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Chapter Text

A redheaded woman slid into the seat across from him, and Clint flinched in surprise. His hearing aids were turned down so he could concentrate on his laptop in the din of the coffee shop, and the tables around were empty enough that she could have had her choice of seats.

“Hi. I have a proposition for you,” she said.

She was speaking slowly enough that he could mostly read her lips.

He had seen her at the coffee shop before; she was one of the regulars who also took advantage of the free wi-fi for hours. Her worn clothes and drooping ponytail did nothing to disguise her beauty.

He turned up his hearing aids.

“A proposition?” he said.

“Yes. Have you heard of a show called The Amazing Race?” she asked, leaning forward with an alluring smile.

It was hard staying focused enough to combine the lip reading with the minimal sound he was receiving when she smiled like that, but he got the gist.

“Yeah,” he answered, cautiously.

“I think we should apply, together. We both need the money.”

Clint stared at her in shock. It wasn’t every day someone invited him on reality television.

“Based on our extensive friendship?” He made sure to convey the sharp sarcasm he felt.

“I talked to Elaine about you,” she explained.

Elaine was the owner of the coffee shop, who looked the other way when he stayed for hours after only ordering one coffee. He knew he shouldn’t have told her so much.

“She said that you were in the Army, then worked as a private contractor. You can hit anything, with any projectile. You still look like you could do well on an obstacle course, Clint.” Her eyes lingered on his arms as she spoke.

The combination of the look and his name in her mouth was an ego boost, but he had been lead astray by beautiful women before.

“And what would you bring to the table?” he demanded.

Again, she used that alluring smile before answering.

“I’m fluent in five languages and can get by in half a dozen more. I just need someone who can keep up.”

From the way she looked at him, he knew he was supposed to interpret it as a challenge. Instead, he kept up the questioning.

“Why do you need the money?” he asked.

She made a disgusted face. The way she wrinkled her nose was adorable, but having just met her, he could already tell she wouldn’t appreciate the observation.

“Student loans are a bitch.”

“You’re willing to go on reality television to pay off your loans? Have the whole world judge you?” Clint found himself actually caring about the answer.

Her eyes went dark, and her expression closed off.

"Better than having no one know who you are,” she replied.

Then her eyes cleared, and she was back to being sweetness and light.

“And I don’t want to be paying my loans off twenty years from now,” she finished.

He sensed that there was a story there, and that she wasn’t going to tell him any part of it, at least until he signed on.

“Don’t thousands of people apply to be in those things? What makes you think we’re going to get in?”

“I’m beautiful, you’re hot, deaf and a veteran. All we need to do is pretend to be engaged,” she answered, point-blank.

Clint almost spat out his coffee, but she continued as if he hadn’t reacted.

“We’ll be one of the young love teams. That’s usually the biggest category.”

“Look, I’ve heard you out, because I don’t have anything much better to do, but this is ridiculous. We can’t- I can’t.” He stopped, frustrated.

“If you don’t have anything else better to do, we might as well apply. Unless you think you have higher odds with one of those job applications,” she said, nodding to his laptop.

She had a point. He had been applying to jobs for months with no results, steadily eating through his savings.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “But first things first. What’s your name?”

She threw back her head and laughed.

“Sorry, I got ahead of myself. I’m Natalie. Natalie Rushman.”

“And what forms do I need to fill out?” he asked.

“The forms aren’t the problem. We have to submit a video,” Natalie told him. “Are you free this afternoon?”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Sure,” Clint found himself saying.

***

They spent the afternoon filming themselves as a cute couple. For all that it was fictional exercise, Natasha enjoyed herself. They chased each other around a park, ate ice-cream, and Natasha even filmed a cute twenty second video of Clint chasing down an old lady’s dog.

They retired to Clint’s apartment to edit the video. Or to be more accurate, Clint ordered and bought Indian food while Natasha edited the video. Both of them were sitting on the floor of the living room, next to the wall, so Natasha could tap into the neighbor’s spotty wi-fi.

“I guess I’ll be the technological partner on our trip,” She said, voice wry, as she synced the sound for the final run through.

Clint nodded his agreement, mouth too full of naan to respond.

Natasha focused on putting the finishing touches on the video, happy to see that chemistry practically oozed off the screen. She had chosen well.

“Is there anyone who would be surprised to find out you’re engaged?” Natasha asked.

“No,” Clint said, his expression closed.

“Okay, just checking,” Natasha said, more cheerily than she felt.

There were a group of people who would be very surprised to find her engaged, but after she was on US television for a few episodes, they wouldn’t be able to take her without drawing suspicion. Some part of her felt she should warn Clint about the danger she was putting him in, but he could take care of himself.

Satisfied with her final edits, she nudged Clint to get his attention and set up the video to play. On-screen Clint and Natasha smiled at her, and told her how they first met.

“I was broken down on the side of the road,” On-screen Clint said. “And Natalie rescued me.”

“It was hardly a rescue.” On-screen Natasha was all modesty.

“It was definitely a rescue. Natalie fixed the car and everything. You don’t meet many women who can fix cars and who bake like Natalie can. One brownie and it was all over, I knew she was the one.”

On-screen Natasha was fake offended. “I guess now I know how you really feel.”

Clips of them eating ice-cream together, and laughing. Then Natalie’s voice, less husky than Natasha’s true voice, played over the clip of Clint chasing down the dog.

“I was first attracted to Clint because he’s so kind.”

On-screen Clint fell over.

“And because he makes me laugh,” Natalie’s voice added.

On-screen Clint returned the dog to its owner.

The video cut back to the two of them together.

“We’re Clint and Natalie, and we’re ready for The Amazing Race!”

The video cut off.

Natasha turned to Clint, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

“I don’t know,” Clint said mouth slightly less full than it was before. “Is it too cutesy?”

“They want cutesy and innocent, so we can be manipulated into doing what they want,” Natasha informed him.

It was reality television. What did he expect?

“Okay.” Clint shrugged, obviously having resigned himself to Natasha running the show several hours before. “Send it.”

The cursor hovered over the send button. Natasha’s hand was sweaty on the mouse. She could potentially be making the biggest mistake of her life.

Clint reached his hand over hers. Her skin tingled at the contact.

“We’ll send it on the count of three. One, two, three,” he said.

They pressed down together. The video was sent, irrevocably out of her hands.

“That was actually fun,” Clint said with a smile, his hand intertwining with hers.

Natasha smiled back in agreement. For a second she really had felt like Natalie, with no more worries than her student loans.

“We make a good team,” she said, finally.

Clint leaned towards her, and Natasha hurriedly pulled away, scrambling until her back hit the wall.

“I should go,” she said.

Clint backed off and held up his hands in apology.

“I’m sorry, Natalie. I misread that whole thing.”

The fake name was all the reminder she needed. No use getting Clint caught up in her mess. Shooting this video was a mistake, even if it had been fun.

“No, I was still in happy-engaged couple mode,” she said, still facing him. “My bad.”

She picked up her messenger bag and left Clint’s apartment without looking back.

Chapter Text

Natasha flicked off her heels from her aching feet. Working retail sucked, but, as she reminded herself on a daily basis, it was a thousand times better than the Red Room.

It was almost time for her to move on from San Francisco. They were probably catching up with her and she’d amassed enough savings to start somewhere new. Maybe she should go to New York. It was big enough that they’d never find her. Probably.

She flicked open her battered laptop and checked her emails: advertisement, advertisement and an email from the [email protected]. Natasha stopped scrolling. The email was titled ‘Application Outcome.’ She clicked on it with shaking fingers.

YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED – CONGRATULATIONS

Below that there was a long list of necessary details and terms and conditions, but those could wait.

Natasha laughed. She had applied on a whim, more like buying a lottery ticket than anything else. But when she thought about it, really thought about it, it would mean no more running. People would know who she was. She would be a D-list celebrity. She couldn’t be snatched off the streets like a stray dog. The Red Room couldn’t grab her and bring her back into the fold. No, they would fear having unwanted attention drawn to their “church.” She would be free from the constant dread she faced every morning.

She fished out her phone to text Clint.

Just got the email. We’re in the race! she sent.

I saw, was the laconic response.

She had only seen Clint a few times at the coffee shop since their application. She had been avoiding him, if she was honest. It was for his own protection, she insisted to herself. But, it was hard to remember that when he gave her the full bore puppy-dog eyes.

When should we meet to discuss plans? she pushed.

I don’t know, Nat. It doesn’t seem like a good idea, he sent back.

She tried to think of something that could convince him.

It’s a million dollars! Let’s just talk about it.

Fine. Coffee store.

When? she asked.

I’m already there, Clint answered.

Natasha hurriedly shoved on her shoes, picked up a small book for the subway ride over, and rushed out of the door.

***

Clint took a gulp of coffee and a bite of the still warm chocolate chip cookie that Elaine had baked. Half of him wondered if Natalie would even show. Ever since that awkward moment in the apartment she had been avoiding him like a leper.

She rushed in, long red hair in disarray. Her eyes roamed the room until they met his. He involuntarily caught his breath. One afternoon of fake romance four months ago shouldn’t have affected him this much, but Natalie had found a way into his brain and was taking up residence there.

She was still breathing heavily as she sat in the chair opposite his.

“Can I help you?” he asked, attempting to remain reserved.

“Please do the race with me,” Natalie said, signing at the same time, her hands clumsy enough to make him wince.

He realized he couldn’t be reserved with this woman, no matter how hard he tried. He sighed.

“You look like a three year old taught you how to sign,” he finally said.

Clint reached for her hands.

“May I?” he asked.

She nodded permission, and he gently moved her fingers and hands into the correct signs.

He held her hands just a second too long, realized his error, and put them safely on his coffee mug. The last thing he needed was Natalie thinking he was a creep.

She pulled a thin book from her jean pockets. The title read American Sign Language For Dummies: Abridged.

“I learned that sentence on the way over. We have two months until pre-show. I can learn the basics by then.” The words were halfway between a boast and a promise.

“How did you know I speak ASL, anyway?” he asked.

“Elaine.” Her one word answer came with a smug smile.

She leaned forward, eyes intent on his, just as convincing as she had been four months ago. Of course he’d do it.

“How ‘bout it, partner?” Natalie asked.

“You’d have to train. Running, strength training, everything. I don’t want you to slow me down,” Clint said.

From the competitive spark in her eyes, Clint knew it was the right thing to say to motivate her.

“First things first. We need to go ring shopping,” she responded.

“With whose money?” Clint demanded.

Natalie shrugged. “Mine. I have a hundred thousand dollars in student debt. A few hundred dollars on a ring is a small investment.”

Clint shook his head. “It makes sense that you’d leave your ring at home. We should get you a crucifix instead, capture the Christian demographic. The more likable we are, the better chance we have of them helping us stay in, right?”

Natalie looked at him, her face completely blank. For a second Clint worried he had somehow offended her. Then her look chanced into one of respect.

“I like the way you think,” she said. “How do you feel about matching tattoos?” she added, deadpan.

He looked at her suspiciously for a second, until a slight quirk of her lips clued him into the joke.

“No. Not funny,” he answered.

“You know, my fiancé should appreciate my sense of humor.” She pouted at him, using her full lips for dramatic effect.

It took him a second too long to decipher her words with the ambient noise in the coffee shop. She was already rising from the table.

“See you tomorrow,” Natalie said.

“I’ll appreciate your sense of humor when you develop one,” he called after her.

She was already halfway to the door when he looked down at his plate to see that his remaining half cookie had disappeared. He looked up. Natasha winked at him and took a bite of the missing cookie. He made a mental note to pay her back when he had the chance.

Chapter Text

The two months went by in a blur, and Clint was constantly impressed with Natalie. She trained hard, and learned basic signing at an incredibly rapid pace. Almost before he knew it, he found himself outside a television studio for the pre-show interview, waiting for Natalie.

A delicate hand on his shoulder told him she’d arrived. He turned to see her looking at him, her eyes sparkling.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Born ready,” he answered confidently, even though he was already damp with nervous sweat.

She linked her hand with his, and he felt slightly better.

“Let’s go say hi to our new friends, honey,” she said.

“Please never call me honey ever again,” he responded.

Her reply was lost as she dragged him forward, towards SHIELD studios.

“Clint and Natalie, here for the Amazing Race,” she told the receptionist with a dazzling smile.

The receptionist, a woman in her fifties, looked distinctly unimpressed with both of them.

“I’ll send in your producer,” she said.

“We get our own producer?” Clint asked Natalie.

“Yep. They travel with us for the entire race,” she said, looking at him strangely. “Didn’t you read my notes?”

Clint scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. Natalie had emailed him last week, and he had honestly forgotten to read the attachments.

She looked exasperated, but it was too late. An icily beautiful woman with dark hair and blue eyes strode over to them.

“I’m Maria Hill. I will be your producer. What that means,” Maria said, fixing them with a glare, “is that I am your god. You follow my instructions, to the letter, no questions asked.”

Natalie’s expression went curiously blank as she nodded, and Clint bristled. Natalie squeezing his hand stopped him from saying anything outright, but he could already tell that he and Maria were not going to get along.

“Here are your team outfits.”

Maria slung purple shirts and khakis at them. Natalie looked at the clothing with dismay.

“Purple is not my color,” she signed to Clint, only the slightest hesitation in her movements.

“But purple is my favorite color,” he told her, verbally. “It’s a good sign.”

Maria took them to a change room, obviously meant for both of them. Natalie went in first, and Clint hesitated before following her. He turned his back and changed quickly. He waited a few moments until he was sure Natalie had enough time to change before turning around.

Natalie’s shirt was low cut enough that it revealed some of her bra, as well as the small silver crucifix they had bought.

“Are you okay?” he signed.

“Fine,” she signed back.

Clint looked down at his shirt, which was at least a size too small

"I think we've been reality televisioned," he whispered.

Natalie rewarded the joke with an amused grin that lit up her entire face, and left Clint slightly breathless.

Maria was waiting for them as they left the change room. She sighed, obviously disappointed, as she looked them over.

“I don’t know what your story is, if you’ve broken up or someone cheated in between now and your application. Just be in love when you’re on camera, unless you’re willing to be one of the teams we love to hate.”

Clint’s mouth fell open. Less than an hour into their deception, and someone had already seen through it.

“We understand,” Natalie said.

She took Clint aside.

“Act like you’re my fiancé,” she signed.

“I’ll do my best,” he replied, whispering.

Maria led them to a waiting room, and then left without so much as an explanation. Clint felt utterly lost.

***

Natasha pulled up her shirt so it showed less cleavage. She wasn’t averse to using her attractiveness to inspire the viewing audience, but significant amounts of cleavage in the first interview felt too obvious. At least the neckline showed the crucifix to good effect, she thought.

They were waiting in line for their turn in front of the green screen behind two muscular women who had yet to acknowledge either Clint or Natasha. Their t-shirts were red, which clashed with their tattoos. Both women were tattooed all over their body, one with green tattoos and the other with blue.

Clint was fidgeting next to her, and behind them were a tall blonde man and a beautiful woman with dark curly hair, both wearing blue. The man saw her examining them and stuck out his hand in greeting.

“Steve Rogers,” he said.

Natasha took his hand and gave him a friendly smile. No use in creating enemies this early into the game.

“Natalie Rushman,” she replied, nudging Clint. “This is my fiancé, Clint.”

Clint nodded, but said nothing.

Steve nodded back, considerably more friendly than Clint.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said. “This is my wife, Peggy.”

The woman's smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was obviously the more dangerous of the two.

“What brings you to the race?” Natasha asked, adding a slight drawl to her accent.

It was amazing how people treated you when you had a drawl, as if you were instantly less intelligent. She had learned that it paid to be underestimated.

“We’re looking to buy a house,” Steve answered, readily enough.

“And yourselves?” Peggy asked.

Her voice had a clipped British accent. Natasha wondered if Peggy had prepared a game plan, and Steve had ignored it just like Clint had ignored hers.

“Student loans,” Natasha said.

Clint looked between them, confused.

