A/N: Okay, so I just have to thank all the lovely people on Betta Branch that helped me with this story. And I would like to make a special shout-out to ExodusofDreams, without whom this story would be a sad little pile of nothing! Seriously, this one is for you! Alright, as for the fic, it is my first Avengers story so please, be gentle and please, tell me what you think! Oh, and I don't own the Avengers and anything else you recognize. All that belongs to me is the plot and the mistakes! Alright, that's about it... enjoy!
Hesitation:
How many had he killed? He wasn't even sure anymore. In all honesty he tried not to think about it. He didn't want that type of guilt building up on his shoulders because he knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. Killing had become a part of who he was, his bow just an extension of his arm. He could land a kill-shot in his sleep. So why then was this target, this girl, still alive?
That's what S.H.I.E.L.D wanted to know. The job had been simple, get in, kill the target, and get out. He understood that she was dangerous; he knew what kind of threat she posed.
"What makes her so dangerous?" Clint asked, glancing up at the picture of his target. A frozen image of a girl's half shaded face was flickering on the screen. She looked innocent enough, but her eyes betrayed her intentions. The small blue orbswere cold and cruel, she had the look of a killer about her, but surely she couldn't be as dangerous as S.H.I.E.L.D was making her out to be.
"This girl is a trained mercenary." Fury supplied. If Clint was being honest he detected a bit of warning in the man's normally stoic tone. "She may not look like much but she's cold, calculated, and ruthless. She killed a Russian ambassador when she was thirteen."
"That was her?" Clint had read about the Russian's assassination as part of his research when he had first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. It had been expertly executed; a suspect had never even been identified. Not by the local authorities anyway. It was hard to believe that a girl of thirteen could have pulled it off.
"She posses a huge threat to National Security, she cannot live. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir."
Even with this knowledge, even though he knew exactly what type of person she was, he hadn't taken the shot.
He was an excellent marksman, he never missed and he never disobeyed orders. But as he stood from his perch in a tree, bow ready, arrow knocked, the string help taught, as he easily slipped into his trance, he didn't take the shot. Right before he reached the point of no return and let the arrow fly, he hesitated.
He couldn't really say for sure why. Maybe it was her age, she couldn't be much younger than him but still, she was just a girl.
Even as he hoped and prayed she wasn't his target he knew in his heart she was, there was no mistaking that fire-red hair.
He knew right then and there that he wouldn't no, he couldn't, hurt her. It was a strange feeling, knowing for certain you could never harm someone but not understanding why. Perhaps it was the way she crept stealthily down the deserted street, she moved expertly but there was something involuntary about her actions, as if she wasn't fully in control of what she was doing.
He had noticed that quite a bit in the two weekshe had been observing her. In those fourteen days he had been fighting to deny the growing similarities between this girl and himself. Perhaps that was why he couldn't take the shot. She held the resemblance of a caged animal, definitely not happy with her current situation but no idea as to how she could get out of it. He knew all too well how that felt.
Images flashed through his head, large tents, exotic animals, the crowd cheering wildly as he made a shot that seemed damn near impossible. Large meaty hands throwing him onto the hard ground, the sound of a lock clicking shut behind him, and that voice, low in pitch and covered in ice. "Look at you, a caged bird." The voice taunted. "And don't even think about trying anything, after all, a hawk without wings can't possibly fly."
He shook his head, desperately attempting to get rid of the horrid memories that had resurfaced. He had to figure out what to do now. He'd deal with the consequences of his actions later; it wasn't as if there was any way of taking them back. Besides, he had already missed the kill-shot.
Instead of searching for a new perch he slipped his bow over his shoulder and nimbly made his way down the tree. He grabbed the girl's arm, pulling her roughly into an abandoned alley. There was a gun shoved in his face not a second later.
He help up his hands to show he was unarmed and she cautiously lowered her weapon, but never fully put it away. "Who are you?" She demanded, her eyes burning with an intense desire to know who this stranger was. But behind that, almost undetectable, was a morbid curiosity as to how such an ordinary looking man had managed to stay hidden from her. "Why have you been following me?"
"I was sent here to kill you." He replied shortly.
This startled her slightly, but the only outward expression of how much was her tightening grip on her gun. "Then why am I not dead?"
He just shrugged, "I'm not exactly sure." It was the truth. He wasn't going to lie to her, she deserved better than that. She also deserved a better answer but when he paused to think about it he couldn't come up with a different one. Explaining the odd, rambling thoughts of his mind didn't seem like a very good idea.
