The Los Angeles Operation

Thirteen

Natasha wrapped her arms around Clint's torso and rested her head on his chest. She took a deep breath, trying to reassure herself that everything was OK. That Clint wasn't that stupid. That Morse really was just an untested rookie. That she was wrong to question Morse.

Coulson's words nagged her, though. What he'd said about Morse's identity seeming forged and what a coincidence it was for her to show up when she did. He was right, it didn't make any sense. And there was definitely something wrong with Morse. Natasha didn't care if she was jealous, but Morse had no right or reason to treat a superior agent like she did. She knew it wasn't her place. She knew that Natasha could get her fired for it.

"You OK?" Clint asked.

"Yeah, fine," Natasha replied. "Just... worried. And frustrated."

"Morse?"

"And the terrorists. And the stuff I'm trying to work out."

"The 'personal' stuff?"

"Yes. But I'm more concerned about these terrorists. They seem... I don't know. Reckless. I guess that's as good a word as any."

"How so?"

"They drove through the streets of one of America's most populated cities in a limo with a machine gun strapped to the roof."

"Yeah, that is kind of suspicious." Clint pulled her away and looked into her eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? They didn't hurt you?"

"Clint, I'm fine. Quit worrying about me."

Clint gently touched her cheek. "You know I'll always worry about you." He leaned down to kiss her.

"Sorry to interrupt," Morse said from the doorway. "But we should start getting ready."

Natasha turned to look at her. "Ready for what?"

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Clint started. "We think we know where the terrorists next target is."

"Where?" Natasha asked.

"A party."

Natasha groaned inwardly. She was sick of parties. They attended far too many of them.

"What kind of party?" she asked.

"It's being held at some actor's house. A party of the rich and famous," Clint said. "But I don't think all three of us should go. One of us should stay here and monitor the building, looking for anything suspicious. We don't need another Russia."

"No, we don't."

"What happened in-" Morse began, but Natasha cut her off.

"You don't want to know."

"So, who's gonna stay?" Clint asked.

"I will."

Clint looked at his partner suspiciously. "You will?"

"I have to. I didn't bring a dress. And I know how to work the laptop, but Morse doesn't." She glared at Morse. "Let's just hope she knows how to dance."

"Of course I do." Barbara smiled at Clint.

Natasha rolled her eyes. She looked back at Clint and whispered, "Just promise you'll be careful."

"Always," Clint whispered back. Then, "Wait. Do you actually care what happens to me?"

Natasha knew she was blushing. "You're my partner. It's my job to care what happens to you."

"That the only reason?"

"Why don't you stop flirting and start getting ready for the party?"

Clint smirked. "Sure wish you were coming with me."