I lose the joys of life. (For speaks_latin)

[thehawkinhisnest]

Warning: Will contain violence.

Clint fiddles with his cufflink, looking away from the window overlooking the street below. This is the last step of a mission he's been working for the last two weeks, and while he's as anxious as ever for it to be over, there's no sense of victory on the horizon. He's used to that with these missions, of knowing that once he's finished, he'll feel a sense of accomplishment, of having something to be proud of. But no matter how hard he tries, he just wants this one to be over.

He's supposed to kill a child.

Not really, of course. The girl (The Black Widow. Natalie. Natalia.) is only a few years younger than him - their intel says she is actually eighteen, though he's wondered about that in the time he's been watching her this week, while he decided the best way to play this, while his contacts set up this meeting. Natalia was his date to a dinner for some rich assholes this evening, and the longer the night goes on, the more certain he becomes that he can't go through with this. She's a killer, has taken out more targets than S.H.I.E.L.D. can actually keep up with - but he sees more when people don't know he's watching. He's seen the black cars and men that dog her heels, and the looks she gives them when she thinks no one's watching aren't to reassure herself that they're there. He's seen her steel herself before she talks to them, before she came up to meet up, tonight, and they all paint a picture different than the one in her file.

He has weapons hidden nearby, should be hiding one of them on himself now while Natalia freshens up in the bathroom - he doesn't want to think about why she thinks she needs to freshen up, she's a child and not even one allowed to make her own decisions - but he can't. He can't do it.

But he has to, and he finally takes his hand away from his sleeve, turning to find the closest handgun, to tuck it away as the sound of water stops in the bathroom and the door opens, to school his own expression and posture back into the relaxed, confident swagger this cover requires, to let himself leer a little when he turns to face her.

Another hour, and this will be done.

Comments

[speaks_latin]

Natasha meets the leer with an almost bashful smile, her eyes meeting the floor briefly, all of it meant to give the impression that she's never done this before. She's young and innocent, too focused on the dance to have any real experience, and Clint is the first person she's ever invited back to a room, hers, theirs or otherwise. The outfit she chose to change into seems to reinforce that notion, too, albeit, like everything about her, if only on the surface, the pencil skirt and blouse she's chosen modest, but easy to get out of (or to get a hand into, under), when push comes to shove. Easy to fight in, to kill in, too, and again, despite appearances.

(This isn't really her first rodeo.)

A breath out follows, full of feigned nerves, and she reaches up, tucking her hair behind one ear as she starts forward, light on bare feet, to meet him. "If you want something to drink, I think James said something about having a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon sent up."

And, unlike in America, eighteen is a perfectly respectable drinking age here, even if she won't have any, regardless. She needs a clear head.

[thehawkinhisnest]

He lets his smile warm a little at the sight of her, at her smile, even if he's sure it's as feigned as his.

He also has no intention of drinking, even if he can fake well enough that he is, and that in mind, he nods. Having her pour it might give him an opening. "Why don't you pour us some?" he agrees, turning away, ostensibly to head for one of the chairs, even if he is aware of the chance he's taking, putting his back to her.

[speaks_latin]

"Alright."

She brushes past him without taking the obvious opening (not yet, they'll get there), heading for a nearby table full of things that have been sent up to the room. Some of them are from James, for her cover (the bottle of wine mentioned, a fruit basket), others are from honest admirers who will only ever see the ballerina not the killer beneath (a bouquet of roses, another of Oriental lilies, which if she was allowed to keep anything, she might actually hold onto), and of course, there's a gun hidden safely somewhere among the assortment, just in case things get out of hand. She ignores all of it for the time being, however, save for the aforementioned wine, and after pouring two glasses, carries them back over to Clint.

"I don't even want to think about how much he spent on this bottle," she tells him, if only to make conversation, as she passes off his glass. Cabernet Sauvignon honestly does not come cheap.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint takes the glass when she offers it to him with a murmured thanks as he brings it to his mouth, to breathe it in - and he hums agreement with her comment. "So, James," he begins, drawling a little and with a bigger smirk. "Who is James? Hopefully not a boyfriend."

Because he can actually appear to be flirting even when neither of them have any illusions as to the alleged reasons for her being up here.

Besides trying to kill each other, obviously.

[speaks_latin]

"Manager," Natasha corrects, forcing heat to her cheeks. She raises his glass to her lips, pretends to take a sip, feigning pretending to hide it. When she lowers it again, she looks a little steadier. "He does a lot for me, more than he's probably obligated to, but ... no. Not a boyfriend."

Even if she's actually in love with him, she thinks.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint just lets himself look satisfied, leering a little. "Lucky me, in that case." He pretends to take another drink, licking his lips pointedly afterward.

[speaks_latin]

"Lucky you," she repeats, still looking flustered. A moment of forced uncertainty follows, as if she's not sure how to start, hasn't done this dozens of times before, and then slowly, she begins, "And speaking of, if you wanted to -- I mean, I kind of ... "

She pauses, puts on a show of steadying herself. "I'm interested, if that was something you were worried about."

[thehawkinhisnest]

He doesn't wince, doesn't make the face he wants to, but it's only his training that keeps it off his face. "We'll get there," he says, finally, confirming that he's not against the idea, either. "We've got all evening." He drawls a little, reaching out to her, to cup her cheek, running his thumb over her skin gently.

[speaks_latin]

"We've got all evening," she repeats, no more than a murmur as she tilts his head into his hand. Her eyes slide half-closed for a moment, apparently soaking in the contact, and then, with a breath out, she pulls away slowly.