“She asked why we are doing the race,” Natasha signed.

Clint smiled at Peggy, turning on the charm.

“Student loans for her, medical loans for me. Plus, it’s practically a free, early, honeymoon,” he snaked an arm around Natasha’s waist.

She smiled approvingly at Clint, and leaned into him. He had obviously taken her advice to act more like her fiancé to heart.

Both Steve and Peggy had a military bearing, so Natasha took a chance.

“He was injured in Afghanistan,” she added.

“Where were you stationed?” Steve asked Clint, speaking distinctively, but not adopting the slow sing-song voice that many people used.

Natasha found herself liking Steve, despite herself.

It turned out Clint had been stationed in the same place as Steve and Peggy, though at a different time. Natasha felt herself pushed out of the discussion as they talked about people and places she knew nothing about, but she didn’t mind. She used the time to surreptitiously examine the people behind Steve and Peggy, who she mentally dubbed the military couple.

There were two men, both wearing suits. How had they gotten to wear suits as their team outfit when the rest of them were stuck in thin t-shirts? Then something clicked, and she recognized one as Tony Stark. What was Tony Stark doing on the Amazing Race? He certainly didn’t need the money.

The line moved up, and the tattooed women moved in front of the camera.

The interviewer, a pleasant looking man in his thirties, smiled at both of them.

“Before we begin, there’s no pressure. Just be yourselves. We’ll edit what you say to just include the interesting bits.”

Natasha kept herself from snorting in laughter. They’d edit whatever the contestants said to fit their narrative.

“For the race we’ll be referring to you as the tattooed twins,” the interviewer said. “So tell us a little bit about your tattoos.”

“We’re not twins. We’re half sisters,” the woman with the green tattoos told the interviewer, voice flat.

“I know, Gamora,” the interviewer said. “But it’s television, work with me.”

The man was good; Natasha gave him that. He had enough subtle charisma that most people would let down their guard around him. But Gamora seemed to shrug off his charisma with little effort.

“I’m black, and she’s white. I’m pretty sure the audience will notice that,” Gamora said.

Her sister crossed her arms, silently agreeing with Gamora.

“Yes, but we’ll say you were raised as twins,” the interviewer clarified. “Now tell me a little bit about your childhoods. You too, Nebula."

Both of them tilted their heads with identical expressions that reminded Natasha of a hawk scenting prey. Natasha made a mental note to never be alone with either of them in a dark alley.

Her scrutiny of the sisters was cut short by the arrival of two makeup artists, both dressed in the grey bodysuits that seemed to be standard attire for the crew.

“Oh yes,” the shorter one said to the other. “Great faces for television.”

The taller one began smearing primer on Clint, who looked at Natasha in horror.

“It’s okay. It’s just makeup to make you look normal, so you’re not washed out on camera,” Natasha told Clint.

“Stop moving!” the shorter makeup artist tutted at Natasha.

The bristles of the brush the makeup artist was using felt odd on her skin, but Natasha snapped her mouth shut anyway.

“Does this mean I’ll be wearing makeup the entire time?” Clint signed at her.

She put her hand in a fist, and nodded it up and down, the ASL sign for “yes.”

“I can’t believe you convinced me to do this,” he signed.

It took her a second to translate the movements of his hands into words.

“I already told you to stop moving!” the shorter makeup artist said. “That means no gestures.”

Natasha had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. She hoped they would be getting a different makeup artist for the actual race.

Chapter Text

Most of the interview passed in a blur of easy questions from the interviewer and carefully rehearsed phrases from Natasha and Clint.

“Clint, you’re partially deaf. Does make it hard to date Natalie?”

Clint, to his credit, didn’t even blink at the question.

“No, Natalie is learning sign language, and she’s already pretty good,” he answered.

“We’ve been together for more than a year, and I only have the basics down,” Natasha said, attempting to project modesty.

Clint snorted.

“You really don’t know how incredible you are, do you?” he said, turning to Natasha.

The way Clint looked at her made her heart skip a beat.

“Clint, you know it’s my job to ask the questions,” the interviewer said with a fake laugh. “You love Natalie’s baking. What’s her best dish?”

Clint’s stare snapped from Natasha back to the interviewer.

“Her chocolate chip cookies are great, but it’s her Boston crème cake that is to die for,” Clint answered.

Natasha tilted her head non-threateningly and smiled. Underneath the smile, she recalled that chocolate chip cookies had been her husband’s favorite, and she hadn’t baked them since she’d left him.

“One last question,” the interviewer said, reeking of charm.

“Of course,” Clint said.

The interviewer turned to Natasha, almost predatory.

“Natalie, when did you know that Clint was the one?”

Natasha’s mind froze as she frantically tried to recall the cover story she and Clint had pieced together.

“When we were sitting on the floor in his apartment, eating Thai food,” she blurted out.

That hadn’t been their original story. She could feel Clint look quizzically at her.

“You know, nothing special,” she added brightly.

Clint, seeing her hesitation, brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it in a courtly gesture. Natasha blushed, not entirely on purpose.

“It’s the little moments that are important,” Clint told the interviewer.

The interviewer gestured at the cameramen to stop.

“Great job,” he said, less charming now that the cameras were off. “You’re done.”

“Nice talking to you,” Clint said sarcastically, his irritation at the situation finally showing.

“Goodbye,” Natasha added.

She pulled Clint away from the interview room before he could further show his displeasure. Maria was waiting for them outside, arms crossed.

“Well done,” she said.

“Thank you,” Natasha responded, businesslike.

Natasha wasn’t going to try and bullshit this woman. They needed each other; honesty was the best strategy.

Maria looked at her for a long moment, and then gave an approving nod.

“Here are the reservations to your hotel. At the moment, you’re the “engaged” team. Think of something interesting to do in the first leg if you want to be more exciting. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, she turned on her heel and left them there.

From the corner of her eyes Natasha saw Clint turn down his hearing aids and sigh in relief.

“Are you okay?” she signed at him.

“Headache,” he responded.

“No celebration dinner then?” she signed.

“We could do takeout,” he offered.

Natasha nodded and took his hand. He seemed surprised, but didn’t pull away.

 ***

Natalie’s face was practically glued to the taxi window as she took in the New York City streets with wide eyes.

Clint wondered where the cynical manipulator he had met in the coffee shop six months ago had gone.

“Never been to New York before?” he asked.

Natalie turned to look at him, and paused before she answered.

“No, I haven’t,” she confessed. “I haven’t seen much of the world, only read about it.”

One part of Clint was happy that she was confiding in him, the other part was worried about what her confession would mean for their chances in the race.

“How many languages can you actually speak?” he asked, suspiciously.

“I didn’t lie to you about that. You can learn a lot of languages moving around the U.S.”

The taxi pulled in front of their hotel, complete with marble lobby and showily uniformed staff.

“This place has a pool and a spa,” Natalie said. “Let’s go.”

She got out of the car, not waiting for the driver to get their bags before giving them to the bellhop. Clint paid the driver, and followed her.

In the lobby, two women with long brown hair were waiting in line for the bell desk. Their hair was where their similarities ended. One was skinny and wearing loose clothes, the other was curvy and wearing a tight dress.

“Why are we doing this?” The whispering from the skinny woman carried around the lobby.

“Adventure and excitement,” the curvy woman replied, not bothering to whisper. “And because you’d spend your life in front of a telescope if I let you.”

Natalie and Clint got in line behind the women. Natalie stood with her back to them, and began eavesdropping.

Clint rolled his eyes at Natalie’s maneuvers and waved to get the other team’s attention.

“Hey, I’m Clint,” he said. “You’re doing the race too?”

Natalie glared at him, then turned to the other women with a smile.

“I’m Natalie.”

“I’m Darcy, and this is Jane,” the curvy one said.

Jane gave them a stilted wave, her body hunched over. She was obviously not as gregarious as her friend.

“What are you doing in the race?” Natalie asked Darcy, putting more of a drawl into her voice.

“Jane lost her lab and I need more Instagram followers,” Darcy replied instantly.

Clint almost felt bad for her, but if she wanted to feed Natalie information, that was her problem.

“Your lab? A dog or a research facility?” Natalie was the picture of concern.

“My research. Congress cut funding, and it’s not like space is important, or anything.” Jane said, voice bitter.

“Oh,” Clint replied neutrally.

He honestly didn’t think space was that important, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Jane that. She practically radiated intensity.

“Once we win the race Jane can start her research again. And I get my unpaid internship back,” Darcy joked.

The concierge called the two women, leaving Natalie to give Clint a smug smile.

“They’re not a challenge,” she signed, keeping her movements small.

Clint couldn’t help but agree.

They didn’t speak again until they reached their room. It was airy, beautifully decorated and their bags were already delivered. It held a king size bed, a television that was almost as big, and a small couch.

“Flip for who gets the bed?” Clint turned to look at Natalie, who was regarding him with an unreadable expression.

“Don’t be silly. We can share,” she replied.

That had to be the most un-Natalie like sentence he’d ever heard her utter.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind sleeping on the couch.” That was a lie, but he would prefer sleeping on the couch to Natalie pulling back into herself again.

“We’re adults. You stay on my side.” She made a face, realizing she had misspoke. “I mean, you stay on your side, I stay on mine.”

“I know what you mean,” Clint assured her.

“Although, this would be a good time to talk about boundaries,” Natalie said.

“Okay,” Clint answered, sitting on the couch. “Shoot.”

“How do you feel about on camera PDA?” She sat on the bed, feet tucked under her.

Clint shrugged. He was comfortable with the sort of touching that would be realistic for an engaged couple.

“A shrug isn’t an answer,” she told him, the corner of her mouth twitching in a smile.

“I don’t want to be the obnoxious team, but I’m okay with the occasional touch, here and there. You?”

“I agree. We want to be realistic, but not sickening. No groping or making out.”

“Okay,” Clint agreed.

He couldn’t always tell, but Natalie look relieved.

“Let’s go find the pool,” she said.

Chapter Text

Clint woke up with Natalie wrapped around him. She had been so tired after swimming laps that she’d fallen asleep almost instantly once they’d returned to the room. He hadn’t been far behind. Clint carefully extricated himself from her grasp, grabbed his clothes and padded carefully to the shower.

He let the hot water focus him. He was here for the million dollars. Well, five hundred thousand after he and Natalie split it.

As he toweled off he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The man that looked back at him looked happy and well-rested, a far cry from the man he had been when he had been forced out of private contractor work. He slipped in his hearing aids, turned them on and promptly heard rustling from the bedroom.

“Nat?” he asked, pushing open the door to the bathroom.

She had woken up and was checking everything in their bags for what had to be the twentieth time.

“We have everything we need,” he offered, gently.

“I know,” she signed.

She stopped checking their bags, but started gnawing at her lip.

“Stop thinking so much. Shower’s yours,” he said.

She picked up her clothes, distracted enough that she didn’t even scowl at the purple shirt.

“I don’t want to come all this way and lose a few hours in,” she said, not looking directly at Clint.

“We won’t,” he promised.

--

It took them less than thirty minutes to get ready and make their way to the lobby. Clint didn’t even pretend to feel nervous. He seemed to be in the minority: the other teams filled the air with nervous chatter as they milled around.

“Welcome to the twelfth season of the Amazing Race,” a man said from the top of the stairs, his booming voice using the acoustics of the lobby to full effect. “I’m Nicholas Fury, your host.”

“Isn’t the host some guy from New Zealand?” Clint asked Natalie.

“They must have changed it this year,” she replied.

Her eyes were focused on the other teams, her brow slightly furrowed as she assessed them. He followed her gaze to a team of two men. One was a brawny blond, the other a slender man with black hair, but they had an air about them that suggested family.

“I know some of you have already met during the interviews. This is your chance to meet the other contestants,” Fury said, over the whispering of other teams.

“There are twelve teams. That probably means a double elimination leg,” Natalie signed at him.

Clint vaguely recalled what that meant: when one team was kicked out halfway through a leg and the other at the end.

“You need to be outside, ready to film, in thirty minutes. Good luck,” Fury finished.

Natalie was already moving towards the two men. Her smile might have looked genuine to an outside observer, but Clint had been around her long enough to tell the difference.

“Hi,” she said the blond. “I’m Natalie.”

“Well met! I’m Thor,” he replied, obviously charmed.

The slender black-haired man glared at both of them. Clint found himself moving to Natalie’s side.

“Clint,” he said.

The black-haired man stayed stubbornly silent.

“That’s Loki,” Thor told them cheerfully.

“And we were just leaving,” Loki said.

He pulled a bewildered Thor away from them.

“Very friendly guy, that one,” Clint muttered to Natalie, mindful of how whispers carried in the marble lobby.

Natalie nodded in agreement, her perceptive gaze already settling on a different team compromised of two muscular men in their late twenties: one black, one white. They were easily chatting with Steve and Peggy, perhaps forming an alliance. Natalie's eyes narrowed in suspicion and she began to gnaw at her lip again.

He was so focused on Natalie that he didn’t see the makeup team bustling towards them until they were right in front him.

“Oh no,” Clint found himself saying.

“Stop pouting,” the first makeup artist admonished. “For the Race itself it’s five minute makeup only. It’s hardly anything.”

Clint let the artist put goop on his skin, suppressing a grimace at the greasy feeling of the makeup.

***

“The first challenge of the Race will be in Delhi,” Fury announced.

Delhi? Natasha couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She spoke Hindi, and she’d always wanted to go to India. Clint, next to her, was jaded and unsmiling behind a pair of sunglasses.

The boom of the starting gun went off. She, Clint and the other contestants sprinted to their bags. Natasha and Clint’s were color-coded purple, and their first clue of the race lay on top, in a yellow and red envelope.

Dodging past a flailing mess of limbs, she reached the bags and slipped the clue into her pocket, Clint by her side. She slung her bag over her shoulder and raced for their assigned car. Her pulse was pounding in her ears and the bag felt like it weighed nothing as she flew past the other contestants.

Someone shoved into her back, and Natasha sprawled to the ground. Tattooed blue legs in her peripheral vision told her the culprit was Nebula. She glared, picked herself up, and kept running. By the time she had reached the car Clint was in the driver’s seat. Natasha slotted into the backseat. Maria, and another woman Natasha hadn’t seen before, were waiting for them with their camera on.

Clint pulled out of the parking spot at speed, narrowly missing Steve and Peggy’s car with a deft turn of the steering wheel.

“Which airport?” he asked Natasha, as calm as if they were taking a leisurely Sunday drive.

Natasha, attempting to emulate his example, took a couple of deep breaths to settle her heart rate after the excitement of the sprint. Then she carefully opened the clue envelope, pocketing their expenses cash and making sure nothing fell out.

The clue almost flew from her fingers as Clint swerved around another car.

“Nice driving,” she commented.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

She didn’t know whether to be more alarmed by the cockiness in his voice, or that she found it endearing.

She scanned the clue and read the relevant details out loud. “You will leave from JFK, fly to Delhi and find your next clue at the India Gate.”

“How are we supposed to find parking?” he yelled back, casually overtaking Gamora and Nebula.

“It gives us directions to which lot we’re supposed to use. Just keep going straight, we can take a left in a few miles,” she said, closely examining the map they had been given, which was too simple to name all the side streets.

A red patch bloomed on her khakis and her knee started to sting. She must have cut herself when she fell. She pulled out the first aid kit, and started cleaning the wound.

Clint glanced in his rearview mirror. “Everything okay back there?” he called.

“Fine,” she replied, shortly.

She knew what her body could handle. The small cut was nothing.

Maria gestured at her assistant, both of whom Natasha had forgotten about. The assistant lowered the camera.

“Natalie, Clint, that was great. But Natalie, you need to read the full clue aloud,” Maria said. “And if you could speak more to the mic that would be great.”

Maria nodded to her assistant, who brought the camera back up.

Natasha was sure her cheeks would hurt by the end of the day, but she smiled and read the clue aloud.

It took them thirty minutes to reach the parking lot, and another fifteen for the shuttle to take them to their terminal.

