Clintasha One-shots

Ballet

A/N: I am so sorry that the last Boxing AU part is still missing but I am almost finished so bare with me. Instead here is a short one I wrote some time back.
In a world where Natasha is a ballet dancer and Clint is his regular self, working at Shield.

[New York, Theater Entrance]
Clint jogged up the stairs of the old building, already rumaging for his ticket. He was late and he knew it. The porter just smiled at him, accepting his motorcycle helmet and gestured for him to hurry up. They would start soon.
He barely sat down, when the opening music played and the heavy red curtain was lifted. There she was, beautiful and elegant, wearing a dark blue corset and tutu. His eyes fixed on her and never left her figure during the three hours of the ballet.
Clint Barton didn't even like ballet. At least he hadn't before Coulson dragged his ass into this theater for the first time and he had seen her dance. She was the most beautiful being he‘d ever laid eyes on, ever so gracefully floating over the stage.
Since then he owned an annual pass for a seat in the front row. That had been three months back and he still didn't find the courage to speak to her.
Whenever he was home from missions, Clint would check for the next show and be there. Today had been complicated. His flight was delayed due to him getting stabbed and needing first aid. Riding his ducati proved to be a bad idea with a stab wound his side.
[New York Theater Backstage]
Natasha wondered whether the mysterious man would be there again. He started to come frequently to her shows, watching them four times or more until they changed the play. There was no pattern to his attandence. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he wasn't.  Once, he didn't show up for three weeks only to attend two nights in a row afterwards.
At first, she found it disturbing, creepy even but now she was curious every time whether he would sit in his seat. He never wore evening attire, not even button down shirts. On most nights, the blonde would arrive in jeans and tshirt, sometimes in motorcycle gear and on rare ocassions she had seen him wear cargo pants and combat boots. Natasha was not sure how he always managed to get in regarding his inappropriate attire.
This night, he was there, sitting in Seat 16a as usual, watching her dance.
[Two months later New York Theater Backstage]
She hadn't seen him in five weeks. The longest periode he ever missed. Natasha worried that something might have happend to the man. The thought that he simply stopped coming didn't cross her mind. She still danced with joy but a significant part was missing; a watchful pair of stormy blues eyes, resting on her while she danced.
He didn't come the week after and the week after that so Natasha began to ask the staff and other dancer if they knew him but nobody did.

[Three weeks later, Shield Base, Quijet hangar]
He was tired. Filthy, bloody, beaten and oh so tired. The mission had been thougher than planned, longer than planned.
Once the ramp of the quijet lowered, Clint stepped outside, greeting Phil who was waiting for him. His SO took care of his bags like the mother hen he sometimes was and ushered him towards his bunk room. „Shower, eat and sleep for a few hours. I have a suit ready for you, if you want. The next ballet is tomorrow night.“
Clint could barely nod before he fell on the bed and into an exhaustion induced sleep.
The next morning, the Archer awoke where he fell asleep a few hours back. Halfway sprawled across the little bunk bed, still fully dressed and dirty.
Sighing, he dragged himself under the shower, peeling his body out of his sweat, mud and blood drenched clothes. Red and brown swirls filled the metallic showertub, mixing before they vanished.
His wounds weren't major but countless. Little scratches, cuts and bruises that needed tending. When he was finally finished, Clint had the feeling he used up the entire base's supply of band aids.
After a quick but fullfilling meal in the mess hall he came back to find a freshly pressed suit on his bed together with a note from Coulson containing the time of her next ballet.
He dressed carefully, not wanting to dirty his clothes with blood from his cuts. When he was finished, he went to the bathroom to fix his short dirty blonde hair in a presentable form and apply some deodorant.
On his way to the Theater, Clint picked up a little bouquet of flowers. This time, he swore himself, he would talk to her.

[New York Theater]
The curtain was lifted and Natasha immediately saw that someone was sitting on his seat. At first she didn't recognize the man she had been waiting for. Tonight, he wore a nicely tailored suit in dark grey. That was everything she could see from the stage.
Immediately, she found herself standing straighter, concentrating more. Natasha didn't want to impress him. She knew she didn't need to but she felt whole, better than she had been in the last two months.
She couldn’t help but smile in his direction when the dancers bowed one last time for their applause. His eyes found hers and he, too, smiled. Natasha was so captivated that she almost passed the moment to leave the stage.
Back in her dressing room, she quickly changed into her street clothes; a dark green blouse and dress pants combined with black sneakers and an old parka she had had for years now. A knock sounded through the door and Eleonore, one of the stagehands peeked in “Natasha, there is someone to see you. He's cute.” The younger girl added with a wink before closing the door again.
She could feel her heart beat faster in her chest and hurried to pack her things together.
Outside the stage entry, a lone figure stood, a dozen roses in hand and waited for her.