A Gift From: sugar_fey
Type Of Gift: Fic
Title: Come For The Free Food, Avoid The Management
A Gift For: _samalander
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: sparring, brief mention of an accident
Summary/Prompt Used: Clint is terrified that when Bobbi and Natasha meet, they're gonna be at each other's throats. He was not prepared for the nightmare of them being friends.
Author's Note: Happy holidays, _samalander! I hope you enjoy your gift. :D Thanks to my beta for helping me whip this into shape.



Come For The Free Food, Avoid The Management

Clint hits the mats with sore ribs and a smile on his face.

Natasha crouches next to him, grinning as she pushes her sweaty hair out of her face. They had come to the gym intending to spar, but somewhere the mood had changed into something far less professional.

“Had enough?” she says, cocking her head. A bead of sweat travels down her throat towards the edge of her sports bra, and Clint can’t resist following with his eyes.

He sweeps a leg to trip her, rolling her underneath him and stealing a kiss. “Not a chance.”

She gazes up at him, places a knee firmly in the centre of his chest and sends him sprawling.

Training with Natasha never fails to make him hot and bothered, and Clint is looking forward to heading home and becoming much hotter and far less bothered. That is, until her elbow clips his face and his nose starts gushing red.

He groans, stumbling off the mats and holding his nose because Fury’s last memo mentioned that anyone caught getting blood on the gym mats would be stuck manning the weapons locker for a week, “and don’t think we won’t run a DNA test.” Clint locates his undershirt and tries to stop the flow of blood.

“You okay?” Natasha calls from across the mats.

“Yeah, just, y’know, damaged.” Clint makes sure he won’t drip everywhere and reaches for his gym bag.

“C’mon, stud,” Natasha laughs, clapping him on the shoulder while she tosses a towel around her neck. “Shower, lunch. In that order.”

++++++

The S.H.I.E.L.D mess hall is full of preparations for the Christmas party. Clint doesn’t know how many of the decorating volunteers are genuine and how many were roped in from the surrounding offices, but he’s willing to bet on about half each. The kids from Accounting always jump at a chance to escape their cramped cubicles.

Natasha looks up at Agent Tanaka’s attempts to tie tinsel from the ceiling, her eyebrow arched in a combination of bemusement and disdain. The whole office party concept still escapes her, though truth be told, Clint’s not much better.

His attention gets drawn by the sight of Sitwell standing on a table in attempt to hang up a very fake-looking mistletoe. Sitwell’s balance is precarious and Clint is contemplating whether he should intervene when someone steps in front of him.

She looks just like he remembers her, not as striking as Natasha, but no less beautiful, her long blonde hair hanging loose over her shoulders. “Hello, Clint.”

“Uh, Bobbi, hey. Um… hey.”

It’s not like the sight of his ex-wife would normally throw him, but this thing with Natasha is still newly formed, fragile, and they’re both a little skittish. Clint glances at Natasha out of the corner of his eye, anxious for her reaction.

“I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,” Bobbi says to Natasha, ignoring Clint’s pathetic attempt at a greeting. “You must be Romanoff. Agent Morse, I’ve heard a lot about you.” She holds out a hand.

“Likewise,” Natasha says, her voice neutral as she shakes the offered hand. “You worked on the new poison array, right? Carter was raving about them for weeks, but I haven’t had a chance to test them in the field myself.”

“I’m glad our work’s gotten good reviews. What’s it like, being partnered with Hawkeye? You two must be heading for an anniversary. Has it been six years?”

“Nearly,” Clint manages. “I didn’t know you were in New York.”

“Consulting. Hill asked me to stay on for the Christmas party.”

“Of course she did,” Clint mutters under his breath.

“So Natasha,” Bobbi continues, abandoning protocol. “Clint tells me you two finally hooked up.”

Clint’s ears burn as he tries desperately to read Natasha’s expression. He had included this pertinent information in an email to Bobbi about a week ago, reasoning that even after seven years of divorce, she deserved to hear it from him rather than through the intercity S.H.I.E.LD gossip chain, because he knows, to his core, that this is different to his previous flings. This is Natasha. This is something new, something he wants to keep safe.

“Yes,” Natasha confirms slowly. “It’s a recent thing.”

Bobbi raises an eyebrow. “Took you long enough.”

Clint can’t think of anything to say to that, and the silence stretches out between them.

“Clint and I were just about to have lunch,” Natasha says finally. “Would you like to join us?”

Clint’s heart jumps, and he looks at Bobbi. She’s taken to everything quite well, but asking her to eat with her ex-husband and his girlfriend might be in the realm of ‘too much.’

To his surprise, Bobbi doesn’t bat an eye. “Sure. I’ve been wanting to try the new menu.”

