Hey guys, so this is only my second fanfiction ever and my first Avengers one at that. So please be kind, feel free to read and review. This fanfiction begins Pre-Avengers. It will switch between different points of view along the way. This chapter is all Clint though. :)

I do not own the Avengers. Just saying...

Chapter One: The Beginning

Clint Barton

Barcelona, Spain was always hot this time of year. The thought crossed my mind as I sat at an outside table of a Spanish café, a beige umbrella sticking up, shielding me from the scorching sun. I had my dark black sunglasses on and a simple dress of jeans and a button-up collared shirt, sipping on my drink, waiting for her arrival. The point was for me to look like the millions of other American tourists wondering around the streets, but I highly doubted any of the other American tourists were armed. My bow and arrows would have been too conspicuous, too hard to hide, so I had to settle for a pair of guns. I felt out of my element with the guns. I wasn't a bad shot by any means; I was just better with a bow.

I looked down at my watch, growing leery. It was already 10:30 in the morning. The mission details I'd been briefed on said that she always visited this café at 10:15 like clockwork while she stayed in Barcelona. When I'd first read that bit of information I was confused. You would think that a well-known Russian spy and assassin would know better than to stick to a routine schedule every time she was in town. It made her easier to track. But I had no doubt that the infamous Black Widow wasn't intimidated in the slightest by the thought of someone tracking her. She was the best at what she did and could handle herself, or so I'd heard. The only problem with that was I was the one who was tracking her and I was the best at what I did too. So if my mission was to take her down, I would without hesitation. It didn't matter how good she was: I was better.

I was about to give up for the day when I saw her. I'd never met Natasha Romanoff, and I'd only seen a few blurry pictures of her with the mission details, but it was obvious that those pictures – or any picture really – would never do her justice. She was drop dead gorgeous with fiery red hair that curled in long locks around her face and vibrant green eyes framed by long, dark lashes. Her skin was pale, and her features somehow retained their delicateness even though they'd been trained and forced to remain emotionless. And she didn't walk, she glided. She was graceful, precise, beautiful. It was one of the biggest reasons she was deadly: everything about her screamed seduction. I looked towards a group of pigeons near my table, not flinching a muscle as she walked by. It might not have appeared that I was looking at her, but she was in my peripheral vision the entire time. As soon as I knew she was inside the shop, I put a couple of extra Euros down on the table, and walked across the street towards a random shop.

I stayed close to the front, pretending to look through the various items, while skillfully keeping an undetectable trained eye on the café where the Black Widow exited, a drink in hand. She took a seat at the table right next to the one I had occupied moments earlier. She glanced around casually, no doubt checking to make sure no one was tailing her. She took her time, sipping on her drink slowly, calmly as if she was just another normal human being instead of one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s most wanted criminals. I didn't want to spend too much time in one shop, so I left the one I was in without buying anything and went to the one right next door. I browsed while still watching her. When she finally made a move to leave, I purchased a random, overtly expensive wallet before ducking out of the store a safe distance behind her.

She walked aimlessly, it seemed. Every now and then I ducked down a back street or stopped in a shop or even feigned cluelessness about the city by asking directions. She doesn't seem to notice me at all. What kind of assassin is she? I couldn't help but think it. Then I noticed two guys dressed in black appear out of nowhere. They were quiet like her, unabashedly following her. She sensed it; I could see it in her movements. She easily took a turn onto a deserted ally, covered by shadows of towering buildings and stacks of empty forgotten boxes. The two mystery guys turned down it too, and I knew trouble had found the Black Widow.

I kept walking though, taking the next street over, knowing the city well enough to know I could reach the ally from the other end. I didn't make myself known though, preferring to keep a safe distance and watch what was going to unfold. I could barely hear what the three were discussing, so I inched closer, taking shelter behind a crowd of boxes, making sure to be extra stealthy. I drew one of the guns I had on my and readied it in case I needed to use it. "Well, well, well," one of them hissed, "if it isn't the famous Black Widow, all alone in Spain."

"Glad to know my reputation precedes me," she said, a hint of glee mixing in with her otherwise calm voice. "Let me guess," she paused momentarily. "Marius sent you." Marius, that name sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it.

"He knows you're the one who killed Sven." The second one said in a low, cold voice. Sven, Marius, now I knew where I'd heard the name. Marius Belov was a member of one of Spain's biggest crime families. They had people literally all over the world, including America. Sven, Marius's brother, had headed the 'branch' in New York, that is until a few years ago when he was mysteriously murdered at a fancy party the mobster had thrown for his wife, Sophie, in honor of her birthday. I'd been there that night. I was on the team sent to take him down. We were just about to make our move when the news of Sven's death hit the party, causing all hell to break loose. Chaos had gained free reign. I'd even saved a young girl there, a friend of Sven's daughter Beatrice. She'd been terrified and was being threatened by enforcers for the Beatrice's location. I'd felt terrible for the girl: she had no clue where Beatrice had run off too. Had the elusive Black Widow murdered one of New York's most feared mob bosses without S.H.I.E.L.D. having any idea? Was that even possible, was she that good?

