Five times Natasha thinks about it (plus one time she acts on it)
A continuation of Five signs Lila Barton misses (plus one she notices)
Rating: G Word count: 2,583 words Endgame: Clint/Natasha
One
2005
She steeled herself as she followed him down from the rooftop. When he had got her cornered, she had resigned herself to the arrow lodging itself in her throat and she wondered if it might be peaceful that way. Her body neatly cleaned up by an American crew that knew nothing of who she really was.
Then he had started talking, describing to her in excruciating detail all of the feelings and thoughts that she had never been given the vocabulary to articulate in any language. On the one hand his offer of defection sounded like an excellent way to get herself off the rooftop and out of the compromising situation so that she could turn the tables; on the other hand the offer was tempting. But when had SHIELD ever taken in a disgraced Russian agent? There was no telling that bringing her in alive wasn’t just a pre-text for torturing information out of her before disposing of her. Still, she was sure she had had worse than whatever the Americans could dream up.
It wouldn’t be so hard to overpower him. He had never dealt with the Black Widow before. He had believed the tears, shown concern over her shaking, and believed the pleading in her eyes when he had promised her hot tea and dry clothes back at his safe house while they awaited extraction.
She could seduce him. It wouldn’t be hard. Good looking Americans never were. They liked to believe themselves desirable to someone like her. It was the red hair, the accent, something about her felt like a conquest to American men.
Once she had him on his back it wouldn’t take more than his own arm guard to suffocate the air out of his body.
Just as she was wondering whether he’d be the type to go down easily or whether she might have to put on a bit of a performance to get him willingly on his back he turned and smiled, offering her a hand over a missing step.
Nothing about him suggested he was well enough trained for the trusting smile on his face to be anything but genuine.
Her gut twisted as she found herself smiling back as she took his hand and hopped the missing step. She didn’t need his hand.
She didn’t need his American intelligence agency either, but maybe she would like whatever kind of life it was that led to such easily given smiles.
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