Another night, another man who looked at her with lust in his eyes and died for it. This time luck was not on her side; she had lured him to his hotel room, pulled the name of his drug-trafficking boss from his lips within minutes. A barely perceptible sting in his neck from the ring on her finger and his heart slowed and stopped. Natasha allowed herself a smirk of accomplishment and turned to leave, having no time to react as the door burst open to reveal twelve heavily armed men. She still isn't quite sure how her cover was blown, but there is no doubt that these men know exactly who she is. Armed with only her ring and a cleverly concealed blade in the sole of her heels, she is outgunned and out of luck. Two bullets to the left shoulder, one buried in her left thigh and another burning through her midriff, and Natasha realises that this is where it ends, bleeding out on the expensive-looking hotel carpet.
She isn't afraid, just feels a weary sense of relief and resignation. No one lives long in this industry, expecially not with the Red Room on her tail, furious at her traitorous departure from their ranks. She is surprised it took this long; it could have easily happened last month in Venice when she ran out of ammo, trapped in an abandoned warehouse with twenty men hunting her, or in Sao Paulo last year when she walked into a Red Room trap. She escaped, but there were eighteen innocent civilians who were not so lucky. The weight of guilt on her conscience had grown heavier over the last year, each new mission she accepted bringing her closer to a death that could almost be called suicidal.
However, lying in this generic hotel room surrounded by her own blood, Natasha feels a pang of something she can't quite place. Is it remorse, or regret? Her thoughts are interrupted by a flash of pain in her side. Through the red haze clouding her eyes, she realises that one of the men gathered around her has kicked her in the ribs, likely breaking some. As the blows begin to rain down on her, she curls herself up as best she can and hopes that it ends soon. The blows stop suddenly and she thinks that she must have passed out, or that the blood loss has finally given her the release she wants. Natasha slowly opens her eyes, only to see bodies scattered around her with – is that an arrow buried in that man's head? A shout and the sound of bullets draws her attention to the only man left standing in the room, his cry cut off abruptly as an arrow hits his chest, killing him instantly.
Countless moments pass as Natasha tries and fails to make sense of what is happening. She is about to fall into a heavy unconsciousness when she hears glass breaking under a foot right beside her. Dragging her exhausted eyes open again, she sees a man with light brown hair and troubled grey eyes kneel beside her. They look at each other for a long moment, before she sees the bow clenched in his hand and understands. She's heard of him before, there's not many master assassins who leave a calling card quite like Hawkeye. Her latest intel says that he has joined with SHIELD, another faceless organisation that has tried to kill her on occasion. Natasha turns her head away from him, offering her neck as a final sign of defeat. Even in this moment there is a beaten and broken defiance to her.
Clint Barton studies the woman – no, girl – lying before him. She has been shot at least four times, her wrist and nose look broken, there is a nasty gash above her right eye and from the way she is struggling to breathe she has a few broken ribs. He knows what Natasha Romanoff is capable of, and the reasons why SHIELD has sent him to end her. Looking at her now though, he can hardly call it an assassination; more like putting her out of her misery. He sees the tremble of her clenched fist and the tear rolling down her cheek as she turns away, her skin pale underneath the blood that is slowly running out of her body. Clint raises his bow, draws back an arrow. "Do you want this?" he asks suddenly, surprising them both. Her body stiffens, and he think she isn't going to reply. Natasha slowly turns back to him, meeting his eyes. She considers staying silent, waiting for him to kill her, but something in her wants to talk to this man who is going to take her life. "Yes." Her whispered reply is so quiet that Clint barely hears it. He aims his bow and she closes her eyes, blackness enveloping her as she waits for the final blow.
To this day, Clint doesn't know why he never released that arrow ten years ago, why he instead gathered Natasha's unconscious body in his arms and carried her to the waiting quinjet and a furious Coulson. But looking at her on this day, on their wedding day, he is thankful that he made that choice. Their friends cheer as Coulson leads her down the aisle, Thor's booming laughter echoing and Tony's whistle of appreciation for the bride making Steve blush and Pepper roll her eyes. The couple only have eyes for each other, and when they share a passionate kiss and embrace in front of the celebrating crowd, Clint can't contain the smile that spread across his face when Natasha whispers a barely audible "thank you" into his ear. It's not just gratitude for saving her life that day, but for showing her that life could be more than death and hiding and fear. It's gratitude for their friendship, their fierce loyalty to each other, and for showing her that love is not only for children.