As their shuttle bus pulled up to the doors, Natasha glanced over her shoulder. The shuttle behind them was carrying Nebula and Gamora.

“Get ready to run,” she told Clint.

The shuttle doors opened, and she sprinted through the terminal's automatic doors, towards the check in desks, ignoring the stinging in her knee. Clint got there a half step before she did.

“Four tickets to Delhi,” he said, not even out of breath.

“Wait. What’s the fastest way to get there?” Natasha gasped.

Running was one thing; running with a bag was something else. Her earlier energy was gone.

Maria and her assistant caught up, Nebula and Gamora on their heels. The sisters' camera people, two men who projected blandness, followed ten feet behind.

The desk agent, a woman who looked to be in her fifties, cast a knowing eye over the group.

“The Amazing Race, huh?” she said.

“Yes,” Natasha said with a smile.

“You can take a direct flight tonight, or go through Zurich with only a twenty minute layover and get there an hour earlier. I recommend the direct flight.”

“How many seats are available on each plane?” Natasha asked.

“Thirty-eight on the direct flight, eight with the layover.”

“We should take the layover and run between planes,” Clint told Natasha, quietly.

She shook her head firmly. The potential increase in screen time wasn’t worth the risk of not making the next round, especially with a double elimination on the horizon.

“Teams are going to end up on both planes. We can be in the middle of the pack for the first few races. We don’t need to take that risk.”

Clint looked at her for a long moment, then turned to the desk agent.

“Four tickets via direct flight,” he told her.

“That’s great,” Maria said. “Now I need to film you asking for two tickets.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, then turned to the desk agent with a bubbly smile.

“Two tickets to Delhi, please.”

The desk agent printed out the tickets and checked their bags, before moving on to Nebula and Gamora.

"Can I help you?" she asked the sisters.

"We'll take the layover," Gamora said, voice proud. "We're not afraid of risk."

Natasha rolled her eyes. She was really starting to dislike both Gamora and Nebula.

Chapter Text

The rain obscured the India Gate as they walked Rajpath. Natasha’s bag was rubbing uncomfortably against her back as sweat and rainwater rendered her clothes completely sodden. She felt like a drowned rat that had been thrown into a sauna.

Maria’s assistant, Jemma, was holding an umbrella over her boss as the two followed Clint and Natasha. Both Maria and Jemma had high quality raincoats, Natasha noted with envy. She and Clint had to make do without: you were only allowed one bag’s worth of space during the race.

“It’s about eight hundred more meters before we will hit the gate,” Clint said, squinting into the rain.

His shirt clung to his body, and Natasha made an effort to wrench her eyes away from his torso.

“How can you see in this mess?” Natasha replied.

Clint shook his head.

“I can’t hear anything,” he yelled through the downpour.

“Let’s keep moving,” Natasha signed.

Natasha found her gaze wandering to her partner more and more as they walked to the Gate. The rain and the sweat only increased his attractiveness and his blue-grey eyes were focused ahead. His focus was a reminder for her to be professional, but some part of her couldn’t help but daydream about dragging him to the nearest hotel.

Then the Gate was a shadow through the rain in front of them, and they started to jog.

Clint pointed into the rain, his sharp eyes serving them well.

“There’s the box,” he signed.

Natasha couldn’t see anything through the rain, but followed him nonetheless. Clint flipped open the box to find the clues had turned into a mass of stuck-together paper due to the downpour. He turned to Maria.

“Your next task is to take a nearby auto-rickshaw to the elephant rides. You have a choice between riding an elephant across a field and gathering enough grass and fruit to feed an elephant for the day. Pretend to read a clue,” Maria told him.

Natasha’s heart jumped in excitement at the thought of riding an elephant. Suddenly the rain and the oppressive heat seemed like small matters.

Clint pretended to be intently interested at the hunk of ruined paper in front of him, furrowing his brow. Natasha stood on her toes to peer over his shoulder, pretending that she could read the mess of ink and pulp.

“Elephant rides!” she exclaimed.

“That could be dangerous,” he said.

“We have a choice between an elephant ride and gathering grass. I want to ride an elephant,” she said.

“Weren’t you the one telling me not to take risks yesterday?” he asked.

“It’s an experience!” she exclaimed.

She meant it. How often in their lives were they going to get the chance to ride an elephant?

“Whatever you say, Natalie. Let’s find an auto rickshaw.”

She couldn’t tell whether he was resigned or content at the decision. He shut his emotions down in front of the camera, and while she couldn’t blame him, she couldn’t help but think it didn’t make for good television.

There were two auto rickshaws parked nearby, their distinctive green and yellow paint making them visible through the rain. Clint and Natasha ran towards the nearest one.

Natasha waved at the driver.

“Hāthī kī savārī kara rahē haiṁ, jahāṁ āpa jānatē haiṁ?” she asked. Where are the elephant rides?

The driver, a man with a broad grin and bad teeth, shook his head. She frowned, her Hindi had been perfect.

“Do you speak English?” he asked. “Or Punjabi?”

“Oh,” Natasha said, disappointed she wouldn’t get the chance to use her language skills.

Clint squeezed her hand, reassuring.

“We need to get to the elephant rides as quickly as possible,” he said.

The driver looked suspiciously at the camera on Jemma’s shoulder.

“The Amazing Race?” he asked.

“Yep,” Clint replied.

“I love that show!” The driver grinned even wider.

It was a tight squeeze, but they all made it into the rickshaw. Clint and Natasha were crammed next to each other, opposite the camera.

Just as the rickshaw started up, the rain stopped. The unexpected silence rang in Natasha’s ears.

Jane, Darcy, Thor, Loki and their camera crews were suddenly visible a hundred meters away, in front of the second rickshaw. Thor appeared to be offering the rickshaw to Jane and Darcy. Loki was silently emanating rage next to him. Natasha made a mental note to use Thor’s chivalry against him if she ever needed to.

The ride took forty minutes, with their driver outpacing Jane and Darcy’s rickshaw and taking them out of the city proper. He left them in front of a small building and a series of paddocks with a wave.

A diminutive man was waiting for them. Natasha guessed he was the elephant trainer.

“We’re here to ride the elephant,” she told him, in English this time.

“Which one of you?” the handler asked, his English even better than the driver’s.

“The lady,” Clint said, nodding to her.

She beamed at Clint, and he smiled back.

“Wait here,” the trainer instructed Clint, Maria and Jemma.

He trainer led her towards a field that held a single elephant. The elephant was wallowing in the mud. It seemed bigger than the ones in the movies, immense and real in a way she hadn’t expected.

“How many people have been ahead of us?” she asked, casually.

“Two women and a married couple,” the trainer answered. “They left five minutes ago. You just need to ride her across the field. It’s easy.”

The field was bounded by a wooden fence that seemed inadequate in face of the elephant’s bulk.

He handed her a curved knife for her other hand.

“This is how you steer,” he explained.

She looked at the knife. It felt too heavy in her hands. She looked across the field to where the elephant watched her with intelligent eyes.

“They have thick skin. They barely feel it,” the trainer assured her.

“What are you waiting for?” Clint called from the fence, too far away to see the knife. “You can do it!”

Natasha gave him thumbs up, cringing at the cheesiness but knowing it would look good for television.

The trainer handed Natasha a type of fruit she had never seen before. It was round, green and sticky.

“Feed the elephant, and then get on its back,” he said.

The trainer ushered her into the field and shut the door behind her. Natasha felt helpless for a second. Surely he would give her more advice?

She took a deep breath and strode over towards the elephant. She wrinkled her nose as she got closer; the elephant smelt terrible. Still, she held out the fruit and elephant’s trunk immediately took it. The skin felt surprisingly delicate against her hand and she had to suppress a giggle as the elephant’s trunk brushed against her arm.

She saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Jane and Darcy had apparently chosen to gather food. They were foraging in the field to her left. The sight spurred her on. She needed to finish this challenge quickly.

She squelched closer to the elephant and got on it’s back. It rose obediently to its feet. Natasha’s eyes widened. It felt like she was riding a moving bed. She rocked back and forth in an effort to get it to move forward.

“Go!” she told it.

It stayed stubbornly still. She looked at the knife the trainer had given her. Surely it wasn’t the only method they used.

Oh a whim she recalled her basic Hindi.

“Jā'ō,” she demanded of the elephant. Go.

It lumbered forward, three steps, then stopped.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Clint yelled from the fence.

She looked down at the hooked knife the trainer had given her.

“Jā'ō,” she whispered into the elephant’s ears.

It snuffled, and Natasha was suddenly reminded of a pet dog. She patted it.

“Good girl,” she said. “Jā'ō.”

It moved forward again, this time at speed. Natasha felt like she was riding a wave. The elephant was almost at the fence when she opened her mouth to scream.

“Stop! Rōka!” she said.

The elephant stopped, but Natasha didn’t. The momentum carried her forward, off the elephants back and towards the ground.

“NATALIE,” she could hear Clint screaming as she hurtled towards the ground.

She rolled with the fall, and for a second her body hurt all over. Then the pain faded. Nothing felt broken. She tried to get up, but slipped in the mud. Clint caught her before she could hit the ground for a second time.

“Are you okay?” he said.

He put a hand to her cheek, and his eyes were intent on hers.

“Fine,” she answered.

Clint drew her into a hug and she let herself relax into her arms. She hadn’t let herself be scared until then, but so many things could have gone wrong.

Over his shoulder she could see the trainer pet the elephant and speak soothingly in its ear.

“Don’t do that again,” Clint whispered. “You scared me.”

“Can you repeat that?” Maria’s voice broke through the hug. “We didn’t catch it.”

Jemma was standing next to her boss with the camera on her shoulder, ankle deep in mud and red-faced with embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she mouthed to Natasha.

Natasha and Clint broke apart.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Clint said, face blank and voice bland. “I was worried.”

Natasha winced at how mechanical his actions were. There was no way that was making it onto air, but that might have been his intent. Then his eyes narrowed in anger as he caught sight of the elephant from close range.

“Why are there scars on that elephant?” he demanded, as he strode past Natasha towards the trainer.

Natasha hurried towards the two men.

The elephant trainer shrugged. “This is none of your business.”

He fished a clue out of his pants pocket and handed it to Clint. Natasha stepped between Clint and the trainer and took the clue instead.

Clint was clenching and unclenching his fists, while the elephant trainer gave her a theatrical bow.

“Your car is over there,” the trainer said, pointing. “Goodbye.”

She opened the clue, catching the car keys as they fell out.

Clint took them from her and stomped towards the car. She took one last look at the elephant. It was back to lying in the mud, its scars mostly hidden. Natasha felt like crying, but there was nothing she could do.

Clint was waiting for her in the driver’s seat of the car, jaw tight. Natasha decided not to remind him they had agreed to share driving duties.

She read the clue aloud, trying to pretend that everything was normal.

“We need to take the car to Tughlaqabad Fort,” she said.

“Give me the directions,” Clint answered.

Maria and Jemma set up the camera in the car. Natasha used the time to track Darcy’s and Jane’s progress. They looked to need at least twenty more minutes to complete their task.

“We can leave now,” Jemma said cheerily, as she finished settling the camera on her lap.

“Thank you for your permission,” Clint said, voice heavily sarcastic.

“It’s about a ninety minute drive,” she told Clint. “Just keep going straight.”

“Great,” he answered.

The earlier connection she had felt between them was gone. She tried to convince herself it was for the best, but she felt empty all the same.

***

Clint drove, cursing the state of Indian roads and the ancestry of bad drivers.

“I don’t think it’s possible for a horse to reproduce with a bat,” Natalie told Clint.

Her smirk in the review mirror told him that she was genuinely amused. He would have treasured that smirk two hours ago, but now he was regretting his decision to enter the race. He was pretending to be engaged to someone who cared more about winning than the scars on that elephant. Anyone could see that elephants were too intelligent, too social to live like that. Clint wanted to go back to the field and beat the trainer senseless.

“Everything you say needs to be appropriate for network television,” Maria reminded them.

“But you’re doing great,” Jemma added.

Maria glared at the girl, and she seemed cowed back into silence.

“You’re being a bully, Maria,” Clint said.

“Pretend I’m not here then,” Maria answered pointedly.

Part of their contract told them to minimize their contact with the camera people and producers. But if Maria felt comfortable telling Clint what to do all the time, he didn’t see why he shouldn’t answer back.

“Turn here!” Natalie said, a touch too late to be useful.

He drove past the exit they were supposed to take.

“Fuck it all to hell,” Clint said.

“Make the next turn,” Natalie said, voice cool. “We won’t lose any time.”

The rest of the car ride was spent in chilly silence.

As they got closer to their destination, Clint couldn’t help but suck in a breath. The sprawling ruins on the hills above them were majestic in the late afternoon light. He pulled in the parking lot, silent out of awe instead of anger.

“What are we supposed to do here?” he asked Natalie.

“Explore the ruins until we find the clue. The fort is supposed to spread for approximately four miles,” she answered.

The parking lot held two other rental cars of the same make and model. There were no other cars, which indicated that the monument had been closed off exclusively for the race.

“The others are still here,” Clint told Natalie.

“Great! This is our chance to catch up.”

“Sure,” he answered.

He just wanted to finish the leg so he could sleep and not have to think about this anymore. Natalie frowned at him, but he pretended not to notice. He didn’t owe her, or anyone else, his good mood.

He climbed the hill to the fort, not bothering to slow down for Natalie or their voyeuristic followers.

“Clint, wait,” Natalie called, out of breath. “We need to stay within twenty feet of each other at all times.”

Clint crossed his arms and waited, and looked around as he did. He ignored the ancient stone arches and half collapsed walls, and looked for signs of wires and scaffolding instead. Cameras were set up all over the fort, no doubt to record their antics as they searched for one cluebox in miles of stone. His eyes tracked where the cameras were at their thickest, until he found an area where they seemed to focus.

He snapped his gaze back down to Natalie, acting as if he hadn’t figured out the cluebox’s location.

“Follow me,” he told her.

“Clint, wait,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“Just tired,” he lied.

No, everything wasn’t okay. He never should have agreed to this.

He turned and moved through the ruins, making a show of searching his surroundings. Natalie did the same as he moved steadily to where the cameras were concentrated.

“Ahah!” Gamora’s voice, instantly recognizable by it’s pride, came from the cluster of cameras. “I found it.”

Without needing to look at each other, both Clint and Natalie started to run. They rounded a corner to see Gamora and Nebula racing towards the parking lot. Clint ran to the cluebox, eager to end this part of the race.

“I have the clue,” he said. “Let’s go.”

They sprinted back to the car, Clint having to slow slightly for Natalie.

“I’m driving!” she said.

It took precious minutes for everyone to get in the car and by the time Natalie pulled out of the lot with a screech of tires Gamora and Nebula were easily five hundred meters ahead.

“Where are we supposed to go?” Natalie demanded.

The engine roared as she accelerated.

“The gardens of a hotel! Just follow the sisters,” Clint answered.

The map included with the clue was laughably simple, and had no compass points. How was anyone supposed to follow it?

Natalie sped down the road as night fell, keeping the sisters in sight.

Maria coughed. “You have to follow the local laws. That means the speed limit.”

Natalie eased off the gas, slightly.

“I’m below the speed limit,” she informed Maria.

They reached the hotel, only two hundred meters behind Gamora and Nebula’s car. They parked as the sisters disappeared into the gardens, their camera crew hopelessly behind. Clint and Natalie raced into the gardens after them.

Clint hoped the gardens would be a maze, so he and Natalie might have a chance. No such luck. Ahead of them, Gamora and Nebula were running easily to the platform where Fury waited.

Clint knew they’d never make it, but he put his head down and sprinted anyway. Natalie was right beside him, gasping as she struggled to keep pace.

Gamora glanced back, and shouted to her sister. They sped up, and it was all over. Clint and Natalie had fallen short by less than twenty feet.

“Congratulations,” Fury told the sisters. “You are the first team to arrive.”

They fist bumped and Clint felt disappointed despite himself.

