A favor Between Friends

Aka, that one time when Natasha asked Clint to have sex with her, and it made Clint so mad he nearly threw Steve Rogers off a building.

She is ice. I am stone. We are the cut from the same cloth. Ruthless assassins, incapable of normal relationships and we are both just fine with that, thankyouverymuch.

Our partnership is perfect, legendary. We trust each other and no one else.

Then Captain fucking America appears and screws it all up.

She's looking at me as though it's the simplest favor in the world.

She wants me to have sex with her…so she can attempt relationship with Steve fucking Rogers!?

I may need to back up a little here…

Sitting on the ledge, he looks down at the alley below. His oily, dark target moves quickly around the dumpster, trying to avoid detection. Fat chance, buddy. You're mine now. He removes the dart and blowgun from the case with a smile. The world narrows down to this: just a man, the wind, and a clear line of sight. He exhales sharply. Bull's-eye.

"Do I even want to know why you're shooting rats with a blowgun?"

"Probably not, Tash."

She approaches noiselessly, spins a dart between her fingers, and sniffs. "Doesn't smell like poison… Is that a microchip on the end?"

"Yup, Tony is interested in tracking the migration patterns of local vermin. He was making noises about using the rats as a detection system or something. God knows what he put in those chips… He and Bruce started to explain it, but then it devolved into SCIENCE! and I kinda zoned out. This is fun. You should try it."

"Just what we need – an army of 'Iron Rats' protecting Avenger Tower." She nearly cracks a smile.

Clint reloads the dart gun and scans the alley for his next target. "How did project 'Last Dance' go?", deliberately keeping his tone neutral. In his head, he calls it project 'Let Cap take your partner dancing one time so he'll get it out of his stupid super-system and stop making idiotic moony eyes at her.'

"Not good."

Clint smiles, telling himself it's just because he spotted another rat. A quick exhalation, and it's tagged. "How bruised are your toes?"

"Mission aborted. Bad intel. Goals and parameters were based on incorrect assumptions." She grimaces. "I don't want to talk about it."

Earlier:

"No."

Natasha frowns, looking down at the dress. White full skirt to mid-calf, off the shoulder fitted bodice, patterned with bright red cherries. Her hair pin-curled to perfection. She's a classic pinup girl. "What's the problem? I can go slightly more or less fancy-"

"I don't think you understood my intention, Natasha. This…" He gestures to the entire ensemble. "This is you doing your best to look like Peggy and give me a lost dance."

"Yes." She looks at him as though he's dim. "You asked me to go dancing with you, and I wanted to give you as close to the dance you missed as possible." Her voice suddenly sharpens into a perfect British accent. "I can even make you close your eyes and think it's her, if you'd like."

Steve winces and puts his face in his hands. "That's what you thought I wanted!? Aaarg!" His shoulders slump. "You thought I wanted you to pretend you're someone else?"

Natasha sighs in frustration. This is not going as she had hoped. She can be anyone for him. Why won't he enjoy it like every other…. mark… Damn, sometimes he's really much sharper than Tony gives him credit for.

"I don't want you to be someone else." He grabs her shoulders. "I don't want you to give me something I've lost. I want to try something NEW… With YOU." His cheeks flush with a combination of anger, arousal and embarrassment and his fingers tremble slightly. "I want YOU." He leans down and presses his mouth to hers, gently, sweetly, entreating her to understand…

She freezes for a moment. The crush of his lips against hers, strong hands gently pulling her against him; it's incredibly… real… honest… imploring… She has never had someone lay themselves so bare to her-to the Black Widow, sure, but not to HER. It's different, it's… nice. Experimentally, she lets her hands roam up his arms to encircle his neck. He groans in pleasure at her response and she parts her lips, allowing the kiss to deepen.

She automatically reaches into her library of personas, as she always does during intimate situations. Who is she for this encounter? Who would fit with him the best…? Wait, he doesn't want her to be someone else… But…she NEEDS a character. She can't do this as herself. Panic. Sheer and utter panic. She freezes.