When she opens her eyes again, it's to offer him a small, embarrassed smile. "And hopefully I didn't make things too awkward."

[thehawkinhisnest]

"No, not at all," he assures her as he drops his hand and takes a step back. "You're beautiful."

And that's a little too honest and not quite what he meant to say, but it'll do.

[speaks_latin]

"Feeling's mutual," she assures him, smile taking a few steps towards the feigned sort of genuine she's gotten so good at. When she lets it go again, she takes another not-sip of her wine before, "So, until then ... "

How ever shall they pass the time?

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Until then," he echoes, "what would you like to do?"

That's an honest question, too, even if he knows her answer won't be honest. He's actually willing to let her take the lead.

[speaks_latin]

She gives him a look, laced with feigned amusement -- she's not so sure it's polite to make her decide and, more than that, she's honestly not sure what to suggest. Usually, this sort of thing goes quickly, if not neatly, her bringing a target back to a room, getting them into bed and then murdering them afterwards. This is different. She's not sure she trusts it much.

"Well," she starts, "we could call down for room service, if you're hungry?" That's sometimes part of the plan.

[thehawkinhisnest]

"I think I'm good," he returns, because they definitely already ate. "Though I'll take you up on that for cereal in the morning."

Never mind that that's not going to be a thing. He can pretend it will be for now - will pretend he doesn't have to do this. He's still looking for an alternative.

He considers for a moment - considers her, considers how to play this, and then nods toward the room's balcony. "Have you seen the view from out there?"

It's a really nice view, and that's coming from someone who spends most of his time on rooftops.

[speaks_latin]

She hums, accepting, and glances towards the window that sits between them and the outside world. When she looks back to him, she shakes her head. "I haven't, actually." Pausing, she passes her wine glass off to one hand so she can hold out the other to him. "Come look with me?"

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint moves forward, setting his glass down on an end table as he reaches out to take her hand, letting her lead the way out onto the balcony, turning his head slightly so he's watching her. "I knew it'd be gorgeous."

[speaks_latin]

Letting him go once they're outside, she drifts towards the railing of the balcony so she can lean out over it, enjoying the view. It's a risk, she knows, letting him have her back, getting so close to the edge, but it's one she's willing to gamble on for the sake of her act. She's pretty sure she's won that particular risk when she feels his eyes on her back, and she bites back a smile, humming, eyes still focused on the city spread out beneath them as if she has no idea he's not talking about the view.

"It is."

[thehawkinhisnest]

It's cheesy, but it's true all the same. He also still can't make himself take the opportunity, and he needs to get over this; he knows one of them won't be walking out in one piece tonight, and he can't let it be her.

"Do you get a chance to enjoy much of this? Or is it all touring and work?"

[speaks_latin]

Despite the fact that she managed to hold back a smile, something in her expression falls all the same, her eyes going distant as she looks out over the city.

"Just touring and work," she murmurs. "Even when I manage to get out for a night on the town, there's always a reason for it. A dinner with people who are interested in donating to the company, a private showing at the Louvre or the Galleria Borghese to keep that interest. Practice. Performances." She shrugs. "I've seen a lot, but I haven't really seen anything at the same time.

"It's -- tiring, sometimes," she finishes, glancing back at him with a shyness she doesn't really have to fake. More and more, lately, she just wants to grab James and make a break for it. It would be a hard life on the run from the Red Room, she knows, but they'd survive. When has anything in their lives ever been easy?

[thehawkinhisnest]

"It sounds like it," he returns, and he means it - and more beyond, considering he also means the other part of her job, and why they're really here.

"You ever think about giving it up?"

[speaks_latin]

"More and more lately," she admits after a long moment. There's more truth to the statement than she thinks Clint realizes for all that she continues to dress it up as talk about ballet, nothing more. "Don't get me wrong, I love the dance, but the rest of it ... "

She shakes her head, lowers it, looking away from the view of the city to study her arms, draped over the railing on the balcony. "But I'm under contract. They could make my life very difficult if I tried to walk away before it runs out."

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint hesitates for a long moment, judging the truth of what she's saying - and then takes a breath. "What if I could help you out with that?"

He's still holding onto the character, but it's the opening he was hoping for, that he doesn't have to draw the gun.

It's also probably a bad plan, and he's glad he's not wearing an earpiece at the moment considering Coulson would likely be - probably is - yelling at him from the van, but.

[speaks_latin]

"Planning on trying to buy out my contract?" she asks, a smile as dry as any desert coming to her lips. All the money in the world isn't going to make a difference here. Nothing is. The Red Room isn't going to let her go, and if they realize she's starting to question, they'll make sure she forgets. She's trapped and that's as exhausting as anything else is, lately.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint's smile is a little warmer, a little flirtatious, and still a little wry, because he knows what he's about to say is actually insane - and he's laying his cards on the table, here. This could go very badly very quickly. "Thinking about helping you skip out on it." He pauses a beat. "On all of it."

[speaks_latin]

"I'm not sure that would go too well for either of us," Natasha answers, pressing her mouth into a thin line as she studies him.

She has a feeling, all of a sudden, that he might know more than he's letting on. That he might actually be expecting more than just lawyers to come knocking on his door in the dead of the night and where ever they end up. It makes her uncomfortable and she tenses a little, under the weight of it, as if she also expects him to hit her over the head and drag her off any second now.