Work Text:
AU- Natasha is the serious, by-the-book detective while Clint's style is more "where did I put my gun again?" and Chief Fury just wants to know what he did to deserve this.
Natasha could beat her partner upside his head. She really wanted to, and probably would later on when they had their post-duty day beer at the local pub. If it left a bruise, Fury would most likely reward her.
They had only gotten to the precinct where they rode together, because she would be blind and delusional to not to be sleeping with the man, but he not only forgot his badge (on the table, in her apartment, which she reminded him to grab on their way out), but also forgot where he put his work phone (on the bedside table not charged, which she pointed out last night). Now she was stuck sitting in the precinct working dispatch because her not-boyfriend-partner forgot how to adult.
“Romanoff, where the hell is your partner, and why the hell are you working dispatch?” Chief Fury bellowed as he walked around for his hourly inspection.
“Sir, he forgot his badge and work phone.”
“Tell me that shit-head didn’t take the subway all the way back to BedStuy.”
There was a pause, emphasized by Stark, annoying piece of crap, who raised his eyebrows at her suggestively. She added him to the list of people she would whack upside the head at the bar later.
“No sir, I believe he left in in SoHo,” Natasha replied, withholding evidence and ignoring the suggestive stare Stark was giving her from across the room. Yep, definitely going to get a beating later. Maybe she can trick him to sparring with her pre-drinks. “He should be back shortly.”
“SoHo—What the,” Fury paused shaking his head, the only person that Clint Barton would know in the upscale parts of town would be Tony who lived in a condo in the Upper East courtesy of his father, and Natasha who enjoyed the finer things in life… and apparently Clinton Barton. “I do not want to know.”
On queue, Clint came running in, purple t-shirt and worn out jeans, with flip flops, panting. He ran past Natasha sitting on the dispatch desk and Fury who had his arms crossed, watching the agent with one eye. (Clint swears the man sees more than a hawk with just one eye.)
“Oh hey Chief!” he said back tracking with a wave, then running again to the lockers. “Sorry I’m late! I forgot my –“
“Barton, report to my damn office after you get your shit together,” Fury bellowed walking towards his office at the end of the hall. “You too, Romanoff.”
She threw a glare at Clint’s direction who changed in record time, hair disheveled, looking hot as ever. Damn him. His uniform even looked immaculate.
“I didn’t do anything,” Clint said raising his hands up in surrender to Natasha. He reached for the box of donuts that was on the table courtesy of the ever nice Captain Rogers but Natasha slapped his hand away from the box.
“Aww, donuts,” Clint whined as Natasha led him to the end of the hall to face the warth (fury?) of the Chief.
“You’ll get the cuffs tonight, Barton. I can feel it,” the receptionist, Darcy Lewis yelled out into the hallway. The rest of the precinct laughed.