Clint swallows the apprehension building in his throat and follows Natasha and Bobbi over to the counter.

“How have you been, Clint?” Bobbi asks as she picks up a plate. “Aside from working out, it seems.” She grabs his bicep for good measure. “I mean, you were already prime beefcake when we met, but damn. What’ve you been feeding him, Natasha?”

“Raw meat and eggwhite,” Natasha answers dryly, loading her plate with green things Clint can’t even identify. He deliberately plunks a burger and a steak onto his plate, finishing off with some bacon from the 24 hour breakfast corner. Natasha wrinkles her nose at him and he adds a large dollop of ketchup for good measure.

Bobbi, in the meantime, is carrying a plate containing what appear to be fries, and fries only. So much for trying the new menu. She sits down at the table they’ve scrounged and starts dipping fries into a small tub of aioli. “Oh god,” she says wistfully. “The fries are so much better here than in LA. Can I kidnap your kitchen staff?”

“I think Fury might object to that,” Natasha comments as she sits and starts stabbing lettuce with her fork. “He gets them to make coffee cake especially for him, but he thinks we don’t know.”

Clint stops with his burger halfway to his mouth. “Wait, that coffee cake last week was for Fury?”

Natasha looks appalled. “You didn’t know?”

“God, Clint, even I knew that.” Bobbi rolls her eyes at him and pops another French fry into her mouth.

“You did?”

She shrugs. “No.”

Clint looks from Bobbi to Natasha, who gives him the doe eyes she excels at when playing a mark. “You’re both evil,” he grumbles, taking a bite of his burger.

“What can I say, Barton. You know how to pick them.” Natasha leans towards him and he catches the faint scent of berry flavoured lip balm that spurs a tiny curl of heat in his belly. The Black Widow wearing something as unapologetically girly as berry lip balm always did things to him, even more so now that he knows how it tastes.

“That he does,” Bobbi interjects, giving Natasha an appraising look.

He concentrates on chomping down his burger as fast as he can, because the thought of Natasha and Bobbi becoming friends is legitimately terrifying. To make matters worse, Natasha steals a French fry from Bobbi’s plate and dunks it into the aioli. Normally she only steals Clint’s food, and he feels an unexpected and stupid nudge of jealousy.

“Wow,” Natasha says slowly after she chews. “These are good fries.”

Bobbi nods approvingly and pushes the plate towards Natasha, who takes a few more fries. The end is officially nigh.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom, be right back,” Natasha says after she and Bobbi have demolished the fries, standing.

Bobbi watches her go. “I like her,” she says simply.

“Bobbi, you don’t have to…”

“No, really. If she wasn’t with you I’d ask her out myself.”

Clint chokes on his water even as he spots her mischievous grin. “Well,” he recovers, “you always did have great taste.” He drinks some more to give himself time to consider his next words. “How have you been? I mean, since we last… it’s been a while.”

“It has,” Bobbi agrees. “I’ve been fine. L.A is great, really.” She pushes her plate away and folds her hands on the table. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh. That’s great. Anyone I know?”

She gives him a wry smile. “Maybe. It’s still quite new.”

“Yeah, I know how that feels,” Clint mumbles, keeping his eyes on his plate.

Bobbi scoffs. “C’mon, Clint, this thing with you and Natasha was building since Day One. It’s not new.”

“What?”

“I was married to you,” she says, gently. “I know the signs.”

He can’t say anything to that, so he bows his head, ducking her gaze. A coward’s way out, but he’ll take it.

“Still working in a lab?” he says, to change the subject.

“You know that’s classified,” Bobbi replies, but Clint can still read her well enough to spot the tell tale gleam in her eye that screams science!

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he says, and is surprised by how much he means it.

Bobbi’s smile is as warm as he remembers it. “Likewise.”

Natasha comes back just as Bobbi finishes the last of her fries. “Well, it’s been fun,” Bobbi says, wiping her fingers with a napkin. “But I’ve got work to do. See you two at the party.”

+++++

After lunch Clint gets waylaid by Sitwell who wants him to clarify some details of his last mission report (he really should listen to Natasha’s advice about getting paperwork done on time), so he doesn’t have time to do more than shower quickly in the locker room before the party. Not for the first time, Clint is grateful for his habit of keeping spare clothes in his locker.

The Christmas party is already in full swing when Clint enters the cafeteria. Several agents are wearing Santa hats, reindeer antlers and other assorted seasonal headwear, contrasting sharply with the less socially inclined who are mostly skulking in corners. The free booze, Clint notices, is popular with both groups.

Sam wanders over and passes him a beer. “That,” he says, “is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”

Clint follows Sam’s line of sight and spots the object of terror immediately. Natasha is laughing with Bobbi, Agent May and Agent Hill, the latter wearing candy cane earrings.

