometimes, Clint has learned, the only way to make a graceful exit is to punch something in the face and step over its body. He grits his teeth. Arrows. She mentioned arrows.

“Guess I could talk to Stark about some arrow designs I’ve been thinking about.”

Natasha gives him a small but genuine smile, the kind that very few people get to see. Somehow, she manages to keep any hint of triumph out of it. Take the victory, don’t stick around to gloat, go on to the next target.

And then, because she’s read on one of those magazines that flexibility deserves a reward and that positive reinforcement is a good thing, she goes up to him and gives him a long, deep kiss -- before moving in for the kill.

“Oh, I lied about the jeans, Barton. Wear black pants and the black Armani jacket I got you, you know, for that trafficking job in Hamburg? White or black t-shirt – I don’t care. You can pick.”

Clint just rolls his eyes.

“Who or what the hell is Armani?”






Edited 2012-12-21 11:55 pm (UTC)

LOVE THIS!!!!!

Yes, yes, yes YES! This is brilliant! *grins widely* And I can absolutely see this being a possible scenario :D

Cannot wait for the rest ;) *is a happy camper*