It wasn't possible. He had always been able to finish the task. Always. Now he found himself staring down the shaft of his arrow, unable to take the shot. It was all in the eyes.
He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it. He couldn't do it.
He had tracked her for months. Natalia Alianova Romanova was famous in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s history, known for killing any agent put on her tail. She killed for fun, at least that was what Clint Barton had been led to believe. Clint had screwed up big time in the academy, and then got put on her case for punishment. Going after her was suicide.
Clint knew he couldn't let that get to him. He was going to prove to S.H.I.E.L.D. and everyone who had ever doubted him that he was good, both moral wise, and skill wise. So, doing what any good assassin would do, he put on a mask, and hid his feelings. He became a body, useful for nothing but transport and getting the job done.
Within the first month he had found her. She was at a party, wearing a long emerald dress, and Clint was taken away, not by her beauty, but by how young she looked. It said in her file that she was only younger than him by a couple of years, but she looked barely older than sixteen. The way she held herself though, gave her away. She walked like she was a queen, so everyone treated her that way. Men fell at her feet, but she had interest in only one; her target.
Clint followed her and the man back to his hotel room, where she seduced him, got information out of him, then killed him. She was gone within the hour. Clint knew then what all the fuss was about. She was an expert assassin, trained since the day she was born.
He kept following her for the next few months, watching and observing. He began to predict what she was going to do before she did it, and he became an expert on all things Natalia. He kept a close eye on her. He got close to her, without ever really meeting her. She had no idea that he was watching her, because he took extra precautions to not get caught.
He knew eyes better than anyone else. He knew how to avoid them, and how to be seen by them. His own vision was twice that of a regular human, and he had been born with that gift.
He also had a person on his side. Phil Coulson helped Clint out whenever he could, feeding him information on his current target. S.H.I.E.L.D. was getting ancy, for they wanted the Black Widow dead, and they wanted her dead now. Whenever Coulson told Clint this, Clint would laugh, and say "Don't rush perfection."
Clint spent months in the shadows, biding his time for the right moment. He had learned that Natalia was running from someone or something, and she kept relocating and covering her tracks. He recognized that underneath her cool and emotionless stature, she was beginning to break, fracturing like a piece of fragile glass. Clint told himself over and over that she was a ruthless killer, and that she had murdered over a hundred people in a single year, but inside, he knew he pitied her. He had seen her eyes; they were filled with worry and anger.
He knew what it was like, wanting to run from your past. He knew how difficult it could be. Clint had been in her exact same position before he had joined S.H.I.E.L.D., and he had gotten out only because Coulson had stuck his neck out to save him. Coulson gave him a chance, and Clint realized that he wanted to do the same for Natalia.
He tried to tell Coulson this, but his idea was shot down immediately. It was a kill order. She had killed too many. She was dangerous. Blah, blah, blah. Clint zoned him out. The plan was already in his head, and once it was there, he was following through.
He waited patiently for the right time, much like a spider waits for a meal to fly into its web. He seized the chance when she attended a gala, where a large number of important people would be. Clint suited up in a tuxedo and tie, and spent the night watching Natalia from across the room, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
She had exchanged her emerald dress for a mermaid style blood red gown, which matched her up-swept hair perfectly. As the night waned, Clint made his way through the crowded room, straight to the Widow. She had just gotten done dancing with an older gentleman, but when Clint stepped forward and offered his arm, her green eyes lit up like the sun. Clint was fazed for a moment, but quickly regained his composure. She grinned politely, then joined him on the floor.
They danced for a couple of songs, each trying to get a read on the other. Clint, even though he was the expert, couldn't tell what Natalia was thinking, and was just mesmerized by how graceful and simply stunning she was. He was puzzled by her, because he didn't see her breaking half, though he knew that it was in there somewhere. She just smiled, and kept on dancing. Clint did notice that she was avoiding his eyes.
When it was time to leave each other, Clint knelt down, and kissed Natalia's hand. She blushed slightly, but Clint wasn't fooled; she wasn't embarrassed or flattered; it was just her facade. Natalia turned to walk away, but Clint held onto her hand. He pulled her in close, and felt her struggle weakly against his grip, playing innocent. He laughed grimly, then leaned in so that only she could hear him.
"I know who you are, Natalia. I've been watching. I've been given orders to kill you, but I just wanted to see if you're as pretty as they say."
Natalia threw back her head and laughed, watching Clint's rough face.
"I hope I didn't disappoint you. I take my appearance very seriously. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a job to do."
Natalia leaned up and kissed Clint on the mouth, gave him a flirtatious look, then turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. Clint stood there, frozen, for a few minutes, then left, and took his spot on the top of a nearby tower with his bow in his hand. He had seen her up close, and he had hoped that that would make him realize what a monster she was, but it only made him even more confused. Her eyes were masking something, but he just couldn't tell what.
He watched her as she exited the building from the back, just as he had predicted. She had swapped out her red gown for her black cat suit, and her hair had become disheveled. She stepped into a patch of moonlight, let her hair loose, then took off. Clint jumped right onto her tail.
It was a difficult chase. Natalia had the speed, but Clint had the stamina. They ran about the whole city, sometimes firing at each other, other times dodging incoming objects. Finally, Clint cornered her. She had a busted lip, bruised ribs, and a twisted ankle, but she looked up at Clint with such fire, that he almost backed down. Almost.
He put the arrow tip to her forehead, and searched her eyes for any cracks in her mask. He got lost. Her emerald eyes were shinning, not with defiance, but with mercy. She was begging to die. Clint was wrong; she wasn't breaking; she was already broken.
He didn't know what to do. He had to kill her. He HAD to. He had the chance. He needed to take it. But he couldn't.
He just couldn't kill her.
Suddenly his com came to life, and Coulson was blaring in his ear to take the bloody shot, but Clint still hadn't done it. He took a deep breath, and absorbed it all in.
Natalia's face was grimy with sweat and dirt, but it still shone with the elegance of a beautiful woman. Her make-up was smeared, giving her a raccoon-like look about her eyes. Her perfect features were no longer perfect, and she looked tired, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her hair was in knots, the once scarlet mass streaked with dirt. Finally Clint looked into her eyes again. A single tear fell from her face.
Her eyes were the final word in beautiful, in Clint's opinion. They shined with their own brilliance, of someone who knows pain, but also knows how to deal with it. Their emerald color masked knowledge beyond what Clint could fathom, and he was spell bounded. He had never seen a more dazzling shade of green, like the soft glow coming off plants in a forest after it rains and the sun is out. The gold mixed in couldn't possibly be real, because it was shimmering like mist on a cloudless day. It was so stunning, that Clint forgot to breathe.
The fact that those amazing, exquisite, and fascinating eyes were actually crying brought Clint to his senses.
He couldn't kill her. He just couldn't.
He lowered his bow, and held out his hand.
Sure, there was going to be hell to pay, but Clint didn't care. She'd never known innocence; he could see it in her eyes. She'd never had a chance at being 'good', and he wanted to give it to her.
"The name is Clint Barton. Natalia, you're in some serious trouble, but I'd like to help."
He watched her flinch as he offered his hand to her.
"No. I'm not Natalia anymore. My name, is Natasha. Natasha Romanoff."
"Well, Tasha," said Clint, helping her to her feet. "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D."
Natasha looked up, and Clint met her eyes. He smiled, and though Natasha didn't smile back, her eyes said it all.