Welcome to the playground, Natasha. Marvel Universe isn't mine. Set in my Trust-verse.
Natasha Romanoff was slipping through the shadows, keeping a careful eye around her. She thought that she had seen a man running along rooftops; she wasn't sure if he was following her or not. She also wasn't sure if she was pleased by the situation, or if she should be fearful for her life.
Darting into a store, she pretended to browse, keeping an eye on the entrance. She shook her head no at the assistant who scurried up, asking if she needed any help. Taking a look at the clock, she realized that she needed to make her meet, and just had enough time. She went out the back, and returned to the street by the alleyway.
She was being followed, she was sure of that. The only question now was by who, and why. Red Room...they liked to follow at random times. SHIELD...she could just see her unmarked grave right now. Natasha did the only thing she could think of, by stopping, turning slowly until she was facing where she thought the watcher was, and held up one hand, middle finger extended. Good. She'd either be yelled at or killed, and at this point in time, either was preferable, because she'd be feeling something or be dead. There, she saw her rendezvous. Reaching into her pocket, she palmed the disc, and as she walked by, she pretended to stumble into him, and slid the disc into his pocket. Allowing her stumble to turn into a fall, she swore, cursing at her shoes, the sidewalk, the street, and how crowded everything was. Sensing more than seeing her target moving off, Natasha stood up, brushing down her clothing, and thanking the stranger who was helping her.
"No problem," he said in English, making Natasha's stomach drop. She took a slightly longer look at the man; he wasn't one that she could remember from Red Room's files, but she would take a look when she returned to base.
The man wasn't in the files, so it was possible that he was a tourist, but Natasha filed a report anyways. She also reported being followed, receiving a nod in response, which didn't tell her anything, not that they would.
Returning to her assigned room, she slumped on her bed, letting out a long breath. Tomorrow she would get her next mission, tomorrow she'd go off again into the streets to prepare, but for tonight she could just sleep in safety.
"Clint." His name made Clint Barton jump, and turn to look at Coulson. "It's confirmed, she's here." Coulson smiled slightly. "Good spotting."
"Thanks." Clint nodded absentmindedly, going back to look over his laptop. "You know, I don't think she's happy."
"Why do you say that?"
"Take a look at her last few kills – they're practically invitations to the local police that she wants to be caught. I let her see me today, too, a couple times. All she did was give me the finger. Plus,"
"Barton," Coulson warned, interrupting Clint, "we're not here to analyze her, we're here to take out somebody who has been a rather big thorn in SHIELD's side over the past few years."
"Yeah, I know. You've said that, repeatedly." Clint stood up, stretching. "So, cards?" He pulled a deck out of his pocket, starting to flick through it. "If, you know, you want me to take her out tomorrow and all that jazz. Me, I'd like to get home, I've missed enough classes and I'm getting really tired of the food here."
"Sure, why not."
It wasn't Red Room, and knowing her luck, not only was her watcher from SHIELD, but it was Hawkeye. Although, Natasha paused, pressing back into a doorway, that...could work. Get him someplace where he couldn't get that damned bow into play, try to make him listen. Work on paying for some of her sins, or at least get a fast death. That was something that everybody agreed on; Hawkeye never played around when he went for the kill. Usually straight to the brain, instant death. Taking a deep breath, she darted across the street, trying to make her path as clear as possible.
"What are you doing?" Clint murmured to himself, watching the woman practically sprint into the building that he was on. "Hey, Coulson, she's inside. Going in."
"Be careful," was all that his handler said over the radio.
"Always."
Carefully putting her back to the wall next to the door, Natasha looked around the room she had chosen, happy that there wasn't enough of a line-of-sight for Hawkeye to get her with anything but a handgun or hand-to-hand, and reports said that he hated the former, and she could probably get the drop on him with the latter. She'd just have to make sure to get that bow out of his hands before doing anything else. Controlling her breathing, she listened. There was enough rubble on the floors in here that it would take a circus magician to not make any noise. And there. A soft crunch, then the door started to open and she saw the tip of an arrow start to enter. She waited another breath, then slammed the door shut, breaking the arrow and hopefully the bow as well. Hearing cursing, she suspected that if she hadn't gotten the bow, she'd've at least gotten his hand. Jumping out of range of the door when it opened, she pulled her gun, backing up even more as the door slammed open.
