Door's open. Might take me a bit, but light's on, door's open, I got candy!

Trick or treat :D

The pumpkin patch was Darcy’s idea. Good publicity, she’d called it. Pepper, upon filling out the insurance forms later, had had a different name: acquisition of new property. But the blast from the attacking alien ship hadn’t fried all of the pumpkins (though some were a little blackened and the texture forever altered), so Natasha and Clint took off from the SHIELD infirmary with only twelve new bandages and two slightly lopsided, slightly charred pumpkins.

“I thought Fury banned jack-o-lanterns after that incident with R&D,” Clint said as he tried to balance the two pumpkins and make it up the steps to their brownstone. “I seem to recall a memo.”

Natasha used her good arm to disengage the locks and the booby traps (which weren’t effective anyway, as the person they usually caught was Clint when he stumbled in drunk after nights at the bar with Sam and the guys). “That was the old SHIELD.”

“And the new SHIELD is a-okay with la Romanoff carving out her scariest scenes on the face of this poor, defenseless pumpkin?”

Natasha turned to raise her eyebrow at him, just waiting.

“Your mind is a terrifying place, is all I’m saying,” Clint said. He set the pumpkins down just inside the door and turned to greet Lucky. “Think of the children, Natasha.”

“I have planned ahead, you idjit.” Natasha disappeared into the front closet, emerging a moment later with a glossy, brightly colored book, which she presented without any fanfare whatsoever to Clint.

He took it, scratching the back of his head. “You…bought a Disney coloring book?”

“Children like cartoons,” Natasha said. “Instead of trying to scare them—”

“With decapitation scenes, lest we forget last year’s screams of horror,” Clint said.

“—I figured this year we should go more kid-friendly. There is a fox that is also an archer, and you can follow the pattern set on page twenty.”

Clint pointed at her, accusingly. “You researched this.”

“Of course I did.”

“Did you also plan the alien attack on the pumpkin field?”

“Sadly I lacked the foresight.”

“Which one are you going to do?” Clint paged through the book. Some of the characters he recognized, vaguely, but like Natasha, he hadn’t had much of a childhood. And why wasn’t the fox archer wearing pants?

“I have ideas.” And with that said, she walked away to strip out of the charred jacket that the aliens had crisped a little during the attack. Clint sighed and hauled the pumpkins to the table to get started. No time like the present, though he remained curious about Natasha’s project (she wouldn’t let him peek) the entire time they carved their masterpieces.

Several hours later, he peered at the pumpkin presented to him. It was a woman, he could gather that much, but she wore old Chinese armor and had a little dragon next to her. He was completely baffled. “I thought we were picking Disney characters,” he said.

“She’s Mulan, you dolt.” But Natasha’s voice was affectionate.

“Why her?”

“I don’t know, I guess she reminds me of someone.” And she set the jack-o-lantern, with its candle, on the front porch.

Two days later, Melinda May came over to dinner and kept giving Natasha narrow-eyed looks the entire time. Clint had no idea why.

Aww yiss! Thanks so much, what an awesome treat! Band-aids, pumpkins, Disney's Robin Hood - perfect :D *showers you in candy*

<3

I'm grinning from ear to ear!

This is is awesome, I love it!

Hahaha! Beautiful! :D

There is a fox that is also an archer, and you can follow the pattern set on page twenty.”

Clint pointed at her, accusingly. “You researched this.”

“Of course I did.”

Haha! She knows the page number offhand, even after an alien battle. Love it.

And the fox archer took me a second, but it's such a great detail that neither of them is familiar with all the Disney movies. Spot on.

Weee! Candy! Trick or treat!

She was going to murder Logistics, Natasha decided. When she got the energy for it. Sleep was a first priority. Forty hours of it, possibly fifty if she could get away with it, then some good coffee, a few blintzes from the deli down the street, and then she was going to track down every single intern in charge of arranging flights and luggage, and then she was going to disappear them to unlisted coordinates. Slowly. With malicious glee.

“You know,” Clint said as he pulled his old junker up behind their shared living quarters, “the look on your face has me a little worried.”

Natasha allowed herself to yawn. “I don’t know why. It’s only a few murders.”

“Give me a ballpark number.”

Natasha thought about it. “Seven?”

“No, Nat, you’re not killing Logistics.” Clint paused and side-eyed her. “Not even the little ones. They have families.”

“Fine. Ruin my fun.” She unhitched her seatbelt and sighed. Thanks to the mix-up, she still wore her blood-stained, battered, and sweaty tac suit, though she’d stored away the Bite gauntlets to charge on the drive. And she and Clint had picked a very civilian neighborhood for their latest home, which meant that they’d have to make a break for it or move very stealthily, since he wore his full tac suit as well and they both stood out like sore thumbs. “You want to go first, or me?”

He unhooked his seatbelt as well. “I don’t think we’ll actually have to worry about it.”

“We’re going to blow our cover.”

“Trust me.”

Natasha gave him a long look.

“No, it’s nothing like Oslo this time. Trust me.”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Or Cape Town,” he said. “Not even like Helsinki.”

“Well, if you say so.” Feeling distinctly vulnerable and strange, she picked up the duffel containing her weapons—at least Logistics hadn’t screwed that up—and climbed free of his car. The evening had just set in, and the neighborhood seemed pretty active. Lights were on all across their side of the street, with a couple of people outright sitting on their front porch. Natasha wanted to turn and ask Clint if he’d gone completely mad.

