Fill in the Blank - Clintasha

6

**February 14th 2009**

"You're insane."

Clint was sure the devious smirk on his face wasn't helping to dissuade that argument, but nonetheless he couldn't fight it back. "I fail to see how I'm the crazy one here," he muttered into the phone as he tightened his tie. "If anything I'd say I'm as sane as a person can be in this situation." 

Natasha's disbelieving snort echoed down the line and his grin widened. "It's still a terrible idea."

"Shut up, it's a great idea," he argued, absentmindedly fingering the fake badge in his pocket, double checking it was still there. He adjusted his shades, a grin tugging at his lips. "It's gonna be hilarious if they fall for this."

"It's going to get you killed if they don't."

"Don't be so pessimistic," Clint scolded as he marched with heavy confident steps down the apartment carpark. He hoped he radiated the same level of arrogant swagger that he'd gaged from every law enforcer he'd ever met. "I'm wearing sunglasses at night, how could it not work?"

Humming the Mission Impossible theme under his breath, Clint began climbing a set of filthy stairs; counting the levels as he went. The building wasn't well kept, falling into disrepair after years of neglect. Clint would bet the landlord still squeezed his tenants dry regardless. The offer was attractive; an apartment complex deep in the centre of Manhattan with no questions asked. For the right price, of course.

That was the reason the fledgling Ukrainian mobsters had decided to run a drug cartel out of it and Clint knew the money had paid off. The Ukrainians pumped more drugs into the city than any other supplier. It had made them rich, powerful; dangerous. Too big for their own boots.

They'd started dealing to kids, 9 and 11 year olds racing around high as kites all over the city. It had brought them the wrong kind of attention.

"Are you-"

"Shhh I'm going in," Clint whispered before ending the call altogether. He prepared himself for the shitshow he was about to jump headfirst into. Natasha hadn't felt like tagging along and that left him here, all on his own. If the plan went wrong he would probably leave this place with several more holes than he had had going in.

Fuck it.

Taking in a deep breath he slammed his fist against the apartment door several times. "NYPD! Open up the fucking door!" he yelled and hoped against hope that Natasha was wrong.

***

Natasha was, predictably, not wrong.

Clint was panting heavily, bent double as he desperately gasped for his breath back, his phone pressed tight to his ear. "Okay so-" he gasped breathlessly, gulping in another huge breath of cold night air. "-I got caught. But, in my defence-" He let out a hoarse cough. "They had these demonic little hellhounds...No I'm not kidding, fucking hellhounds I swear to God. Hey, no, what are you laughing at?! I nearly became puppy chow this is not funny!"

Natasha's laughter continued to ring down the phone. It was a pleasant, smooth sound that Clint realised he'd never heard before. He was glad she couldn't see the smug grin that curled at his lips when he thought 'I did that.'

"You're an asshole," he chuckled, swinging down from his fire escape. He'd clambered up it to escape certain death at the teeth of rabid mutts and had an impressive rip in his jeans to show for it. "I came to you expecting sympathy and this is what I get?" he teased, not offended in the slightest. His pistol was still a little warm from shooting the head honcho of the Ukrainian mob in the face. He wasn't sorry.