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“Thor, are you crying?” Asks Tony’s obnoxious voice, ruining the ending of the movie. Natasha groans internally.
“These joyous unions you Midgardians participate in have a special way of moving my heart,” Thor sniffles, gesturing to the bride and groom standing on opposite sides of the altar.
The screen blacks out and names start rolling. Natasha snuggles closer into Clint’s side in the armchair they’re sharing as the lights slowly brighten.
“That was the cheesiest movie I’ve ever watched,” Clint laments.
“I don’t know,” Natasha says, “I thought the ending was kinda nice.”
Everyone goes silent and Steve turns to face her in astonishment, but no one dares to say anything. For thirty seconds, the room is completely silent until Bruce says goodnight and retires to the lab to work on his experiment of the week. Everyone follows until Clint and Natasha are the only ones left, his arm still around her.
The lights dim back down. JARVIS, I swear to God.
“Well, that was quite a plot twist,” Clint remarks. “The deadly Black Widow complimenting a wedding scene?”
“What, am I not allowed to like sweet things?” Natasha counters, hoping he doesn’t notice the flush of heat that comes from hearing that particular word from him.
“I don’t know. I just don’t really see you being… married,” he says, and her heart drops.
“Oh.” She gets up from the armchair, and Clint immediately senses something is wrong.
“Nat?” He asks, but she’s already out of the room.
That night they still sleep in the same bed. He still holds her, and she still lets him, but-- but.
----
“You look really beautiful.” Clint comes up behind her, helping her zip up her dark blue and gold bridesmaid dress. She admires the view of him in the mirror-- so many fancy undercover missions, yet she’ll never get used to how good he looks in a suit.
“Hopefully not too beautiful. I wouldn’t want to outshine the bride.”
He catches her hand in his and kisses it. “You’ll always be my number one.”
Natasha looks into his kind eyes and just for a second, she thinks he might actually mean it.
She tears her gaze away from his and peers out the window at the aisle. Everyone’s already seated-- Pepper wanted a wedding with no more than thirty guests, much to Tony’s dismay. But then again, he was marrying the love of his life, which is more than she can say.
Natasha takes a deep breath, and Clint smiles. “Look at you, all nervous and it’s not even your wedding. Ready?”
He holds out his arm and she takes it.
----
Natasha has to hand it to Pepper and Tony: the venue they chose is beautiful. After the sun sets and the ceremony finishes, everyone’s seated at the long wooden table on the grass with flickering candles placed all over it. There’s an unlimited supply of wine and Natasha’s already on her third glass, slightly leaning into Clint. Maria, in her dress with matching colours, catches sight of them and smirks.
“Tony designed your dresses, you know,” Pepper gushes to Maria and Natasha.
“I helped,” Tony corrects. “Chose the colours and stuff.”
“Why blue and gold?” Maria asks.
“Simple. Pepper here was in a blue dress when I first realised I was in love with her,” he answers, and even in the dark everyone sees her blush. “The walls, ceiling, everything around her was golden.” He turns to face Pepper, and she smiles shyly. “It was perfect.”
Natasha watches as they exchange I love yous. It’s funny, ninety percent of when she sees Pepper, she’s yelling at him about ruining a carpet or breaking a table or something, but no one’s ever doubted once that she does love him, and sweet moments like these-- tipsy grins and kisses right after being pronounced man and wife-- are what makes their love real.
“мой ястреб.” She nudges Clint gently to get his attention. “Dance with me.”
----
“It was wonderful,” Natasha says and means every word. “Honestly. I was already so honoured when you asked me.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Pepper smiles and brings her in for a hug. “Who knows? Maybe it’ll be you next time.” She winks and gets into the car waiting to take her to the airport for her honeymoon.
Natasha plasters up a smile until the car starts driving away.
Once they get back to his room in the Tower, Clint flops onto the bed and groans. “God, weddings tire me out.”
Natasha sets her bag down abruptly and leaves for her own room.
----
“You can’t be serious.” Clint stares at Fury. His good eye stares back: this is not up for debate.
“Tell Romanoff to get ready. The mission is tomorrow.”
“Sir, please, come on,” he practically begs. “It’s complicated. She’s been avoiding me for weeks. I know because I slept in through noon one morning, and when I went down for coffee she just left. Tasha never passes up a chance to chide me for waking up late!”
“Look, I really don’t care about your relationship problems. I need Strike Team Delta.” Fury puts two files on the table. “Give this one to Romanoff, and make sure you read yours too.”
Clint opens Natasha’s file. “Nath-- Nathalie?”
“You’re posing as a French couple. Hill chose that name, in case you let that nickname of hers slip. You’re not exactly subtle when it comes to undercover.
“Intel is scarce, but we suspect someone from the black market will be making a handoff to one of the chefs at the restaurant. You need to make sure that doesn’t happen, and bring the weapons and subjects in.”
“Are you sure there’s no one else you could--” He stops mid-sentence when Fury says nothing and glares. He sighs, resigned. “Will do, Sir.”
After Fury leaves, Clint exhales and brings his forehead down to the table.
----
Natasha-- Nathalie-- smiles at him and in her vermillion dress, under the flickering candlelight, she’s beautiful. “We’ve been here for nearly an hour,” she grits out. Still smiling.
