Chapter 1
Clint's back slammed firmly into the mat. A grunt escaped his lips, but he was retaliating just the same. He took one hand and clenched his fingers on Natasha's knee, and the other on her ankle. He twisted her in such a manor that he was able to flip her body off of his pained chest. While she was still recuperating from the twist, he pushed his hands into the mat and flipped himself to his feet. Before he even had any time to get another hit in, she retaliated by flying through the air with a foot aimed towards his head. He was barely able to dodge the kick, but found an opportunity to grab her leg and fasten it to his side. Bad idea. She used this as an advantage to hook her other leg to his neck, and pushed him over on his back. She was off balance when she landed, her leg twisted awkwardly. He used the brief moment to his advantage. He rolled from his place on the floor to grab her at the ankle. He was able to land her on the ground, but she swiftly drove her elbow into his rib cage. That fucking hurt. She easily flipped herself to land her legs around his neck, and he knew it was over. He flailed helplessly beneath her and knew this was another battle lost. He tapped her twice to let her know that he was defeated, and she was the victor. She easily slid to her feet, staring at the panting man that she had conquered.
"You've gotten better." She informed as she held out her hand to him. He graciously accepted the offer and used her weight to lift up, and propped himself to stand next to her.
"Are you sure about that, cuz you still seemed to have kicked my ass." Laughed Clint.
" I beat you and you find it funny?" Questioned Natasha. She rarely ever understood his sense of humor.
"It's not everyday that a man gets to be taken down in a thigh choke by a beautiful woman." Teased Clint. What came next, he did not expect, but it didn't surprise him either.
Natasha clocked him across the jaw, and the young agent stumbled to catch his balance.
"Cheeky," smirked Clint. "It only adds that much more interest!" There was that mischievous look in his eyes that always caused her to roll her eyes.
"Don't push it." She demanded in all seriousness.
"Oh come on Romanoff, laughing doesn't kill you know. Say, when's that last time you laughed anyways?".
"I laugh," she defended, refusing to accept the blatant reality.
"Smirking when you whack me doesn't count, Romanoff."
"OH?", she responded playfully. "Are you so sure about that, немой один?". She swayed her hips as she strutted to the locker room.
His eyes stayed in sync with her hips as she proudly paraded across the gym floor. He purposely diverted his eyes away, to anything but her.
"Is that all you got, ребенок?" He giggled. He thought he may have even seen a smile form from her full lips as she tilted her head over her shoulder ever so slightly.
She scoffed and flipped her curls behind her back, exposing a middle finger and she exited through the door. Damn. Was she something else.
Clint's blue-gray eyes flashed open, showing signs of desperation. He quickly glanced at the digital clock on his bedside table. 1:37 a.m. He ran a calloused hand through his sweat wetted sandy blonde hair. It had been another nightmare.
He loosened his grip off of his desert eagle he had hidden beneath his pillow. He let out a long held sigh of relief, and slipped the pistol back into place. The dream had been about one of his countless victims he had killed during his contract assassin days. Hell, he'd just been a kid in his teens looking for a way out of his tortured, dark life, only to indulge himself into more darkness.
Clint could never forgive himself for what he had done as a sixteen and seventeen year old kid. No matter what Phil had said to him, telling him to forgive himself, he could never find that strength or confidence.
Phil always harped at the kid for not ever letting himself off the hook. Phil had taken Clint on when he asked him to join SHIELD only a few years ago. Clint had gotten on to SHIELDs radar in a bad way, but Phil saw good in the young, eighteen year old archer at the time, so he tracked down the boy and took him under his wing. Phil Coulson had been Clint Barton's saving grace. Phil had become a brother to Clint, hell, he was more like a father.
The archer lolled his way out of his bed sheets and sunk his feet into the carpet space beneath him. He was headed off to punish himself the only way he knew he could and get away with. He headed off to the training gym to face his struggles and hopefully try to forget his past sins through the intense, painful routines of his training. But Clint knew that he could never forget. He could never forget the names of the innocent, the names of the young and the old, the names of the people he had claimed the life of for no good reason but to get a pay off.
He cringed at the projections of the names circling inside his head, and thrusted open the doors to his and Natasha's private gym. He had expected to be alone, but at the punching bags stood a familiar figure.
