She's A Knockout That Can Knock You Out

*

His head hurts.

Clint pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling and exhaling with a grimace.

"That kinda sucked," Cooper mutters, walking out of the Broadway theatre's doors with his hands shrugged into his pockets. For a split second, Lila aims a warning look at her brother, elbowing him. He mutters under his breath—"the hell!"—elbowing Lila back.

"Sucked…" Nathaniel repeats in a whisper. 

He stares perplexed between his older brother and Clint lowering his hand to give Nathaniel a tight-lipped smile. 

Lila adjusts her scarf, making a face at Cooper blowing a raspberry. His wind-chapped cheeks puff out. 

Clint's eyes fall to the dark red, fuzzy material between Lila's fingers.

"We're gonna go back to the hotel, Daddy," she says helpfully. "Should we order food?"

"No, no," Clint insists. "I'll bring you back something, baby. Don't worry." He tugs off Lila's scarf to rearrange it for her. Lila leans into a hug, smiling when Clint's mouth affectionately pecks her forehead. "Anything you want. What's it gonna be?"

Nathaniel puts up a hand. "Pizza!"

"Pizza! We got a vote for pizza!" Clint announces, beaming. "Anybody else!"

Cooper scoffs with a smile. "Pizza's good."

When Clint glances to Lila, she nods, mirroring Cooper's smile. 

"We'll check out the new Chinese place tomorrow for lunch," Clint promises, touching the back of Cooper's head and pulls him in for a hug. Their taxi rolls up. Clint nudges a wide-eyed Nathaniel forward with Lila's hand clutching securely over Nathaniel's. 

His kids pile into the taxi, excitedly chattering. 

Clint informs the driver of their hotel and street, paying ahead. He waves them off. After a moment, Clint remembers Lila's scarf with him, preparing to wave back the taxi. Instead, Clint finds himself sinking down on the curb, fisting it until his hand numbs.

Fuck…

With his other hand, Clint rakes his fingers over his skull, rubbing.

He gazes mournfully at scarf.

Red. Red as Natasha. The strands of her hair. Clint saw her then, red as sin, red as death. Vormir's ground gleaming red, red with Natasha's blood. 

What the hell is he doing…

"Hi." 

Clint looks up jerkily, staring up at a woman with softly tousled, red curls.

Natasha…?

No.

It's the Black Widow actress. The hair isn't real. 

She shyly clasps her hands behind herself.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry to bother you," Black Widow gushes. "They said one of the Avengers was in the audience. I can't believe it."

"Oh, wow." Clint hauls onto his feet, politely holding out a hand between them. "Hey. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." She shakes Clint's hand, barely containing her eagerness. There's a tinge of pink on Black Widow's cheeks. She must be in her late twenties, Clint supposes. She looks young. Younger than Natasha. "Did you, um… I guess did you enjoy it?"

An awkward laugh escapes him. "Well, it's definitely not something I've ever seen before," he confesses.

"Yo! The fuck!" A guy stomps out from the doors, the Hulk-green makeup smeared across the right side of his face. "What are you doing out here still in costume—" He notices Clint, his jaw dropping open. "Holy shit—holy fucking shit! Is that him? Is that Hawkeye?"

"Only on the weekends," Clint deadpans. 

To his amusement, Black Widow bites down a smirk while turning away. 

Heat stirs in Clint's gut.

This is bad. This is definitely bad. He's not in a great place mentally after watching that shitshow, and Natasha's actress caught him offguard, and Clint doesn't know why he thought spending time alone would be a good idea… when it is indeed a BAD idea…

"Wait, wait—I gotta get a pic of you two—"

Clint frowns. "Let's not—" 

He grunts, smushed together with Black Widow cringe-smiling, as the Hulk actor presses up on Clint's other side. The Hulk's arm reaches around, grabbing onto Black Widow's shoulder, keeping all three of them pressed together. Jesus christ, why—

"Got it!" the Hulk actor cries out, giddily saving the photo.

A few random people walk nearby, curiously craning their necks. Clint mentally hopes for a hole to open and swallow him.

"I'll tag you!"

"Thanks, Mark!" Black Widow simpers, waving as the Hulk actor vanishes back into the theatre. "Oh my god—I'm really sorry about that," she mutters to Clint, fidgeting and twisting with her Black Widow costume-belt between her fingers as he straightens his overcoat.

Clint shrugs. "I've had worse days. No harm, no foul." 

Her embarrassment softens, and she grins prettily, and Clint is immediately reminded of Finland.

He and Natasha were younger.

They drank alko and held a belching contest in the ship's hangar. She grinned like a fool in love, and Clint knew he was the real fool.

"It was nice meeting you. Like actually," Black Widow says abruptly, but sweetly. "Have a Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, yeah," Clint acknowledges, dipping his head and half-saluting with Lila's scarf bunched in his hand. He takes a deep breath, trying to push out the thought of Natasha's grin on Black Widow's mouth. A very wet, kissable mouth.

Oh god, this is bad.

She walks off, and Clint glances down to the scarf. Snow flecks onto the dark red. 

Everything red… everything feels like her.

"Hey!" Clint yells.

Black Widow spins at the heel, as if anticipating it, her eyes going round with hope. The wig's waves flutter to her chin. 

"Who is your favorite Avenger?"

She wrinkles her nose, grinning harder, and motioning dramatically to herself. "Is it not obvious?"

Clint's lips twitch up.

"… Mine too."

*

Let me go.

Natasha's memory tears through him. Clint remembers Vormir's dizzying cliff, groaning and hanging for dear life, sobbing out.

No. No, please no.

He wanted it to be him—not her. Not his best friend. Not the person he loved.

Clint felt that love like a blazing burn in his veins. He seeks it out in this place, this body, this lustful magnetism. 

In the privacy of her dressing room, Black Widow feels hot underneath her skin's chill. Clint warms them up, pinning her to the wall, kissing down her neck and breasts. His tongue laps over the silver, sweaty ridge of her nipple piercings, Clint's mouth sucking lightly.

He drags out another thrust, pulling out until it's the tip of his cock inside her, ending it in a jarringly hard motion.

Black Widow moans out, flushed and high-pitched, clenching uselessly around him through the too-thin latex. Thank god she had one borrowed off Thor's actor. Shit, Clint hopes nothing tears while fucking deep in her. It's the last thing they both need. 

"Keep the wig," he rasps, urging Black Widow's hand down. "It's cute, hhn—"

That does the trick. Clint watches, growing guilty, as her face reddens, Black Widow's pretty, little mouth slackens open.

It's like a levee, flooding from Clint as quickly as his spunk erupting into the condom.

Everything feels like Natasha. 

Everything.

But… it's not her.

It's okay.

*