Avengers (2012): "Five Times Natasha Did Whatever She Wanted For Her Birthday" (Clint/Natasha)
Title: Five Times Natasha Did Whatever She Wanted With Whoever She Wanted for Her Birthday (and That Time in Bulgaria When She Didn't)
Author/Artist: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there'd already be a Black Widow/Hawkeye movie. But Marvel has owned my loyalty since I was about 3, so...
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Rating: Teen 13+
Warnings: language, minor violence, references to sex
Spoilers: The Avengers (Movie)
Type: Stand-Alone
Word Count: 4051
Summary: The title pretty much tells it all. Also, birthdays are complicated when you're someone like Natasha.
Author's Notes: A fill for multiple prompts at the be_compromised's awesome Promptathon of Awesomeness:
Note on the warnings - there're references to sex, in the "and now we mention vaguely that it's what's going on, oh look, we fade to black and talk about emotions now" sort of way. Nothing graphic.
MOAR NOTES: This is unbeta'd (except by me, I did read back over it) - it was one of those things I'd started and then there were prompts and it fit and I expanded on it. I think I might've broken a couple of unwritten rules of 5-Times fics in that the exception is in the middle rather than at the end, and the last bit is longer than the first 5 put together. But meh. Rules are made to be broken. ;)
**********
Russia
Natasha Romanov was made, not born. That’s the first thing to realize. In the Red Room, your age was tied to the year, and was only for record keeping purposes. When the year changed, so did everyone’s age. But they didn’t have birthdays. Natalia was older, just slightly older, than some of the other little girls who were taken that year, and for awhile (until they reconditioned her after she ran away for the first time) she had a single, secret memory she kept close to her chest, of a day spent walking through the park near a house she doesn’t really remember, playing in the leaves which were just starting to fall, making thick swaths of color on the ground, and soft, gentle hands pulling her out of the pile she’d decided to plunge into and helping her to brush off her new dress. She can’t remember the woman’s name, but even after they’d stripped her of all her old memories, it would occasionally push through in the realm of dreams and she would wake up smelling crisp leaves and clean wool and violet perfume.
**********
Paris
Unlike the Red Room, SHIELD insists on having basic personal information on its operatives and “assets”, and she spends several long minutes staring at the space for “date of birth”. With a frustrated sigh, she shrugs to herself and puts down the date that she walked in and found Barton in her room with a gun pointed at her head, because it seems fitting. She chooses the year almost randomly, because she thinks that 24 sounds like a good age to be.
**********
Bulgaria
She lets him call her “beautiful” and “babe” because a. he calls everyone things like that, he figures it’s part of his charm (when he decides to be charming) and b. he earns it, flat on his back and bloody in a shit hole jail cell in some backwater part of Bulgaria when he takes a bullet in the chest that was meant for her. He almost dies, and while he's half-conscious and delirious from blood loss and shock, he keeps mumbling about how beautiful she is and how amazing it is to watch her work. She’s been complemented thousands of times with varying degrees of self-interest and sincerity, but she’s not sure if anyone has ever taken such genuine pleasure in who and what she really is.
So she sits there and lets him call her beautiful and tries to keep him awake until SHIELD can pull them out, cursing at him and calling him an idiot in three different languages when she's not having trouble breathing around the unaccustomed fear, because she’s pretty sure she could’ve dodged on her own. If she hadn’t been tied up, of course, with precious fractions of a second needed to get untied. Maybe.
He’s still an idiot.
He tries to apologize once he's in recovery and conscious and sort of half-remembers what he’d said but she waves it off and tells him it didn’t bother her. Then, because she's confused and still annoyed, and feeling just a touch petty, she points out that there are other ways she'd rather have spent her birthday than hauling his unconscious ass out of a war zone.
**********
Palenque
She’d always assumed that Siberia was hell on earth, until SHIELD decided they needed to keep an eye on a cartel designing experimental drugs and sends the two of them out into the jungles of southern Mexico for three months to observe. Even Clint, whose specialty is surveillance, is going stir crazy over this one. In the six weeks they've been here, they haven’t seen anything of any interest or import coming from the secure compound in the valley below.
The fact that they've only been back on speaking terms for two of those weeks doesn't help, either.
She doesn't think about it being her birthday, in fact, she's pretty much disregarded it as anything more than a code on paper, so she’s actually surprised when he abruptly drops down from his perch, sets up some remote cameras and packs up his surveillance gear, then tosses a change of clothes and some trail rations into a duffel and tells her to get in the jeep.
He drives until they reach Palenque and parks at the first cantina they come to.
“What the hell are we doing, Barton?” she asks, although she's enjoying being somewhere besides the jungle, and is pleased that they're back to the point he can smile that easy smile at her and mean it.
“It’s your birthday. We’re not going to just sit around the middle of nowhere on your birthday. The compound isn't going anywhere. There’s barely even a skeleton crew and we’ve still got remote eyes on them. So we’re gonna go out and do... whatever you want to do.”