She didn’t get a chance. A young couple with a moppet in tow—a moppet in a pink tutu—rounded the corner. Natasha flinched, ready to reach for her weapon, but she felt Clint’s hand on her arm.

Instantly, the man’s eyes lit up. “Cool Hawkeye, bro,” he said, and Clint gave him a high-five as they passed, the moppet goggling at first Clint and then Natasha. She stayed absolutely still, even as the couple’s voices trailed behind them.

“Those costumes were sick. So realistic.”

“I don’t know. I thought his costume was supposed to be a little more purple? And what’s with all the blood? It looked so fake.”

Natasha finally put it together, and nearly had to laugh through her exhaustion. Indeed, Clint had a tired smile on his face as they climbed their front steps together. “Nice costume,” he said.

She shook her head at him and gently cuffed him on the shoulder. “Happy Halloween to you, too, bird-brain.”

What a fun little thing, sooooo good. :D

Aw, no, not Logistics! Good thing they don't have to run for their lives - although I wonder if some of them have gotten the 'someone's walking on my grave' feeling and already run for the hills. Love it!

Still grinning!

Loved this.

Aww maybe Logistics didn't screw up too badly. :P Thank you!!

Wow, Natasha was really out of it to forget the date! But of course Hawkeye would remember. Priorities!

though she’d stored away the Bite gauntlets to charge on the drive.

I have this headcanon now that the gauntlets charge through the cigarette lighter like an iPhone.

Brill! :-)

Trick or treat? :)

It takes her a week to track him down, and it only takes that long because she’s distracted with catching up on bad TV shows.

Working for a shadowy organization has taught Natasha some strange things. She’s a whiz at paperwork, for example, which was not an accomplishment she ever thought she’d one day brag about. She’s also good at hiding coffee filters—again, she’s not proud—and at subtly flicking paperclips across an office she sometimes shares with Bobbi to drive her friend nuts. The first thing she learned at SHIELD, though, was that people in high-stress, high-impact fields of work develop some incredibly strange stress relief practices. And Clint Barton, never exactly normal to begin with since he seems to prefer ancient weaponry over a good old-fashioned Glock, has one of the weirdest hobbies of all.

This year, he’s picked Nebraska.

She misses him at his crash-pad, so she waits until the line opens. She pays for the ticket and, making sure her guns are not in easy reach for once, she steps into the darkness. The immediate sound of a chainsaw behind her actually makes her smile. Dramatic much?

She’s at the tail end of a large group of teens, and the guys are trying to be cool in the face of the girls they’re trying to impress (they’re mostly successful, which impresses her). She makes it halfway through the complex, her enhanced vision giving her an edge, and plays along (though a wolf-man who gets a bit handsy receives a glare strong enough to chop off his wandering fingers; he retreats quickly). It’s a twisted layout, lots of cobwebs and fluorescent-luminescent spray paint on particle board walls. Shrieks and groans fill the air.

She rolls her eyes.

She senses it when she finally reaches him. The chamber is dark and the teens are starting to really lose their nerve, especially since all of them are eyeing the coffin on display behind a low wall, waiting for something to pop out and startle them. Natasha knows the surprise is coming from behind the mirror in the corner, which isn’t actually a mirror.

And sure enough, there’s a loud HISS and there he is, her archer boyfriend, wearing greasepaint and baring some rather impressive fangs.

The teens take off as fast as their feet will carry them, shrieking.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. Clint’s wearing a shiny black cape and an actual tuxedo—the only time he’ll ever wear one, she figures—and fake blood runs down his chin.

“Sexy,” she says.

“Vell, vell, vell.” His voice is the worst Romanian accent she’s ever heard as he steps out of the mirror and grins. “Vot do ve have here?”

“That’s actually pathetic,” Natasha says.

Clint only brightens. She sighs and vaults the low wall, one-handed. “I expected you last night,” he says. He smells like sawdust and sweat and the haunted house.

“I had stuff.”

“How long are you here for?”

Natasha shrugs one shoulder. “I’ve got nothing pressing. I—no, don’t kiss me, you’re covered in greasepaint and this is a new shirt. God, you can take the boy out of the circus, but you can’t take the circus out of the boy, apparently.”

“Nope.” He raises his cape around his face and flourishes one hand at the still-closed coffin. “I got you a present.”

“A dead body?”

But when she lifts the lid, she finds a black dress (and some facepaint) inside. She tilts her head. “I get to be the one in the coffin this year?”

“You were complaining last year that your feet hurt. We should have about ten minutes before the next group gets here. I can help you with your makeup.”

“I never know why I let you talk me into these things,” Natasha says, already stripping to put on the dress. “Every year, I think, no haunted houses. Not again.”

“And yet, here you are.” Clint, before she stop him, swoops in and gives her a brief kiss. “Happy Halloween. Now, let’s get you vamped up. I’ve got so many ideas how we can scare the crap out of people, it’s going to be so much fun…”

It really was a tragedy, Nick Fury thinks as he scans Coulson’s progress updates a week later, that the people of Lincoln, Nebraska had no idea who the two incredibly terrifying vampires at the Lincoln Municipal FrightFest really were. And maybe he should order some psychiatric evaluations. Just in case.

CLINT YOU ARE SUCH A DORK oh my gosh, this is perfect. And Natasha finding him (and watching bad tv, yes). Thank you for the laughs! They were much needed and fantastic. :D

Is there a particular reason hiding coffee filters is important?

This was so fun!

TRICK OR TREAT!

Trick or treat! =D

Treat or treat! (I like candy)

Trick or treat!

ooooohhhh..... Trick or treat!! :)