Work Text:
The Red Eye was slow tonight, which meant that Clint was bored, and when Clint was bored he became annoying. Well, not so much annoying as restless. He didn’t seem to be content with reading a book like Natasha was. She liked him well enough and spent enough time working with him that she knew he was about one more customer-free hour away from making a fort with the tables and chairs and declaring the coffee shop “Fort Kickass.” Natasha needed to find him something physical to do before she would be forced to hurt him.
Unfortunately, they had already restocked and cleaned everything that needed cleaning. There wasn’t much else to do but wait out the clock and hope some more people would come in before the morning shift started. The small group of Magic: The Gathering players had packed up their decks and dice about ten minutes prior. Being as close as they were to the university, they had customers coming in at all hours, but Thirsty Thursdays meant that everyone was out drinking at the bars instead.
Natasha hated Thirsty Thursdays.
“Why did I sign up for this shift?” Clint sighed.
“Because you hate going out, and Thor likes to celebrate his namesake on Thursdays,” Natasha reminded him without looking up from her book.
Clint grumbled something about her having to be right all the time and continued building a pyramid out of the medium to-go cups on the counter. She slid off of the step stool to get at the cell phone in her jeans pocket and handed it over to Clint.
“Here, you can play Tetris,” she said and sat back down with her book.
The game kept him occupied for about a half hour before her battery crapped out. Clint didn’t have much time to start whining because the door opened, setting off the bell in the back room. Natasha glanced up and her mouth immediately formed a tight line when she saw who it was.
“Hey Clint,” Bobbi said, practically purring as she leaned on the counter.
Natasha wasn’t jealous, really. She just didn’t like the girl... at all. All three of them had been in the a few of the same first year gen ed classes and she had quickly learned that she couldn’t stand her too friendly personality one goddamn bit. It was irrational because Bobbi was pleasant; it just seemed like she needed to be extra nice to Clint, and that bothered Natasha a lot for reasons that she refused to examine.
“Didn’t think I’d get through that massive line around the block,” she joked.
Hilarious! No one has ever made that crack before, Bobbi, Natasha thought and flipped her page angrily.
Clint laughed and Natasha’s lips went a little tighter across her face. They continued chatting while he made her something that was definitely not a frappucino because they were in no way affiliated with Starbucks. Bobbi walked over and put a dollar in the tip jar and smiled at Natasha. That queasy feeling that always preceded being forced into small talk with people turned Natasha’s stomach.
“Oh I loved that book!” Bobbi exclaimed, noting the title. “How do you like it so far?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty good,” Natasha replied without much enthusiasm.
Thankfully, Clint walked over with Bobbi’s drink and put an end to the socially-mandated chit chat. She watched them out of the corner of her eye, pretending to have gone back to her book, and studied their mannerisms. Clint joked around with her about their chem lab instructor and Bobbi laughed and touched his forearm as she praised his sense of humor. Natasha bristled. The gesture was too friendly, too intimate for her liking. She set her book on the counter, excusing herself and escaping to the back room. The back room was cramped, with a couple of fold out chairs around a spare table from the patio, but it had a door that she could close herself off from the happy pair out front. Four hours had passed, so technically she was allowed a fifteen minute break. It was a good enough cover.
It was stupid to act like this, and Natasha was aware of that fact, but she had a hard time getting past her irritation at everything Bobbi did or said, particularly in regards to Clint. Natasha didn’t want to admit to herself that she had more than a friendly interest in the guy. She also wouldn’t think about his stupid, floppy hair that was always in his eyes when he was working on something or his dumb jokes or the damn crooked grin he got when one of them managed to make her crack a smile. If the jerk hadn’t run down her battery, she would at least have something to distract her from her thoughts right now.
Natasha created a mental list of why dating her co-worker/friend she really had at college would be a completely terrible idea to convince herself to stop liking him the way she did. It amounted to two things: 1) a potentially awkward work environment if they broke up and 2) Fury getting weird about his employees fraternizing and possibly firing them. While the one was legitimate, the uncomfortable workplace was already well on its way if Natasha kept letting her irrational jealousy creep up whenever Bobbi dropped in for a chat. There were also Clint’s feelings about the situation. No matter how much he tried to get her to laugh, she didn’t really know how he felt about her. He didn’t talk to her like he did with Bobbi, which seemed pretty telling. If it weren’t for the study groups and exam week hordes, Natasha would request to work alone and avoid all of these annoying feelings.