“Great, what do we win?” demanded Nebula.

“Unfortunately, you pushed another contestant, Nebula. We’re sure it was an accident, but it still earns you a 30 minute penalty. Please step off the platform to wait out your penalty.”

With a cry of triumph, Natalie grabbed Clint’s hand and pulled him to the platform.

Gamora and Nebula glowered at them, arms crossed. Clint knew they had just made their first real enemies of the race.

“Clint and Natalie, you arrived in first place. Congratulations,” Fury said. “Your prize is an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii, courtesy of Travelocity and Hawaiian Airlines.”

Natalie shrieked and jumped up and down. Clint refused to do the same.

Fury waved at Maria, who turned off the camera.

“Your start time tomorrow is four in the morning. Get some sleep.”

Four? Quitting was becoming a more attractive option by the minute.

“I can’t believe we won a vacation to Hawaii!” Natalie exclaimed.

Clint couldn’t help but think of the poor elephant, covered in scars.

“Yeah, me neither,” he replied, without enthusiasm.

Chapter Text

The beds in the Delhi hotel were comfortable, but Clint still had a hard time staying asleep. He woke up at midnight, then at two in the morning with Natalie wrapped around him again. So much for being adults who could stick to their sides. He never would have picked Natalie as a cuddler. It was raining outside, and Clint was comfortable and warm, so he went back to sleep.

The third time he woke up it was to Natalie shaking him. He reacted instinctively, grabbing her hand and putting her into a grappling hold. It took him two seconds to realize what had happened, and he released her.

She looked at him with betrayal in her eyes and rubbed her wrist where he had grabbed her.

“Sorry,” he blurted.

He wanted to explain that he sometimes forgot where he was when he woke up, that he thought she'd been someone else, but he couldn’t get the words out. She threw his clothes in his face, took her bag and left the room.

He put in his hearing aids and dressed himself slowly, still half asleep.

He reached the platform at 4:03, according to his watch. Steve and Peggy were already undergoing the ministrations of the makeup team. Clint winced in response to Natalie’s glare.

“Go ahead, take your time,” Natalie sniped.

Clint rolled his eyes but didn’t respond.

“Now that you’ve both arrived,” Maria said, throwing an amused glance at Clint. “Here’s your clue.”

Jemma filmed Natalie opening the clue. She looked close to perfect in the morning light, bar the deep circles under her eyes. When would he learn to stop following beautiful women into trouble?

“We’re going to Jakarta,” she told Clint.

Compared to her excitement when they left for Delhi, her voice was cold and emotionless, but he refused to feel guilty in response to the cold shoulder.

On the way to the airport she informed him that the last leg of the race had indeed been a double elimination leg, and that Tony Stark was already out of the competition.

That left nine other teams to beat.

***

They took a flight through Kuala Lumpur and arrived at Jakarta airport in the early afternoon. Five teams had ended up on their flight, so Clint’s lateness hadn’t made a difference, but Natasha was still angry at him.

She drove them to the first clue, located at the Museum Bank: a massive white behemoth that could have been an important building anywhere in the world. Inside it was broken up into a labyrinth of interactive exhibits containing bank notes from all over the world.

“If we could steal this then we wouldn’t have to worry about funds for the rest of the Race,” Clint said with a smile, inviting her to share in on the joke.

She glared at him and kept striding forward, into an exhibit about the 1997 Asian financial crisis. It featured red lighting and scary music, and it was unexpected enough that Natasha wished she could spend more time exploring.

“So, do you speak Indonesian?” Clint asked her.

He gestured to the signs. Most had an English translation, but some did not.

“No,” she answered, shortly.

Did he seriously expect her to speak the language of every country they wound up in?

They lapsed into silence until Clint found the clue box inside a former vault that doubled as a massive coin collection. Natasha stole a look at some of the coins while Clint ripped the envelope open.

“It gives us directions to a Roadblock. The clue is bamboo,” Clint told her. “Do you want to take it or should I?”

“You can,” she said.

Only one member from each team could compete a Roadblock task, while the other one was sidelined.

“Fine,” he replied.

She pursed her lips. There was no reason for him to act like a petulant toddler.

They hustled through the Jakarta streets until they saw four cameras set up around a group of wooden mats in a courtyard. Steve and Peggy were already there. Steve was kneeling on a mat, rearranging bamboo pieces for some purpose. Peggy, complete with red lipstick, was cheering him on. They looked like a picture perfect couple. No doubt the producers were already planning on keeping them in the race if they faced elimination.

They found an elderly woman in front of the mats. Her eyes twinkled in amusement.

“You must assemble an angklung,” she said, showing them a musical instrument made out of a series of bamboo tubes.

The woman started to giggle. Natasha knew it was probably out of nervousness, but it felt like she was laughing at her and Clint.

“Let me try again,” the woman said to Maria.

Maria nodded,

“You must assemble an angklung,” the woman repeated, in a faux-serious voice. “Once you finish, you must play it for me.”

She pointed to a mat that held tubes and a frame.

With a glance at Peggy and Steve, Natasha resolved to put her irritation at Clint behind her, at least in front of the camera.

She stood on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“Good luck, sweetie,” she said.

Clint froze, surprised.

“Thanks,” he managed to say, complete with an obviously forced smile.

He sat down at the mat, and got to work. His hands were steady as he confidently sorted the confusing mess. Natasha looked around at the mats, noticing that one was already rolled up. That meant a team had already completed the task and that she and Clint were in third place.

Jane and Darcy had arrived before he finished, which surprised Natasha. She’d written them off so easily. A team of men, whose names Natasha had learned were Sam and Riley, arrived just as Clint slotted the last bamboo tube into place.

Steve was still working when Clint played the angklung for the elderly woman. Natasha had thought it was a sort of flute, but it was a percussive instrument that made a cheerful sound she had never heard before.

“Here’s your clue,” the woman said, handing Clint the yellow and red envelope with a bow.

Natasha thought about the bow the elephant trainer had given her. Had the producers told the people they interacted with to bow? She felt dirty at the thought. This hadn’t been the adventure she was expecting.

Clint rushed towards her, flushed with victory.

“Congratulations, baby,” Natasha said. “You were amazing.”

She made sure to angle her words to the mic.

“Thanks, Nat,” Clint said. “We’re supposed to head to some fancy hotel for the next clue.”

This time Clint drove. It was a straight shot between the museum and the hotel, so Natasha spent the time ignoring Clint and looking out the window. She was disappointed in how ordinary Jakarta looked. The buildings were a little more shabby than San Francisco, and the traffic was worse, but other than the signs in Indonesian and Javanese there wasn't much difference. Even the people dressed the same.

Peggy caught up with them just as they reached the hotel, with aggressive driving that Natasha normally wouldn’t attribute to the glamorous woman. They parked at the same time, but Clint had gotten the better spot.

The two teams and their production crews rushed into the cavernous lobby. Waiting for them was an oily concierge next to a set of four keys. Natasha and Clint got there a step before Steve and Peggy.

“As the second team to arrive, you get to stay in the Mandarin Oriental’s honeymoon suite,” the concierge said.

Natasha felt like she had walked into the middle of an advertisement.

“Awesome!” she simpered. “Maybe we should come back for our actual honeymoon.”

“Yep. Sure thing, honey,” Clint answered, not even trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

She ignored him, and took the key from the concierge. Peggy and Steve were also given a key, and put in a regular suite.

They rode the elevator with Maria, Jemma, Steve, Peggy, and their production crew.

“Enjoying the race so far?” Steve asked, friendly.

“It’s fine,” Clint said, not even putting effort into the lie.

“It’s great!” Natasha exclaimed. “More tiring than we were expecting. And yourselves?”

Steve put an arm around Peggy.

“I’m just glad we’re getting this time together,” he said.

“Me too,” Peggy added, eyes sparkling.

The elevator dinged to a stop.

“Have a great evening,” Natasha told their competitors as they got off with their camera crew.

“You too,” Steve said affably.

Then he and Peggy walked away, with eyes only for each other.

The next floor was Clint and Natasha, and Maria and Jemma got off as well.

“Are you two staying with us?” Clint asked Maria and Jemma, confused at their presence.

Jemma none too subtly ogled Natasha, then turned red.

“No, we need to film the room for promotional purposes,” Maria said.

She’d been right; they had walked into an advertisement.

“You’re lucky. If you were in the second half of teams to arrive, you’d have to sleep outside,” Maria said, in response to Clint’s frown.

The suite itself was incredible, with freshly cut flowers and a tub big enough to swim in. It took twenty minutes for Maria to film it to her satisfaction.

“See you tomorrow,” Maria told them on her way out, Jemma trailing her like a duckling.

Clint winked at Jemma, who stammered a goodbye then shut the door to the suite.

“Let’s try to leave promptly this time,” Natasha found herself saying.

Clint crossed his arms, tense and angry.

“Really? You’re still upset about that? It was three minutes! You should have woken me up earlier,” he responded.

“I’m not your nursemaid. It was your responsibility to wake up,” she said, careful not to raise her voice so that anyone listening from outside wouldn’t hear.

“You want to have this fight? Fine,” Clint shouted, not bothering to keep his voice down. “You’re the type of person who is more upset by me sleeping in for three entire minutes than by an abused animal. Agreeing to do the race with you was a mistake.”

“You don’t know what I’m feeling,” she shot back, voice calm as she tried to keep a rein on her emotions. “I was as horrified as you were, but yelling and stomping doesn’t achieve anything.”

Clint opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn’t finished.

“Go to hell, Clint. Your clothes were made by people in sweatshops, your shoes made by underpaid children. You only care about suffering when you can see it.”

Losing the battle with her emotions, she turned her back on him and stormed into the suite bathroom. She slammed the door behind her, tears falling from her eyes.

He had promised to stay in the first few rounds of the race with her, and now that it was difficult he was having second thoughts?

“Natalie,” Clint’s voice called from the other side of the door, with a gentle knock. “Can we talk?”

“Go away,” Natasha said, her words echoing on the tiles around her.

She wished that the door locked, and put her weight against it.

She could hear Clint’s footsteps getting fainter as he retreated from the door outside. She let out a breath of relief. She didn’t want to deal with him right now.

She was going to take a long relaxing bath and pretend that everything was okay.

Chapter Text

By the time Natasha got out of the bath, she felt like a new woman. The fight seemed petty, and she was confident they could get over it. Of course there was friction between them; they were jetlagged almost strangers. She just needed to convince Clint to stay in the race long enough to make her recognizable, long enough that she couldn’t be touched without notice.

Natasha wrapped a luxuriously fluffy towel around her body and left the enormous bathroom, head held high. Clint was watching television, his back against the headboard of the bed, hearing aids on the counter beside him.

She expected him to be angry. Instead, he just looked sad.

“I’m sorry, Nat,” he blurted, still looking at the television.

She waved a hand to get his attention.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry too,” she signed. “Partners?”

“Yes,” he said.

“We can donate some of our million to animals when we win,” she signed, wishing she had a larger vocabulary in ASL.

“Okay,” he said. “But that’s not what I have to apologize for.”

He gestured to her wrist, which bore light bruises from her morning attempt to wake him.

“Sometimes I forget where I am. I thought you were attacking me,” he said.

He wasn’t telling her everything. She could tell from his closed off expression, but that was understandable given her own omissions.

“How do you suggest I wake you up?” she asked, moving closer to him.

His eyes raked over her and the back of his neck went red. She raised an eyebrow in amusement and he snapped his eyes to the television screen.

“Don’t shake me, just touch my arm. I’ll wake up,” he told her, his voice just a little high.

She smirked, glad that she wasn’t the only one distracted by the other.

Natasha looked at her bag. She could change into her clothes, sleep on the couch and they could start the next day afresh.

She looked back at Clint, admiring his strong arms and steady hands. She had been trying to keep things professional, but this was an adventure, wasn’t it?

She sat on the bed next to him, still in her towel. The television showed the news, and the hilariously awful closed captioning that came with it.

She touched his upper arm to get him to turn towards her. His skin felt hot enough to burn against her fingers, and her heart began to race in response to the contact. She leaned towards him.

“Nat, what are you doing?” he asked.

“I want you,” she signed in response.

His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard.

“You know we’re not a real engaged couple,” he said, even as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “We don’t need to have makeup sex.”

“But I want to,” she signed, trying to break through his caution.

“So do I,” he replied, eyes dark, all pretenses stripped from him.

She put her hands on his shoulders and moved to straddle him. He waited until she was settled before he put his hands on her hips. She kissed him and he responded tentatively at first before deepening the kiss. A quick movement of his hands and her towel was on the floor. She reached for his belt buckle, determined to redress the difference in their nakedness.

He stopped kissing her and she frowned in disappointment.

“Two hard taps for stop, okay, sweetheart?” he said.

“What’s the signal for keep going?” she signed.

His pupils dilated even further, and his grip on her hips tightened.

“Just keep touching me,” he replied.

She rocked against him, feeling smug at his helpless intake of breath.

“Take off your shirt first,” she signed, gesturing with one hand and tugging the shirt with the other.

He moved to comply, before pausing, eyes wide in surprise.

“Nat, Jesus Christ.”

He ran a gentle hand over her bruises from the fall during the elephant challenge, but it was the countless scars on her hips and back that her clothes usually hid that caused the exclamation.

He looked at her with a mix of sadness and outrage.

“Natalie, what happened?”

“My name is Natasha,” she signed, deliberately. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” he said, taking the new information in stride.

There was no sign of pity in his expression, only compassion, and that made her want him even more.

“Now take off your shirt,” she signed, her hands moving as quickly as she could make them.

He did.

***

Clint woke up to Natalie touching his arm, then kissing her way down his neck.

He rolled over and reached for her, but she danced away, and he realized she was already dressed. He’d overslept, again.

“Time to race?” he asked her.

She nodded, and Clint reminded himself that her name was Natasha, not Natalie.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye as he got dressed. She seemed happy and energetic, with no hint of regret, thank God.

He slipped in his earring aids, wincing. Having them on for so long was giving him headaches halfway through the day.

“Clint,” she said, putting the hotel water bottles into her bag. “We need to talk before we go back out there in front of the cameras.”

“Okay,” he said, bewildered.

He kept his eyes on her as he packed his own bag on autopilot.

“I want this,” she said, gesturing between them, “to stay here.”

Disappointment slowed his movements, but what else should he expect? Natasha was out of his league and a one-night stand was better than nothing.

“I mean I want it to stay private,” Natasha clarified. “Out there, let’s just be Natalie and Clint, in the Amazing Race for the money. I don’t want them to have Natasha and Clint, still figuring this out.”

Clint grinned and moved to kiss her.

“Anything you say, Tasha.”

She wasn’t ready to give him an explanation of her name, and he was fine with that, but he wasn’t above teasing her a little.

“Just remember, it’s Natalie when we’re racing,” she said.

They finished getting ready in silence. Maria arrived at six in the morning, clue in hand.

“I see you two have resolved your problems,” Maria said, looking between them.

Clint shuffled his feet, while Natasha held a poker face.

“Give me the clue,” Natasha said.

The last challenge of the leg was located north of Jakarta, in the Thousand Islands. The teams were leaving early in an attempt to avoid potential traffic jams. Clint and Natasha raced to their car, to see Peggy and Steve’s already gone.

As Clint drove out of Jakarta, he couldn’t help but be struck by the difference between the center of Jakarta and the luxury they’d just experienced, and the fringes of the city. Open canals were choked with garbage and human waste. Many of the people walking by were barefoot, albeit cheerful.

They reached the marina at the edge of Jakarta just as the ferry sidled up to the jetty. Steve, Peggy and their production team were already waiting. A glance at Clint’s review mirror showed Gamora, Nebula, Jane, Darcy and their production teams would also arrive in time to catch this first ferry.

The teams and the crew fit on the ferry without difficulty. Natasha winked at him, before heading over to pump Darcy and Jane for information.

