Natasha Romanoff liked to think of herself as an open minded person, but there were a few things she could not abide. Human trafficking, for one, though that seemed like an obvious example, as well as people who abused children. Also people who talked at the theater, and people who took the last of the coffee without making a new pot, and that stupid cowl on Clint’s head as proudly strolled into her SHIELD quarters.
“Hey Nat,” he said, with what she thought was an idiotic grin, “Guess what I found.”
“I thought I burned that.”
If he heard her comment, he ignored it. “It’s my old costume! I haven’t seen this bad boy in forever!”
She tried to ignore Clint as he checked himself out in her mirror. “Thank you,” she muttered as she stuffed some more clothes into her suitcase, “for not wearing the whole thing.”
“Of course,” he said, his head tilted so he could get a better look at the ‘H’ on top. “The rest of the costume is already in my suitcase.
Natasha paused what she was doing so she could glare at her partner’s reflection. “You’re not bringing that thing to Avenger’s Tower, Clint.”
“Because I made you get rid of it, all those years ago, for a reason. It’s ridiculous.” Clint pouted. “No one will take you seriously in that getup. I didn’t take you seriously in that get up.”
“And you didn’t kill me because of it, so technically this costume save my life.”
“It’s fuchsia, Clint. I didn’t kill you because I felt sorry for you.”
“It’s not - whatever, nevermind,” Clint said, adjusting the points on the mask, “I’m bringing it, and you can’t stop me.” He quickly glanced at her before turning to leave, and Natasha knew even he realized that she could, in fact, stop him from bringing it, if she cared enough to.
“They’re going to kick you off the team,” she warned as the door closed behind him. He didn’t respond, and she went back to packing, shaking her head.