So I wrote this story back in high school nearly 5 years ago and posted it on my old account(if you're interested in more Avengers trash, shoot me a pm and I'll send you the name). It has always been one of my favorite stories I've wrote and it has racked up over 50,000+ reads. So I decided it is time to give it the face lift it deserves and an official re-boot. Hoping to get one or two chapters posted a week. Thanks for dropping in :)

My version of a Hawkeye/Black Widow origins story/Budapest/all kinds of Clintasha goodness and missions. I do not own any of the characters written about below.

The night was still and silent, not a breath or branch to be heard. Dark clouds covered the night sky and thunder rumbled in the distance. Forest creatures had escaped to their dens and holes long ago, sensing the oncoming storm. Snow already fell in thick waves and the grey clouds periodically lit up with a flash and rumble. The forest was dead except for one who remained out in the storm. It moved about on two legs like death itself had taken on a form. It moved like a shadow, swift and silent, with movements so graceful and precise that it appeared to be gliding. Blue eye smoldered in the darkness, cutting through the night and taking in everything from the smallest broken twig to the slightest flash of lightning. Everything about the movements, the way it stalked, sent a clear message to the rest of the forest: this was a hunter stalking his prey.

Clint broke the silence by allowing himself a soft sigh as he stepped out onto a rocky ledge. It protruded out over the valley below, giving him an excellent few of the surrounding forest. His breath turned to frost and he pulled the lower half of his balaclava higher. He shivered slightly as the snow began to collect on his now still shoulders and he mourned the warmth of the fire that he had left hours ago. His body was still on high alert, a trained killer at work, but his mind began to feel sluggish as he stood there, as if he hadn't slept for some time. Another shiver ran through his body and he reminded himself to keep moving. He moved to a lone pine that stood on the ledge and reached up to the lowest branch. His gloves gripped the bark and he pulled himself into the tree with a practiced eased. He ascended quickly, his hands and feet never missing their place. He scaled past the thick branches and high into the tree where the smaller branches swayed and bent under his weight.

Clint sat perched at the top of the pine like a hawk, his eyes taking in everything below. The valley below him was scattered with more forest and rocky outcrops, everything covered in a blanket of snow. He spotted several deer bedded down in a clearing, but that was not his target. No, his target lay before him: a compound of thick concrete walls and roaming soldiers. It was sat up in a long rectangle and he could see several different sectioned off areas inside. Spot lights were set up at every corner, sweeping the ground below. Guards paced along the tops of the walls, their weapons drooped and their attention lax from boredom and the cold. They had become too comfortable being hidden away from the world, too confident that they wouldn't be found.

His eyes flicked to the top of the compound to where a high building set next to a low. He knew was it was thanks to the intel he had received; a lab of some kind and a small housing unit for the subjects that were 'invited' there. He watched the lit up windows of the smaller building and caught just a flash of red that anyone else would have missed, but Clint saw more than most people. The lights went out and he licked his lips in anticipation as he began to climb down from the tree. He reached the lowest branch and dropped to the ground.

He rolled his shoulders and dropped to a crouch, stretching out his stiff limbs, before setting off once more. He made his way down the ledge to the valley below, moving like a shadow. Time ticked away as he crept closer and closer to the compound, his keen eyes keeping a track of the guards and spotlights ahead. He skirted around several sentries and found himself standing at the base of a thick concrete wall. He craned his neck and looked up, smiling slowly. The wall had several cracks and creases where the separate concrete blocks had been fused together and his eyes picked out a path in no one. Clint adjusted his bow and reached for the first crack, his gloved hands giving him traction. He moved his foot into a foothold and pushed himself up off the ground. He began scaling the wall, careful of the icy film that covered everything: all it would take was one slip and a grunt to blow his cover. As he reached the top of the wall he paused, hanging there just below the edge. He closed his eyes and let his ears see for him and he counted the guards footsteps and visualized their paths back and forth across the wall.

Two guards patrolled this point, moving in opposite directions before reversing and passing one another in an endless repeated cycle. It would be a tight window, but Clint could make it work. His problem would be getting down once he made his move. He knew he had climbed at least thirty feet and that was no small drop. He could try to take the two guards out, but if he blew his cover now months of surveillance and hours upon hours of work would be wasted. He careful pulled one hand away from the wall and pressed a button on his wrist before reaching for an arrow. He felt the proper attachment click into place and he pulled it from his quiver with a sound. He placed it between his teeth before coiling his muscles, ready to make his play.

He heard the guards pass each other and he waited until they were several paces away before he hoisted himself to the top of the wall. He landed with a noiseless roll and fought his instincts to balk as he rolled off the other side of the wall. He snatched the arrow and drove it between two lines of mortar, the razor sharp metal melting through the concrete. He caught himself and hung there by one hand, his body hitting the wall with a slight thump.

"What was that?" He heard the thick Russian voice from above and he flattened himself against the wall, his arm burning from support his weight.