Clint looked at the scenery instead; Natasha could perform subtle interrogations better without him by her side. The sun had fully risen and the ocean was a glittering blue, steadily becoming cleaner as Jakarta faded to a smudge on the horizon behind them. Small islands cluttered the sea along their way, but it was only ninety minutes before they arrived at Pramuka Island, their destination. It was big enough to hold a hotel and a series of beaches, with greenery in the center.

The production staff hadn’t even attempted to hide the clue box. It sat in open view at the jetty. Gamora and Nebula were the first team to the box, their agility meaning they escaped the crush faster than the other teams. Clint and Natasha were next.

Natasha scanned the clue, needing only a few seconds before she looked up again.

“It’s a choice between frying an egg on our heads and putting Javanese bridal makeup on each other,” she told Clint.

“The egg thing,” Clint said.

“Definitely,” Natasha agreed.

The egg thing seemed faster, and the bridal makeup would be too weird after their night together.

Nebula and Gamora also elected to do the egg thing, to neither his nor Natasha’s surprise.

“Probably pyromaniacs,” Natasha signed to him.

Maria gave a disapproving cough at the use of sign language and Natasha stuck her tongue out at her.

The other teams trooped to the hotel to do the bridal makeup challenge, while Clint, Natasha, Gamora and Nebula stayed on the beach with the three locals that were there to instruct them. The locals were draped in brightly patterned traditional clothing, unlike the t-shirts and jeans their fellows had worn in Jakarta.

“Sit still,” the oldest of the men told the contestants.

That was easier than assembling the angklung, Clint thought. He obediently kept his head and body still as they placed half a coconut on his head and set the liquid inside on fire.

The sensation of having an egg fried in a coconut balanced on his head was odd, but less painful than Clint expected. Across from him, Natasha looked as serene as if she were mediating. She locked eyes with him, and a half smile bloomed on her lips. He grinned back.

Gamora and Nebula’s eggs finished about ten seconds before Clint’s and Natasha’s. The men whisked the coconuts from the contestant’s head and squirted red sauce on them.

“We have to eat them before they’ll give us the clue,” Natasha explained.

Clint shrugged. Eating the eggs with chili sauce meant that he and Natasha didn’t have to buy lunch with their dwindling Race money, and he’d eaten a lot more suspect things in his time.

Gamora and Nebula began eating without a pause. Clint suspected they were in the same boat as he regarding suspect food.

Clint took the first bite, and his eyes began to water. The red sauce was obviously made from potent chilli. Across from him, Natasha seemed unaffected by the spice. Clint managed to choke the rest down as his eyes overflowed from the effects of the chilli.

Clint finished his meal a few beats behind the three women. The older man gave the clue to Gamora, and then to Natasha.

Natasha ripped it open while Clint kept his eyes on the sisters. They took one look at their clue and started to run.

“It’s less than a kilometer away, down the beach,” Natasha told him.

Clint shot to his feet, grabbed his bag, and followed the sisters, Natasha running beside him.

Once again it was a competition with Gamora and Nebula for first place. This time it meant running over a beautiful resort beach as sand sucked at their feet.

Natasha fell a few steps behind Clint, but it didn’t matter. Nebula and Gamora had a head start, and this time they didn’t suffer from any penalties.

Clint and Natasha had to watch as the sisters reached the Pit Stop, a mere ten feet in front of them.

“Gamora and Nebula, congratulations,” Fury boomed. “You’ve come in first in the second leg of the Amazing Race. You’ve won an all expenses paid trip to Las Vegas courtesy of Travelocity.”

“At least our prize was better,” Clint murmured to Natasha.

She gave him an amused smirk, eyes sparkling, and then stepped on the platform. He followed.

“Clint and Natalie, you’re the second team to arrive. Congratulations.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Natasha said.

Clint sighed in relief and took out his hearing aids. He could see Darcy and Jane run down the beach, colorful makeup splashed across their faces. Peggy and Steve, their makeup much more precise, were looking to overtake. Competition for first place in the third leg would be tight.

Chapter Text

The third leg of the race also took place in Indonesia, on three different islands. Clint managed to pick up a collection of bruises to match Natasha’s in a surfing Roadblock, and Natasha did her level best to kiss them better. Sam and Riley came in first; Clint and Natasha came in third.

***

The fourth leg was in Seoul, South Korea. Clint insisted on shifting more weight to his bag and promptly sprained his ankle. Clint and Natasha came in fourth. Thor and Loki were eliminated.

***

The fifth leg took place in Beijing. Nebula and Gamora U-Turned Clint and Natasha and came in first. Clint and Natasha came in second-last, just ahead of Jane and Darcy.

***

During the sixth leg in Shanghai, Clint and Natasha managed to take third place. Steve and Peggy came in last, but it was a non-elimination leg, confirming Natasha’s suspicion that the non-elimination legs were non-random.

***

The seventh leg took place in Prague, with Natasha’s Czech and Russian skills propelling her and Clint into second place, just behind Riley and Sam. By this point in the race everyone was used to running on little food and less sleep. Clint dozed on Natasha’s lap at the airport while they waited for their plane to the eighth leg.

***

The eighth leg was in Nice, France. Clint and Natasha overtook Riley and Sam during a challenge where Clint ate a kilogram of pastries. Due to the slowest taxi driver in the world, Gamora and Nebula overtook them at the last minute to take first place.

***

The ninth leg was in Brussels, Belgium. They got pleasantly drunk during a beer challenge that involved matching each beer with its proper glass. Clint had to drag an enraptured Natasha out of a medieval castle. They came in third.

***

Four teams remained by the time they reached Ireland for the tenth leg: Clint and Natasha, Gamora and Nebula, Steve and Peggy and Sam and Riley.

Chapter Text

“The clue for the Roadblock is dance,” Clint said. “Want to take it, or should I?”

“I’ll take it,” Natasha replied.

Clint hid his relief; he had already humiliated himself enough times over the course of the show. Natasha’s lips quirked, and he could tell she had guessed his thoughts.

They stood outside the Gaiety Theatre in Dublin. The exterior was covered in elegant colonnades. They walked inside to find the interior was a garish combination of red velvet and wood gilded gold.

Sure enough, Maria informed them that one teammate had to complete thirty seconds of Irish dance to the instructor’s criteria. Natasha was whisked away to a practice room, leaving Clint, Maria and Jemma to wait in the luxurious theatre seats. Peggy and her production crew were already there.

“You made Steve dance?” Clint asked Peggy, amused.

“He’s a better performer than you’d think,” she answered. “What about Natalie? Is she a good dancer?”

Clint opened his mouth to reply, before he realized he didn’t know the answer.

Peggy saw his hesitation.

“Take her dancing when you get back,” she ordered. “I bet she’d like it.”

Unsure if she was giving him genuine advice or just trying to get into his head, Clint gave her a non-committal nod.

They waited in silence, with the cameras switched off to preserve their batteries. Clint casually turned up his hearing aids so he could listen to the crew members’ conversations. Next to him, Peggy was pretending to read a travel book, but as she hadn’t flipped the page in several minutes, he guessed she was doing the same.

“I can’t wait until this is over. Skype isn’t enough, you know?” One of Peggy’s camera crew was saying.

“Hmmm,” said Maria. “I’d prefer to be here until the end and collect my bonus.”

“I’m just glad we got a good team,” Jemma put in. “Remember those Survivor people? They were dreadful.”

Gamora stalked in, and the cameras switched back on. Clint felt a brief moment of disappointment at not learning anything useful.

“It is foolish to make us dance,” Gamora said with a sneer, directing her pronouncement to the entire room. “This is supposed to be a race, not a talent competition.”

Peggy looked at Gamora in disbelief, a feeling that Clint shared. They had been asked to do much weirder things over the course of the race.

“It’s better than the chicken feet,” Clint pointed out.

“I would prefer a hundred chicken feet to this pageantry,” Gamora spat.

She sat down and crossed her legs, her body language speaking to her frustration. Her right hand seemed to be reaching for a non-existent gun. Clint wondered about the sisters’ background, not for the first time.

The theatre lights brightened and Clint’s attention moved to the stage. Music began to play and Natasha walked to the center, her tap shoes clopping on the wood. He muffled his laughter with one hand. It was hard to hide his amusement: she had been given a curled wig, heavy makeup and a dress with fussy embroidery.

“That was quick,” Peggy muttered.

Clint felt a flash of pride. Natasha had obviously mastered the dance steps faster than Steve. And as ridiculous as her outfit was, she wore it well.

The music playing was the definition of jaunty, and Natasha looked exactly like the Irish dancers he had seen on TV, a rigid upper body combined with fast footwork. The thirty seconds were over too soon, and Clint rose to his feet as he applauded.

“That was spectacular, Nat,” he called.

She tilted her head in acknowledgment in his direction, and then hurried from the stage. Clint glanced back at Gamora who was smiling, eyes alight. Her smile turned into a glare when she saw him looking.

Clint, Maria and Jemma were settled in the car by the time Natasha had changed and come outside, already opened clue in her hands.

“The Detour is a choice between cooking pub food and learning basic Gaelic,” she said, throwing herself into the backseat.

Clint would prefer to cook (and eat) the pub food, but without even looking at Natasha he knew which one she’d prefer.

“Direct me to the Gaelic one,” he told her.

She reached forward to briefly brush his hand in an unspoken thank you.

***

The Gaelic challenge hardly deserved to be called a challenge, Natasha thought. All both of them had to do was say “Hi, how are you?” and “fine,” in understandable Irish Gaelic.

Clint and Natasha stood on a soccer pitch; in the middle of a stadium where something called the Gaelic games were played. The empty seats around them were eerie, but Natasha ignored them in favor of focusing on her task.

“Dia duit conas atá tú” Natasha said. Hello, how are you.

She winced a little at her slight hesitation on the unfamiliar syllables. But her words passed muster: the woman instructing them, a bespectacled blonde, nodded supportively.

Clint spat out a couple of garbled syllables in response. Fine.

The woman frowned, but eventually nodded. They were halfway there. Now all Clint had to do was mimic Natasha.

“Dia duit. Oh, fuck,” Clint said.

The instructor laughed, her voice musical and rich.

“That’s definitely Irish, but the assignment is to speak in Irish Gaelic,” she said.

“C’mon Clint,” Natasha said, smiling at the instructor’s joke.

“And make it safe for primetime,” Maria added.

There was no bite to Maria’s words. She was used to Clint by now.

“Repeat after me: Dia duit conas atá tú” the instructor said, speaking slowly and clearly.

“Dia duit conas atá tú,” Clint spoke haltingly.

“Good enough,” the instructor said, before turning to Natasha.

“Togha,” Natasha said. Fine

“Nice job.” The instructor handed Clint the clue, a flirtatious grin on her face.

Natasha felt her expression freeze into a scowl, but turned it into a smirk when Clint ignored the woman for the sake of opening the clue.

“The Pit Stop is a forty minute drive,” Clint told her.

They raced to the car just as Peggy and Steve were pulling up. Steve gave them a wave and Natasha returned it. They weren’t pretending to be allies, but they could at least be friendly.

Finding the final location of the leg, the Pit Stop, a set of Irish cottages, was much more challenging than the Irish Gaelic challenge. Natasha drove, following Clint’s less-than-confident directions.

“Does Ireland have anything but green rolling hills?” Clint asked, as he poured over the map for the fifth time.

Natasha had to admit that Clint had a point. The vista of grass-covered hills that lay in front of her was only marred by a nearby stone fence.

“Pull over,” he said, finally. “I think we’re lost.”

Natasha pulled over as far as she could on the narrow road, hoping that no one would run into them while they sorted out where they were. Clint got out of the car as well, and they spread the map over the bonnet.

Clint traced out a path on the map with blunt fingers.

“I think this is the way we’ve gone.” He traced out another path. “And this was the way we were supposed to take.”

The roads in the area were a spindly mess. Natasha didn’t blame Clint for messing up the directions.

“What if we went through here?” Clint asked.

Behind them Jemma tensed, a dead giveaway that Clint’s proposed path was a bad idea. Clint and Natasha shared a brief look of amusement, before returning to the map.

“No, here,” Natasha said, offering a path of her own. “We’d have to walk over a paddock to get to the Pit Stop, but it would get us there at least twenty minutes faster.”

“Sounds good to me,” Clint said.

They followed the path Natasha had set out, their only obstacle a herd of sheep that passed by achingly slowly. Eventually they pulled up to the vibrantly green paddock, Natasha carefully parking on the side of the road. They could see the Pit Stop and Fury a mere hundred meters away, no fence between them. Their gamble had paid off.

Clint started to run towards the Pit Stop, then swore as his feet sunk into ground. Natasha revised her earlier assessment of their luck. What had seemed like grass from further away was actually moss, covering water and mud.

Natasha picked up a stick from the side of the road and threw it to Clint.

“Test the depth before you step,” she said. “I’ll follow you.”

Clint nodded, and Natasha stepped into the swampy ground, wincing as her battered tennis shoes squelched in the muck.

By this time Fury was turned in their direction, and was watching them with an inscrutable expression on his face. Natasha couldn’t quite place why, but she thought that she and Clint were his favorites. She hoped his lack of alarm meant they weren’t about to be eliminated.

Clint navigated across the muck, and Natasha followed. The mud and water never got more than knee deep, but it was a sticky mess. Bugs flew around her face while Natasha swatted them away irritably. Clint definitely owed her first shower when this was over. And a massage, she decided.

They made their way to the Pit Stop without any sign of the other teams. Natasha made a face as they tracked mud over the platform.

“Clint and Natalie,” Fury started.

Natasha leaned forward, eager to hear their ranking. Fury took a breath and paused, presumably giving the editors enough time to create a cliffhanger over the ad break.

She could see sweat run down Clint’s face as he tried to appear calm. Her own body was tensed as she tried to push down nervousness.

“You are the third team to complete the tenth leg of the Amazing Race,” Fury said.

Natasha relaxed her tense muscles. They were through.

Clint gave Fury a confident smile, as if he had been expecting that result all along.

“Over night, you and the other three teams will be staying at a traditional Irish cottage,” Fury told them.

“Other three teams? So this is a non-elimination round?” Clint asked, a slight whine in his voice.

“That’s correct,” Fury said.

Clint clenched and unclenched his hands ineffectively as he looked at the swamp they had just crossed.

“Let’s get dried off,” Natasha said, pulling him away from the Pit Stop.

They were stuck in the second smallest cottage, a grey stone building that held a tiny bathroom and one twenty-foot by fifteen-foot room that served as a bedroom, living room and kitchen.

Clint set down his hearing aids on the rickety piece of wood that served as a bedside table.

“I can’t believe there isn’t a television,” he said, surprised.

“I’m sure we can think of something to do,” Natasha signed, as she sashayed towards him.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but we have five hours until we’re leaving. We should probably just shower and sleep,” Clint said.

Natasha pouted, but she could understand his reasoning. The dirt caking her lower legs was already starting to itch.

He stepped towards her and ran a thumb down her arm, pausing just before her wrist to rub the area of skin that he knew by now made her weak at the knees.

“When we get back, we’ll spend a weekend in bed together,” Clint promised.

He withdrew his hand and froze, face stricken.

“I mean, if that’s what you want,” he added.

Affection built in her chest at his lack of presumption. At times like this she wished she could tell him everything, and risk his disgust.

Clint was waiting for her answer, worry in his eyes.

“Sign me up,” Natasha signed with a grin. “And you owe me a massage after we win for giving me bad directions.”

They’d have endless hours to talk once the race was over, she told herself.

“The paddock was your idea,” he reminded her.

“We don’t have time to fuss over little details,” she signed.

Then she kissed him senseless, time limitations be damned.

Chapter Text

Natasha woke up to the tinny sound of her watch alarm. Her body had picked up aches and pains over the course of the race, and was demanding she sleep an extra few hours, time she didn’t have.

She opened her eyes to look at Clint. The sun peeping between the bottom of the cottage’s shutters and window ledge threw light on his slumbering form. He was breathing heavily, an untroubled smile on his face as he slept, which didn’t surprise Natasha. The man could sleep through a hurricane, a little morning light was nothing.

