Jaune Chat's Life, the Universe, and Everything

There was a period of approximately eighteen months where SHIELD rewarded Strike Team Delta for a successful mission by sending Clint and Natasha to opposite sides of the globe.

Natasha knew a petty power play when she saw one. It was petty enough that, to her, it doesn't require retaliation, anymore than she'd slap a child for kicking sand at her.

"This is bullshit," Clint said, the minute she picked up the phone. There is a joke to be made about being childish here, but Natasha let it lie on her tongue unsaid. She doesn't want to admit to being pleased that each time SHIELD sent them on separate missions, if it wasn't a risk, Clint will call her to complain about it.

Natasha stood at the window of the beach house SHIELD had her staying at. It was the rainy season of the tiny island she'd been sent to, and the glass was almost opaque with the force of the rain, the white sands and blue water distorted. It rained too hard to be a relaxing sound, but Natasha kind of liked it anyway.

"Is there a reason you called, Clint?" she asked. This was routine, too. Natasha waited for whatever complaint or amusing anecdote that was Clint's pretext for calling this time, already smiling.

She heard Clint exhale. "I guess not," he said, and Natasha would tell he was about to sign off.

"Do you enjoy phone sex?" she asked, before he could.

There was silence for long enough that Natasha checked that the line was still open.

"Tasha have you hit your head recently?" he asked finally.

"No," she answered. And then, because she was curious, because the thought had crossed her mind, once or twice, listening to his nowhere-in-particular Midwestern accent during phone calls there was no logical reason for them to be having, she asked again, "So do you? Enjoy it?"

"...not especially," Clint said warily. Well, that made sense. Clint hadn't given her the details, but she'd hacked into his file, and she knew that he was partially deaf (although he hide it exceptionally well) and why.