"What's their hair colour?"

Clint had finally drawn some context out of Natasha's change of behaviour. The two drinks he'd bet on the outcome of their mission, and then thrown her way, may have had something to do with it. Nat could hold her drink better than that, though. She was playing him. Clint would've been frustrated if this wasn't how their dynamic worked. She was making him guess who she'd started dating. She said it was good practice for interrogation.

"Don't you think that narrows it down a bit too much?"

"Does it?" Clint sat forward eagerly. His eyes lit up with possibilities. Natasha grunted and rolled her eyes.

"Brunette."

Clint stalled, searching her eyes. He kept the hope in his expression until the last minute, when he cursed and sat back.

"Damn it, we know too many brunettes…" He rolled his attention back onto her, new hope in his eyes. He'd been zigzagging in his conviction like this for a while. "Wait. Do I know him?"

Nat let herself smirk a little.

"You know him."

Clint liked where things were going. "Well?"

"Not really."

He sat back and smirked, tapping the table in thought. "Favourite colour?"

Nat tilted her head and gave him a really? Look.

"How is that relevant?"

Clint raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"I have my ways, Nat."

"He doesn't have one." That he can remember.

Clint gave her a pointed look

"Everyone has a favourite colour."

Nat took another sip of her drink.

"My new boyfriend doesn't"

Big mistake. Clint's eyes lit up.

"Boyfriend? That's an actual label, Tasha. Is it serious?"

Clint just had to know. Had to know who Nat had ditched Clint and their squash tournament for last Tuesday. No one else would have noticed the edge to her brush off. Like there was something serious she had to deal with. She wasn't the sort of friend to just leave him for her boyfriend. Even if that's exactly what she said she'd done. Natasha sat back and shrugged. Like she didn't know what he was thinking about. That she wasn't recalling last Tuesday too. Helping Bucky through one of the particularly severe dips in his mental health.

"Hey, I've got to call him something."

"What do you like about him?"

Natasha raised her eyebrows and smirked. Clint's smile was knowing – he shook his head. He wasn't going to take the vulgar explanation.

"No, c'mon, I know you better than that. You might pretend otherwise but Natasha Romanov isn't that shallow. What is it you like about him?"

Clint really should know better. She looked at him like he was an idiot.

"You really think I'm going to answer that?"

"Guess not. Does he have any kinks?"

Most people would have been alarmed or reprimanded Clint. Natasha's expression didn't change, she supplied the answer swiftly.

"Say my name."

Something about the reply made Clint sit back. Like he didn't know who Nat was anymore.

"Nat…" He sounded scared to hear the answer to the next question. "Is this an unlikely relationship?"

Natasha pretended not to notice the horror in her best friend. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know which name was crossing his mind.

"Not if you know me."

"As well as I know you?"

"Who do you think knows me better?"

"This guy?"

"Maybe."

"He trusts you?"

"Yeah."

"Oh thank God I thought it was Stark."

"Clint. I'm offended." Her pure horror didn't quite reach her words. Natasha sounded exhausted by the very concept. "I said they didn't have a favourite colour. Have you seen how much red and gold that man has?"

Clint took a glug of beer as he considered what he'd already gathered. The next round of interrogation rattled off quickly, like this was the only way Clint and Natasha could gain information out of the other. That wasn't true of course. It was only one of the most common ways.

"First date?"

"Took me for Chilli dogs."

"Stylish or scruffy?"

Scruffy as hell. Natasha shook her head.

"That makes it too easy."

"Extrovert or introvert."

Now or in the 40's?

"Introvert."

"Siblings?"

"Yes."

"You gonna give me any more details on that?"

What? Like how many of them are still alive?

"No."

"How long has this been a thing again?"

"No more answers. You're out of questions."

"That's not fair." Clint punctuated his exclamation by flicking a sauce packet at Natasha. She batted it away and crossed her legs.

"Hey I didn't make the rules." Nat's voice was dry. Clint scoffed.

"Yes you did!"

Natasha stuck her tongue out. Clint sat back again.

"Brunette. I know him. Not well. No favourite colour to speak off. You won't say why you like him. Say my name kink. Siblings. Chilli dogs. Introvert. You won't say how long it's been going on…It's not…?" Clint didn't voice his guess. His eyes lit up though, he looked into his half empty glass of beer like he'd found a pot of gold. Natasha sat forward.

"Who?"

Clint laughed.

"Well you know who it is."

"And you think you do?"

"I think I want to know if Steve knows."

Nat's demeanour didn't change. She spoke over her glass.

"Knows what?"

Clint couldn't help but laugh again. Maybe he'd had a little too much to drink himself.

"That you're banging his best friend."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"His jerk."

Nat grimaced.

"That sounds weird."

"His Bucky."

"He's not his Bucky."

Clint's laugh became littered with snorts.

"Oooh. Feeling a bit territorial, are we?"

"Shut up Clint."

"Are you in loooove Romanov?"

She kicked him under the table. It was easy for her to fight her smirk, but it still lay inside her.

"I said shut up."