Work Text:
In the middle of your average Washington, DC Starbucks sit two extraordinary people.
They go unrecognized as passerby mindlessly follow their morning routine, rushing to work, pumping caffeine into their veins, and fidgeting with their smartphones in constant anticipation.
One is a woman with distinctive red hair. She blends in expertly, dressed business casual in a leather jacket, chiffon blouse, dress pants, and clean, crisp boots. At least this time it's something moveable, she thinks. And at least this time I'm not alone.
Her companion is a man built athletically sitting across the table from her in work boots, dark- almost black - jeans, and an athlete's top. His sunglasses are resting on the neckline of his shirt and he stares out the window absentmindedly.
Natasha doesn't mind this kind of work. It may be slow-going but it's good practice. Clint, on the other hand, can't stand it on his own. He wants to get back to bows and arrows and the rush of constant on-your-feet thinking that working for S.H.I.E.L.D. entails. She senses how fidgety he's getting - it's not just being here, but not being "in his element", as the excuse goes. They've worked together for years. Natasha knows all of his habits. And he knows all of hers.
"Another day, another city," she quips. Maybe she was injecting too much energy into it. It seemed forced.
"At least Fury put us together for this objective," he chuckles in response.
"Clint, what did you do to seal the deal? He wouldn't just give in that easily, being the leader of the world's mightiest boyband and all-"
"There may have been some threats to his precious trenchcoats involved."
Natasha's laugh is just loud enough to be heard clearly in their corner of the coffee shop.
"You bastard," she smiles.