It's a shocking realization. She literally cannot do something as simple as kissing a man without a cover. Natasha Romanov has never seduced a man when it wasn't for a mission. The realization is horrifying. It's not that she doesn't want to keep kissing Steve Rogers; it's that she can't do it without putting someone else on. She can't do this. She just CAN'T.

Steve pulls back at her sudden stillness, eyes shining with adoration and concern. He's afraid he's pushed too fast. Nervous he's done something wrong.

"It's okay, Steve." She swallows hard. "Please, put me down."

He complies immediately.

Her brow furrows, Natasha Romanov does not take failure well. And she has definitely failed here. She doesn't like that she is unable to do something, especially something she wants to do. She should be better, she should be less broken…

She is suddenly angry. Angry with herself, angry with Steve, angry with a 90-year old stranger on the other side of the planet. Too many emotions. She hates emotions. Emotions are weakness, weaknesses are flaws. She must not be flawed, she must be perfect. She needs more control.

She takes a step back, literally and figuratively. "I'm sorry, Cap. This was a mistake."

"I can be anyone for you… Peggy, a movie star, a saint, a sinner; but not me." She strips off the gloves and removes her heels. "We can shoot together, spar, or plan the next mission." She takes down the pin curls and she lets her hair fall naturally. "That's who I am, Steve. I AM the job. That's ALL I am." She looks up at him sadly. "I'm sorry." She hates that she cant' give him what he wants. She walks out the door. "We're still team mates and friends, Steve. But you need to find another girl."

"So what happened?"

"Did you catch the part where I said I'd rather not talk about it?"

He gives her his best 'sure, I'm infuriating, but you like me anyway' grin.

"Rest assured, Steve now knows he will need to find another dance partner." She sees a rat on a ledge a few yards away and flicks the dart in her hand, tagging it on the hindquarters.

A tightness that he didn't even realize was there suddenly loosens in his chest. "Nice shot."

They sit together for several minutes, silent, watching Clint continue sniping until the darts are gone.

She clears her throat as he packs the dart gun away. "I need a favor."

"Who do you need taken out? Or did you finally kill Tony for trying to grab your ass again? You need me to help you dispose of the body? I wish you'd waited until he finished the new arrows he's been working on..."

He feels her hesitation and turns, suddenly serious. She rarely hesitates to ask anything of him. It must be big. He mentally calculates the nearest body drop points and stashes of untraceable weapons. It may be a long night.

She starts to turn away. "You know what? I'm thinking about it…and never mind, it's fine."

He grabs her arm as she tries to brush past him to the door. The grip is gentle, but iron. "Tasha." He lifts her chin to make her look in his eyes. "Tell me what you need."

She doesn't answer him.

"How can I help?"

"Let it go." The tone tells him firmly to drop it.

He growls in frustration. "Dammit, Tasha. Talk to me. I'm your partner. Don't be an idiot and try to do this on your own."

Natasha chuckles bitterly. "Well, for starters, this one's a little hard to take on alone."

"Ask me."

"No."

"ASK!"

Exasperated, she nearly screams at him, "I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH YOU."

The next dart case falls from his hand, the sound of it hitting the rooftop suddenly deafening in the silence.

He finally manages to pull pull his jaw shut with an audible click and swallows. "Sorry? I must have misheard that."

She sighs in frustration. "I realized something today… I've never just been… me… during sex."

He knows this, of course, but hearing it makes him scowl. Her body was a weapon of the state for so long… she's never sought out male company when it wasn't part of an act needed for a mission. He's always respected that choice and never questioned it or pushed her boundaries. What troubles him is WHY she wants this. "Why? Why now?"