"Dammit!" Clint cursed, as the door slammed shut on his bow. At least it hadn't gotten his hand. Pulling his handgun, he carefully set the bow down on the floor, then raised one foot and kicked the door open, moving inside the room, only to see the Black Widow staring at him, her own gun extended, hand shaking slightly. Wait, shaking?
"Hello, Hawkeye." Natasha chose to speak English. "Have a question for you."
"Yeah?" he asked warily. He could hear Coulson start yelling over the radio, his handler had obviously heard her voice and question.
"Do you think your boss would be as upset as mine if I went with you?" She was taking a gamble, here, and it showed in how shaky her voice was. "Because I want to go with you. Please."
Clint ignored Coulson's order to stop talking and just shoot the woman, dammit. "Probably," he replied, still watching her carefully. "Why?"
"Just, please." her voice wasn't shaking anymore, it was practically sobbing. She carefully held her gun up, kneeling down on the floor, then sliding her gun towards him. She carefully repeated the actions with her bracelets and belt, then laced her fingers behind her head and crossed her legs at the ankles.
"Well, damn," Clint breathed, thinking furiously. "Coulson, shut up." he ordered, finally getting sick of what he was hearing over the radio. Carefully keeping his gun on her, he knelt down and grabbed everything that she had put on the floor. He slung her belt over his shoulder, and shoved her bracelets into a pocket. Picking up her gun, he pointed that at her as well, before holstering his. "Stand up. Slowly. One funny move, you'll be dead."
Natasha complied, keeping her hands behind her head. Following the jerk of his head, she slowly moved towards him. "I would prefer alive, but someplace other than my current employment."
"Stop." Clint ordered, seeing the woman obey. He backed up to the door, and bent down to pick up his bow and slung it over his shoulder with his quiver and her belt. "Come here." When Natasha got close enough, he grabbed one arm, twisting it behind her back. "We're going to the roof. Move."
Hawkeye wasn't being gentle, but Natasha could deal with that; at least she wasn't dead. Meekly, she let him push her up the stairs to the roof, then across a wood plank to a second building, and across to a third, one that was full of apartments. "Coulson, I'm coming in. Need restraints. Dammit, I'll explain later!" He continued pushing her along, entering the building and hugging the wall. Pausing, he whispered in Natasha's ear. "Close your eyes. Open them and you won't have the chance to close them on your own." She obeyed, and he continued pushing her along. She heard a knock, then a door opened.
"So dad, she followed me home, can I keep her?" Natasha couldn't figure out if Hawkeye was being sarcastic or serious. The "dammit, Barton!" she heard next was the last thing she could make out, before a bag was shoved over her head and she found herself shoved to the ground with a knee in her back. A few breaths later she felt the prick of a needle in her arm and everything went black.
"Barton, you have better have a damned good reason for this!" Coulson was yelling, pointing at the unconscious woman on the floor. "You were told to do one thing, and you do the exact opposite!"
"Yeah? Were you even listening to me? No! You just told me to shut up and trust the analysts. Frankly, Coulson, their analysis was shit." Clint snapped back. "Listen to the fucking tapes of that little conversation that we just had, and listen to her voice. Complete and total opposite of what the analysts said she'd say and do if we got her close enough to talk to us. She got the drop on me, and then? Got down on the floor, put down all of her weapons, and damn near begged to come with. One of the things she said was 'someplace other than my current employment,' and if that's not asking for some help, I don't know what is." He paused, breathing heavily, trying to modulate his tone. "She's asking to defect. She's been asking for months now, ever since that hospital fire that she set. If we didn't have pictures and confirmation that this really was her, I'd wonder if this was a civilian, because she sure as hell didn't act like the Black Widow would have acted three months ago."
Coulson just glared at the archer. "Pack up. We're leaving in ten minutes. You get to carry her, and you'd better be able to back up just why you're making all these statements on the flight back to me, and to Fury when we land. Don't think I'll be able to protect you if he gets upset, and right now? I'm not sure I want to."
The flight back was tense, and Coulson made Clint go over every single reason he disagreed with the analysis of the Black Widow. Three times. After the third set of questions, with the same answers, Coulson slumped back in his seat. "Dammit, Barton. I don't like this. It's calling into question a lot of things, but I'm seeing where you're coming from." A soft moan directed their attention to the woman laying on the floor at their feet. "And I have no idea what we're going to do with her, either. I guess, let her cool her heels while locked up for a few days." He reached for a drug kit, pulling out more sedative.
