Clintasha One Shots

Christmas Music

A/N: Hey everyone! Half an hour until Christmas Day (if you're in UK)! I promised a Christmas One Shot, so here you are! This part is in Natasha's POV, and I really hope you enjoy it, if you do, don't forget to comment, recommend and vote, it means a lot! And if you have any One Shot requests (obviously Clintasha), then please leave them below or message me!

Have a wonderful Christmas and enjoy the festivities!

~ Sam xx

Slowly but surely, I make my way down the marble staircase, flattening my deep red dress and fumbling with the part in my mass of scarlet waves. My small heels make a clipping sound against the tough surface, and as I reach the ground floor, a glass of prosecco is handed to me by Tony.

"Prosecco? Seriously?" I grimace at the urine coloured liquid.

"What's wrong with prosecco?" Stark questions, sipping on his champagne.

"Well, first off, you can afford to serve us all champagne, and second of all, you yourself are drinking champagne not prosecco." I argue as Stark leads me to the grand sitting room.

"I thought you'd prefer prosecco, it's, hmmm, fruitier." Stark lies as I flop down onto the white sofa.

"Bullshit Stark." I spit, handing him my glass. "Champagne please." I smile sweetly as Stark curses and hands Rogers my glass and hands me a fresh glass of champagne, not measly prosecco.

"Barton?" Stark asks me.

"Late. As usual." I glug down the alcohol.

This is our second Avengers Christmas party, and the first didn't go so well. Someone, I'm not naming names, Hulked out.

Rogers and Thor begin to have a conversation on how Christmas isn't as religious as it used to be. Thor clearly has no idea what Rogers is talking about, so nods his head and smiles occasionally (not forgetting the awkward laughter outbursts).

Banner strides in wearing his usual purple shirt. He looks a little on edge, probably because of last year. Tony hands him a glass of prosecco but Bruce turns it down, "I don't drink, remember?" He laughs, refusing the drink and instead pouring himself a glass of water.

"I'm here!" A voice says by the door. Barton. Obviously late.

He strolls in confidently before he drops a present from his arms, trips over it, and proceeds to let go of all the other presents and fall flat on his face.

The only sound is Thor's booming laughter and Barton's groans.

"A little help?" He squeals.

I walk over, my heels clicking as I pick him up off the floor and hand him his presents.

"Thanks Romanoff." He blushes awkwardly before rushing into the centre of the room and handing everyone their presents.

The two of us perch on the floor next to each other, me kneeling, Clint with his legs spread out wide. He hands the boys their presents, Tony opens his first, a Black Sabbath vinyl. Next Thor, the old fashioned quill he was banging on about. Rogers last, a huge smile on his face as he sets eyes on the replica Harley Davidson miniature model.

"And this one is for you." Barton grins, handing me an awfully wrapped rectangular shaped gift.

Banner is already ripping the paper off of his and pulls out a boxset of some science fiction show he is obsessed with. He even has a fanpage for it. Jeez.

"I didn't get you anything." I mutter, feeling embarrassed but Barton only shakes his head.

"Doesn't matter, open it!"

I grin whilst peeling open the gold wrapping paper (which is bloody glittery and the glitter etches itself into my tights), to reveal a book. A very old book. It's burgundy leather peeling away and it's pages crisp and golden, wearing at the edges. On the front, in gold leaf, is written 'The Secret Garden'.

I squeal with joy. How did he know? This book is my favourite book of all time, one of the few possessions I had with me during my Red Room experience. It got me through some dark times, but sadly, my copy was in a suitcase and the airline lost my case, meaning my book, was lost. It could be anywhere, Hong Kong, Frankfurt, Stockholm. Anywhere.

"How did you know?" I grin, my fingers gingerly sliding across the ancient leather.

Clint shrugs, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips.

"You told me a few months back. I was in a mission in England and came across a small, antiquated book shop in Canterbury selling antique books."

"Clint," I gush, "you shouldn't have." I smile, tears forming in my eyes. I lean over to him and pull him in for a hug. A hug that lasts for a very long time. I inhale his musky scent and pull away eventually.

"My pleasure Tasha."

And that was the first time he called me 'Tasha'.

Later in the day, I stand washing up the crystal champagne glasses that can't go in Tony's unnecessarily high tech dishwasher. Surely he should of thought about adding a setting suitable for such delicate glass, not so high tech now, is it?

"Need a hand?"

I turn to see Clint leaning on the wall by the doorway.

"I'm okay." I smile. "Get back to the boys!"

Clint shakes his head. "They are drunkly discussing childhood Christmases. I'd rather not." Clint chuckles.

"No, definitely not." I grimace at the thought.

Clint sweeps over and takes the glasses off me and washes them up himself, leaving me gawking.

"I do know how to wash up!" He grins.

"I never said otherwise." I smirk.

"Thanks for the book." I repeat, glancing over at the precious novel over on the table. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

"No worries, I wasn't expecting gifts in return, I saw that book and had to get it for you. I remembered how important your copy was to you and how mortified you were when the airline lost it." Clint says touchingly.

I lean over and gently peck his cheek. "Merry Christmas Clint." I smile, before turning on my heels and switching the Christmas music on and up to full volume. "Dance with me?" I question.

Clint glances over, beaming. "How could I refuse."

There we are, dancing on the kitchen tiles to classic tunes, his hands on my waist, mine wrapped around his neck.

After swaying to the music whilst looking into each other's eyes for a few minutes, Clint breaks the silence between us.

"I'm taking you out for a meal. Right now."

"Right now?" I say flirtatiously.

"Away from the drunks." Clint chuckles, grabbing hold of my hand as we rush through the building towards the exit.

We run through the snowy streets of Manhattan laughing away, hands joint, bodies close. It's an exhilarating feeling. One that I can definitely get used to.

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