Orichalcum
The rumbling buzz of the phone sitting on the night-stand cut through the morning silence, and Natasha Romanoff let out a groan. Opening her eyes just enough to see what was in front of her, she reached over and picked the phone up. Blinking, she looked at the readout of the text from Director Fury, her eyes widening with each word. By the time she reached the end, Natasha was completely awake and feeling ever so slightly uneasy.
"Clint," she said seriously, "wake up."
"No," came the muffled reply from next to her, swallowed up almost completely by Clint's pillow.
"Now."
"Five more minutes."
Natasha sighed, trying not to think about just how appealing that sounded at the moment.
"I just got the word from Fury. Orichalcum is on."
That was enough to shock Clint just as badly as it had surprised her, and he was sitting up next to her a heartbeat later.
"I thought you said the other guys would never agree to it."
Natasha shrugged.
"Looks like they changed their minds. Fury must've made them quite an offer."
Clint shook his head, still trying to wake up even as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"I don't even want to know. Let's just get this over with."
Natasha paused, her eyes narrowing slightly as she got up as well and looked over at Clint.
"Are you nervous?" she asked, the question free of judgment. Clint stared at her.
"Aren't you?" he replied, and Natasha just shrugged.
"Not as long as they need us alive to carry out whatever bargain Fury made with them," she answered frankly, busying herself with getting dressed and ready while Clint did the same. "They wouldn't kill us with a stake riding on S.H.I.E.L.D."
"I hope you're right, Nat," Clint said as he stocked his quiver with arrows, very carefully selecting only the ones made purely out of durable, high-quality carbon.
"I always am," she shot back, checking her communicator to make sure it was working properly. Her guns stayed on her dresser; she wouldn't be needing them this time around.
"You ready?"
Clint nodded.
"As I'll ever be. Make the call."
Natasha punched some numbers into her communicator and waited as the silence on the other end turned into a repeating tone. When a voice answered, it spoke in fluent Russian.
"Yes?"
"It's me," Natasha answered, inwardly glad that she'd kept her fluency in her native tongue. "I set up my communicator to give you a signal; come on over and pick us up."
"Of course."
The line went dead, and Natasha let out a sigh she didn't know she'd been holding. Half a minute later, a sharp burst of sound in the room and the cloud of black-red mist that accompanied it signaled the arrival of the agents' transportation.
"Agent Romanoff," he said politely, before turning and glancing sidelong at Clint. "Barton."
"Azazel," Natasha returned the greeting with a nod. "Is everything taken care of?"
"Everything except the formalities," the mutant replied, "and the Brotherhood doesn't like being kept waiting."
"Lead the way, then," Natasha said, placing her hand on one of Azazel's shoulders. Clint opted to take hold of the mutant's other arm, and a moment later the three of them vanished.
When the world snapped back into existence in front of them, the S.H.I.E.L.D agents were standing in the middle of an open field. The cloaked outline of the Helicarrier could barely be seen in the sky above them, if the sun was shining just right and the observer knew just what to look for.
"It's this way," Azazel said, before beginning to walk west. Natasha and Clint followed behind him. "Only a hundred yards or so."
The pair of agents said nothing in reply, following their guide with determined steps.
"I can't believe you're still dragging him around," the mutant said, his disdain clear in his voice. "You could do better."
"I disagree," Natasha replied, her tone cold and even. "Agent Barton is one of the best people we have in the field. And there's certainly no one else I'd rather have watching my back for me."
"A dependency that makes you weak," Azazel chided. "Misguided affection that almost cost you everything, back in Budapest."
Natasha's step faltered for no more than a heartbeat at the jab, and she regained her poise.
"And yet, here I still am," she said. "What does that tell you?"
Azazel's smile was as pointed as his fangs.
"That everyone gets lucky, Agent Romanoff." He stopped walking, holding up a hand to halt his companions. "We're here."
A few more moments passed as Azazel busied himself with a hatch that was built into the ground, and Clint took the opportunity to put a calming hand on Natasha's shoulder.
"You all right?" he asked her. She just nodded, leaving her partner unconvinced. "What did he say to you, Nat?"
"Nothing important," she answered, looking over and flashing him a brief, distracted smile. "I'm fine; trust me."
Clint inclined his head in a small nod as the sound of the hatch finally opening reached their ears.
"You know I do."