From my position by the boxes, I could see the back of the Black Widow's head and the shadowy figures of Marius Belov's men. The Black Widow laughed softly, her laughter like gentle bells ringing, melodic and enticing. "Is that your way of saying you did it?" The first one demanded.

"Oh I definitely did it, but that was like five years ago. Marius is just now catching up with me? And here I was thinking I'd murdered the brother of the most fearsome mob boss in Spain." She said in mock confusion.

"Why I oughta – " The first one drew his gun, but the Black Widow was faster. She grabbed his wrist and threw him to the ground. His gun had been forced from his hand and skidded across the ground until it was near my stack of boxes. The other pulled his gun and shot at Natasha, but she somehow dodged it, the sounds of the bullet quieted by the silencer. She was fast and strong for such a little thing. I could hardly believe my eyes when she flipped herself in the air and caught her legs around the second man, twisting him to the ground while still propelling herself to her feet. The fight had moved further into the shadows and I could only make out basic body movements: a hit there, a kick there. But eventually, the grunting of fighting had ceased. I made my move, holding my gun in front of me, moving out from my hiding spot.

"Natasha Romanoff, hands in the air." I moved closer to the shadows, sensing no movement once so ever. I got closer and my eyes adjusted to the darkness. The bodies of two dead men lay in the center of the dark street and the Black Widow was nowhere to be found. Wow, I thought, her reputation really does precede her. I flipped my comm link on. It was technically supposed to be on the whole time, but I usually didn't need it. I only reported in when the mission was complete, or in this case, when something went wrong. "Coulsen, I lost her."

X.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.X

I spent the rest of the day trying to find her, but it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I sighed as I let the realization sink in that Natasha Romanoff could be anywhere by now. Hell, she could have flown out of Spain now. It would make sense. Marius Belov wasn't the type to accept defeat, and the Black Widow had beaten him twice now. Either way, the sun was fading fast. There wasn't anything I could do at that moment other than go home and rest up and try locating her tomorrow.

I took a bus back to the hotel he was staying at. It was a decent hotel really. I'd definitely stayed in worse ones. Besides, the only things that really mattered were running water and a comfortable enough bed. I went straight to his room, ignoring the staff that asked me if I'd had a good day viewing the city. The room was bleak with faded looking furniture and chipped paint, but it had both the necessities I desired, so it was perfect. Besides, I needed a somewhat secluded hotel. I wasn't dealing with just anyone. I was dealing with the Black Widow, who was as lethal as she was beautiful.

The first thing I did was pour myself a drink from the alcohol I'd stored away in my bags. S.H.I.E.L.D. really didn't condone drinking while on the job, but my handler Phil Coulsen wasn't here to warn against it. So what Phil didn't know wouldn't hurt him. I took a long swig of the amber liquid, feeling it burn my throat slightly as it went down, before glancing up to look in the giant silver framed mirror. I didn't bother turning the lights on because after I finished this drink, I was turning in for the night. The room was still. I took another swig, setting down the now empty glass. I walked towards where my duffle bag still sat next to the door, packed and ready to go at a moment's notice. I kicked off my shoes and unbuttoned my shirt when I got an eerie feeling. Something was off. I reached for my gun when the feeling of dizziness set in. I looked around in the darkness, straining to find someone, anyone. Then someone flipped the switch and a lamp from the bed clicked on, lighting a small section of the room. I stumbled towards them.

"Hello Agent Barton," the figure said simply. The familiar voice wove through my ears. It was still as melodic as it was earlier in the night. "Or should I call you Hawkeye?" She asked, standing from the chair next to the bed.

"How did you get in here?" I asked, pointing the gun at her, even though I was too far gun to fire it and hit her. I was feeling lightheaded along with the dizziness. The room was spinning. I could barely keep focused on just her. It was taking up the majority of my energy.

"Does it really matter?" She asked lightly, walking to the light switch near the door. She flipped the switch, dimly lighting the entire room. I reached out and grabbed the bed for support.

"What did you put in my drink?" I finally got around to asking, feeling the effects of whatever she'd put in it. She walked towards me as the gun fell from my shaky hands, toppling to the floor. She easily pushed me to a sitting position on the bed.

"Nothing dangerous, don't worry, you'll live to see another day," she whispered. "I've heard a lot about you Agent Barton."

"I could say the same for you." I said as my vision became to become shaky. This actually garnered a small laugh.

"I'm a little disappointed though," she said as she let her eyes glance over me. She never did elaborate on that answer. My vision started to blur, but my other senses were still intact, and I felt her thumb graze over my lips as she leaned in closer to me. "If you want to catch me, you're gonna have to do better than that." Her words were the last thing I was aware of before the drugs finally pulled me into unconsciousness.