"Nothing?" He heard the second voice reply, clearly irritated. "You worry too much."

"And you worry too little." The first voice snapped. "You foolish children are handed a gun and you suddenly think you are a solider. Let me tell you a thing or two about-"

"Spare me the lecture old man." The second voice snapped back. "You are always hearing or seeing things that aren't there."

The two continued to argue in Russian and Clint allowed himself to breath again. He looked down and found that he was hanging halfway down the wall. He could climb, but the drift of snow below him looked like a much more convenient way down. Clint pushed away from the wall, yanking the arrow out, and allowed himself to fall. He landed with a muted thud and for a moment white filled his vision. He sat up and shook the snow from his face, allowing himself a look up at the wall. The guards never bothered looking over and he could still hear drifts of their argument. He smiled to himself and pulled his bow from his back, slipping the arrow from the wall into the notch. The easy part was over, now the real work would begin.

Clint began to move through the compound, working his way towards the top. He clung to the shadows of the wall and easily avoided several sentries that were oblivious to anything beside what was right in front of their faces. He marveled at the sense of security that these soldiers had; they were far too confident and comfortable in their fortress of stone. He pushed that thought aside as he reached the heavy chain link fence that sectioned the top of the fortress off from the rest. He could hear the energy arching through it and he pulled his lip in between his teeth as he tried to think of a way around it. His eyes flicked across the way to a building that hummed with energy and he remembered that his contact had mentioned a powerhouse. The easiest thing to do would be to go shut the power of manually and slip out unseen, but the more he did the more he risked exposure.

His hand dropped to his pocket and he fished out a black pebble looking device. He stuck his arrow between his teeth and pressed the device against his bow string, his shoulders pulling together as he took aim. He released the pebble and it flew forward, landing in a drift of snow near the back of the building. He heard a soft hum as the EMP did its work and the fence fell silent, lights flickering all throughout the compound. Several guards yelled and ran towards the building and he took the opportunity to scale the fence. He landed on the other side and strung his bow once more as he crept towards the building he knew to be the lab. He reached the wall and stretched to peek into one of the windows, frowning at what he saw. There was several tables with restrains set up in a row, a wall of vicious looking devices behind them. Dark stains covered the floors and rows of vails and test tubes covered any open counter space. Clint had heard rumors of the things that went on here, the experiments, the brain washing, the tortures, but he hadn't known what to believe until now. A shiver ran through his body and he moved away from the window.

He moved further down the wall and found a dumpster that reeked of rotting flesh and spoiled food. He fought the urge to gag and his nose flared as he climbed onto the lid and hoisted himself onto the roof. He crouched low and moved towards the other side, towards the low building where he had saw the flash of red. He took a deep breath as he strung his bow, his heart pounding a bit faster as he neared his target. Of all the targets he had hunted down, he knew this could be the one that killed him.

This woman was as skilled as he was and just as deadly. He had been sent here to take her out before she could take them out; she had gotten on S.H.I.E.L.D's radar when she had assassinated one of the agents that was snooping around for information on one of Russian's most intense crime organizations. The agent had no business being off the radar and in Russia in the first place, but when the woman had become known they wasted no time in digging up everything they had on her. It turned out she had a rather extension lists of confirmed kills and elaborate plots under her belt. The directors of S.H.I.E.L.D had decided that she was an immediate threat and needed to be disposed of, so they had sent in their best: Clint. He did his own research, his own digging, and found that the Red Room and Drakov's organization was worse than anything they had ever come across; Hydra had nothing on these guys.

Clint had tried reasoning with Nick Fury over the entire situation, but the directors would not hear it. They were scared of anything more powerful than what they had in their arsenal, or more precisely anything more powerful that they did not control. Clint had a feeling that there was more to this mysterious assassin than just a killer, but no one wanted to hear it. No one wanted to think that anyone besides S.H.I.E.L.D could have that much sway over a person. Clint's jaw hardened and he thought about himself and his line of work. He had always justified himself by saying he was helping to protect his country, but now they were somewhere sticking their noses where it didn't belong. This had nothing to do with them, yet here he was in the middle of the Russian wasteland.

Clint's focused snapped back to the job at hand and he swallowed hard, his mind at war with his conscious. The easiest thing to do would be to fire an explosive arrow straight into the building, to blow everything sky high and take off. But, his curiosity had stayed his hand. His curiosity had brought him all the way through the forest and the valley into this very compound so he could see this so called Master Assassin first hand. He had to know what made her so special, so mysterious. He had to know what made her like him.

A guard yelled something from the power house and his eyes flicked that way for just a moment. When they flicked back to the window he found that he was no longer alone. A pair of green eyes stared back at him, eyes that were filled with a deep anger and sadness. He could feel the bitterness, could feel the resentment, in that gaze. He took a step back, his bow still strung tight, the arrow still aimed at the woman. All it would take was a movement of his fingers and the job would be through, he could go home, but he couldn't make himself move, he couldn't take the shot. The woman moved quickly and threw the window open, holding her arms wide.