Realizing that was the only reply she was going to get she moved on to her next question. "What do you want with me then?"
"I-" He faltered, he hadn't really thought out his plan past this point. Then a crazy idea came to his mind. "I want you to come with me."
"You want me to go with you to the base of an agency that's trying to kill me? You must think I'm an idiot!" She practically growled, holding her gun back up to his temple.
"No, I think you're really smart." He quickly backpedalled. He could take her gun away easily but he didn't want to have to use violence of any sort with her. "If I leave, how long do you think it will take for the agency I work for to send another assassin? And the next one might not be so friendly."
She was definitely wary of him, but she put her weapon down and stepped away. "Fine." She looked almost surprised that her mouth had spoken the word but she didn't take it back.
That very same day she accompanied him back to S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters. He was quickly snatched and hauled to an interrogation room where he was roughly shoved into a chair to sit through the mighty wrath known and Nick Fury. But the man's fierce glares and snarling voice didn't startle him; he'd lived through far worse.
"You had specific orders! Why isn't she dead?!" Fury spat, slamming his fist down on the table so hard the windows shook, as if quivering in fear. Much to Fury's hidden disdain, his agent didn't even flinch.
He still didn't have a specific answer the question that seemed to be so popular, but he figured he needed a better answer than 'I don't know'. "I made a different call."
"You are not paid to 'make different calls' you are paid to follow orders!" Fury proceeded to fix his agent with a glare that did his name justice.
"Well if orders can't be up to my discretion then I suppose I have the option of quitting, but you wouldn't really like that, would you?" He glared right back, his perfect poker face making it impossible for Fury to tell if he was bluffing.
With an irritated sigh of defeat Fury gave up the fight. In all honesty, he would have expected Fury to put up more of a fight. He had disobeyed so many orders, broken so many protocalls, and here the director of S.H.I.E.L.D was giving in. There was no way Fury would have won that argument and perhaps he knew that, but his agent was clever. And said agent had a sneaking suspicion that the director gave in for different reasons. Fury knew what had happened in the circus, he knew what the man before him had been through. Perhaps he also understood, understood that the man before him could not kill this girl because of some connection he felt to her. Perhaps Fury just didn't want to push the fight because he didn't want to reopen old wounds that neither of them was comfortable talking about.
"Fine, she can stay. As long as she is in your care. You train her, if she messes up the blame falls on you. Is that understood?" Fury stated in his most demanding tone.
"Loud and clear." As he left the room he contemplated that ever persistent question. Why had he not shot her? S.H.E.I.L.D had thought she was rouge and dangerous, too far gone to be saved. Maybe it was because he'd been there. Maybe it was because he knew what it was like; to be so far lost there was practically no hope of ever finding your way back. Maybe he had seen just a glimpse of himself in that girl's eyes. Just because she was really far gone didn't mean there was no hope of bringing her back.
Memories flooded him again. The feeling of taking his first life. The horrid realization that it didn't bother him nearly as much as it should have. Coulson's firm hand on his shoulder as he sighted in on his next kill.
"You don't have to do this. You don't have to be this person." The man's voice was soft yet commanding in his ear.
"I'm not sure I know how to be anything else." His own voice sounded foreign to his ears.
"I will teach you."
He sighed heavily as all the feelings he had experienced in that moment washed over him. He had been so far gone, but he had been saved. Who was to say she shouldn't get a second chance as well? Whatever the reason, it was done now and there was no way of undoing it.
He was suddenly aware of a presence next to him, although he hadn't heard her approach.
"I suppose you overheard all of what was said in there." It wasn't a question.
She smiled innocently but there was a spark behind her eyes, "So, where do we begin?"
"I'm guessing you already know the basics."
"Please." She scoffed.
And so their friendship began. Within a week they were practically inseparable. One couldn't be seen without the other by their side, they would finish each other's sentences, practically read one anothers' minds. All this made possible by the sudden decision to disobey a direct order. Maybe if Clint had been a better agent, Natasha would have been killed that day. But Clint Barton was not only a good agent, he was a good person, and sometimes one had to out-balance the other. Sometimes, a brief moment of hesitation was needed to just explore the possibility of a different future. Because in that brief moment a friendship was forged, in the tinniest of seconds, two lives were changed. Some days for the better and some days for the worst. All because one man hesitated.