Budapest

Clint - The Russian Circus

CLINT

Romanoff had looked pissed as hell.

Odd, considering she was the one who offered the truce first. It only confirmed that this was the right move. When Clint spotted the circus poster in a coffee shop on the corner from his apartment, he knew it would be perfect for what he had in mind.

Clint refused to allow himself to think about what it would be like on circus soil again. This wasn't for him, not for closure or some other bullshit like that. This was part of the job. SHIELD training be damned, he was running on pure instinct at this point, taking a flying leap and he hoped to heaven and hell that it paid off.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice nagged at him, telling him it wasn't entirely about the job. Some of it was for Mila. She had been the first friendly face he'd met in Russia and while he knew he should be careful in light of the possibility that anyone here could get him killed over those damn weapon blueprints, it was comforting to sit down and swap stories with her. She reminded him so much of home sometimes...

The one thing Clint knew for sure was that Bobbi was less than pleased.

"I still don't see the point of your little field trip," she said on the morning he was to meet Romanoff and Mila. "SHIELD doesn't cover paid vacation time for rookies."

"It's not a vacation," Clint protested. "It's called making friends."

"You don't..." Bobbi stopped, took a breath. "That is not the focus of your mission here, Barton."

"My gut says something is off about Romanoff. Besides Mila, she's the only one I've been able to get remotely close to. Everyone else looks at me like something the cat spit up."

Bobbi stifled a laugh. "Mila has been pretty informative though so, yeah, work that angle as much as possible. And she has the biggest crush on you I've ever seen."

"Stop," he groaned.

"Of course, when you brought her that giant teddy bear instead of flowers, well, who could blame her?"

Clint let his breakfast dishes fall into the sink with a deafening clatter. "I'm taking my com out."

"And then you complimented her on her dancing. That really sealed the deal right there."

"Look who's getting distracted from the mission now, huh?"

"All right, smartass. I'm still waiting for your escapade to make sense."

"I'm well aware making friends is not my objective, Bobbi. I just...I have a gut feeling about Romanoff. I mean, she had someone take a shot at me. That's worth looking into in my opinion. I want to get her out of her territory for a while and see if it rattles her a bit."

"All of Russia is Romanoff's territory," Bobbi said. "You won't rattle her."

"Quit poking holes in my plan for two seconds. I'll keep an eye on everyone else too, don't worry."

"I'm not worried. You're doing a good job, Barton. If you think this is the right call, follow it."

Clint paused as he pulled his jacket on. "Wait, was that a...?"

"Don't," she cut in, "push your luck. Take the compliment and don't say a word. Besides, if this plan goes to hell, I will rub your nose in it every day for the rest of your life."

He smirked. "Yes ma'am."

[][][]

Clint met Romanoff and Mila on the outskirts of Moscow and caravanned the rest of the way to the circus a few miles outside of the city. It was a bizarre sight, watching Romanoff's limo, spit-polished to a shine, pull into the muddy circus grounds. Everything else seemed shabby and limp next to the sharp, business-as-usual Romanoff. He fully expected her to step out of that limo dressed to the nines like she usually was in heels and furs and pearls.