“Think they’re plotting to take over the world?”

Clint considers this. “I think if they were they would’ve already done it.”

He sips his beer, keeping an eye on Natasha. Eventually she turns her head, finds him across the room and smiles a little before turning back to her conversation. Unlike him she had time to change, so instead of her S.H.I.E.L.D uniform she’s dressed in close fitting black pants and a deep green top that sets off her flaming curls. She’s stunning, and Clint takes a moment to appreciate it.

Next to him, Sam starts to chuckle. “Man, if you were anyone else, she’d skin you alive.”

“That obvious?”

The look Sam gives him is half exasperation, half pity. “I’m a trained spy, and yes.”

Clint opens his mouth to say something but gets side tracked by Natasha’s group across the room. Bobbi laughs out loud at something Hill says, then whispers something in May’s ear. May slips an arm around Bobbi’s waist and—

Oh.

He did not see that coming.

Clint doesn’t have time to process this new information, because May and Bobbi start heading away arm in arm, and Hill and Natasha come towards him.

“Barton,” Hill acknowledges when they reach him. “You really do have a thing for purple.”

“What can I say, ladies. It’s my colour.” He does an exaggerated turn to show off. Hill rolls her eyes and he gives her the wolf grin. Fact is, this t-shirt is tight in all the right places and his ass looks fucking hot.

Hill responds with her usual death glare, earrings jangling. The candy canes should throw him, but Clint has been at S.H.I.E.L.D long enough to get used to Hill’s fondness for holiday themed jewellery. The looks on rookies’ faces are always priceless, and Clint is sure that is exactly why she does it. Nothing like shouting at a bunch of baby agents while Christmas trees are dangling from your ears. Natasha once explained that she finds Hill’s straight forward, sometimes abrasive personality more trustworthy than an office full of spies trained to get along with people, and while Clint will never get along with Hill like Natasha does, he is beginning to see the appeal of her sick sense of humour. He gives her a nod as she leaves.

“Can I get you a drink?” Clint says to Natasha, wanting to be a good date. It’s not the first time he’s accompanied Natasha to an event, but it’s the first time without a cover, the first time where they are together as themselves, and he’s determined to do it right.

Natasha waves her hand dismissively. “Bobbi got me one before you arrived.”

“I’m glad you two are getting along.”

Natasha raises an elegant eyebrow. “What makes you think we wouldn’t?”

“Because of, y’know, the ex thing.”

“The ex thing,” she repeats, her eyes narrowing.

“I mean, not that you’re a jealous person, and neither is Bobbi. I’m an idiot just don’t pay attention to what comes out of-- you’re playing me aren’t you.”

“Little bit,” she admits, smirking. “But I’m glad I got to meet her.” She leans up and kisses his cheek. It’s the most affection she’s ever shown in public, and her lips send a shiver through his body.

Behind him, Clint hears Agent Martin singing ‘Blurred Lines’ into a microphone. Clint gives it twenty seconds before Martin gets tackled by someone, probably Hill.

“Come on,” Natasha says, her shoulder brushing his. “I want to get out of here before Sitwell starts singing ‘I Will Always Love You.’”

Clint waves to Sam as they make their way through the crowd of people and out into the corridor. Once they’re alone Clint bumps Natasha with his shoulder. “Hey,” he says softly, glad to finally be alone with her.

The corner of her mouth turns up and to his utter surprise; she takes hold of his hand. “Hey.”

Clint smiles down at her, threading his fingers through hers.

“So Bobbi and I are going to meet for coffee when I go to L.A next month,” Natasha says, looking at him shrewdly. “You freaking out?”

“A bit. Give me a moment to get used to the idea. But I’m glad that you… You deserve friends.”

He doesn’t kiss her or pull her close, because there are security cameras everywhere, but she holds his hand a moment longer.

+++++

Months later, after he does something phenomenally stupid, Clint wakes up in a hospital bed to find Natasha and Bobbi standing in front of him, their arms folded and wearing near identical “I am so done with your shit” glares.

“You got airlifted to L.A Medical,” Bobbi explains, then indicates toward a stony Natasha. “I drove her. Jumping off a building without properly securing the cable? That’s amateur stuff, Clint.” She touches Natasha’s shoulder. “I’m going to get us some coffee, okay?”

Natasha simply nods as Bobbi walks out, and only then does Natasha unfold her arms and approach the bed.

Clint swallows. “You’re pissed,” he rasps, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

Natasha sighs and she sits down in the chair by his pillow. “A little. You’ve always got to do the cowboy thing.” She bends down and kisses his forehead. “Watch those broken ribs, asshole.”

And Clint knows, somehow, that it’s going to be okay.