Immediately, Clint knows something is wrong.

You don’t get to hang around the Avengers, fighting crime and supervillains on the daily without developing a serious Shit-is-about-to-go-down-o-meter, and this… Well, maybe shit isn’t going down, not exactly, but something is definitely wrong. The buildings are all off, there aren’t enough flashy, LED shop signs or social media trap cafes. The regular bodegas are around, but the signs all look mysteriously newer. The people around him are decked out in suits and minidresses that he hasn’t seen in vogue since––

Since…

Aww futz!

Or: Clint and Natasha meet on a rooftop in New York City, only, it's 1969 and they're both stuck in time.

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