A/N: I have a problem in which I think of waaaay too many fics at one time. Let's see if I can keep this up.

Tony was the first one to get up the guts to ask them. It wasn't all that surprising, he was the only one that was idiotic enough to not care that they could both feed him his lungs with no effort involved whatsoever. Granted, he was also the only one that they could do that to without much of a fight. As long as his suit wasn't in sight, at least.

The two of them were in the kitchen, working as a unit to get dinner prepared. Usually all of the team switched off, but the two of them did it together, like they did most things, although occasionally Steve would step in and take the place of one of them.

"So. How did you two meet?" Tony asked as he wandered in, seemingly attempting to be casual. And failing. Clint and Natasha made eye contact for a moment, then the archer grinned.

"So glad you asked, Stark. It's a pretty great story, actually."

Clint Barton was a renowned assassin for one simple reason. He always took the shot. His jobs were always completed, he never backed off because he had grown faint of heart, he never let go of the target. If he was hired, he completed the job and worried about his moral obligations later. Even after SHIELD recruited him, he kept to that standard, taking pride in it. He was useful, he was good at what he did. He never failed a mission, he made sure of that. He didn't want Coulson to decide he wasn't worth the trouble. He already gave enough trouble when he got bored on base, or on the comms with his chatter. And so he made sure to do his job right.

That was why he didn't know what to do with the feelings he had right now. The redhead on the other end of his sights was attractive, sure. But he'd seen a lot of attractive, deadly women. He had some admiration of how she could work the crowd, better than he ever could. He wasn't made for covert ops. And there was also the fact that she could kill him without breaking into a sweat. But all of that didn't mean much, he'd seen most of it before. Why couldn't he manage to do this job?

"You all right, Barton?" Coulson's voice crackled in his ear and he frowned, considering.

"Fine. Lining it up." He spoke in a clipped voice, eyes still glued on the redhead. Then she glanced up, seeming to look straight at him, and his breath caught. Most people in their line of work didn't look happy. Happiness was a difficult thing to obtain when your job was to ruin other people's lives. But there was something more in her eyes. Something he recognized, that part of his own soul rang with. It was something other than unhappiness, past misery. It was what happened when you were working to do something you didn't believe in. It was why he was working with SHIELD now.

"Clint. You taking the shot today, or you gonna wait a year? I'm hungry." Coulson was sounding a little annoyed now. He sighed and lowered the bow, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm going to get closer. Going offline, Coulson." He flipped off the comm before his handler could protest. He knew it was impulsive and stupid, he didn't need to be shouted at about it. And considering that Coulson tended to act like an overprotective older brother most of the time, he would definitely get shouted at for this. He slung his bow over his back before making his way off the roof, swinging down the fire escape. As soon as his feet hit the concrete, he was running towards the entrance of the building that she was in. According to the itinerary he had memorized, she'd be coming out soon, the party moving somewhere else. He lurked in the shadows, waiting. In his clothing, he would stand out. And he didn't want Coulson to find him. In his estimation, the other man would be here in two and a half minutes. Which didn't give him much time.

She came out right on time, on the arm of another man. He stepped out of the shadows, a suitably grim expression on his face. He strode over to them and put a hand on her arm. She couldn't react like she normally would, but he could see the jump, the clenched muscles as she stared at him.

"Ms. Reynolds, your father wants you home now. He sent me to fetch you." He could see her mind working, wondering what was going on, who he was, why he was here. She was good though, it only took a second before she turning to the man at her side with a winning smile.

"I suppose I must take care of this. I shall return shortly though." She said sweetly. The man was obviously caught in her net, and he gave a nod and a smile before letting her arm go. Clint moved to grip her arm, pulling her towards the shadows. He was fully expecting the attack that came as soon as they reached the alley.

"What do you want?" The British accent had dropped for something more clipped, definitely closer to her Russian origins. He grunted, the arm across his windpipe not really conducive to talking, and spun, ducking under her arm and shoving her against the wall.

"Just to talk, Natalia." He had one and a half minutes now, and there was a flash in her eyes when he used her original name.

"Who are you?" She questioned, still for now. He wasn't dumb enough to take that as him winning, she was just waiting.

"Clint. I'm with SHIELD." He told her. One minute now. "I want to give you an offer." He could have sworn he saw a flicker of interest in her eyes before her mouth quirked into a dry smile.

"Is it one I cannot refuse?"

Tony waited for what would come next in the story, but the archer seemed to be finished, more focused on stirring some sort of marinara sauce. "Is that it?" He asked incredulously. Clint looked at Natasha again, then back at him and shrugged.

"Yeah. I mean, it's a done deal after that. My charm and rugged good looks won her over." He said with a grin. Natasha just rolled her eyes and started towards the dining room with a bowl of pasta.

"Let's eat." She called over her shoulder.