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Mr and Mrs Barton - Part 3

Five years later...

Natasha:

She really wishes they wouldn't give her assignments so close to home, but an assignment is an assignment and she cannot turn it down. A simple in and out case, so it shouldn't cause too much of a buzz in the neighborhood. However, she needed to get out of the house without Clint noticing her outfit. Playing as a dominatrix works fine for this cover, but would be very hard to explain.

Natasha grabs her long coat and wraps it around her just as he enters their bedroom with a smile. "Heading out?" She's glad that in some things he can be astute, but a bit dense in others. She has been able to explain away most of the bumps and bruises that she has gotten over the years. It doesn't hurt that she heals quickly, too.

"Just a quicky." She tells him with a quick kiss. She keeps are pace calm as she walks out to her car. He is used to her strange schedules and trips. He's about as bad as she is.

Which works perfectly for her.

Clint:

He's glad that Nat gave the excuse this time and not him. Lying has never been his strongest suit, but keeping his secret life away from his home one is a top priority for him. Sure, she knows Phil from the wedding but nothing else.

Life is hard for the Amazing Hawkeye.

Okay, not really. His life is actually great. Really. He has a beautiful wife, a job he loves, and enough money to live comfortably. Though, the job kind of happened against his will all those years ago and some (if not most) of his money is covered in red because of the types of jobs he's done. Still, he loves his job.

Even if on some days he hates it. Like today. His day was supposed to end an hour ago. Instead, he's following his wife out to go to a poker game to take out an arms smuggler. He was hoping for a few hours of peace before the neighborhood party. It's strange that he lives in a neighborhood that has house parties for all of the neighbors. If anyone told him that back in his carnie days, he would have laughed.

Course, back then he was more concerned with making enough food to eat on.

Now he's pretending to be a rich drunk with more money than brains in a place that most, if not all, of the populace is carrying some type of illegal weapon. Luck for him, the people playing poker in the back have less brains than even he does.

"Hey!" Clint goes for the overly loud drunk angle. "Mind if'n I sit in?" He waves a stack of twenties in his hand to draw forth their greed and placate whatever curiosity they may have.

"Da." One of the suited men answers, with the others quickly chorusing him.

He plays for a while. Wins a few hands. Loses a few. Clint knows how to gain trust in this kind of setting, still surprised they sent him in this time. "Do any of you by chance know a Lev Shestov?"

He should have expected his question to be met with bullets, but Clint always did prefer the more direct approach. He flips the card table over as cover and pulls two guns from his coat. (He really wishes he had his bow, but it's hard to bring it when the goal is to not draw attention.) He takes out the man that he knows is Lev Shestov, and a bunch of the other goons as well.

He didn't waste a single bullet.

He's not known as Hawkeye for nothing. He never misses.