I have a forty-five minute commute to and from work each day, which gives me quite a lot of time to think.  This also gives me plenty of time to have conversations in my head with people I will never meet (completely normal, right?  Please tell me I’m not the only one who does this!).  So one day while waiting for traffic to move, I wondered what I would do or say if I ever found myself downing vodka and beer chasers with our formidable duo.   It seems that after years of reading fabulous fics, I still have questions.

What would you ask given the chance, and how do you think they would answer your question (or a question posed by someone else)?  Since they both excel at subterfuge, do you expect to be able to take any of the answers as naked truth?  How long do you think they would play along before becoming fed up and starting a bar brawl in order to escape in the ensuing melee?

Me:  First off, how would you like to be addressed?
Clint:  Really doesn’t matter.  (Looks over at Natasha) Nope, doesn’t matter.

Me: What is the most embarrassing thing you can tell me about your partner without this ending in a revenge killing?
Natasha:  (ponders for a moment) There was that time in Rio during carnival…
Clint: No.
Natasha: You looked great though.
Clint: No.  Natasha collects the prizes and toys from Kinder Eggs.  She has a shelf lined with them.
Natasha:  That’s not embarrassing, that’s completely normal.
Clint: It is not normal to decorate a part of your living space with children’s toys.
Natasha: Says the man who’s prized possession is a Han Solo action figure in the original box, signed by Harrison Ford.
Clint:  That’s an important part of cultural history!
Natasha:  Speaking about culture, I came back from a mission once to find Clint in my flat dancing around the kitchen to Bollywood tunes while he cooked.
Clint: I was making you a korma.  I was setting the mood.

Me:  Clint, what is a food that Natasha eats that you can’t stand?
Clint:  Kholodets, hands down.
Natasha:  Really?  The fish or the beef?
Clint: Both.  Either.   All.  Nothing should look like that and be edible.
Natasha:  It’s classic French cooking adapted by people who need to store up on fat for the winter months.
Clint:  If you want to eat fat, eat fried chicken.  Have a Krispy Kreme.
Natasha:  Uncultured swine.
Clint:  Back at’cha, sweetheart.

Me: Natasha, is there a particular style of music that Clint listens to that you find rather odd?
Natasha: He likes jazz.
Clint: Why is that odd?
Natasha:  It’s a completely illogical art form.  There’s no structure.
Clint:  And you say I’m uncultured.
Natasha:  I did, and you are.
Clint:  Jazz is a symbol of our fundamental differences, Tash.  I like jazz because I can see all the different aspects of it and understand how and why they fit into the whole piece.  You hate it, because you can only focus on one part and not see it for the whole.
Natasha:  The same can be said for classical music, and I listen to, and like, classical music.  There’s your theory blown.

Me: Clint, where we you when the Hydra fiasco came about?
Clint: I was, uh…
Natasha:  Just say it, it’s not like it matters anymore.
Clint: I was monitoring the situation in Kiev.
Me: Monitoring?
Natasha:  Only if monitoring is spelled T-O-P-P-L-I-N-G-A-G-O-V-E-R-N-M-E-N-T.
Clint: (Shrugs) I needed to add something new to my resume and I can’t let you corner the market on decimating entire countries, Nat.  Plus, I hadn’t played with Molotovs in quite a while.
Natasha:  I wanted that assignment.
Clint: I know.

Me:  On that same tangent, Natasha, can you tell us where you headed afterward?
Natasha:  No matter what I said about burning all my covers, I picked up a passport and headed to Sibenik.   I thought a couple of weeks on the shore wouldn’t be amiss.
Clint:  She also lied about never wearing a bikini again.
Natasha: (smirks) You didn’t seem to disapprove.
Clint: There’s not a man in the world who would disapprove.
Natasha:  Any number of holy men…
Clint: (interrupting) would say an extra half-hour of prayers just for a glimpse of that.

Me: Can I ask you about the necklace?
Natasha:  What about it?
Me:  What is the significance?
Natasha:  Gag gift.  Stark thought he was making a statement, which backfired spectacularly of course, so I wear it just to slight him.
Clint:  He pouted when you didn’t “react properly.”   Didn’t keep him down long though.  What was it, about a week later when he got Thor to wear the tool belt and hardhat?
Natasha:  Oh, I think Jane enjoyed the hard hat.
Clint:  J.A.R.V.I.S.  playing YMCA whenever Thor walked into a room after that…  now that was classic.

Me:  While S.H.I.E.L.D. and all of its agents have been officially blacklisted, I can’t imagine that you’ve stumbled into a barren job market.  Can you tell us what you’re doing these days?
Clint:  Actually, once you’re cover is blown, it’s all down hill from there.  (Laughs)  All I’ll say is that the only way I’m keeping the bacon and beer coming in is the that people sometimes have enough stupidity and cash to jump out of perfectly good airplanes and off of sound structures.
Natasha:  Yes, because he’s just as stupid.  I’ve been supplementing that with selling kitchen gadgets.

Me:  Is there anything you miss about working for S.H.I.E.L.D.?   Anything you don’t?
Natasha:  I definitely miss being able to travel the world at a moment’s notice.  And the travel reimbursements.
Clint:  Lack of travel has been detrimental to her Kinder Egg obsession.
Natasha:  (glares at Clint)
Clint:  I miss the medical benefits.  Harassing the medical staff.  Harassing the deck crew.  I’m sure the maintenance guys aren’t pining for the days when I would scare the living hell out of them on the catwalks.