“Wake up,” she said, touching his arm.

“Don’t wanna get up,” Clint mumbled, throwing an arm around her.

Natasha rolled her eyes and made an attempt to roll out of bed. She was foiled when Clint pulled her closer to him.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he said, pushing her hair out of the way to kiss her neck.

“Love you,” she replied, without thinking.

Her gut clenched, and she covered her mouth in horror. Why had she said something so foolish?

She turned to see Clint reaching for his hearing aids.

“What was that?” he asked, oblivious.

“Morning,” she replied.

He looked as disoriented and heavy-eyed as he usually did in the morning, which meant he definitely hadn’t heard her declaration. She hid her relief by pulling him towards her for a kiss.

They got dressed in seconds. Natasha threw Clint a water bottle. He was so used to the routine that he didn’t even have to look at her to catch it.

Maria and Jemma were waiting for them outside, with their first clue envelope of the leg. Maria was also holding a cup of coffee, which Clint stared at longingly.

Natasha skimmed the words of the clue, and then reread them again, just to make sure.

When she looked up, Maria was giving Clint an evil smirk as she threw away her empty cup of coffee. An audible whine rose from the back of Clint’s throat.

“Clint,” she said, ripping his attention away from the empty coffee cup. “We’re flying to London. First stop is St. Paul’s Cathedral.”

She had never been to London in her life, but in her mind’s eye it was massive, chaotic and thrilling.

“London?” Clint said. “We need to be smart about transport. That place is a mess.”

---

True to Clint’s predictions, getting from Heathrow airport to St. Paul’s station took longer than the seventy-five minute flight between Dublin and London.

They emerged from the underground, blinking at the light. When Natasha’s eyes cleared she grinned. Looming over the area was a huge white building. There’d be no getting lost on the way to the first challenge.

She and Clint jogged towards the cathedral, their production crew of Maria and Jemma following closely behind. Natasha craned her neck, taking in the dome, the clock on one of the towers and the cathedral’s colonnades.

There were only two more legs left to the race, and that thought had her aches disappearing. Two legs left until she would be half a million dollars richer.

A grey-haired man in white choir robes waited for them at the cathedral entrance, three wide wooden doors. He held a red and yellow clue in his hand. The envelope seemed garishly modern in contrast with his robes.

“Welcome to St. Paul’s,” he said, beaming.

He looked like a kind grandfather in a television commercial. Natasha instinctively distrusted him.

“The gentlemen’s and boys’ choir has performed at the site for almost a full millennium, and we’re pleased to perform for you today,” the man continued.

Clint whistled, impressed.

Natasha hid disbelief behind an insincere smile.

“How fascinating,” she said.

Jemma moved the camera for a better angle on the man as he continued talking.

Natasha could see Maria begin to study her intently, and ratcheted her smile up a notch in response. It wouldn’t do to seem distrustful of a kindly old man on national television.

“Of course, the Cathedral has been rebuilt multiple times, most memorably after the Great Fire of London during 1666.”

Music began to play, a church organ by the sounds of it. Natasha stiffened as she recognized the melody, and sweat inexplicably appeared at her brow.

The man in the robes offered the clue to Clint, who took it. As he began to read, male voices joined in with the organ.

“Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a foretaste of glory divine!”

Natasha closed her eyes as she tried to shut out the memories of her childhood. She hadn’t realized this was such a popular tune.

“Great, a Roadblock. Once of us has to sing three songs,” Clint told her cheerfully.

“Heir of salvation, purchase of God,” the hymn continued.

The choir was quite good, Natasha noted absently. Her attention was focused on her sudden inability to breathe.

“Born of his Spirit, washed in his blood,” the hymn droned on.

“Natasha?” Clint asked, as he stepped towards her. “Are you okay?”

Natasha opened her mouth to say she was fine, really, but no sound came out.

Clint put a hand against her forehead, and Natasha flinched. Clint drew his hand back, confusion furrowing his brow.

“You take the Roadblock,” Natasha managed, as her breathing went from paused into overdrive. “I need to sit down.”

Clint glanced at Maria, obviously undecided as to his next step. Maria watched them both, not offering any comment.

“The Roadblock, Clint,” Natasha repeated.

She lowered herself haphazardly onto the steps of the cathedral, limbs trembling. What was wrong? She’d been afraid before, but not like this. And there was nothing here to be afraid of.

“Okay, I’ll be back soon,” Clint promised.

He moved to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but stopped himself at the last minute.

Clint disappeared inside the cathedral, with Maria and Jemma on his heels.

“Would you like some water?” the old man in the choir robes asked Natasha. “It’s terribly hot today.”

Some part of Natasha absently noted it couldn’t be more than ninety degrees Fahrenheit. The rest of her was concerned with appearing normal.

“No. I’m fine,” Natasha answered.

The old man was distracted by the arrival of Sam, Riley and their production team.

Natasha struggled to slow her breathing, feeling insignificant next to the massive cathedral.

The choir was still singing, and the older man was giving his spiel to Sam and Riley.

“Welcome to St. Paul’s. The gentlemen’s and boys’ choir has performed at the site for almost a full millennium, and we’re pleased to perform for you today.”

Sam and Riley conferred, and Riley volunteered to do the Roadblock. To her surprise Sam didn’t follow him into the cathedral.

“Hey,” Sam said, sitting next to her. “How’s it going?” he asked, voice carefully casual.

“Fine,” she said, chest heaving and heart pounding.

“Okay,” Sam said, voice easy. “Did I ever tell you about how I met Riley?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Natasha replied, more harshly than she intended.

“I’m not. I’m just staying as far away as possible from Riley’s singing,” he joked.

He told her about a karaoke night and bar fight, a story that had to be at least partly fictional. She focused on his words regardless; her pulse continued to race and her lungs ached. She felt like her brain had been lowered into static.

Then, many minutes later, Clint’s voice broke through the haze.

“Nat? The next stop is the Brick Lane Market. Nat?”

Natasha got up, legs unsteady.

“I can’t wait,” she said.

She could tell he was worried, but was unwilling to ask her more in front of the cameras. She ignored his searching gaze, not willing to deal with him or the confusing mass of feelings she found herself mired in. Just two more legs, and she could stop pretending to be Natalie Rushman.

***

Clint stole a glance at Natasha as they jogged down the street towards the seething mass of people that was Brick Lane Market. His partner was still pale, her movements jerky and her smile forced.

Clint fought down the urge to suggest they rest: he knew she’d be furious with him for even suggesting such a thing. Instead, they plunged into the crowd, looking for the clue box with the distinctive red and yellow of the Amazing Race.

Even Clint’s eyes found it difficult to cope with the riot of color as they walked the market. Shiny vegetables were displayed next to bright clothing, used books next to homemade jewelry. With every stall they passed, Natasha seemed to come further to life, her eyes regaining her sparkle, her movements becoming more fluid. Clint moved a couple steps back so she could absorb the sights and sounds of the markets better.

They passed a man coated in silver paint pretending to be a statue and a man juggling three flaming batons. Clint’s hands itched, as he battled the temptation to show the man how it could be done with five.

Ahead of him, Natasha negotiated with a stall owner for churros and chocolate sauce. The sticky sweet smell sent his stomach rumbling, and he gratefully accepted the churro from Natasha, the hot pastry burning his mouth.

They kept moving and searching for the clue box, eating as they went. Clint finished his churro in a few bites, knowing that might be the last food he and Natasha got until this leg was over.

They were almost to the end of the race, and while Clint wasn’t a competitive guy by nature, the thought of winning with Natasha was intoxicating. He redoubled his efforts to move quickly through the crowd.

Natasha, nimbly moving forward, craned her neck as she looked for the Amazing Race clue box. Clint judged his moment. When she wasn’t looking he pulled off half of her churro, and stuck it in his mouth before she could steal it back.

She turned around, her eyes round with shock. Clint allowed himself a smug grin at her surprise.

“Revenge for the cookie,” he told her.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow and crossed her arms, lips pursed and eyes shadowed.

Clint winced. Maybe stealing the churro hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

“The second time we met.” His eyes darted to Maria as he frantically remembered their cover as a long-term couple. “The second time we went to our café. You stole my cookie.”

Natasha began to laugh, and for a brief moment color returned to her cheeks. Clint grinned in return, glad his efforts to cheer her up had been successful.

They continued down the aisle, forced to move with the frustratingly low pace of the crowd. Maria and Jemma, burdened by the camera, were gradually left behind.

Natasha tugged on Clint’s sleeve and pointed. The familiar red and yellow striped clue box waited for them. Clint let out a cry of victory, and they began to move towards it, intent on the race once more.

From the other side of the aisle Clint could see Steve, head and shoulders above most of the crowd, push towards the clue box with Peggy following him. Clint didn’t know how the man managed to push politely, but he did it.

Lacking Steve’s bulk, Natasha and Clint dodged their way through the crowd. Steve and Peggy got to the box first and were reading the clue by the time Natasha and Clint reached it.

“Juggling, definitely juggling,” Steve was saying to a dubious Peggy.

Clint had to read his lips over the buzz of the crowd.

Natasha ripped open the clue envelope, intensely focused in a way Clint found both terrifying and arousing. He couldn’t wait until the race was over, and he didn’t have to worry about Maria, Jemma and their camera hovering nearby.

“The choice is between juggling and selling clothes,” Natasha told Clint. “You want to juggle?”

Clint knew Natasha would be very good at selling clothes, and probably enjoy it more, which meant she had chose juggling for him.

“Let’s do it,” Clint said, briefly brushing her hand in thanks, his body blocking the movement from the cameras. “Where’s the stall?”

“Remember the juggler we passed?” Natasha said.

“Back the way we came?” he asked with a groan.

“Yep,” she replied.

“Great,” he answered.

“Stop complaining. At least this way we can get more churros,” Natasha said.

Clint forged ahead, trying not to trample any of the small children that seemed determined to escape from their parents’ supervision. He was so intent on moving quickly through the crowd that it took him a long moment to react when Natasha screamed behind him.

Clint turned to see two men pulling her towards a side alley, one with a bleeding hand that he was desperately trying to put over Natasha’s mouth, one pulling off her backpack and throwing it between Clint and himself.

One of his enemies had finally found him, and they were using Natasha to make their displeasure clear. Anger turned his vision red. He started towards the men, pushing aside a random passerby who was too slow to get out of his way.

One of the men let go of Natasha and turned to face Clint. He wasn't prepared for Clint's flying tackle.

Clint grunted in surprise when his opponent went down without a fight. He punched the man in the face with two quick jabs, to keep him down. The other man was stalled in place, fighting to keep hold of Natasha, who stepped on his foot hard enough that Clint could hear bone break.

The reactions of the men shook Clint out of his rage. These men weren’t trained fighters. There was no way in hell any of Clint’s enemies would think they could take him, even as rusty as he was. That meant they were here for Natasha.

Chapter Text

There was no time to wonder who these men were to Natasha; protecting her came first. With a quick movement, Clint pushed back the man who was still upright and pulled Natasha behind him.

“Whore,” the man spat at Natasha, his bearded face contorted in rage.

Clint glanced back at Natasha to see her reaction. She was back to being pale and closed off, a shadow of her usual self.

“Nat, what’s going on?” Clint asked.

She trembled slightly, before clenching her jaw and straightening her back. Clint knew Natasha well enough to see that she was putting a brave facade over terror.

Maria and Jemma finally arrived as the crowd drew back to form a curious circle around the combatants. Clint was gratified to see Maria kick the first man in the ribs when he tried to get up. Blood oozed from his mouth where Clint had hit him earlier.

“Nat?” Clint asked, reaching for her.

She stepped back, avoiding his touch.

“Clint, this is my ex-husband,” Natasha said, gesturing at the man who had insulted her. “Mark, this is my fiancé,” Natasha told the man.

Fiancé? She’d called him her fiancé? Clint grinned, before remembering the seriousness of the situation. His grin turned into a scowl as he assessed Mark.

The man in front of him was in his mid-sixties at least, unkempt with ill-fitting clothes, his eyes holding nothing but sluggish malice. There was no earthly reason for a woman like Natasha to marry him.

“There’s no ex about it, Natalie. You’re my wife, you adulterous slut,” he said, starting towards her.

Clint raised an eyebrow at Mark. He stepped back with an audible gulp, and resorted to giving Clint a poisonous glare. So her ex-husband didn’t know her real name, which left Clint even more confused. He could understand if she’d changed it to get away from him. None of this made sense.

“No, Mark. I’ve done some reading since I left. We were never in a legally recognized marriage, thus no need for a divorce,” Natasha told him.

Clint shifted so he could easily intercept Mark if he leapt at Natasha again. As he did, he could see Steve and Peggy push through the crowd. They were assessing the attackers, concluding they weren’t threats almost simultaneously.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked Natasha, ignoring Mark and his accomplice.

“Just a kidnapping attempt,” Natasha said, her blithe tone belied by the tight way she held herself.

“Has anyone called the police?” Peggy eyed the men with disdain.

“I did,” Jemma piped up, still holding the camera focused on the scene.

“Good thinking,” Peggy said, brusque and professional.

Jemma beamed, not seeming to notice that Peggy was cutting off the view of her camera, as Steve did the same for his production crew.

Mark’s accomplice tried to make a run for it. Maria stuck out her foot and he tripped, ending up prostrate on the ground.

“Don’t move,” she told him firmly.

Clint turned to Natasha, who was ignoring the crowd, ignoring the phone cameras pointed towards them. She was looking at the ground, only a slight tremor to her legs to show she was still present.

“Nat,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

Natasha looked up at him, her arms crossed defensively before her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“What’s this then?” a high voice asked.

The crowd pulled back to reveal two more people, a man and a woman dressed in police uniforms. Gawkers took photos on their phones, and Steve and Peggy’s production crew had shifted past Steve for a clear shot. There was no way to prevent this from ending up on national television.

“Is this the Amazing Race?” asked the male officer, an excited mass of freckles and red hair.

Maria stepped forward.

“I’m Maria Hill, producer for the Amazing Race. One of our contestants was just attacked by these people,” she said, gesturing at the would-be kidnappers kneeling on the ground.

“She’s my wife,” Mark protested. “I can do what I want to her.”

The officers exchanged disgusted looks.

“Alright, we’re arresting you two,” the woman, heavily muscled and scowling, said.

“The rest of you need to stick around for questioning. And we need to take the phones that recorded the incident,” the redheaded male police officer added.

Peggy was pulling Steve back into the crowd; they had a race to finish. Other members of the crowd started dispersing; the gawkers who had been taking photos were the quickest to leave, not willing to give their phones into police custody.

The police officers zip-tied Mark’s hands behind his back without ceremony.

“You have to read me my rights,” he protested.

“This is England, mate. That happens at the station,” the woman informed him.

Clint wanted to feel satisfaction at Mark’s predicament, but instead he just felt empty. Too much had happened, and he didn’t have any energy left with which to feel.

Jemma stepped forward with the camera to get a close-up of Mark as he was walked away. The female police officer moved between them.

“Turn that thing off,” she ordered.

Maria nodded at Jemma, who reluctantly powered down the camera.

Clint looked from Natasha, defensive and closed in, to Mark, arrogant and vicious even in zip-ties, and the penny dropped.

“You’re the guy who gave her those scars,” Clint exclaimed.

He started towards Mark, calculating how many bones he could break in the next few seconds, but Maria moved to intercept him before he could lay his hands on the man.

“Not here, not in front of the police,” Maria told him, quietly.

***

Maria had taken them all to a hotel and paid for rooms. Natasha sat in one of the plush chairs in the hotel dining room, numb. Clint had disappeared as soon as they’d arrived.

A kindly woman set a cup of tea beside her.

“I’m Detective Constable Robbins,” the woman said.

“Natalie Rushman,” Natasha answered, sipping at the tea that Robbins offered, deliberately keeping her face blank and unreadable.

“You’ve had quite a day, Ms. Rushman. I’m afraid I need to question you as a witness,” Robbins said.

