Okay, I finally decided to embrace my geek side (which is basically all of me) and publish this story. First time ever publishing, but hopefully it goes all right. ;)
The edge of the skyscraper was so close. Pumping her arms, Natasha sprinted across the roof, jumping and dodging over obstacles as she strained herself towards the edge where the first hints of sunlight could be detected. Tears blurred the empty drop ahead as she clenched her jaw, forcing her bruised and sleep deprived body forward.
I'm sorry, Grace.
As her aching legs bent, preparing to spring forward one last time, pain exploded in her left ankle. Natasha cried out as she tumbled forward, skidding across the concrete before coming to a stop mere feet from the edge.
No, no, no. Not like this.
Gritting her teeth as the tears now rolled freely down her face, Natasha struggled to pull herself forward. Her fingers scrabbled at the ground as she managed to drag herself ahead several more inches.
Come on, Black Widow. Come on, Romanov. It's two feet! Just two feet!
Six inches from the edge, Natasha collapsed, her broken body shivering uncontrollably as her ankle screamed in pain. She should have known the assassin that had been after her for nearly three months wouldn't give her such an easy out.
At the sound of soft footsteps approaching, Natasha twisted her head slightly to face a pair of dark leather boots that stopped in front of her.
"You were really going to do it, weren't you." The cold voice above her caused Natasha to flinch. She struggled to take a steady breath as her eyes traced the lines ingrained in the boots.
"Better...to do it...myself. On my own terms," Natasha wheezed. She gulped back the lump in her throat. "I almost made it, too." It would have been over in an instant. Now, she was certain that her death would not be so merciful.
Stray pebbles crunched underneath the feet of the man as he crouched down next to her, letting out a heavy sigh. Natasha lifted her head slightly, watching with confusion as the man turned his head to the slowly rising sun.
"It's funny," he mused, his head still turned away from her. "For the past two years, all I've ever heard at S.H.I.E.L.D is terrifying stories of the infamous Black Widow. There's a rumor that if you were shot five times in the leg you would still be able to take down just as many agents. And yet here you are, brought down by a broken ankle. You're welcome, by the way.
Natasha managed to shrug her shoulders slightly as she lowered her head, once again examining his boots. She should be up, trying to kill this man, or at the very least running, but it was all she could do just to keep her eyes open. Grace would have been disappointed.
Guilt hit her lit a sledgehammer, more painful than any of the injuries that her body now possesed. She sucked in a breath, squeezing her eyes shut.
The man snorted. "Come on, Widow, it's barely fractured. Can't deal with a little pain?"
Natasha opened her eyes, glaring up at the man."My name is Natasha," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Just Natasha."
The man turned towards in in surprise, his mouth opening slightly. After a pause, he nodded. "Clint."
Natasha's lips twitched. "Nice to meet you, Clint."
"What? Impending death giving you a sense of humor?" He shook his head, then lowered himself to the ground, letting out a heavy sigh as he stretched his legs out in front of him. Completely at ease with the red headed assassin that lay beside him.
Natasha frowned, trying to shift to a more comfortable position but giving up as her ankle shot a bolt of pain up her spine. "You could have just shot me through the heart in the first place," she muttered. "Or let me run off the roof. I would have done it."
A slight smile cracked Clint's face. "Maybe," he said thoughtfully, fingering the bow slung over his back. "But I was curious as to why you gave up so quickly."
Closing her eyes, Natasha sighed. "You were guarding the only exit, and it's a hundred foot jump to the nearest building."
"It was stupid of you to come up here. No, more than that. It was suicide."
"Yeah, well, you didn't give me many options," Natasha mumbled. "What a few wrong turns will do to you." The redhead felt anger surging through her bones. She should be shoving herself off the ground and doing everything in her power to kill this S.H.I.E.L.D agent that had somehow managed to continue finding her for months.
But she was so tired. The pain lacing her body made her want to curl up into a ball and sleep forever. "So, are you here to kill me or hand me over to S.H.I.E.L.D?" She asked, her eyes now trained on the sunrise in front of her.
Clint didn't respond. Slowly, he got to his feet and slung his bow off his back.
Jerking her head in a nod, Natasha took a quick breath before closing her eyes.
"I've read your report. Says you were kidnapped as a child and brainwashed into this." Clint paused. "But you're still a major threat. Top priority, actually. No matter our past, we still make our own choices."
Natasha flinched as the words hit her, striking her with more pain than all the wounds that covered her body combined.
The faces. The faces that would never leave her alone.
"Clint?" Natasha croaked.
"What?"
She swallowed. "Can you wait until the sun comes up? I'd like to be able to know that I reached tomorrow."
"Some special occasion or just a coward's final wish of suspending death?"
Clearing her throat, she raised her head slightly, hating that tears were still managing to trickle down her face. "As a matter of fact, it's the anniversary of the day I watched my best friend be slowly tortured and killed by our trainers without me lifting a finger to help. I just...I want to be able to die on the same day as her, even if won't change what I failed to do."