She gives him an incredulous look, because he’s never done anything like this before. Of course, thinking back on it, this might be the first time they’ve been together on her birthday without some kind of life or death deadline hanging over their heads.
They wander through the market place as the vendors are wrapping up for the day, and she finds a lovely skirt and blouse that she decides to buy on a whim. Once they’ve checked into a hotel and she’s changed, they find a small bar with good music and brightly colored drinks and spend the rest of the evening giving themselves over to the half-hearted cover of adventuring newlyweds spending their honeymoon hiking in the jungle. They're neither one of them drunk (even though they've been acting like it) so when his hands start to linger on her hips and he rests his forehead against hers while they sway to the music, she lets herself remember the fit of their mouths and smiles at him when he asks her without a word if she's ready to leave.
It's been just over a year since they've been together this way, but there's no awkwardness left between them when they get back to their room and he starts to strip off her clothes. He's careful with them, because he knows they're things she likes (herself, not one of her covers) and he always guards that when he can. And maybe he's taking his time, too, because this feels important like the first time did. They've seen darker parts of each other now, but they're still back to this and that's difficult for her to hold in, it's too big. She thinks she probably looks a little... frightened? Perhaps. He knows better than to mention it if she does. She takes just as much time undressing him, because now they're naked before each other in more ways than one.
**********
Kalamaki
The next time her birthday falls on a day where they’re not apart or being shot at is three years later, while they’re in Athens trying to find Pandora’s box. They’re playing lovers as both cover and truth, so she wakes up next to him, and they take their time in the shower. Instead of spending the morning trying to charm their host, she drags Clint down to the village and they find a little shop to have breakfast in. He asks her what she wants to do, having caught on to the game, and she chooses the beach. They figure out the transit lines and spend the day in Kalamaki swimming and sunning and generally being tourists, which is good for both their cover stories and for their own well being. Later that evening, the mission goes sideways, and they spend the last few hours of the day running rather than celebrating, but even that has its appeal and makes her birthday all the more memorable.
**********
New York
It's not until the year after they save New York (the first time) that the other Avengers realize she has a birthday. Despite Clint's penchant for making sure they celebrate it in some form, she doesn't broadcast it and it's easy in the chaos of that first summer to let it slip by unnoticed by anyone besides the two of them.
By the following summer, though, the cat is well and truly out of the bag.
Literally, as it turns out, because that's exactly what Darcy decides she needs for her birthday. A kitten.
It's sitting on the coffee table of Natasha's suite when she gets up that morning, batting at the pages of the book left open and face up.
"Clint?" she calls, quizzical but not quite on edge.
He steps out of the bathroom, toweling off his wet hair, a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, zipped but not yet buttoned.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about the cat sitting on my table, would you?" Because of course, that's the most likely scenario, although she can't imagine he'd get her something that impractical.
His head tilts and his eyes widen. "Err... no. No, that wasn't me."
"JARVIS?"
"Yes, Miss Romanov?"
"Would you care to explain how a cat ended up in here?"
"I believe that would ruin the surprise, Miss."
She would swear the AI is smirking at her.
Clint, of course, has already walked over to the table and is picking it up. It looks ridiculously tiny in his hands and if the corners of her mouth are tipping up she'll never admit it.
"I suppose there's more to the surprise, then?" she ventures.
"I am to direct you to the common floor for breakfast this morning."
Clint shrugs at her and she gives in. "Fine. I'll play along for the time being."
He brings the kitten over to her and unceremoniously passes it to her reluctant hands. She's surprised at how insubstantial it feels. At the same time, she realizes this is probably the first time she's ever held an animal like this, particularly one so small and fragile. It wriggles and she tightens her grip to keep it from jumping. Cats might be known for landing on their feet, but surely from her hands to the floor is too high for something this tiny?
Bright green eyes look up at her through a halo of black fuzz, and a tiny pink tongue darts out to touch her fingers. The roughness startles her. The kitten just yawns.
Clint saunters back in, fully clothed this time, and heads for the door. She follows, still holding the cat not quite at arm's length. They're only one floor above the common level, so the trip downstairs takes no time at all.
Game face on, she walks purposefully into the kitchen where everyone else is arrayed around the breakfast table. The smell of waffles and bacon permeate the air and she allows a smile. Someone has been paying attention to what she likes over the past year and a half - she can smell the sugar and cayenne that was added to the bacon.
"Good morning!" Tony says a touch too brightly, and she suspects he hasn't actually been to bed, judging by the shine in his eyes and how hard a grip he has on his coffee mug. That, and the way Pepper has placed herself between him and the espresso machine tell her that it will probably be the last cup he gets until he gets some sleep.
"Happy birthday," Steve adds, setting the platter piled high with Belgian waffles onto the center of the table. Thor starts to reach for one but Jane bats his hand out of the way.