There was a knock on the door before Clint stuck his head in to check on her. Despite trying to wave him off, he walked in and sat down with her at the little bistro table.
“I should go back out there,” she said, starting to stand.
“We have the bell. If someone comes in, we’ll hear it.”
Damn logical explanations, she thought and sat down with a quiet huff.
“You don’t like Bobbi much, do you?” he asked, though it sounded more like a statement. “That’s why you’re hiding out back here.”
Natasha felt a flash of anger that he had figured her out. “She’s just... perky,” she replied, not exactly lying about the cause of her indignant rage.
“C’mon, you’re not even like that when Stark comes in here with his big bag of bullshit, Tasha,” he pointed out. “There’s something up.”
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
Every inch of her wanted to get up and leave the room, to find something else to occupy her time and thoughts, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. Instead, she stared at the small worn patch of paint on the table and exuded her best “leave me alone” vibe. Clint was either being exceedingly thick or felt like pushing her buttons even more so than usual because he wasn’t budging either. What she wasn’t saying itched like a healing wound, and she was desperately trying not to pick at it.
“Fine, we’ll just sit here not talking,” Clint said, folding his arms over his apron and leaned back in his chair. “I could talk to myself, but I figured it would be rude not to include you.”
Natasha rolled her eyes. The funny thing wasn’t going to work.
“‘What’s wrong with Tasha, Clint?’ Gee, I dunno, Other Clint, I guess she’s pissed off,” he said, speaking to himself out loud and modulating his voice, “‘Seems like it to me. Did you ask her why?’ She said she doesn’t want to talk, Other Clint, so that’s why I’m talking to you.”
“Okay, enough! Jesus!” Natasha exclaimed, shoving her chair away from the table as she stood and leaned over it. “You want to know what my problem is?”
Clint looked at her with that irritating half smile that he used when he knew he was right. “Yeah, sure,” he said, shrugging.
Natasha narrowed her eyes, which made that smile on his face falter.
“She gets on my nerves, and you get on my nerves even worse because you fucking flirt with her all the time,” she snapped. “If you’re going to do it, keep it out of my fucking face.”
“... what are you talking about? I don’t flirt with Bobbi,” Clint said, looking genuinely confused at the accusation.
“You do it all the time when she’s around! You’re always joking and letting her touch your arm and acting like she’s the only person in the room.”
Natasha hated how petty and childish she sounded, but couldn’t seem to shut herself up. A sudden look of realisation crossed his face, his eyebrows jumping up toward his hairline, and she knew he had figured her out.
“You’re jealous!” Clint exclaimed, “Oh my god, you’re jealous because she’s nice to me. Do you have a crush on me, Tasha?”
She folded her arms protectively in front of her. “Shut up,” she barked.
“You do!” he said gleefully. “You like me, you like me!”
Before Natasha could control her actions, she shoved the table with enough force that Clint was pushed backwards with it. His head connected with the painted cement block wall behind him, and Natasha froze, suddenly terrified that she had given him a concussion. She was a lot stronger than she appeared and when she didn’t check her anger, she tended to be a lot rougher than she meant to be. Clint blinked a few times and brought his hand to the back of his head, appearing to check for blood.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” Natasha exclaimed and grabbed the first aid kit from the shelf near the door, opening it hastily on the table.
Clint started to protest, but Natasha grabbed him and examined the back of his head. There wasn’t indication of a wound, but with the sound his head had made when it smacked into the wall, there would probably be a sizable lump tomorrow. With her hands still cradling his head, Clint looked up at her with a small smile on his face that softened her resolve to absolute ruins.
“Good thing you have such a thick skull,” she said with a quiet laugh.
“If that’s how you treat the guys you like, I’d hate to see how you act around the ones that you don’t,” he teased.
Natasha lowered her gaze and smiled. She jumped a little when she felt Clint’s hand reach up and touch her face, but quickly eased into it. His hands were surprisingly soft for someone who was constantly working with his hands; even her own got dried out and rough after a long shift at work.