A moment passed in silence.
"As last wishes go, it's not the worst." The archer placed the bow back onto his back, then folded his arms.
"Thank you," Natasha whispered. She turned her head to face the sun as its tips reached above the roof, warming her chilled face. "I'm sorry, Grace," Natasha breathed out. "I didn't save you, and for that I am so sorry. You deserved to live more than I ever will. I just wish I could have seen that sooner."
The sun reached above the roof, casting it in a rosy glow. "Good bye," Natasha murmured. She closed her eyes and waited for the impact of the arrow through her heart.
Waited.
And waited.
Puzzled, she cracked open an eye, furrowing her brow in confusion as she failed to see the leather boots next to her. Natasha lifted her head, twisting it to see the archer crouching next to her broken ankle.
He avoided her gaze. "I need to make sure your bones aren't sticking through your skin." His bow was once again slung over his back.
What happened to shoot and run? Mouth open in shock and confusion, Natasha found herself nodding. Taking hold of the boot, Clint carefully tugged it off. Natasha bit back a scream as it slid past her foot. Placing the boot to the side, Clint examined the ankle with a frown on his face.
A gasp of pain escaped Natasha as he jabbed at it. She chomped down on her tongue to keep any other unbidden sounds from slipping out.
"Looks like its only your tibia that's fractured," he muttered. "It's closed, so it should heal up fairly quickly."
A colorful stream in a mixture of several languages spewed from Natasha's mouth as Clint tried and failed to put the boot on gently.
He smirked as he jumped to his feet, taking several steps forward. "We need to move, so you're going to have to get up," he said. "And since I know for a fact that between the both of us we could fill an entire book with the people that want us dead, we should get a move on."
Natasha couldn't stop the dumbfounded expression on her face. Who was this agent? Was this simply a plot to get her back to S.H.I.E.D without resistance? She scoffed at her own question. Completely spent and with a broken ankle, she wouldn't be able to lift a finger if he wanted to transport her back. And if he wanted to capture her for torture, he wouldn't be checking to make sure her ankle would make a full recovery. Then why? Why go from pointing an arrow at her heart to this? She frowned, torn.
"Nat?"
Natasha started. "My name isn't Nat," she said quickly.
The archer chuckled. "Whatever, Widow. Did you hear me?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I got it." She took a deep breath before planting her hands on the concrete. Her body screamed in protest as she pushed upwards, twisting to land in a sitting position. A wince crossed her face.
"Talk about a spent assassin," Clint noted as he held out a hand.
Natasha hesitated, doubt flashing across her face. The edge of the roof was so close. With the new surge of adrenaline in her body, she was sure she could make it. That, or simply push the radical agent who was practically already halfway to a misplaced step and watch him fall. That would make today the anniversary for two murders. Though something told her that he wouldn't go so easily.
Clint must have guessed what she was thinking, because his face hardened. "Nat," he said, and something in his tone caused her to pause. It was almost as if he was pleading, however subtlety. Pleading for her to let him help her.
Taking a deep breath, she took Clint's offered hand.
The muscles in his arm contracted as he lifted her, holding her weight until her good foot was solid on the ground. Natasha gripped his hand for balance, awkwardly suspending her left foot in the air.
"I have a safe house not far from here."
Natasha turned to him, pulling her hand away as she balanced easily on one foot, thanks to the years of ballet she had been forced through. "Why?" She asked him.
Something flitted across Clint's face, so fast Natasha almost missed it. If she had to pin it down, she would have said that it looked close to...guilt. She scowled, frustrated that she couldn't seem to get a read on this guy, something that she prized herself on.
"We don't have time," Clint answered, his face now deadpan. "Paris is notorious for the amount of henchmen and agents here."
Natasha reluctantly nodded, in that instant knowing that he was right, no matter what his hidden motivations were.
Uncharacteristically forgetting about her broken ankle, Natasha took a step forward, features tightening as it collapsed underneath her. Clint quickly grabbed her shoulder, preventing her from falling as she cursed her mistake.
What sleep deprivation and exhaustion could do to a person.
"Okay, obviously this isn't going to work the way I planned," Clint muttered.
"Really? You had a plan?" Natasha asked through gritted teeth.
"Sure. Shoot you and blame the pigeons," Clint responded. He took a deep breath, eyes beginning to flit cautiously around. "We'll take a cab," he decided. "It's risky, but we don't really have any other options."
Sure you do, Natasha thought. Shoot and run.
"Can you make it to the lobby?" Clint asked.
"If you're asking if I need to be carried like one of those idiotic Disney princesses you Americans are so obsessed with, then no," Natasha answered shortly. Silently cursing herself for knowing she needed help, she twisted her shoulder out of Clint's grasp and slung it around his as he wrapped an arm around her waist.
As she limped forward, Clint supporting her, she heard him mutter, "Coulson's gonna kill me."