Work Text:
1
“You have purple nails,” Melinda said, the only hint it was an incredulous question rather than a dry remark being Natasha’s familiar friendship with her.
Natasha merely quirked her lips in a faint smile.
Melinda just sighed softly, went back to checking in Natasha’s paperwork because Natasha wouldn’t let anyone else do it, then commented, “Agent Barton likes purple.”
Natasha snorted, amused. Clint Barton wore purple. That didn’t mean he liked it.
“You’re good to go,” Melinda told her, accepting enough of the non-answer.
They both had things they didn’t talk about.
2
Nick squinted at the bit of silver gleaming around Natasha’s neck. “Is that like getting pinned?”
Natasha cocked her head, pretended to not understand with a questioning brow.
Nick scowled at her. Par for the course with a man who favored subtlety in his agents and didn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word. Black leather trenchcoat. Frequent use of excessive force. He didn’t have a leg to stand on.
“I’d rather you stopped encouraging the rumor mill, Agent Romanoff.”
“I’ll be sure to let Barton know that,” Natasha replied with a sweet smile that promised she wouldn’t.
But he sighed and let it go. What was one arrow necklace when the rumor mill had been going since Barton first brought her in.
3
“Are you flirting with me?” Bruce asked, faint curiosity and consternation in his tone.
“What?” Natasha asked, flirty smile perfectly in place. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“I just thought...” Bruce let his voice trail off then smiled sheepishly. “Never mind.”
She mulled that over all of five seconds. She had never been slow on the uptake. “You thought I was with Barton.”
“He is your best friend,” he pointed out, cautiously.
Natasha met his gaze with hers and answered, “Yes, he is.” She let that stand a moment before adding, “We’re not lovers.”
She couldn’t even say it annoyed her that much, not when Bruce just nodded and let it go.
+1
Laura was one of four people allowed to indiscriminately hug Natasha whenever she felt like it. Anytime Natasha walked in the front door, Laura felt like it.
Clint waited patiently before getting his turn, a rare enough occurrence that Natasha savored the moment a few seconds longer than she otherwise would have.
“I see my children made an impression,” Laura said, eyes twinkling as they pulled apart.
Clint moved in for his hug but couldn’t refrain from commenting. “Would that be the purple nails or the haircut?”
Laura shot a raised brow look over Clint’s shoulder at Natasha.
“Gorilla glue,” Natasha admitted.
And that was exactly how long they had before the kids came pounding down the stairs to claim their hugs.