"Were you not sent here to kill me? Why do you hesitate?" She demanded in a soft but harsh whisper. "You've made it this far, you had a shot, yet you are a coward. Pathetic." She spat in Russian. Clint said nothing and continued staring her down. "You have a shot, take it. End this hell on earth that I have become a part of." She whipped a pistol out from a holster on her thigh and Clint tensed, his fingers almost letting the arrow fly on instinct alone. She scoffed at him and tossed the gun aside, shaking her head. "What are you waiting on?" She finally dropped her gaze, frowning.

Clint made his decision in that moment. He let the arrow fly and it planted itself in the window sill, inches from her head. She looked up in surprise, her brows furrowing together as Clint slung his bow over his back. He hopped down from the roof and snatched his arrow from window frame, his eyes never leaving her.

"No."

"What do you mean, no?"

"I won't kill you."

"I could kill you. I do not need that gun."

"Oh, I have no doubts about that, but I won't be the one to kill you."

"Why?" She hissed, her eyes flashing angrily. "You've come all this way for what then? To turn around and go home?" Clint shrugged. "I do not understand you."

"Welcome to the club." He crossed his arms, scowling at her. "I've been doing my homework- I know who you are. I know what you've done. And I also know who you work for and what they have done. I've heard the rumors, I've seen the lab. And I do not believe that you are the monster they portray you to be."

"Ha!" She scoffed at him. "Is that what you believe? You read a few files, you hear a few stories, and you pass judgement? You know nothing about me. You do not even know my name. Yet you stand there with the audacity to pass judgement on me?"

"Fine then, I won't shoot an unarmed man."

"Ugh!" She growled in frustration, her hands clenching into fist. "I should have killed you in Paris, or told the guards when I saw you skulking down that hill."

"Why didn't you then?" Clint raised a brow. "Because you are like me."

"How am I like you?" She spat. "You know nothing-"

"Yeah, I don't know you or your angsty past or anything about your pity party you seem to be having. But, you didn't kill me because you are curious, just like I am. You know that I could have killed you in Paris just as easily as you killed me. You know that I could have taken you out without coming all the way here. But I didn't. Because I was curious."

"Is that what you know?" She snapped angrily. "So what do you plan to do? Should we sit down and have tea and discuss all of our feelings and ghosts?"

"I don't drink tea." Clint shrugged. "You know that there is more to life than this?" He gestured to the compound. "You know that there is a whole world out there beyond the leash you are being kept on? You run out and do whatever Drakov asks of you out of fear, and you come back every time out of fear. You are afraid to die, yet you just told me to kill you. Because you do not enjoy the things you do. But, you've done what you must to survive. And I know that because I was you."

"You know nothing." She turned away from him.

"Oh, you might be surprised. We've all got red in our ledgers. We all have stuff we'd like to wipe out."

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me." He stared at her. "I won't kill you, but I can give you a chance to make things right. I can get you away from here, I can give you a shot at a chance of freedom."

"Don't lie to me. You pretend to be free, yet here you are on orders from your higher up, are you not?"

"I was sent here to kill you. You look awfully alive to me."

"You'll go back and be thrown into jail."

"Ha," Clint laughed. "They wouldn't dare. They know I'd get away. No, I'll get yelled at, put on probation for a while, maybe lose my desert privileges, but I won't be punished." He shrugged. "And I definitely won't be strapped down and tortured."

"Stop it." Her eyes flashed.

"Come back with me." Clint didn't know where the words were coming from, but his gut told him that he was making the right call. "Come back with me and start a new ledger. Start a new life for yourself."

"It isn't that easy."

"But it is. Stop making it hard. Walk away from this so that you can come back and put a stop to it one day."

The woman said nothing, her hands trembling. Her eyes were tortured and sad, and Clint had to admit that she was right; he really did not know anything about her, not really. But, his gut told him that they were not all that different. That she was not an evil person, that she did not belong here caged like a hunting dog waiting to be used.

"If I go with you…what happens?"

"Dunno." Clint shrugged. "I've never made it a habit to bring my targets home with me. Guess we will find out."

"They'll kill me."

"I won't allow it." Clint's eyes flashed. "You have my word- I will not let them hurt you."

"And why should I trust you?" She challenged, her eyes finding his once more. She searched his face, trying to find answers for the turmoil inside her head. "Why should I believe you?"

"You shouldn't, I mean you have no reason to. I am just an assassin after all. But, so are you. And that means you have instincts, instincts that you have used to keep yourself alive, instincts that you trust more than anything else in the world. So, maybe trust them instead."

A long silence stretched between them and Clint watched as she rang her hands together, pacing back and forth in front of the window. Several minutes passed before she finally stopped pacing. She paused and snatched her gun off the ground and Clint's heart jumped into his throat. He had just a moment to think he had made a mistake before she slid the pistol into her holster and met his eyes.

"I'll go."