"Not yet," she hisses, but her smile takes the sting out of it.
"Oh! You brought her with you!" Darcy squeaks, jumping up and rushing over to where Natasha is still standing in the doorway. The kitten perks up at the sound and turns around in her hands to see where the voice is coming from. Darcy peers down at it - her - and tries to rub its nose with her own. She's rewarded with a lick and she giggles.
"So do you like her?" Darcy asks with a grin as she straightens back up.
"I take it she's from you, then? JARVIS wouldn't say."
"Yep. Well, Jane and I, we found her yesterday and she reminded us of you. So we brought her home. JARVIS let me in this morning to drop her off - we got you supplies and stuff for her, too, of course. Have you thought of a name yet?"
Natasha wonders how many cups of coffee Darcy has had.
"Er, no. I haven't really had time to think about it. I don't know if-" she's not sure how to say I don't know how to have a pet, I've never had a pet, I've never wanted a pet without hurting Darcy's feelings, which she absolutely doesn't want to do. It was a kind thought, after all, and Natasha does like the younger woman even if she doesn't quite understand her sometimes.
"You've never had a cat before, have you, Agent Romanov?" Pepper jumps in, rescuing her. Bless her and her perception. Though the Agent Romanov still stings a little - she knows Pepper hasn't quite forgiven her for her time as Natalie. It's not intentional, she doesn't think, but it's how Pepper copes, by keeping that distance. Pepper had thought they were friends, and first Natalie had made passes at Tony, then she'd turned out not to even be Natalie at all. So, yes, Natasha could give her that distance if she needed it. She still wasn't entirely sure how to have a girlfriend, in any case. Natalie could do it, but Natasha... not so much.
"I haven't, no," she replies. The kitten is starting to squirm in earnest, and she places her on the ground before she can jump or fall. Quick as a wink, she darts away past the others and into the living area, vanishing into apparent thin air (that's probably actually the space under the couch).
Darcy has a surprised look on her face, but just for a moment. "Oh, well, I can explain everything then. It's not hard - you don't really have to train them like you would a dog, and they're pretty self-sufficient. As long as they've got food and water handy, they're good for a few days at a time if you're gone or something... that's why we though she'd be a good choice. With JARVIS and the rest of us around, you wouldn't have to worry about her if you had to go somewhere."
Natasha nods thoughtfully, catches Clint's expression out of the corner of her eye and sees the slight jerk of his shoulder that serves as a shrug. Up to her, then - he doesn't mind one way or the other, she translates. Darcy takes her nod as encouragement and starts to ramble on about feeding and litter boxes and Natasha keeps half an ear on what she's saying even as she sits down at the table. Bruce presents her with a plate full of waffles, bacon, and eggs, and she stares at it for a minute before picking up her silverware.
Someone has painted a face on it with whipped cream and fruit, so that it's smiling at her with cherry eyes. A glance at Bruce earns her a quirk of a smile and shrug - he's not going to admit if he did it or who else the culprit might be. Because they're trying, they really are, she allows herself to smile back as a reward. "Thank you," she says and puts warmth into her voice despite her creeping bewilderment.
Birthdays shouldn't be unsettling, she thinks absently, but this one is certainly shaping up to be.
*****
"So what do you want to do for the rest of the day?" Tony asks her when breakfast is over and the rest of the food has been cleared away. She was right about the coffee - he keeps throwing mournful looks at the machine behind Pepper and getting a sternly arched eyebrow as a response.
"What do you mean?" she replies. She makes it sound mild, keeps the confusion out of her voice.
"Well, it's your day to pick. So... what would you like to do? We could go somewhere, or watch movies, or..." he trails off and she wonders if it suddenly occurs to him that she doesn't generally just go off and "do" something with them like he's suggesting. She's tagged along a time or two when a group has been going out, but she's never been the instigator, never mentioned what she might prefer.
She's never thought about it, herself, and she knows the exact moment that Tony catches on to that little bit of information, because his eyes widen slightly in surprise. Even when they were in Athens, what she chose to do had been based on what her cover identity would enjoy. Otherwise, Clint has always made some kind of initial plan and then let her work her way through it, because he knows it's something she still struggles with from time to time. Here though, there's no cover, no one else for her to become to base her decisions on, and this is one of those few things that still trips her up.
Yes, Tony has definitely caught her out, because the next words out of his mouth sting, just a little. "You can do whatever you want, with whoever you want," he offers. She doesn't think he's saying it to be mean or cruel. It shouldn't be more than an acknowledgment of the memory of that conversation, but things between them are still tender, like a fading bruise.
New York is a cornucopia of possibilities and the weight of trying to make a decision between them is heavy.
"What about the ballet?" Clint asks. He's sitting several seats away, leaned back on two legs of his chair and perusing the newspaper via a tablet screen. "The Bolshoi is in town performing Stravinsky's Petrushka," he suggests. He's not looking directly at her, not making any indication that he's helping her out or covering for her, but she's grateful for it.
