Before you read can I first just say- I'm sorry about how long this has taken me to post! College started and life just started getting a little hectic, but I'll try and get the last few chapters out soon as. On another note! I know that Natasha may seem a bit out of character, which I can't explain so I'm sorry about that!

Natasha didn't exactly know where they were going. It was a foreign city, or as foreign as England got to an 'ex'-Russian and an American. They'd been sent on a mission to take out some arms dealer and his group, and had finished much quicker than expected. Giving them two days free. So they'd decided to stick around and see some sights, after all, when would they get to visit England again? Instead they spent the night in a bar, drinking and in Clint's case, singing.

"Where are we even going, Nat?" Clint asked following the red head down one of the dark streets of the city, people rushed walked past them, some drunk, some trying to keep a drunken friend stable.

"I have no idea!" she said, a gleeful tone to her voice Clint had never heard her use before. He decided he liked this relaxed, almost carefree, Natasha.

"Maybe I should sing to you more often." He muttered to himself, but she heard him all the same.

"Yes, perhaps you should. Though maybe not so publicly." Natasha replied, she herself didn't know what had gotten into her. It wasn't the alcohol; she could hold her drink perfectly fine and was proud of how much she could drink. She wanted to blame it on Clint for singing and making her feel something other than nothing, for making her smile, truly and genuinely smile. Or maybe she could blame it on the strange static-y air around them, spur of the moment thought brought on by the feeling of something new and one time only.

For a while they walked in silence together, side by side, shoulders bumping every now and again, hands brushing involuntary but not stopping them. They just looked around them, watched the lights on signs change, the funny patterns the bright colours made on the wet tarmac.

Clint was used the silence to look at this partner, to see the subtle difference in her outside of the bar and mission all-together. She seemed calmer, less tension in her body, but still watchful. Always on guard. To a stranger she would have looked like any other middle-class woman walking down the street that night, cautious but unaware. The image was, however, ruined if they saw the gun attached at her hip or noticed the slight bulge at her ankle were her knife was hidden. Just you average midnight walk with an armed assassin. Clint could have laughed.

"Fancy a stroll through the park, mi lady?" he asked instead, giving her a small mocking bow with an arm outstretched for you.

Tasha raised a questioning eyebrow at his, one side of her lips curving up slightly in a small smirk.

"Why dear sir, I would be my pleasure." She said, taking his offered arm. Natasha didn't know why she was going along with Clint's strange façade, it wasn't like her, but for once she felt like dropping the Black Widow mask and to just be Natasha, just for a short while.

"You ever been to England before?" Clint asked, shooting her a sideways glance as they walked. The park was empty, the only light coming from the black street lights every half a mile. The clusters of trees around them did a good job of blocking out the overcast night sky.

"No, have you?" she replied, becoming more away that she was still holding on to his arm. It almost made her smile. Almost. Not quite though. Clint stopped in front of a bench, dry from the protection of the trees around it. A small plack on the wood said it was dedicated to a man who's spent half his life planting the trees in the park.

"Do you think ...Mr Alkin will mind us using his bench? He asked.

"Don't think there's much he can do, considering his dead." Tasha said sitting down on the cool wood.

"And no, no I haven't been here before. Me and Barney talked about it once. Leaving a trying for a fresh start here or anywhere really. Never happened though, obviously." Clint sighed a little as he sat next to her, their shoulders bumping slightly.

"Before or after you joined the circus?"

"What?"

"When you talked about leaving and making a fresh start, before or after you joined the circus?" Natasha asked again, turning her head slightly to look at him.

"Oh. Before and after I guess, we talked about running away a lot to begin with." Clint admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's a beautiful place for somewhere so busy. A mixture of old and new." Natasha commented, her eyes on the sky now, following the clouds as they hid stars.

"I know a person just like that." He said, glancing at her. A stray curl had fallen into her face and, acting on some unknown instinct, Clint's hand moved to tuck it back behind her ear. His fingers graved the soft skin of her cheek.

"You know a lot of people Barton." She said back, tilting her head to look at him quizzically.

"Sorry..." Clint said suddenly feeling self conscious of how close he was to her, of how little room there was on the bench. He hadn't felt so conscious of his actions in so long, not when it came to a woman, especially not this woman. Never Natasha, because what did he have to worry about with her?

It was by pure coincidence that he leaned forward when she did, just slightly, just enough to leave nothing but a few inches between them. Clints hand was still lingering on her cheek, not quite touching her skin. Natasha could smell the hint of alcohol on his breath, remnants of the time spent in the bar, could see the colour of his eyes, a storm coloured blue she's never really noticed before. In a moment of unknown force they moved together, lips meeting and moving like they'd done it many times before. It was short and sweet and simple. Nothing exciting, nothing passionate or tempting, it was simply the first kiss of many secrets.

Again, sorry it took so long and sorry about the ooc-ness of Natasha and Clint. Let me know what you think and everything yeah. Thank you lovelies!