“Detective Constable Robbins, I appreciate your honesty, but I want to speak to a lawyer,” she replied.

In Natasha’s experience, the police that pretended to be on your side were the least trustworthy.

She grasped the cup of tea tightly, loosening her grip as she realized she was showing weakness. She wouldn’t be weak, not ever again.

“Dear, you’re not in trouble. You can talk to me,” Robbins assured her, weathered face creased in sympathy.

“I want to speak to a lawyer,” Natasha repeated, firmly.

She wasn’t going to be played for a cup of tea and a sympathetic ear.

Robbins checked her watch with a frown. It was well after business hours.

“Okay, dear, I’ll bring you and your fiancé a lawyer tomorrow morning,” Robbins said, patting her hand.

She got up, and left the room, leaving Natasha to summon up her courage. How was she going to face Clint after today?

She set the teacup down and lightly gripped the bottom of the table, tethering herself to reality. She could survive this, just like she always had before.

She remembered Clint’s look of confusion, how angry he had been. He had come for her, saved her from Mark and Brian. Would he do it again, after he learned the truth?

She took the elevator, clenching and unclenching her abdominal muscles to use up the adrenaline flooding her system. The ding as she reached her floor made her jump, and she walked with deliberate slowness towards their room. Maria and Jemma were on the floor above. Maybe they would let her sleep with them?

All too soon she found herself staring at the door to her hotel room, her keycard clutched in her hand. Clint was on the other side of the door, waiting. Maybe she would get lucky and he would already be asleep.

Natasha opened the door. Clint was sitting on the bed, hearing aids out and watching television, just like she’d seen him do so many times before.

Her fingers itched to run her hands through his hair, to go back in time and tell him how much he meant to her. She thought she would have time.

She closed the door behind her. Clint looked at her, eyes bleak, then back to the television without any other sign he’d seen her.

On the cheap wooden bedside table next to Clint was an envelope addressed to both of them. It was a standard manila envelope, bizarre after weeks of opening red and yellow clues branded with the Amazing Race brand.

It was already opened, and Natasha pulled out a crinkled piece of paper and read.

Sorry about the race. You were my favorite team.

Best,
Maria

P.S. The money counts as taxable income, so don’t spend it all.

Two checks fell out of the envelope, and floated towards the floor. Each was for four thousand dollars, one addressed to Natalie Rushman, and the other addressed to Clint.

“Four thousand bucks doesn’t seem fair,” Clint said, still watching the television.

She started to sign a response, but he was determinedly not looking at her. Natasha sat next to him, noticing that he pulled away from her slightly as she did.

And suddenly Natasha began to cry, harsh loud sobs that echoed in the silent room. She hadn’t been willing to admit it to herself, but the race was over, and there was nothing she could do about it. Some other team would be going home with the million. Mark had taken her dreams from her yet again.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay,” Clint said, putting his arm around her shoulder.

She leaned into him gratefully, not even caring that his embrace was more awkward than comforting.

She looked up at him, noticing that he had put his hearing aids back in. He was looking back at her with suspicion in his eyes. She hadn’t realized how much that would hurt.

“Tell me the truth, Tasha,” Clint said.

She had never told anyone the whole truth before. Clint was her best friend in the world, a fact that said more about how empty her life had become than about their relationship. If she had to tell anyone first, it should be him.

Natasha closed her eyes, not willing to examine him for signs of judgment.

“I was born Natasha Romanoff, in St. Petersburg, Russia. When I was five I was orphaned, and a couple in the United States adopted me. They belonged to a church that believed in spreading their message of love to the unfortunate, including heathen foreigners. They christened me Natalie.”

“Oh,” Clint said, puzzled.

“It was the standard cult. A supreme leader and a church service every day. They encouraged the girls to drop out of high school and get married after tenth grade,” she explained.

“So you ran away,” he said, hoping to encourage her to continue.

She let out a bitter laugh, and wrapped her arms around her torso, as if to protect herself from her own words.

“No, that’s the worst part. I was perfect, the little girl that all the mothers told their little girls to imitate. I married my husband when I was fifteen, and I was happy to be his second wife. He was fifty-five.”

“Jesus,” Clint swore.

She kept her eyes closed as the words continued to pour out.

“We were married for three years, long enough that everyone thought I was infertile. I went from being a golden girl to being useless, pitied. Mark started to whip me, and my adoptive parents told me it was my fault. ”

She shuddered, pushing down the memories.

“Let me get you a glass of water, or tissues,” Clint said, as he began to move away.

“Please. Stay,” Natasha begged.

He did, both of his arms around her now. She opened her eyes, and read his expression. She saw sympathy there, not disgust or condemnation as she had feared. She leaned into him, inhaling his scent.

“But you left,” Clint said, prompting her to continue.

“I left. One of the nurses helped me after the second time my back was infected enough to put me in the hospital. She was new, or she would have looked the other way.”

She exhaled, relieved. Now that someone knew her story she felt as if an invisible burden had been lifted off her chest.

“Okay,” Clint said. “But why did you go on the Race? You practically painted them a sign to your location.”

Exhaustion made her eyes heavy, the emotional ups and downs of the day leaving her spent, but she owed Clint an answer, especially considering she had put him in danger.

“Because if they kidnap me now, it’s a news story,” she answered.

“That didn’t exactly stop them today,” Clint pointed out.

Natasha winced. She’d thought she would get at least a five-year grace period from being on the show. She hadn’t realized that the cult would spend so much of their resources trying to get her back.

“Even if they kidnap me, and turn me into a drone again, this will always exist. There will always be video evidence of me travelling the world. They can’t take that away,” Natasha said, voice soft.

Surely Clint could understand that?

“Why me?” Clint asked. “Why go on the race with me?”

Because he had military skills, and she had thought her ex-husband wouldn’t be so foolish as to go after him. Because from the moment she’d seen him in that café he’d respected her, and had her back.

“You were a good choice,” Natasha said, not realizing how defensive and cold she sounded until the words left her mouth.

Clint pulled away from her abruptly and walked towards the door. A perceptible coldness radiated from him, one that Natasha had never experienced before.

The door shut behind him. Natasha stared after him in shock, fighting down the urge to burst into tears again. She wasn’t going to cry over him.

She crawled under the cool sheets, alone, tears drying on her face.

Chapter Text

Clint stormed down the hotel hallway, breathing heavily.

He felt used, again, just like when he was a performer, a soldier and a contractor. He touched the hearing aids, their hard plastic a reminder of what he had lost. No doubt she was planning to throw him away after he was no longer useful to her, just like everyone else had.

Memories of Natasha assaulted his senses. He remembered the sound of her laughter, the softness of her skin and the way she tasted. He remembered her concentration as she switched languages and her fierce competitiveness. He really thought that she’d cared about him.

He shook away thoughts of Natasha, and pressed the down button for the elevator, much harder than was necessary. Then memories he thought he’d buried assailed him: the thud of his father’s fists hitting his mother’s body, whimpering as he hid in the cupboard, with Barney covering his mouth so their father wouldn’t turn his attention to them. He remembered the sour smell of alcohol combining with his fear to choke him.

What he remembered most was the feeling of helplessness, of being unable to do anything. He couldn’t go back in time and stop Natasha’s scumbag ex-husband, or stop his own father. All he could do was be here now, in the aftermath.

The elevator dinged open, but Clint had already turned to trudge towards their room, regretting leaving in the first place. Natasha needed him, even if she had used him. He’d stay until she didn’t need him anymore. He owed her that.

When he returned, Natasha had crept under the covers of their bed, eyes closed, but her breathing told him she was still awake. He tiptoed towards the tap, and brought her a glass of water.

He set the glass on the bedside table, ignoring the cheques lying on the ground. They’d need to cash them in the morning so they could afford to stay until the trial, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

Natasha took the water hesitantly.

Clint could feel her eyes on his back as he took an extra blanket from on top of the hotel wardrobe, and laid the white fabric on top of the hotel bed. Her back was to him as he pulled the blanket over himself.

She lay back down, under the comforter and sheets. Neither made a move to hold one another.

“Good night, Clint” she whispered.

Clint could detect a plea for forgiveness hidden in her words. While he felt sympathy for Natasha, he couldn’t forgive her, not yet.

“Good night, Natasha,” he answered, keeping his voice devoid of emotion.

---

Natasha woke up to an insistent knocking on the door. Clint was sleeping soundly next to her, on top of the comforter with only a white blanket covering him. She shifted the blanket so it would cover his feet, careful not to wake him.

Natasha blinked sleep out of her eyes as she walked to the door, no less exhausted as when she had gone to sleep. Constable Robbins was waiting for her on the other side, a woman in a sharp-edged suit in tow.

”Natalie, this is the lawyer you requested,” Robbins said. ”You have her for a one hour consultation.”

Natasha smiled at Robbins and the woman, drawing from the Natalie persona she’d used on the show even when she was tired, smelly and hungry.

Robbins smiled back, and then left with a nod.

“Natalie Rushman,” Natasha said, offering her hand to the lawyer, the picture of politeness.

“Katherine Rees,” the lawyer said, taking her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Moving quickly, Natasha shrugged on her jacket and pulled jeans over her pajama shirt.

She and Rees took the elevator down to the café in the hotel lobby. It was decorated in pastels, and smelt like coffee and sugar. The morning rush had already passed, leaving most of the tables vacant. Natasha felt naked and exposed in the café, where anyone walking through the lobby could see her.

Rees ordered coffee, and Natasha ordered tea. Usually Natasha found tea soothing, but not today. She was on edge, nerves prickly with anxiety.

“Let me explain what’s happened so far,” Rees said, matter of fact.

Natasha nodded, grateful that Rees didn’t expect her to start the conversation.

“I am here to advise you, although you are not on trial or being charged with any crimes. Anything you say falls under the heading of lawyer-client confidentiality,” Rees began.

Natasha nodded, again, to show she understood.

“Constable Robbins told me about the case. It appears they will be charging your two assailants with assault and attempted kidnapping,” Rees told her, upfront. “You and your fiancé won’t be facing charges, as it is clear that you acted in self defense, but you will be called as witnesses.”

The unassuming trickling of the fountain in the lobby served as a surreal counterpoint to her words. Natasha had been taught never to talk about such issues, certainly not outside of whispers.

“So I have to testify?” Natasha asked, restraining the urge to fidget as anxiety bubbled through her chest.

“You will need to give a statement to the police, and probably testify in court,” Rees confirmed. “Now let’s talk honestly. Why did you demand to see a lawyer?”

Rees leaned forward, cool and professional. Natasha thought about answering candidly for a second.

I don’t trust the police. They were always in the pocket of the cult because our votes kept the sheriff in power.

Instead, she opted for protecting herself and Clint.

“Clint isn’t my fiancé. We lied so we could compete on the Amazing Race,” Natasha kept her voice mild as she answered.

Rees nodded thoughtfully, and paused to think before she spoke

“That will hurt your credibility if and when the defense counsel discovers it, but it doesn’t change the facts of the offense committed against you,” she told Natasha.

Natasha steeled herself for the next part.

“My ex-husband abused me in the past. Does that change anything?”

“A history of abuse is relevant to the case, but the court here can’t prosecute him for that. Do you have hospital or police reports to confirm this abuse?” Rees asked.

Natasha shook her head.

“I only went to the hospital twice, and both times I said it was an accident. I just have scars from the rest,” she said.

Rees didn’t even blink in response to Natasha’s words.

“And all of those scars predate your relationship with Mr. Barton?” she asked coolly.

“Yes,” Natasha said.

Natasha’s answer was automatic, before she realized what Rees was asking. She was asking if Clint would physically abuse her. A few days ago Natasha would have said that he would never willingly hurt her, now she realized she wasn’t so sure.

Rees looked at her searchingly for a moment.

“Then in the absence of police reports, you could undergo a medical examination if you chose. The examination, combined with the hospital reports and your testimony, would be viewed as substantial evidence of past abuse.”

As they spent the hour talking Natasha found herself growing calm. The police weren’t on her side, not really, but they wouldn’t take Mark’s side either. He might actually be punished for attacking her. The thought didn’t fill her with satisfaction, but she knew she would feel that little bit safer if he were behind bars.

She was ready to make her statement.

---

Clint woke up at eleven in the morning, as his body caught up on some of the sleep he’d skipped while racing. Natasha was long gone; the imprint her sleeping form had left was cool to his touch. He checked around the room for a note and found nothing, apart from cheap soap and shampoo. He guessed now that her secret was out she didn’t need to pretend she cared about him anymore.

He went to the hotel gym, not bothering to take his hearing aids. The dull repetition of the weights cleared his mind. In her shoes he would have acted the same as Natasha, and found someone to use as protection. In some ways he’d done the same thing in response to his own hellish childhood, joining the US Army because it had promised him safety.

He went back to the hotel room, damp with sweat, a gym towel around his shoulders. His muscles ached, a welcome distraction from the situation he found himself in.

Natasha was waiting in the room, dressed in the least tattered of her Amazing Race outfits. The smile she gave Clint was pure Natalie-in-front-of-the-cameras. Her walls were back up, as if she’d never given him a glimpse of Natasha in the first place.

“Clint, I’m glad you’re back,” Natasha signed.

Clint threw his sweaty towel on the bed, deliberately taking his time. Then, reluctantly, he put in his hearing aids.

“We don’t have time for you to sulk,” Natasha said, as soon as his hearing aids were active.

Clint flinched at her tone, and crossed his arms mulishly. She didn’t get to tell him what to do, not after the way she’d lied to him and used him.

“You need to make a statement to the police. I talked to a lawyer, and she told me our best strategy is to be honest,” she told Clint.

“So no more pretending to be engaged?” Clint asked.

“No more pretending,” Natasha answered, forcefully.

“That’s a relief,” Clint said simply.

It was Natasha’s turn to flinch. Clint felt a flash of regret; he didn’t want to cause her pain.

“Have you given your statement yet?” he asked, softly.

“Yes.” She checked her watch. “The Detective Constable is arriving in fifteen minutes to take yours.”

With that, she turned on her heel and opened the door to leave.

“Natasha, wait,” Clint called after her.

She pretended she didn’t hear him, closing the door after her without a glance backwards.

Clint sat on the bed, holding his head in his hands. How had he managed to screw up this situation so badly? He was supposed to be supporting Natasha, not undermining her.

He showered and dressed, wishing he had something better than the now ragged clothing he had worn on the Race. By the time he left the bathroom in nominally clean clothes Natasha was waiting outside with a woman who gave off a grandmotherly air. Clint guessed the stranger was Detective Constable Robbins.

“I’m so glad you’ve been honest and open with us Natalie,” Robbins was telling Natasha. “These sorts of cases can be difficult to prosecute, and a cooperating witness can make all the difference.”

Robbins turned to Clint.

“Mr. Barton, glad you could join us. I will be recording your statement. Do you give your consent to be recorded?”

“I do,” Clint answered.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Natasha said.

“Oh dear, you can stay, this isn’t an interrogation,” Robbins said, blithely oblivious to the tension in the room.

Natasha sat in one of the room’s chairs, Robbins in the other. Clint stood awkwardly for a moment, before sitting on the bed.

“Yesterday, you were competing in the Amazing Race, at the Brick Lane Market. Can you tell me what happened?”

This was something he knew how to do. Clint recounted the attempted kidnapping clearly and clinically, as if he were making an after action report to a superior officer. He kept his eyes trained on Robbins, searching for any hidden deception or agenda.

“And you had no knowledge of the men beforehand?” Robbins inquired, still friendly.

“No,” Clint answered.

“And while you and Natalie are not truly engaged, you had a romantic relationship?” Robbins probed.

“Yes,” Clint said, glancing briefly at Natasha.

Natasha was looking at the ground, biting her lip as she pushed her emotions back under the surface.

“And to the best of your knowledge Natalie was not in communication with her ex-husband?” Robbins continued.

“No,” Clint answered, looking again at Natasha.

She still wasn’t looking at him, as if he wasn't even there.