She clenches her teeth. She was kind of hoping he'd just sling her over his shoulder and take her on the nearest flat surface... The thought of him doing exactly that are causing all sorts of reactions she'd rather not address right now, especially when he looks like he's in shell shock. Tamping down the disappointment, she tries to explain. "I feel like some part of me is missing. It didn't matter to me for a long time. We were… We ARE perfect together. But…" She plows ahead, ignoring his wince at the words. "We're part of a bigger team now. We both need to work on being just a little more human, and today I realized that I might… someday… want to be intimate with someone because I want to be."

She takes his hands in hers and looks up at him, pleading for understanding. "Don't you ever wonder if there might be something else besides just…the next mission, the next mark, the next hit?"

No, he does not. He has all he needs. He has his bow, his partner, and a good line of sight. All bases covered. They are all each other needs, until today. Until she went to Steve Rogers for a dance and came back wishing she were able to have sex for fun.

He feels like he's been punched in the gut. Their perfect partnership… it's crumbling before his eyes. She wants to be more human… with him, but not FOR him.

Still, he says nothing. His silence a tangible weight until it's crushing her.

"Never mind," she shakes her head, desperate to break the stalemate. "I shouldn't have…"

"Do you know what you're asking me?" The words are torn from his throat, harsh and angry. Did she really just expect him to be the warm up act for Steve fucking Rogers? "You want me to be your 'therapy fuck'?"

The coldness of his voice surprises her. She should have known he'd be like this. She's acting outside their normal parameters. He hates it when she does that. She looks down at the ground. "I'm asking my friend for help." The words are barely above a whisper, but they cut him like a blade.

How can she ask him to do this? How can she possibly ask him to be her gateway to another man? Doesn't she realize he–No, of course she doesn't. He's stone, she's ice, and that's the way they are. Then Captain fucking Sunshine appeared. She want's to be more, for CAP! That's what angers him more than anything. Steve Rogers made her want to be someone who could be in a relationship.

His eyes are begging, pleading with her. "Tasha, are you sure you want to do this?"

Natasha sighs, trying to make it not sound as monumental as it had seemed when she had blurted it out originally. "It's not that big of a deal, birdbrain…" She attempts to back out gracefully. "I can wait, deal with it later if change your mind…or not at all, if you want to. We can redact this entire conversation. It never happened."

It's a staggering realization for him.

Natasha will give up exploring her own sensuality entirely if he says no. He somehow expected her to use the 'I'll just find someone else' card, but no. She's going to remain celibate and let their partnership continue just the way it was before if he wants it that way.

And suddenly it's not enough for him anymore either. He is going to willingly, happily screw up their flawless, seamless, platonic relationship because he wants more. He wants all of her… And if that means he has to convince her she doesn't need Captain fucking America to feel human, well, he's willing to spend the next few years in bed with her making sure that happens.

He moves forward to take her in his arms and find the nearest flat surface. Show her how much he wants her and then–

And then Steve fucking Rogers opens the rooftop door and Clint has an exceptionally vivid vision of himself throwing his team leader off the building.

"Sorry to interrupt." He doesn't look terribly sorry. "Team briefing, downstairs, now. Fury's got something for us." Clint balls his hands at his sides. Perfect timing.

Natasha smiles and gives a small shrug, ignoring the chaotic swirl of emotions between the three of them. "Okay, Cap. Sounds good." She brushes past Clint and whispers an absolution. "I apologize for asking, Clint. Conversation erased." Her cheeks color with shame for a moment. Then she allows the Widow to take over; pure professional. Emotions in check, she squares her shoulders and follows the captain.

Clint lowers his head and growls as he follows them. It takes an act of will not to slam his fist into the door. Something, anything to relieve the frustration building inside his chest . Of all the massive fuckups, this has got to be a personal best. She thinks he doesn't want her. She couldn't be more wrong.

Fortunately, he's a sniper, a patient man. He will make it his singular goal to get Natasha Romanov into his bed and not let her out until he's fucked every memory of Steve Rogers from her brain.

Finis.

For now. Yes, I'm evil… But I love and respond to all reviews ;)

Thanks a million to DJ Liopleurodon and OddDoll for their awesome feedback and beta work.