"That sounds like a possibility. I haven't been to the ballet in a long time." She doesn't mention the last time she'd gone she hadn't even remembered who she was. The past is far enough away that she's ready to make new memories to help dull the old ones. She likes Stravinsky, even though he normally depicts a Russia she was never really privy to. The others tend to assume that she will be steeped in all things Russian and either forget or don't truly understand what it was like growing up not just in the Red Room but during the Communist Regime under the auspices of the government.
"I have a private box," Tony grins. "Black tie, nice gowns, we can find something for everyone. What time?" He blithely ignores the look of concern on Bruce and Jane's faces at the thought of a formal dress event.
"Says curtain's at 8:00."
"If we leave around 5, we can have a nice dinner first. Any thoughts about that one?"
Now that a decision has been made, in some form or fashion, it's easier to make the next one. She has a structure to work within, and names off a prestigious restaurant near the theatre in keeping with the black tie theme. It would probably be impossible to get a table on the day of a performance normally, but she has no doubts that Tony will have the connections to pull it off.
*****
This was a mistake, is all she can think by the first intermission. She's grateful that even after a year, they rest of the team doesn't know either of them well enough to read them in the darkened box. She could almost hear Clint's jaw clenching as he sat next to her, and she's sure he noticed the curl of her fingers into her palm. There are bloody crescents in her palms.
The story is simple, quaint even - the kind of play you might take children to, because it's full of puppets and street carnivals and magic and mystery.
It's about a marionette trotted out to perform for the masses, then shoved back into an empty, barren room when he's not being used. About how he longs for the beautiful ballerina that dances beside him - she's a puppet to, and has no interest in him, and they are both at the whims of their master.
Used.
Broken.
Caged.
Rejected.
Natasha Romanov is not a fanciful woman, and Clint Barton isn't a particularly fanciful man. That said, they understand undertones and overtones, and between the soaring music and the impeccable dancing, they see the story of their lives, of their past, being played out across the stage and it's making her feel more naked than taking off her clothes ever has.
The house lights come up, and the pitch of voices around them increases. Most of the others have never been to the ballet before, and this was a good choice for a first impression. Steve in particular seems taken with it, and everyone else - even Bruce and Jane - seem to be having a good time.
It's Pepper who realizes that she and Clint haven't actually left their seats. She hears Pepper shooing the others out of the box to go get refreshments and find the restrooms and generally make themselves scarce for a bit and to their credit they follow her orders with little or no argument.
Natasha doesn't realize that she's got tears drying on her face until Pepper puts a tissue in her hand. She doesn't realize that Clint's eyes hold tears he can't quite let go of until she looks over and he finally turns his head. Pepper says nothing, just looks between the two of them a moment and goes to check the hallway.
"They're all gone for the moment, if you'd like to head back to the Tower now. I can make your excuses. That you were tired, or bored, or..."
"No." Her voice is breathier than normal and she bites the inside of her cheek until it hurts, pulling herself back together.
"We'll be ok," Clint adds. "We'll stay. Just... keep them busy until intermission is over, ok?"
"Of course." Pepper slips out and they hear her voice in the hall talking to someone.
Since the spell has been broken, she reaches out a hand and he takes it.
"Should'a read the summary, huh?" he quips, and it's bitter, but not angry.
"Maybe," she allows. "I didn't think- I didn't think about the story. Or what it might... We don't do this. Do we?"
"Never have. But there's a lot of things we didn't do that we do now. You have a cat."
She can't help it - she laughs then. It starts out as her normal, almost silent shake of the head but some kind of dam breaks and she finds that once she's started she can't seem to stop. It's ridiculous, their lives, ridiculous and tragic and insane.
The Russian doll, ballerina, assassin, marionette - turned secret agent and superhero and friend and lover.
The orphaned, abused, carnie sharpshooter, disgraced soldier - turned into master assassin, superhero spy. And friend. And lover.
They can face down dictators and war lords and evil alien gods, but a ballet can bring them to tears in the first few scenes.
Go figure.
The lights flash all through the theatre, and Pepper sticks her head back in, makes sure the coast is clear. She can hear Tony behind her asking if they're in there making out or something, and the muffled thump that probably means either Pepper or Darcy has hit him with their clutch. Familiar faces stream back in, smiles and laughter that's real and solid. Seats get shuffled and she ends up with Steve beside her this time, Darcy hanging over the back of the seat so that she can whisper something into his ear. Natasha pretends that she doesn't over hear it and lets her hand find Clint's again. They'll stick this out, watch the rest of the show, but unlike the Petrushka they aren't alone. They aren't trapped anymore by anything except themselves and that... well. That they can both work with.
Author/Artist: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there'd already be a Black Widow/Hawkeye movie. But Marvel has owned my loyalty since I was about 3, so...
