A Different Call

Not How This Was Supposed to Go

Clint's P.O.V.

When we got to the club it was pretty empty, although that wasn't a surprise as most people don't go out partying on a Wednesday night. It was alright with me though, it was pretty hard for me to hear when a lot of people were talking anyway. I first discovered that issue when I was flying with Bobbi but figured that it just had to do with the seemingly alternate dimension that you seem to journey into when ever you go the airport. It was when I was talking to Nat in the cafeteria that I fully realized that the issue was actually due to me, and not the purgatory world that is Regan National.

Nat led the way to bar, and I have to admit I couldn't seem to take my eyes off her. I mean she was only wearing some blue jeans and a loose green t-shirt, but something about it just seemed to suck in me. Bad Barton, no Barton. She's a friend – only a friend – plus, that's probably already how she thinks this night is going to go. Which is not how this night is going to go. I saw Natasha just staring at me, so I cocked my head.

"I asked you what you wanted to drink, birdbrain."

"Oh sorry, I zoned out a little, and I'll just take a bottle of whatever is the least sucky beer"

Nat ordered while I scoped out the other patrons. There mainly seemed to be trust-fund guys who were most likely spending daddy's money. I encountered a few a those during the circus, they were the worst patrons. Talking during the show, half-paying attention, and always try to flirt with the female performers afterwards.

"One Bud Light for the sad archer, and a little Russian concoction for myself, beer and vodka mix."

"Well, cheers to getting drunk on a work night, well at least for you."

"Hey, I'm sure you'll be cleared soon, and if really want something to do you can always sit with me and scare off Grant Ward." That right there was the type of Nat that I loved, the real one that didn't try to hide behind a mask of sex or aloofness.

"I heard you saying at lunch how he wanted to be your partner, what's with that?"

"I had a thing in Tokyo that involved me poising in lingerie for a photo shoot and now I am pretty sure that most of them are confusing undercover and undercovers."

"I have to admit that as a man, pretty much all men are pigs. I think Coulson is like the rare exception, he's the unicorn of straight men."

Nat shook her head, "Wow, not including yourself in the group of exceptions, have to admit you're batting zero right now Barton."

"Well that's fine, 'cause I didn't come into this night expecting to anything," I said over the top of my beer. I could tell that the statement took her back a little. Of all the issues that carried over from Red Room, that fact that she just assumed every man was only giving her attention because they wanted to sleep with her is the one that upset me that most.

After a couple more rounds of drinking, I noticed that Nat's eyes kept drifting toward the dance floor. "You can dance if you want. Coulson told me you were kind of into the stuff."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah, I'll join you in a little bit, but for now I have to run to the little archer's room"

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Natasha's P.O.V.

I chuckled at Clint's comment as I made my way to the dance floor. I swear that he was really twelve, not twenty-five.

"Hey girl, want to dance?" Some guy in a polo asked me while doing way more pelvic thrusts than were needed.

"I'm good," I replied, moving away from him a little.

"Oh, come on princess, don't be like that." I hated that nickname, it was the one that Ivan would always call me during my private training sessions. I decided that maybe just ignoring him would be the best idea. "You know you really shouldn't be with people like deaf and dumb over there. I'm sure that I could help you a lot more than he could. I know that I have some tools that could definitely turn that frown into a smile. I bet you look so pretty when you smile too." One of his hands different up to my face, while the other began a descent toward my ass. Before I could respond in my own way though, the guy was on the ground with Barton on top of him, beating the shit out of the other guy.

"What the hell Barton?!" I yelled trying to pull him off the other guy, who wasn't making anything better for himself – shouting insults at the man was currently working your face like a punching bag was a horrible idea. Two security guards joined in, trying to break up the fight and after a few minutes and a black eye for one of the guards, they got Barton off and promptly kicked us out.

"Why did you do that?" I asked, stomping toward the car.

"He was all over you and for what I saw you didn't like it so I stepped in."

"I could have taken care of it myself."

"Doesn't mean you had to. I mean is this how you thank everyone who helps you or am I special?"

I rolled my eyes, sliding into the car, "Don't flatter yourself. Let's just go to my apartment, sleep, and pretend this whole thing never happened."

"Your apartment? I already told you it wasn't going to be that kind of date."

"I know, but I figured that you didn't have an apartment yet and I'm pretty sure that daddy Coulson wouldn't appreciate you showing up to his place with a shiner and a split lip."

Clint touched the injury in question and flinched back a little, "Point taken, but I am taking the couch."

"No, you're not. We're adults, we can share a bed, and nothing will happen. That's final."

"Fine, just me give the address."