“And do the best of your knowledge, Natalie did nothing to provoke the attack?” Robbins asked.

Clint’s focus snapped back to Robbins.

“No, of course not. She didn’t do anything to provoke the attack. And even if she had, it doesn’t justify this. The kidnapping attempt wasn’t her fault. None of this was her fault,” he said, heatedly.

“Of course, Mr. Barton. That’s all for now. I will ask you and Natalie to stay in the country until the trial concludes,” Robbins said.

“Sure,” Clint answered.

“I’ll be your police liaison for the duration. It was nice meeting you both,” Robbins finished, turning off her recorder.

Clint exchanged handshakes and pleasantries on autopilot, Natasha doing the same by his side.

None of this was her fault. His own words echoed in his mind. Some part of him had been blaming Natasha for this, had been too focused on his own hurt pride. Natasha deserved better.

“Thank you,” Natasha told him, quietly, once Robbins had left.

“I meant it, Tash. This isn’t your fault; it’s your ex-husband’s and his crony’s. I hope they go to jail for a long time,” he blurted out.

Natasha was looking at him oddly, and Clint had the feeling he hadn’t said the right thing.

“You’ll be here until the trial ends, right?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he answered.

She threw her arms around him in a fierce hug. He returned the hug, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t hurt her again.

Chapter Text

Natasha watched the defense counsel make her final argument. The woman’s ability to twist the truth was astounding.

“One of my clients was emotionally abused by his wife,” the defense counsel said, flipping her shiny brown hair as she spoke.

Ex-wife Natasha thought firmly.

Mark and Brian were in glass boxes at the back of the room, where the accused were kept in England. She didn’t look back, but she could feel their eyes on her.

“His actions were the result of an unhealthy devotion that she fostered in him. This woman goes through men, bending them to her will,” the defense counsel said, throwing a sneer at Clint.

The jury followed her gaze, all of them seeming to look at Natasha with no small amount of judgment.

Clint squeezed her hand in silent support. She leaned against him, grateful. Having him here and openly supporting her undercut the arguments the defense counsel had made about her being a manipulative abuser.

Both of them had gone shopping once the cheques had cleared, and now looked like a respectable couple, Clint in a navy suit-sans-tie, and Natasha in a floral sundress. Regardless of the outcome of the trial, she wanted to take him out to a fancy London restaurant after, so their clothes wouldn’t go to waste.

“And my other client was equally manipulated by Natalie Rushman, who used her wiles to temporarily turn my clients against each other.”

Natasha reluctantly tuned back into what the defense counsel was saying, while Clint snorted in disbelief.

“My clients are not guilty,” the defense counsel finished, emphatically.

The defense’s closing arguments were the last part of the trial. With that, there was nothing left but for the jury to deliberate.

Natasha examined the jury members as they left. Their eyes were dull and had dark half-circles under them after a three day trial. Her ex-husband’s fate was in the hands of an apathetic few, which seemed fitting: her community hadn’t cared about the abuse she’d suffered at the hands of her husband. That Mark was in the hands of an equally uncaring community made for a twisted kind of justice.

Robbins, on Natasha’s other side, leaned over to talk into her ear.

“They should have pled guilty. Now the judge is going to throw the book at them for wasting everyone’s time,” she whispered.

“I just want this to be over,” Natasha said; her hand still in Clint’s.

Robbins made a sympathetic clucking noise.

The prosecutor, a snub-nosed young man, looked confident, but so did the defense counsel.

Robbins, Clint and Natasha stayed where they were. Clint’s stomach rumbled, but he made no move to leave. Robbins pulled out a bright green yarn and began to knit, the clicking of the needles loud in the silent courtroom. Natasha wished she had brought a book, even as she admitted to herself that she didn’t have the focus to read as she waited.

Thirty minutes later, the jury came back in.

“That was quick,” Robbins said with a smile.

Natasha couldn’t imagine how victims who sat through longer deliberations could stand it. Her nerves were already fried.

The jury forewoman passed a piece of paper to the judge, an imposing woman who had demanded the trial progress at a hectic pace.

“The jury finds Mark Wilson and Brian Handel guilty of attempted kidnapping and assault. I sentence Mark Wilson to a prison sentence of no fewer than four years for the attempted kidnapping and no fewer than three years for the assault. I sentence Brian Handel to a prison sentence of no fewer three years for the attempted kidnapping, and two years for the assault. These sentences are not to be served concurrently,” the judge said, in a monotone that undercut the severity of her words.

The defense counsel shrugged, unsurprised, while the prosecutor looked insufferably smug.

Mark, held in a glass box at the back of the room, started slapping the glass and screaming. Brian, next to him, just looked at his hands, expressionless.

Looking at Mark, reduced to a crying child, made Natasha realize that he had never been her husband at all. He was just a pathetic man who had hurt her in the past. She was a grown woman now, and nothing the cult could do or say would convince her to follow their traditions. Mark was about to be imprisoned, but she was free. She was finally free.

Robbins, next to her, dropped her knitting to give her an enthusiastic hug. Natasha returned the embrace, surprised to find that she was going to miss the older woman.

“I think you’re the best police officer I’ve ever met,” Natasha told the Detective Constable.

“Just doing my job, Natalie,” Robbins said.

Natasha turned to embrace Clint; there was just empty space where he should have been. She looked around the courtroom certain she was missing something, but she couldn’t find Clint in the small crowd of people.

“Your fellow left,” Robbins explained, helpfully pointing at the main exit.

Natasha hid her worry and nodded her thanks to Robbins. She began to chase after Clint, her low heels clicking on the floor. She couldn’t see Clint in the sea of faces and suits, until he took out his hearing aids and put them in his pocket. He was almost out of the doors of the courthouse, moving swiftly. She cursed at the back of his head, and increased her speed to a full out run, causing a hapless intern to scatter papers everywhere as she narrowly missed him.

She caught Clint on the courthouse stairs, touching his arm lightly. He whirled around to stare at her in surprise. He stood a step lower, so their eyes were at an equal height. She used the increased height to glare at him.

“Where are you going?” she signed, frantic.

Clint looked into her eyes, sad and defeated.

“You don’t need me anymore,” he replied, as if she should have expected him to leave as soon as the verdict was read.

Tears pricking the edge of her eyes, she tried to think of something to say.

“See you around,” Clint offered.

Natasha shook her head fiercely. She might not need him, but she didn’t want to lose him either.

“C’mon Tash. You can find someone who you actually want to be with. Someone closer to your age, and who has full use of his ears.”

He said the last as a bitter joke, made all the more frustrating because he believed it.

“I want to be with you,” Natasha responded, fingers flying. “How can you not see that?”

Clint seemed taken aback at her vehemence. He tugged at a loose curl of her hair, thoughtful.

“We don’t know each other,” he said finally. “Not yet, not really.”

“Clint,” Natasha answered.“ I’ve watched you cry over an elephant, and I’ve seen you operate without coffee. If I don’t know you, then who does?”

Clint shifted his weight awkwardly, as if wavering.

“What happened on the Race, that was real to me,” Natasha finished, hoping that would be enough to break through.

“It was real to me too,” Clint confessed, finally.

Natasha used their temporary height parity to kiss him soundly, ignoring the whistling of the Londoners around them.

***

Clint glanced towards Natasha as they waited in line for the London Eye. For the first time since the Race had started, he truly believed she was real, and happy to be with him. She looked over at him, and they grinned as if they shared a secret.

“I don’t know how to feel, now that we don’t have a mission to complete,” Clint confessed.

Natasha laughed, her genuine laugh that warmed Clint’s heart.

“We’re in London, we should be excited,” Natasha said.

“You don’t seem to be too excited,” Clint pointed out, gently.

“I just want to know who won,” Natasha replied, with a dramatic pout.

It was Clint’s turn to laugh.

“We should call Maria, she’d be sure to tell us,” Clint said, jokingly.

Natasha’s eyes lit up. She strode towards the only pay-phone in sight, abandoning their place in line. Clint followed, shaking his head.

“That was a joke,” he called after her. “She’s not going to tell us. In fact, she’s contractually obliged not to.”

Natasha shrugged, as if details like that were beneath her.

“Can we at least get an international phone card? And dinner?” he inquired, plaintively.

“Two minutes,” Natasha begged.

“Fine, but you’re paying for dinner,” Clint replied.

“Deal,” Natasha said with a grin.

She used all of her change, and some of Clint’s, to dial Maria’s number.

“Hello?” Maria asked, her voice clear and crisp even through the phone.

Clint moved closer to the receiver, eager to hear what she had to say. As much as he hated to admit it, he also wanted to know who won.

“We were wondering how everyone is doing,” Natasha said, all innocence.

Maria wasn’t fooled for a second.

“You have to wait six months, just like everyone else,” she told Natasha tartly.

“You’re no fun,” Natasha said.

“How did the trial go?” Maria asked, a clear attempt to change the subject.

Concerned, Clint examined Natasha carefully, but her cheer didn’t dim at the oblique reference to her abuser and his accomplice.

“The bastards are in jail,” Natasha replied. “What about Peggy and Steve, how are they?” she asked.

“Fine. I’ll give you their number if you promise not to badger them about who won,” Maria offered.

Natasha made a face at Clint.

“What did you expect?” he signed at her.

She stuck out her tongue at him.

“C’mon, I want to catch up with Peggy and Steve too, you know,” he signed.

“Deal,” Natasha told Maria.

“Okay. Also, if you’re ever in New York, give me a call,” Maria said, something like friendship entering her tone.

“Same to you if you swing by San Francisco,” Natasha said.

Maria rattled off Steve and Peggy’s number.

“Talk to you later. We’re setting up the next season and I’m looking through audition tapes. It's painful. You need to start giving people pointers, Natalie,” Maria said.

“Maybe I should,” Natasha replied, thoughtful.

“Okay, have fun in London. And tell Clint that’s he’s a lucky bastard,” Maria said.

Clint choked, not sure if he should be offended or agree with her.

“I will. Goodbye Maria, thanks for everything,” Natasha replied.

She hung up the phone, and turned to Clint with a smile.

“Now all we have to do is call Peggy and Steve, get them to give us Jemma’s number, and call Jemma before Maria warns her.”

“Or we could explore London,” Clint suggested mildly. He was glad to see Natasha’s intensely competitive streak reappear so soon after the trial.

“Well, if you insist,” Natasha answered.

She grabbed Clint’s hand, and moved them back into line for the London Eye, her face aglow. Clint wanted to travel the world with her, all over again.

Chapter Text

Six Months Later

Natasha flicked on the television a full fifteen minutes before the finale of the Amazing Race was meant to start, ready to finally learn who won. None of her bribes or threats had gotten Maria, Jemma, Peggy or Steve to tell her which team had triumphed, and given the penalties for talking in all of their contracts, Natasha couldn’t blame them.

She opened her laptop and checked her email. She was studying psychology and working part-time as a reality television consultant, helping hopefuls get onto any show they wanted, although for the life of her she couldn’t understand signing up for Biggest Loser. Her inbox was empty of emails from either her professors or her clients, which meant she could navigate to the Amazing Race fansite. Many Race fans, she was gratified to see, thought she and Clint should have been allowed to compete in the final leg.

Clint opened the door just as the closing credits for Sixty Minutes started. He was wearing his yellow polo shirt from his teaching job at the local circus school, and holding two bags of groceries. As soon as the door closed he set down the groceries, took the shirt off and hurled it into a corner.

“Fucking polo shirts,” he muttered.

Natasha whistled, unashamedly ogling her partner.

“Am I late?” Clint asked, moving towards her with a boyish grin.

“I thought you weren’t watching anymore,” Natasha replied, raising her eyebrow in amusement.

After the second episode had been edited to make him look like he was crying after being beaten by Gamora and Nebula, when really he’d been reacting to spice, he’d refused to watch the rest of the show.

Clint shrugged, the muscles of his upper body rippling as he did.

“It’s the finale. And I bought fancy cheese and crackers,” he said, gesturing to the groceries.

They settled on the couch together, just in time for the show to start. Natasha turned on the captions, while Clint set his hearing aids on the coffee table in front of him with a sigh of relief.

Clint eyed her laptop, fought a battle with his curiosity and lost. He started reading over her shoulder. Natasha hid a smirk.

Nick Fury’s voice began the voice over.

“This has been a series of epic proportions: epic challenges, epic love and epic tantrums. After Clint and Natasha were sidelined by a mugging at a street market, the last three teams raced to the Tower of London.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. The flicker of images that went with the words was beyond misleading. Some part of her wished that the Amazing Race had told the truth, and outed the cult to the wider world, but a larger part of her was glad that the entire country didn't know her story.

Fury’s deep voice continued, paired with images from multiple episodes.

“Gamora and Nebula arrived to the Pit Stop thirty minutes in front of Steve and Peggy. The tattooed twins have been strong all season, but can they beat the military efficiency of Steggy? Sam and Riley, the only all male team still in the race, arrived just ten minutes later. Can they continue the trend of the last three seasons and win the race?”

“What?” Clint shrieked in her ear.

Natasha jumped, and had to grab her laptop to keep it from falling. Surely he couldn’t be that surprised by anything the voiceover had said so far.

“Loki and Thor are people’s favorite team?” he exclaimed.

She followed his eyes to see that he was staring at her laptop with fascinated horror.

Natasha laughed as she looked over the voting from the latest fansite poll displayed on her laptop. She and Clint were in second place, just before Sam and Riley.

She signed, “There’s an entire thread dedicated to your arms, if that makes you feel better.”

There was also a thread dedicated to his ass, and one dedicated to taking screenshots of him looking at her in the background of shots, when he thought no one was looking. She decided not to mention those.

The finale took place in Tombstone, Arizona, and was Western themed. The first challenge was at a gun range, and the contestants were all dressed in cowboy boots and cowboy hats. Their task was to hit their target four times out of six.

“I would have killed this challenge!” Clint said.

“I know,” Natasha responded.

They shared a look of frustration. To get so close only to have their race sabotaged was heartbreaking.

“You would have looked great as a cowboy,” Natasha signed, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Well, sweetheart, if that’s your thing, I do have a pair of boots around here somewhere,” Clint replied.

“I could buy you a hat,” Natasha shot back with a wicked grin, fingers flying.

Clint stole Natasha’s laptop and put it carefully on the coffee table. As soon as her laptop was safe, Natasha pounced on Clint. They kissed like they had all the time in the world, while Clint unbuttoned Natasha’s shirt, his hands scorching hot against her skin.

When they came up for air, Steve and Peggy were in the lead, riding horses towards the Pit Stop. Gamora and Nebula were galloping behind them.

“C’mon Steve,” Clint said, obviously forgetting this had been filmed six months ago.

Music swelled as Gamora and Nebula shortened the distance between themselves and Steve and Peggy. Natasha saw a flash of one of the cars that the production team had to be riding in, before the shot shifted close enough for the viewers to see Steve and Peggy’s intense focus, preserving the illusion of no production crew.

Just as the music reached a crescendo, Clint’s phone rang, loud enough that Clint could discern the noise without his hearing aids.

Natasha turned to glare at Clint; he winced and dismissed the call without looking away from the television’s screen.

“Sorry,“ Clint said.

The show cut to a commercial break. Natasha felt like throwing the fancy cheese at the television. Why couldn’t they just say who won?

The commercials for shampoo, toilet paper and whiskey went by agonizingly slowly. Then Nicky Fury’s face filled the television screen.

“Congratulations Gamora and Nebula, you’ve won the Amazing Race,” Fury said.

Clint groaned. Natasha turned off the television, disappointed. It figured that her least favorite team would win the entire thing.

Clint’s phone rang again. It was a pitiful excuse of a phone, ancient enough that it still had buttons.

Clint scrambled for his hearing aids, while Natasha answered the phone.

“Natasha?“ Maria voice asked. “Are you available to talk?“

“Sure. I’m putting you on speaker,” Natasha said, setting the phone on the coffee table in front of them.

“Clint, Natasha. I’m calling to make you an offer. How would you feel about being on The Amazing Race: Unfinished Business?”