Pairing: Clint/Natasha
Rating: Teen 13+
Warnings: language, minor violence, references to sex
Spoilers: The Avengers (Movie)
Type: Stand-Alone
Word Count: 4051
Summary: The title pretty much tells it all. Also, birthdays are complicated when you're someone like Natasha.
Author's Notes: A fill for multiple prompts at the be_compromised's awesome Promptathon of Awesomeness:
- pixiesio's: Natasha doesn't cry, or at least Clint had never seen her cry until the time they were at a dance show (ballet/modern)...
- dictator_duck's: BIRTHDAY FIC
- (almost a fill for)nessataleweaver's: Natasha (or Natasha and Clint) is adopted by a cat, which is very much like Natasha. It is, of course, completely black for stealth purposes. - I will probably write more involving the cat that actually fills the prompt requirements, but this is definitely where the idea came from and why she's in there.
Note on the warnings - there're references to sex, in the "and now we mention vaguely that it's what's going on, oh look, we fade to black and talk about emotions now" sort of way. Nothing graphic.
MOAR NOTES: This is unbeta'd (except by me, I did read back over it) - it was one of those things I'd started and then there were prompts and it fit and I expanded on it. I think I might've broken a couple of unwritten rules of 5-Times fics in that the exception is in the middle rather than at the end, and the last bit is longer than the first 5 put together. But meh. Rules are made to be broken. ;)
**********
Russia
Natasha Romanov was made, not born. That’s the first thing to realize. In the Red Room, your age was tied to the year, and was only for record keeping purposes. When the year changed, so did everyone’s age. But they didn’t have birthdays. Natalia was older, just slightly older, than some of the other little girls who were taken that year, and for awhile (until they reconditioned her after she ran away for the first time) she had a single, secret memory she kept close to her chest, of a day spent walking through the park near a house she doesn’t really remember, playing in the leaves which were just starting to fall, making thick swaths of color on the ground, and soft, gentle hands pulling her out of the pile she’d decided to plunge into and helping her to brush off her new dress. She can’t remember the woman’s name, but even after they’d stripped her of all her old memories, it would occasionally push through in the realm of dreams and she would wake up smelling crisp leaves and clean wool and violet perfume.
**********
Paris
Unlike the Red Room, SHIELD insists on having basic personal information on its operatives and “assets”, and she spends several long minutes staring at the space for “date of birth”. With a frustrated sigh, she shrugs to herself and puts down the date that she walked in and found Barton in her room with a gun pointed at her head, because it seems fitting. She chooses the year almost randomly, because she thinks that 24 sounds like a good age to be.
**********
Bulgaria
She lets him call her “beautiful” and “babe” because a. he calls everyone things like that, he figures it’s part of his charm (when he decides to be charming) and b. he earns it, flat on his back and bloody in a shit hole jail cell in some backwater part of Bulgaria when he takes a bullet in the chest that was meant for her. He almost dies, and while he's half-conscious and delirious from blood loss and shock, he keeps mumbling about how beautiful she is and how amazing it is to watch her work. She’s been complemented thousands of times with varying degrees of self-interest and sincerity, but she’s not sure if anyone has ever taken such genuine pleasure in who and what she really is.
So she sits there and lets him call her beautiful and tries to keep him awake until SHIELD can pull them out, cursing at him and calling him an idiot in three different languages when she's not having trouble breathing around the unaccustomed fear, because she’s pretty sure she could’ve dodged on her own. If she hadn’t been tied up, of course, with precious fractions of a second needed to get untied. Maybe.
He’s still an idiot.
He tries to apologize once he's in recovery and conscious and sort of half-remembers what he’d said but she waves it off and tells him it didn’t bother her. Then, because she's confused and still annoyed, and feeling just a touch petty, she points out that there are other ways she'd rather have spent her birthday than hauling his unconscious ass out of a war zone.
**********
Palenque
She’d always assumed that Siberia was hell on earth, until SHIELD decided they needed to keep an eye on a cartel designing experimental drugs and sends the two of them out into the jungles of southern Mexico for three months to observe. Even Clint, whose specialty is surveillance, is going stir crazy over this one. In the six weeks they've been here, they haven’t seen anything of any interest or import coming from the secure compound in the valley below.
The fact that they've only been back on speaking terms for two of those weeks doesn't help, either.
She doesn't think about it being her birthday, in fact, she's pretty much disregarded it as anything more than a code on paper, so she’s actually surprised when he abruptly drops down from his perch, sets up some remote cameras and packs up his surveillance gear, then tosses a change of clothes and some trail rations into a duffel and tells her to get in the jeep.
He drives until they reach Palenque and parks at the first cantina they come to.
“What the hell are we doing, Barton?” she asks, although she's enjoying being somewhere besides the jungle, and is pleased that they're back to the point he can smile that easy smile at her and mean it.