"No, she can walk." Clint was firm. "Besides, if she's just playing us, easy enough to shove her overboard."
Natasha woke up with a low moan, realizing that she was laying on a metal floor that was vibrating slightly. Opening her eyes, she realized that she still had a bag over her head; she could feel that her hands were tied behind her back as well. She couldn't feel anything through her boots, but she suspected that they had tied her feet as well. It was what she would have done. The vibrations changed, and she felt a hand grab her arm and haul her upright. "Don't do anything funny. Would hate to have to put you overboard, after all the hell you're putting me through." It was Hawkeye. She just lowered her head and continued to let him shove her around.
"Agent Barton! Want to tell me just what the hell you were thinking, and why I shouldn't just shoot you myself!" Odd, that she could make out the words through the fabric covering her head; everybody must be yelling.
"The analysis?" Natasha felt her arm being shook as Hawkeye yelled back. "Total crap! Frankly, Director, the intelligence guys should all be shot, if I can figure out that all that shit they were going on about was actually a request to fucking defect!" His grip tightened on her arm, drawing a small whimper from her. He was strong. "Listen to the damn tapes, tell me that I was wrong! She had the damn drop on me, could've sent me home in a fucking body bag, and instead sits down on the damn floor and says please! Does that really sound like somebody who is all that loyal to their parent organization anymore?" He tugged on her arm, and Natasha obeyed the command to move, stumbling slightly.
Clint was getting too close to Fury for Coulson's liking, and he quickly stepped in. "Sir. Let's take this inside, put her in lockup for now. Agent Barton made some points to me on the flight, you might want to take a look yourself and listen to their conversation."
Natasha found her hands suddenly freed, and a solid push in her back, combined with the bag being pulled from her head, sent her stumbling blindly forward. A click indicated that a door had been shut and probably locked behind her. Turning around, she saw a scowling Hawkeye make a motion to somebody out of her sight, then stalk off. She slowly sat down on the shelf in the cell, drawing her knees up to her chest and sobbing.
When Clint entered the security room, it was empty except for Fury and Coulson. Coulson had Clint's laptop open and the tape from the encounter playing. "That's when she got down on the ground, and handed over her gun, belt, and bracelets. Speaking of that, here." He pulled Natasha's bracelets out of his pocket, gently placing them on the table. "If you notice, I hadn't yet given her a single order." He folded his arms across his chest, staring at Fury.
"You overstepped your authority, Agent Barton." Fury said, low and dangerous. "Agent Coulson has let me listen to the tape, now I want you to walk me through just why, exactly, you think she wanted to defect."
Clint did so, even pulling up some pictures and reports that the intelligence analysts had ignored or passed over as being inconsequential. Coulson just stood back, and Fury watched and listened. When Clint was finished, Fury proceeded to ask every question Coulson had, as well as some others, face expressionless.
"Well, Agent Barton." Fury had moved over to the security cameras, and was staring at the monitor for Natasha's cell, thoughtfully. "I will be having a talk with the analysts. She's going to stay in there until I decide just which one of you I believe more. Stay the hell out of my sight until I make my decision, understood? In fact, you're restricted to quarters. Agent Coulson, lock him in there." He picked up the bracelets and walked out of the room.
"Let's go, Barton." Coulson was still annoyed. "I'll make sure you get fed, but that's it. Just hope that Fury makes up his mind soon."
Clint, for his part, just picked up his laptop and stalked off.
Natasha wasn't sure how long she was in the cell, but when a voice ordered her to stand up and move to the wall with her hands behind her head, she was quick to obey. She was patted down, roughly, then handed some clothing and told to change. When they were done, she returned to the shelf and curled up again, resting her chin on her knees and staring at nothing. This was to be expected, she told herself, and it could have been much worse. Everything could be worse. She was fed once, and was just about to try and take a nap when there was a man standing outside her cell. He was looking at somebody out of her line of sight, nodding. When the door started to open, she scrambled to her feet, backing up against the wall.
"Black Widow." The man just looked at her. "What is your real name?"
"Natasha. Natasha Romanoff." she didn't try to meet his eyes, but stared at the ground.
"Well, Miss Romanoff. You've been granted a stay of execution, as well as slightly more comfortable quarters. Come with me." He turned around, and she followed, noticing the guards falling in around them.
The walk through the hallways was quiet, the metal floor cold against her feet. The man stopped by a door and opened it, motioning Natasha in. "Your room, for now. Food will be brought to you. Do you have any questions for me?"