The hatch opened to reveal a long staircase leading deep down underground, with lights dotting the way. The signal on Natasha's communicator had died as soon as the descent had begun, and the S.H.I.E.L.D agents knew the interference was Magneto's doing.
They'd been walking in a disjointed path for a few minutes—designed that way, no doubt, to make tracking them impossible—when they finally reached a reinforced steel door. Azazel knocked once and it opened inwards, revealing an unexpectedly spacious room dominated by a large table at the center of it. Looking around at those who occupied it, Clint and Natasha soon understood the true strength possessed by the Brotherhood of Mutants:
Magneto himself sat at the head of the table, flanked by Mystique and the White Queen herself, Emma Frost. Riptide, Wasp and Sabertooth were also present, rounding out the group. The two agents knew full well that the mutants in this room alone could probably succeed in ripping most of S.H.I.E.L.D to pieces, even with the Avengers in play.
They held their silence, and waited for Magneto to speak.
"I hope," he said at last, lifting up a briefcase and pushing it through the air towards his guests, "that your Director knows what he's doing. HYDRA is not an organization to be taken lightly."
"And we won't," Clint assured him, taking the briefcase by the handle as the magnetic field around it vanished, and holding it by his side. "Careful with that tone, though, Mister Lensherr," the agent continued, sounding amused. "You keep it up, people might start thinking you actually care about us humans."
"Make sure Fury holds up his part of the bargain," Magneto countered with calm menace, "and you won't have to see how little your lives concern me."
Natasha opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of a short laugh from Frost.
"He hasn't told them what S.H.I.E.L.D promised us," she said. "They have no idea what they're walking in to."
The arrow was notched to Clint's bow in less than the blink of an eye, before anyone in the room could react. Magneto lifted his hand, trying to control the weapon. When that failed, he stopped and smiled.
"Carbon," he said, sounding almost impressed as he motioned for Sabertooth to sit back down. "So you do learn, after all."
"And it's strong enough to cut through diamond," Clint added for Frost's benefit. "So how's about you start talking, before you see how little your lives concern me?"
Silence held in the room for a moment, before it was broken by Azazel.
"I stand corrected," he said. "Your hawk has some talons, after all."
"And it would be wise of you to remember that," Natasha said, not even bothering to hide her satisfaction. "Come on," she said, shifting her attention to her partner, "I think we're done here."
"But—"
"Come on," Natasha repeated. "Fury can tell us what we need to know, and we don't exactly have the upper hand here."
Clint nodded, and the pair of them left without another word. The carbon arrow stayed trained on Magneto until the door closed behind them, and only after they were under the sunlight again did Clint lower his bow.
"I could've gotten them to talk."
"I know," Natasha said, sighing. "It just wasn't a risk I was willing to take." She looked up at him, her eyes openly apologetic. "Sorry for calling you out like that."
"Don't be," Clint told her, as they began to walk towards a jet that Fury had dispatched for them to ride back up to the Helicarrier in. "It's not like I care what those clowns think of me, anyway."
Natasha chuckled, relieved that her partner's pride hadn't been wounded. They walked in comfortable silence, until they had reached the jet and Clint was climbing into the cockpit.
"By the way," he said in Russian so flawless it almost made Natasha fall out of the co-pilot's seat in surprise, "would you really not want anyone else backing you up?"
Natasha had never been happier that Clint couldn't see the look on her face in that moment.
"I didn't know you spoke Russian," she answered instead, and Clint laughed.
"That's not an answer."
"You already know the answer," Natasha said stubbornly over the communication system, getting another laugh in response.
"Yeah, I guess I do," Clint said, switching back to the tone Natasha had always found comforting. "Thanks, though," he said sincerely. "That really means a lot, coming from you."
Natasha smiled into her oxygen mask as the jet re-entered the Helicarrier, landing perfectly as always.
"You don't have to thank me for telling the truth," she said, before re-focusing on the task at hand.
"Let's go see where Fury's sending us this time."
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A/N: Clearly, I'm all over the place with my fandoms these days. This one's been bouncing around in my head for a bit, and I finally got around to putting it on paper. The thing I love most about Clint and Natasha's dynamic is how understood their bond is, and how they have no need to be overt about it. I purposefully tried to avoid being overly sentimental here, so I hope that came across. I also hope you enjoyed it!