“It’s your birthday. We’re not going to just sit around the middle of nowhere on your birthday. The compound isn't going anywhere. There’s barely even a skeleton crew and we’ve still got remote eyes on them. So we’re gonna go out and do... whatever you want to do.”
She gives him an incredulous look, because he’s never done anything like this before. Of course, thinking back on it, this might be the first time they’ve been together on her birthday without some kind of life or death deadline hanging over their heads.
They wander through the market place as the vendors are wrapping up for the day, and she finds a lovely skirt and blouse that she decides to buy on a whim. Once they’ve checked into a hotel and she’s changed, they find a small bar with good music and brightly colored drinks and spend the rest of the evening giving themselves over to the half-hearted cover of adventuring newlyweds spending their honeymoon hiking in the jungle. They're neither one of them drunk (even though they've been acting like it) so when his hands start to linger on her hips and he rests his forehead against hers while they sway to the music, she lets herself remember the fit of their mouths and smiles at him when he asks her without a word if she's ready to leave.
It's been just over a year since they've been together this way, but there's no awkwardness left between them when they get back to their room and he starts to strip off her clothes. He's careful with them, because he knows they're things she likes (herself, not one of her covers) and he always guards that when he can. And maybe he's taking his time, too, because this feels important like the first time did. They've seen darker parts of each other now, but they're still back to this and that's difficult for her to hold in, it's too big. She thinks she probably looks a little... frightened? Perhaps. He knows better than to mention it if she does. She takes just as much time undressing him, because now they're naked before each other in more ways than one.
**********
Kalamaki
The next time her birthday falls on a day where they’re not apart or being shot at is three years later, while they’re in Athens trying to find Pandora’s box. They’re playing lovers as both cover and truth, so she wakes up next to him, and they take their time in the shower. Instead of spending the morning trying to charm their host, she drags Clint down to the village and they find a little shop to have breakfast in. He asks her what she wants to do, having caught on to the game, and she chooses the beach. They figure out the transit lines and spend the day in Kalamaki swimming and sunning and generally being tourists, which is good for both their cover stories and for their own well being. Later that evening, the mission goes sideways, and they spend the last few hours of the day running rather than celebrating, but even that has its appeal and makes her birthday all the more memorable.
**********
New York
It's not until the year after they save New York (the first time) that the other Avengers realize she has a birthday. Despite Clint's penchant for making sure they celebrate it in some form, she doesn't broadcast it and it's easy in the chaos of that first summer to let it slip by unnoticed by anyone besides the two of them.
By the following summer, though, the cat is well and truly out of the bag.
Literally, as it turns out, because that's exactly what Darcy decides she needs for her birthday. A kitten.
It's sitting on the coffee table of Natasha's suite when she gets up that morning, batting at the pages of the book left open and face up.
"Clint?" she calls, quizzical but not quite on edge.
He steps out of the bathroom, toweling off his wet hair, a pair of jeans slung low on his hips, zipped but not yet buttoned.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about the cat sitting on my table, would you?" Because of course, that's the most likely scenario, although she can't imagine he'd get her something that impractical.
His head tilts and his eyes widen. "Err... no. No, that wasn't me."
"JARVIS?"
"Yes, Miss Romanov?"
"Would you care to explain how a cat ended up in here?"
"I believe that would ruin the surprise, Miss."
She would swear the AI is smirking at her.
Clint, of course, has already walked over to the table and is picking it up. It looks ridiculously tiny in his hands and if the corners of her mouth are tipping up she'll never admit it.
"I suppose there's more to the surprise, then?" she ventures.
"I am to direct you to the common floor for breakfast this morning."
Clint shrugs at her and she gives in. "Fine. I'll play along for the time being."
He brings the kitten over to her and unceremoniously passes it to her reluctant hands. She's surprised at how insubstantial it feels. At the same time, she realizes this is probably the first time she's ever held an animal like this, particularly one so small and fragile. It wriggles and she tightens her grip to keep it from jumping. Cats might be known for landing on their feet, but surely from her hands to the floor is too high for something this tiny?
Bright green eyes look up at her through a halo of black fuzz, and a tiny pink tongue darts out to touch her fingers. The roughness startles her. The kitten just yawns.
Clint saunters back in, fully clothed this time, and heads for the door. She follows, still holding the cat not quite at arm's length. They're only one floor above the common level, so the trip downstairs takes no time at all.
Game face on, she walks purposefully into the kitchen where everyone else is arrayed around the breakfast table. The smell of waffles and bacon permeate the air and she allows a smile. Someone has been paying attention to what she likes over the past year and a half - she can smell the sugar and cayenne that was added to the bacon.
"Good morning!" Tony says a touch too brightly, and she suspects he hasn't actually been to bed, judging by the shine in his eyes and how hard a grip he has on his coffee mug. That, and the way Pepper has placed herself between him and the espresso machine tell her that it will probably be the last cup he gets until he gets some sleep.