“Please don’t hit me,” Clint said, “but I’d really like to kiss you now.”
This made Natasha crack up, tossing her head back momentarily before she looked back down at him and nodded. She allowed him to bring her face down to his, giving him a long, meaningful look before their mouths touched. Just like his hands, Clint’s lips were amazingly smooth and Natasha couldn’t help but sigh into the kiss. The angle was a little odd, and Clint stood to correct it, bringing him up a couple inches taller than her to a more manageable height. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moved in for more. Natasha could get used to this.
“Guess I won’t be going out with Bobbi tomorrow night,” Clint said with a shit-eating grin.
Natasha flicked a strand of his dark blond hair out of his eyes. “Jerk,” she replied teasingly and kissed him again.
Natasha hadn’t intended on making out with her co-worker on her break, but it wound up happening anyway. The only reason they didn’t spend the whole shift in the back room were a couple customers traipsing in from the bars to get black coffee and a place to sober up. Clint couldn’t figure out why the two girls were giggling so hard when he helped them until Natasha walked over and handed him a napkin. He took it, looking confused.
“That lip gloss looks nice on you, Clint,” she said, grinning, “I can get you some, if you want.”
Rather than being embarrassed, Clint made a kissy face at her, making her laugh. She bumped her hip against his and gave him a knowing look before going back over to her step stool. The lip gloss did disappear an hour before Fury was due in, but Natasha was amused he kept it on so long. The two drunk girls even offered to give him a makeover and help bring out his eyes with some eyeliner. Natasha was sure the only reason Clint didn’t agree was that he didn’t feel like explaining it to the boss.
Their 6:30 regulars came in, soft spoken and in desperate need of caffeine. Pepper, a grad student who took full credits and who somehow held down a full-time job at the same time, came in first and ordered her usual triple shot and another drink that sounded strangely familiar to Natasha.
“You’re going to vibrate through your skin if you’re drinking that much,” she joked.
“Oh, the other one isn’t for me,” Pepper explained. “It’s um... for a friend.”
Something about the look on Pepper’s face led Natasha to believe this friend was a little something more. She fished out a drink carrier and nestled the two cups in it before handing it over to Pepper. As soon as she was out the door, Clint looked up from filling the pastry case.
“That was Stark’s usual, you know,” he pointed out.
Quickly putting two and two together, Natasha’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god, they’re dating.”
“You should have slipped some booze in hers. She’s going to need it.”
Natasha snorted, nodding in agreement.
By the time Fury came in (seven on the dot, just like every morning), Clint and Natasha had a steady stream of customers. Fatigue was kicking in, and Natasha was ready to get off of her feet and put herself to bed. Fifteen minutes later, their morning relief came in and tagged them out. She pocketed her half of the tips and headed out the backdoor to the employee parking lot. Clint hurried out after her, practically snatching her up in his arms as she fished for her keys in her bag. She yelped out of surprise and wiggled out of his grasp, laughing. The laughter was cut short when he gently but firmly backed her against the car and planted a kiss on her lips that made her toes curl in her boots.
“So is this going to be a one time thing?” Clint asked, resting his forehead against hers. His fingers played with the belt loops on her jeans.
“I wasn’t planning on it, no,” she said.
He beamed at her. “Good. I know you’re free Sunday... want to go to a movie or something?”
It was almost sweet how shy he sounded when he asked. Normally she would have backed away from this kind of attention, but with Clint she found herself enjoying it, almost craving it if she were totally honest with herself. She bit the corner of her lip, smiling.
“Yeah, that sounds good. I should have my paper done for Coulson’s class by then anyway,” she said.
“Oh shit, I forgot about that! Um, I better get home,” he said and quickly kissed her before going over to that stupid purple motorcycle of his that he treated like his own child. She had heard him refer to it as “baby” on more than one occasion.
Natasha leaned against her car door and watched him put on his helmet and sunglasses. He gave her a little wave before starting up the noisy hunk of metal and driving off. She felt her smile widen and an honest-to-god giggle escape her as she replayed what had happened. She never giggled. She laughed, but she hadn’t giggled since she was a little girl, and it was all that adorable idiot’s fault.
As soon as Natasha got back to her apartment, there was a text message from Clint:
Best head trauma ever.