He saw red, curled and streaming down the lithe body of Natasha Romanoff, his partner of only about a year. She was viciously pounding away at the sand filled bag in front of her in violent, swift movements.
She felt the fellow agent's presence in the room and paused to glare at him for his interruption. Her emerald eyes flashed at his blue-gray to show a sign of disdain, but it disappeared as soon as she notice that he was there for the same reason she was.
They had a way about them, finding ways of stress relief from their nightmares through extensive training in the early hours. Natasha's past of the red room constantly ebbed at her sleep patterns and always forced her to wake up in a panic, only to find herself strapping on some tennis shoes to head to the gym.
The agents only shared a look for half a second before she continued pounding at the hanging bag, and he neared his way towards the training bars. It was going to be another rough night, and when they would meet again in the morning, they would mention nothing of it.
After about an hour, Natasha felt only a slight sense of fatigue, but wanted to rid herself of another awkward, conversation-lacking night in the gym. She knew that the archer was always constantly trying to pry conversation out of her, but she always neglected giving him that satisfaction. It wasn't that she couldn't engage in conversation with her partner during the day or while on a mission, it was just she was unable to open herself up to people about her insecurities of her dreams. She gathered her things and started making her way towards the door, praying that Barton wouldn't open his god damned mouth.
"Hey Romanoff!"
Shit.
"Hi.", she stated blandly.
"Geesh, someone's prickly tonight,". Typical Barton humor.
"It's not my fault you're so boring," she snickered back. She had her own sense of humor that only few ever saw.
He raised a single eyebrow at her retaliation, and with his gleaming, stormy eyes, glared into her sparkling green ones.
She caught herself gazing into his stare for a second to long, and didn't hesitate to spin one hundred and eighty degrees toward the exit.
Similarly, Barton turned back to whatever he was doing, but called to her from over his toned, tan, shoulder.
"You know it doesn't hurt to tell me what it was you dreamed this time," he said with an understanding tone.
" I could ask you the same," she shot back quickly, and pushed herself through the doorway.
Stunned, he remembered why he tried never to give people personal, non tactical advice. He was always afraid he wouldn't listen to it.
He continued to let his gaze trail Romanoff as she strutted down the hallway. There was always something incredibly fascinating and intriguing about that young woman. He figured that was one of the reasons he had spared her life about a year and a half ago.
She had only been nineteen when he was sent to kill her, and he, only twenty one at the time. The job was back in Europe, Prague to be exact. He was sent because he was and still is the best SHIELD agent the organization has ever had, and she was listed on the top threat list according to the council.
From that day in the rain, even till a little over a minute ago, he had always seen something good and amazing in her that no one else was able too see. It was a special gift that he had, a better judgment maybe, but he could always see someone for their true nature, and he couldn't see a single evil in her.
He snapped himself out of his little day dream of his partner, and grabbed his gear to make his trek back to his quarters of their New York base. He had at least cleared his head for now, and hoped that at least some sleep would come. He couldn't remember the last time he had slept through the night not having to make his way to the gym, or give Phil a quick call. He laid his finger print down on the scanner to his room, and quickly closed the door shut behind him. He slipped off his Nikes and wiped himself clean of sweat that was cool on the back of his neck. He nimbly slid his way into his bed and turned his profile towards the clock. 3:07 a.m. He knew he had briefing in the morning and forced his eyelids shut, even though he knew sleep would still not approach.
Natasha heard her partner enter his way into his room from across the hallway. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and marched herself in the same fashion to her bed as Barton was similarity practicing at the moment. She flopped down on to the standard base bed, and felt a muscle pop deep in her back. She figured that SHIELD could at least afford better mattresses for their top agents, but apparently, that seemed to be too much of a struggle. Her mind wandered to the thought of her partner, and she was caught in a moment.
She still wasn't able to figure Barton out. He was the one person that could see through her bullshit, and at their first meeting, was able to evade her alluring charms. As Barton remembered it, she huffed and seemed a little offended that her looks weren't able to render him to a vulnerable position at their first meeting.
Natasha wasn't able to understand why he had spared her, but she was still afraid to really ask. Even after all of this time, she still found it hard to trust him. She had never trusted anyone since the red room, if that was even considered trust. The red head shook herself out of her thoughts of her partner and flipped her back towards the wall out of habit. She let her lids fall heavy and in a moment, drifted off into a light sleep.