"Happy birthday," Steve adds, setting the platter piled high with Belgian waffles onto the center of the table. Thor starts to reach for one but Jane bats his hand out of the way.
"Not yet," she hisses, but her smile takes the sting out of it.
"Oh! You brought her with you!" Darcy squeaks, jumping up and rushing over to where Natasha is still standing in the doorway. The kitten perks up at the sound and turns around in her hands to see where the voice is coming from. Darcy peers down at it - her - and tries to rub its nose with her own. She's rewarded with a lick and she giggles.
"So do you like her?" Darcy asks with a grin as she straightens back up.
"I take it she's from you, then? JARVIS wouldn't say."
"Yep. Well, Jane and I, we found her yesterday and she reminded us of you. So we brought her home. JARVIS let me in this morning to drop her off - we got you supplies and stuff for her, too, of course. Have you thought of a name yet?"
Natasha wonders how many cups of coffee Darcy has had.
"Er, no. I haven't really had time to think about it. I don't know if-" she's not sure how to say I don't know how to have a pet, I've never had a pet, I've never wanted a pet without hurting Darcy's feelings, which she absolutely doesn't want to do. It was a kind thought, after all, and Natasha does like the younger woman even if she doesn't quite understand her sometimes.
"You've never had a cat before, have you, Agent Romanov?" Pepper jumps in, rescuing her. Bless her and her perception. Though the Agent Romanov still stings a little - she knows Pepper hasn't quite forgiven her for her time as Natalie. It's not intentional, she doesn't think, but it's how Pepper copes, by keeping that distance. Pepper had thought they were friends, and first Natalie had made passes at Tony, then she'd turned out not to even be Natalie at all. So, yes, Natasha could give her that distance if she needed it. She still wasn't entirely sure how to have a girlfriend, in any case. Natalie could do it, but Natasha... not so much.
"I haven't, no," she replies. The kitten is starting to squirm in earnest, and she places her on the ground before she can jump or fall. Quick as a wink, she darts away past the others and into the living area, vanishing into apparent thin air (that's probably actually the space under the couch).
Darcy has a surprised look on her face, but just for a moment. "Oh, well, I can explain everything then. It's not hard - you don't really have to train them like you would a dog, and they're pretty self-sufficient. As long as they've got food and water handy, they're good for a few days at a time if you're gone or something... that's why we though she'd be a good choice. With JARVIS and the rest of us around, you wouldn't have to worry about her if you had to go somewhere."
Natasha nods thoughtfully, catches Clint's expression out of the corner of her eye and sees the slight jerk of his shoulder that serves as a shrug. Up to her, then - he doesn't mind one way or the other, she translates. Darcy takes her nod as encouragement and starts to ramble on about feeding and litter boxes and Natasha keeps half an ear on what she's saying even as she sits down at the table. Bruce presents her with a plate full of waffles, bacon, and eggs, and she stares at it for a minute before picking up her silverware.
Someone has painted a face on it with whipped cream and fruit, so that it's smiling at her with cherry eyes. A glance at Bruce earns her a quirk of a smile and shrug - he's not going to admit if he did it or who else the culprit might be. Because they're trying, they really are, she allows herself to smile back as a reward. "Thank you," she says and puts warmth into her voice despite her creeping bewilderment.
Birthdays shouldn't be unsettling, she thinks absently, but this one is certainly shaping up to be.
*****
"So what do you want to do for the rest of the day?" Tony asks her when breakfast is over and the rest of the food has been cleared away. She was right about the coffee - he keeps throwing mournful looks at the machine behind Pepper and getting a sternly arched eyebrow as a response.
"What do you mean?" she replies. She makes it sound mild, keeps the confusion out of her voice.
"Well, it's your day to pick. So... what would you like to do? We could go somewhere, or watch movies, or..." he trails off and she wonders if it suddenly occurs to him that she doesn't generally just go off and "do" something with them like he's suggesting. She's tagged along a time or two when a group has been going out, but she's never been the instigator, never mentioned what she might prefer.
She's never thought about it, herself, and she knows the exact moment that Tony catches on to that little bit of information, because his eyes widen slightly in surprise. Even when they were in Athens, what she chose to do had been based on what her cover identity would enjoy. Otherwise, Clint has always made some kind of initial plan and then let her work her way through it, because he knows it's something she still struggles with from time to time. Here though, there's no cover, no one else for her to become to base her decisions on, and this is one of those few things that still trips her up.
Yes, Tony has definitely caught her out, because the next words out of his mouth sting, just a little. "You can do whatever you want, with whoever you want," he offers. She doesn't think he's saying it to be mean or cruel. It shouldn't be more than an acknowledgment of the memory of that conversation, but things between them are still tender, like a fading bruise.
New York is a cornucopia of possibilities and the weight of trying to make a decision between them is heavy.