"Yes," Natasha whispered. "What should I call you?"
The man raised one eyebrow. "You may call me Agent Coulson."
"Thank you," she whispered, hearing the door close and lock behind her. Not looking around, she moved straight to the bed and lay down, staring at the wall.
When Clint heard his door open, he didn't move, instead looking straight at his laptop. A glance at the clock on the screen said that it wasn't mealtime, so that meant only two things were possible.
"Clint." Coulson's voice, and the fact that he was using Clint's first name again with that tone of voice suggested the better of the two options. Clint really didn't want to think about the alternative; after four days stuck in here he was still plenty mad, and ready to climb the walls.
"Fuck off," was Clint's reply. He was also hurt, that Coulson hadn't trusted him.
"I'm sorry."
Clint finally looked over at Coulson then, the first time he'd bothered to look at the older man since they'd returned. "Yeah? That's nice. I'm not."
"You were right. Fury agrees, and there's been a decision made about Miss Romanoff."
"Yeah?" Clint shoved his chair back and stood up. He flopped down on his bed, nodding at the chair. "Sit, and I'll pretend to listen, and maybe even pretend to get rid of some of this mad."
Coulson sat, glancing over at Clint's laptop. "Ah, so that's why you don't sound so curious. How long have you been watching?"
"On and off since you guys put her in there. Would love to know what's going on in her headspace right now, that she's barely even moved from the bed. At least she's eating."
"Psych says that she's probably depressed." A snort from the bed gave Clint's opinion of that assessment. "Psych also says that you're nuts, but we already knew that."
"Naturally. You trained me, after all."
"Which is why you might be the best person to help wake her up."
"Oh?" Now Clint sounded curious, and he sat up, finally looking at Coulson.
"Yes. Psych's options are to just drug her up, and she's got some good information in there. You might just be nuts enough to do everything that needs to be done and keep a useful product afterwards."
"We've been reduced to things." Clint rolled his eyes. "Okay. I'll have a list of stuff that I want for you in half an hour. And I also have a rather intense desire, still, to break things, so I'd suggest you leave, because I'm going to drop off that list and then go to the gym, and anybody who gets in my way will probably end up being one of those broken things. I'll go see her tomorrow, once the last of the mad is worked off."
Natasha had lost track of the time, but had an idea that it had been several days, simply because of the number of meals that she had been brought. So when she heard the door open, she just assumed that it was another meal. The thud of something landing on the floor and the voice were new.
"You stink." The voice was slightly familiar. It wasn't Agent Coulson, though. Rolling over, she saw Hawkeye standing in the doorway, a duffel bag on the floor next to him, clothing in his hands. He moved forward, shutting the door behind him. "Get up, go take a shower, and put clean clothes on." He tossed the clothing onto the bed. Numbly, Natasha obeyed. She hadn't actually looked in the bathroom much, and was surprised that there was soap and shampoo already in the shower. When she emerged, she found Hawkeye finishing making the bed. The absurdity of the situation – SHIELD's most feared assassin, the man whispered about in Red Room's halls as a supernatural bogeyman, doing woman's work – forced a small giggle out of her. He looked up as he smoothed the blanket down, a smile playing around the edges of his lips. "Find something funny?"
"You are doing woman's work." She didn't move, keeping a careful eye on the man.
"Not around here, it isn't." He straightened up, looking over his work critically. "Good enough." He turned, picking up the duffel bag and putting it on the bed. "More clothing." He went to the desk and opened a drawer. "Remote control for the television." He walked to the door and knocked, twice, and when it opened he accepted the tray with a firm nod. "Something other than soup and sandwiches to eat."
The smells intrigued Natasha and she slowly moved closer, watching as he put the tray down on the desk. She sat down, and slowly ate, turning in her seat to keep watch on Hawkeye. "Thank you, Hawkeye."
"Agent Clint Barton," he corrected, nodding. "Finished?" At her nod, he moved forward, picking up the tray. "So here's the deal. I'll be in and out, but I've got more shit to do than just stay in here. You promise to behave and not stash anything as weapons, you'll be fed something other than the canned crap that they've been giving you." Watching her nod, he continued. "Good. You can ask me questions if you have any. Do you have any?"
Natasha shook her head, watching as Hawkeye turned and left the room. Standing up, she moved to the duffel to see just what, exactly, he had brought her.