“Just give it time, okay? I’m sure it’ll happen soon.” Clint glances over his shoulder at the general direction of the kitchen, and Natasha kicks his legs under the table, hard.
“Stop turning around. You’re acting suspicious.”
“I’m-- sorry. It’s just, I’m a bit nervous.”
She doesn’t say anything, so he continues. Fact: “You’ve been avoiding me, Natasha.” Question: “Why have you been avoiding me?”
Natasha meets his eyes, something urgent in them. “Um...” Her gaze shifts to behind his shoulder. “The chef is leaving with someone else holding a suitcase.”
Clint’s eyes widen and he stops himself before he turns around again. “What do we do?”
“Quick, do something to attract their attention so they don’t leave,” she says forcefully in a hushed voice.
“What? Like what?”
“I don’t know, get on one knee or something!” She uses her right leg to somehow give him a little push towards the floor. He takes the hint and kneels.
Be loud, she mouths. This will only work if people actually notice.
“Nathalie Laurent,” Clint announces loudly in a french accent. It’s working: heads are turning and people are gasping. The two men have stopped on their way to the door.
Natasha plays along and feigns surprise, bringing her hands to her mouth, repressing the strange, giddy feeling rising inside of her at the sight of Clint down on one knee. Focus. You’re working.
“I have met a lot of beautiful women from all places of the earth,” Clint continues. “But you are different. Different, like, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
People have started filming them now. The customers near the door have stood up to watch, blocking the chef’s way. They just have to stall longer and not let them get out that door at all costs— the restaurant is located at the center of the city, and it would be over once they turned a corner or hailed a cab.
“Every time I look at you, you take my breath away. So now I ask...”
Natasha waits, expectant.
“I ask: will you...”
When it’s obvious he isn’t going to ask and people around them start whispering, she tries not to let her hurt show. If he doesn’t want to marry her, that’s an issue for another time, but the chef has cleared a path and every step they take—
“Oh, for God’s sake.” A blonde woman in a black gown stands up abruptly at her table. Everyone looks to her, confused. “You two can’t ever not mess a mission up, can you?”
“Mockingbird?” Natasha asks at the same time Clint gets to his feet and exclaims, “Bobbi!”
Bobbi ducks her head. “Thank you, Hawkeye. Tell me, what’s the purpose of a code name when everyone already knows your real one?”
“Argue later!” yells Natasha, even as she launches herself over the table and runs toward the two men. Bobbi busies herself with getting everyone else out while Natasha tries to usher the fight away from the door.
Clint’s still just standing there, dumbstruck.
“Hawkeye, a little help!” comes Natasha’s very pissed voice from where she dodges a punch. The two men have her cornered, and wow, that guy has a pretty decent snap kick for a chef crosses Clint’s mind fleetingly before he realises Natasha was on the receiving end of that kick and he’s rushing to help her.
“I cannot believe you,” Natasha continues, landing a solid kick to one of the two men’s chest, causing him to stumble back. “I get it if you don’t want to marry me, but that’s personal. When it mattered the most, when it came down to it, you couldn’t even say the words. How am I supposed to—“
“Wait, what?” Clint blocks a punch and twists his opponent’s arm. “Why would you think I didn’t want to marry you?”
“I’ve been dropping hints for weeks, Clint, and all you’ve done is—“
Two batons suddenly come whizzing their way. They duck simultaneously, the batons hit the mission’s two targets instead, and they hit the floor unconscious. Clint and Natasha turn to see Bobbi with her arms crossed.
“You’re not even going to thank me?” She raises an eyebrow. “Fury sent me. He knew you two would blotch things up-- are you even listening?”
Natasha turns back to Clint. “All you’ve done is— well, you were practically telling me you didn’t want a wedding. Or—“ Her voice cracks. “Is it me? Do you not want me?”
“What? Tash, Jesus, of course I want you. You’re— God, you’re the best thing to ever happen to me, how could you say that? I would marry you a hundred times over if I could.”
Natasha takes a moment to process his words. “Oh. Really?”
“Yes, really. I thought you didn’t want— I don’t know, I guess marriage just seemed traditional and domestic, and it never crossed my mind that you’d want to— wait. You want to marry me?”
“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds stupid. But yeah, I guess I do want to marry you,” she admits begrudgingly, before Clint’s grin swallows his face and he has her swept up in a passionate kiss.
“Wait, wait,” Natasha pulls away a bit. “You want to marry me…”
“...Yes?”
“And I want to marry you.”
Clint’s eyes widen with the realization. “Oh.”
They’re silent for five seconds, Bobbi staring on, when she smirks, “Are you going to ask her or not, Barton?”
“I don’t have a ring,” he says sheepishly, knowing fully well Natasha doesn’t care one bit.
“Ask me,” Natasha says.
He takes her hand, barely able to conceal his excited grin. “Natasha Romanoff… will you marry me?”
Her eyes sparkle with hope when she replies, “Clint Barton, I will marry you.”
——
When they return to the Tower with rings on their hands and a marriage certificate, Bruce chokes on his coffee and Tony drops his brand new mug.