"What about the ballet?" Clint asks. He's sitting several seats away, leaned back on two legs of his chair and perusing the newspaper via a tablet screen. "The Bolshoi is in town performing Stravinsky's Petrushka," he suggests. He's not looking directly at her, not making any indication that he's helping her out or covering for her, but she's grateful for it.
"That sounds like a possibility. I haven't been to the ballet in a long time." She doesn't mention the last time she'd gone she hadn't even remembered who she was. The past is far enough away that she's ready to make new memories to help dull the old ones. She likes Stravinsky, even though he normally depicts a Russia she was never really privy to. The others tend to assume that she will be steeped in all things Russian and either forget or don't truly understand what it was like growing up not just in the Red Room but during the Communist Regime under the auspices of the government.
"I have a private box," Tony grins. "Black tie, nice gowns, we can find something for everyone. What time?" He blithely ignores the look of concern on Bruce and Jane's faces at the thought of a formal dress event.
"Says curtain's at 8:00."
"If we leave around 5, we can have a nice dinner first. Any thoughts about that one?"
Now that a decision has been made, in some form or fashion, it's easier to make the next one. She has a structure to work within, and names off a prestigious restaurant near the theatre in keeping with the black tie theme. It would probably be impossible to get a table on the day of a performance normally, but she has no doubts that Tony will have the connections to pull it off.
*****
This was a mistake, is all she can think by the first intermission. She's grateful that even after a year, they rest of the team doesn't know either of them well enough to read them in the darkened box. She could almost hear Clint's jaw clenching as he sat next to her, and she's sure he noticed the curl of her fingers into her palm. There are bloody crescents in her palms.
The story is simple, quaint even - the kind of play you might take children to, because it's full of puppets and street carnivals and magic and mystery.
It's about a marionette trotted out to perform for the masses, then shoved back into an empty, barren room when he's not being used. About how he longs for the beautiful ballerina that dances beside him - she's a puppet to, and has no interest in him, and they are both at the whims of their master.
Used.
Broken.
Caged.
Rejected.
Natasha Romanov is not a fanciful woman, and Clint Barton isn't a particularly fanciful man. That said, they understand undertones and overtones, and between the soaring music and the impeccable dancing, they see the story of their lives, of their past, being played out across the stage and it's making her feel more naked than taking off her clothes ever has.
The house lights come up, and the pitch of voices around them increases. Most of the others have never been to the ballet before, and this was a good choice for a first impression. Steve in particular seems taken with it, and everyone else - even Bruce and Jane - seem to be having a good time.
It's Pepper who realizes that she and Clint haven't actually left their seats. She hears Pepper shooing the others out of the box to go get refreshments and find the restrooms and generally make themselves scarce for a bit and to their credit they follow her orders with little or no argument.
Natasha doesn't realize that she's got tears drying on her face until Pepper puts a tissue in her hand. She doesn't realize that Clint's eyes hold tears he can't quite let go of until she looks over and he finally turns his head. Pepper says nothing, just looks between the two of them a moment and goes to check the hallway.
"They're all gone for the moment, if you'd like to head back to the Tower now. I can make your excuses. That you were tired, or bored, or..."
"No." Her voice is breathier than normal and she bites the inside of her cheek until it hurts, pulling herself back together.
"We'll be ok," Clint adds. "We'll stay. Just... keep them busy until intermission is over, ok?"
"Of course." Pepper slips out and they hear her voice in the hall talking to someone.
Since the spell has been broken, she reaches out a hand and he takes it.
"Should'a read the summary, huh?" he quips, and it's bitter, but not angry.
"Maybe," she allows. "I didn't think- I didn't think about the story. Or what it might... We don't do this. Do we?"
"Never have. But there's a lot of things we didn't do that we do now. You have a cat."
She can't help it - she laughs then. It starts out as her normal, almost silent shake of the head but some kind of dam breaks and she finds that once she's started she can't seem to stop. It's ridiculous, their lives, ridiculous and tragic and insane.
The Russian doll, ballerina, assassin, marionette - turned secret agent and superhero and friend and lover.
The orphaned, abused, carnie sharpshooter, disgraced soldier - turned into master assassin, superhero spy. And friend. And lover.
They can face down dictators and war lords and evil alien gods, but a ballet can bring them to tears in the first few scenes.
Go figure.
The lights flash all through the theatre, and Pepper sticks her head back in, makes sure the coast is clear. She can hear Tony behind her asking if they're in there making out or something, and the muffled thump that probably means either Pepper or Darcy has hit him with their clutch. Familiar faces stream back in, smiles and laughter that's real and solid. Seats get shuffled and she ends up with Steve beside her this time, Darcy hanging over the back of the seat so that she can whisper something into his ear. Natasha pretends that she doesn't over hear it and lets her hand find Clint's again. They'll stick this out, watch the rest of the show, but unlike the Petrushka they aren't alone. They aren't trapped anymore by anything except themselves and that... well. That they can both work with.