That Which you Love || Clintasha One-Shots

Found Out

Phil Coulson walked carefully around the S.H.I.E.L.D. base in northern California. It was bustling with agents hurrying back and forth to different panels and other sections of the base while half of the base was fast asleep, catching up with some much needed rest after other missions. "Phil!" called a female voice as a tall and severe woman with shoulder-length black hair stopped him. Melinda May, carrying several files, strode up to him and handed him the files. "The files on Barton and Romanoff's last mission as you requested." 

"Thanks May," Phil replied as she nodded curtly. "Have you seen Barton and Romanoff, actually?" She shook her head, black hair swishing on her shoulders. A large black plane landed as two young agents stepped out. A young man with curly brown hair in a pale blue shirt with a tie and dark pants as well as a woman with light brown hair in a ponytail who wore a lab coat. They were new from the academy- Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons. 

"No, sir," May replied as she looked to the new agents. "Barton walked off, saying he was going to sleep several hours ago. I'd better go see the new agents," she said quickly and marched sternly off. Classic May. Phil thought with a small smile as he opened the file. It was a brief synopsis of a recent mission taken only by Barton and Romanoff several weeks earlier that took place hunting down a serial killer in Boston. Both had taken down the killer quickly, but had not returned for three days after they had eliminated the target. 

They had said it was to recover from the mission. They had an odd pattern of doing that- taking personal time when S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have time for that sort of thing. Phil turned to the agent's quarters and found Barton's room. Aside from the standard-issued clothing, weapons, and the plain desk, closet, and bed in the room, it was empty. "Barton?" he called nervously into the empty space. There was no reply. 

Phil walked to the desk and found a handwritten note on it. Scrawled in messy, unfamiliar handwriting, the message was short and clear. Nat: Leaving for a few days to visit family. Don't have nightmares. -Clint. 

It was pretty old, judging from the crumpled piece of paper and how the ink was faded slightly. So that was that. Time to check with Romanoff and risk death and/or impalement  from a pissed assassin who most definitely did not want to be woken up in the middle of the night. Phil sighed, ran a hand through his short hair, and marched off to it. 

He opened the door softly and shouted, "Romanoff!" into the darkness. He was met with a gun pointing at him. He saw a figure sit up in the shadows and heard an angry growl from Natasha. "Out before I kill you," she said as a second gun was pointed at him. 

He was about to back out when he realized something. Natasha was sitting up, using one hand to point the gun at Phil and her other to prop her up on the pillow. So who was pointing the second one? Immediately regretting his decision, Phil flicked on the light as Natasha squinted in the burst of light and released the gun's safety with a soft click. 

Another was person was sitting with Natasha in her bed. Clint Barton, who was also releasing the safety on the weapon, was sitting up and squinting his eyes in the brightness as Phil just stared in shock. "I want both of you in my office in twenty minutes. Explain this." he ordered sharply as Clint winced as Phil marched out. Natasha flopped down on the bed, dropping the gun in anger. 

"So that's that," she deadpanned as she sat up and got out of bed. "I really hate you right now," she said, looking at Clint with fury in her eyes. "But then again, part of me has always hated you, so it's nothing new." 

Clint sat up and turned to face her. "Same with me, hon, same with me," he replied blandly and kissed her forehead as he got out of bed. "And here we are." Natasha smirked and kissed him lightly.