The Black Widow Remix (Part One)

Chapter Two: Homework

"This is impossible!"

Natasha slammed the mission brief on the countertop with a resounding thud.

Clint was perched on the other end of the L-shaped counter, tossing darts at a dartboard that hung on the wall opposite him.

"Mmm?"

Natasha's shoulders drooped, followed by her head, and—by the time Clint turned to look at her—she had her face smooshed into the pile of papers that were spread across the countertop.

She groaned. "There's no way in, not where I can get close enough, anyway." Her voice was muffled by the position of her face and the pile of papers, but Clint got the message.

He hopped off the counter and came to stand by her. Carefully, he lifted Natasha's head and nudged her whole body a few inches to the right before allowing her head to drop back down on the countertop with another thud. She groaned again.

With open access to the paper mountain, Clint shuffled the papers into a manageable stack and some kind of order, then flipped through them. By the time he finished, Natasha had picked herself up and was stealing a beer from his fridge. She gripped the bottle with both hands as she walked back towards Clint, stopping in front of him and jumping up on the kitchen island opposite his position. Her eyes were glazed over after hours of research. She twisted the cap off with her bare hands and lightly tossed it at his face. He caught the cap in one hand, without looking, and tossed it in the bin, his eyes never straying from the document in his other hand.

Natasha alternated between sipping the beer and resting the cool glass against her forehead as she watched him re-read the files. The condensation felt nice against her warm skin and oncoming headache.

"Yeah," he lamented, "I got nothing."

Clint set the files back down.

"I mean, there's no way something like a honey pot would work on a notorious womanizer."

Natasha's lips tightened into a thin line.

Then, through gritted teeth, "I can't run a honey pot if I can't get near him, you dingbat."

Clint made his customary turtle face and grabbed his darts again. As he tossed one after another at the dart board, he muttered under his breath. Even with her heightened senses and extraordinary hearing, Natasha couldn't quite make out what he was saying nor did she care to.

When Clint ran out of darts, he marched across the room to retrieve them. Once he reached the board, however, he turned back around.

"Okay, the way I see it, you take a job—any job—just to get your foot in the door, yeah?"

"Sure, 'cause I didn't already think of that."

"By all means, let me know when the red head moment has passed." Clint leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, waiting.

Natasha rolled her eyes and took another sip of her beer. When she realized he wasn't going to budge until she dropped the attitude, she sighed and waved for him to continue.

"Like I was saying, take any job. Fury wants you to make first contact by tomorrow, but company infiltration will have to suffice."

Clint grabbed Natasha's nearby laptop and, after a long series of clicks and scrolling, he flipped the screen around to reveal the job listings page for Stark Industries. He'd narrowed the list down to office locations near Stark's main office building and Malibu home. There were only a few, the most promising one listed as Notary Public I.