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Mr and Mrs Barton Part 8

Clint:

Near certainty is still not certainty. Clint may be holding on to the dim section of his stereotype a bit much at the moment, but he can't go in with guns blazing on his own wife! What if she isn't one of the Black Widows? Or even slightly connected to the program, huh?

Even if the chances are slim.

So, instead of going in with his favorite bow he goes in with a nice bottle of wine to add to their usual dinners. Nat gets home earlier than him and will cook the meal like normal and he'll surprise her with a chilled bottle of wine. He can be romantic at times.

And if she's the target? Well, it'll be easier to either capture or eliminate her when she's slightly drunk. Or he's slightly drunk. Most likely he'll need to be drunk to be able to do his job, or at least have a bottle of something after the fact. He may be an assassin, but he's still human.

The wine has some kind of name that he isn't even about to try to pronounce. If on a mission, he would give it a shot and hope for the best. But at home? No. Nat doesn't know about his language proficiency or any of his skills.

He opens his front door, one of his goofy smiles still in place, with the bottle of wine up as a peace offering. "Nat? I come bearing gifts." He also picked up a thing of flowers. Just something to change up the pace for a bit. Just in case, you know, she isn't a super assassin out for his head that he has to take out.

She walks into his line of sight, and it's similar to the first time all over again. Or maybe he's a secret romantic. She takes the flowers from him with a smile full of gentleness and none of the teeth he would expect from a Red Room Operative. "Really, Clint?" Or from his ex.

Natasha:

This is the dork that she married. A man easily put into the role of dupe but always okay with it. The flowers were nice, even if not her favorite.

"Just felt like we needed a change." Clint may be right in a way; their home life was very much into the boring style of what is expected of couples that knew each other a bit too much. "That's all." Did she detect nervousness, though?

The last time he was nervous like this was right before he proposed. She had known he was going to for about a week before he popped the question at that restaurant. Part of the reason why she had run the idea by her superiors before he even got the chance. "Dinner is almost ready." She led the way to the table, happy for the candles that set the mood. An intimate setting, sure, but something that they tried to keep as a habit from the first year.

With both of them traveling so often, they had made the pact to try to keep the romance alive. Part of the reason why she loved having this cover.

Too bad it was most likely going to have to come to an end tonight.

She brings out the main dish, some kind of roast thing. She doesn't know what it's called since she didn't cook it. Ordering in has worked perfectly for her for the last five years. Being an assassin doesn't give a lot of time to learning how to cook the best of meals.

Clint:

Clint never noticed before how many knives could be used at a single dinner. Seriously, he's already counted three and that's not even adding the personal knives given for eating.

The first knife had been the one to cut the roast. It was a really nice roast, just a bit overdone on top. He had moved in to take the knife from Nat and to cut the thing. Just to turn a bit and see her slicing up bread! Really.

The third knife was in the vegetables, but it was a very small one. Which then lead to him taking a bite of the meat and noticing that Nat was eating her vegetables, and looking at him with a very peculiar look. Would she seriously poison him? Would that be something the Black Widow do? Well, he's had assignments that involved using poisons in drinks, but usually that was just to knock a few people out. The people he was normally assigned to kill you couldn't get to by way of food or drink.

With a smile, he keeps on eating, careful to keep an eye on Nat. Just in case, you know. Just in case.

Oh, he nearly forgot the wine. He opens the bottle and walks over to her side to pour her a drink. Now was the time to do a test. A test to see if she's really the person that SHIELD was suspecting.

He lets go of the bottle.

It turns in midair and he mentally questions why they have white carpeting. Seriously, white? White is so easy to stain.

It stops, with Nat's hand around the bottle.

Clint locks gazes with his wife, and he knows that she knows.

She let's go of the bottle, but it's already too late. "I'll get some napkins."

"Grab a towel." Clint is already moving out of the room just as she goes the other direction.

He doesn't have a bow in the house, but he does have a small gun.

Natasha:

He's Hawkeye.

Clint Barton, the man she's been married to for the past five years, is the infamous Hawkeye.

Her training says to kill him, but everything else in her tells her to run.

She runs.

She runs to the vehicle in Natalie Barton's name, and take off. She sees Clint in her rear view mirror, but she doesn't stop. She can't stop.

She can't hurt him. Oh God, she can't.

When did this happen??

A bullet hits her windshield and breaks her out of the emotional fog that was surrounding her. Did he seriously shoot at her? Seriously?

She floors the gas and somehow he's on the roof and breaking out the side back window. "We need to talk."

She can't talk. Not now.

She jumps out the door to see the car go over an embankment.

If he's as good as the file says, he won't be killed that easily. Which just means that she has to come up with another plan of attack, and another way of hardening her heart.

She can't love her husband. Especially since she has to kill him.