Yay! A new story! Like a need another one -_- Ha. But this one wouldn't get out of my head! I guess that's what I get for reading Clintasha fics and Watching the Avengers at the same time. All day.
But not all of this credit can go entirely to me. I mean, most of it can, but I have to give EscapeHollowFieldsClub some of the credit. Like... 12% of the credit. An argument can be made for 15 ;D Anyway, she's my beta-ish person so... MISTAKES ARE ON HER! xD Ha!

- Shadow

P.S. - I don't read the comics. So don't hate because I have an imagination.

Disclaimer: Avengers are not mine. Duh.

The words from the file had already burned themselves into his brain.

Name: the Black Widow
Status: High Risk
Termination: Pending

...and that was it. Well, except for a grainy picture of a shadowy blur, which was definitely not the best S.H.I.E.L.D. could do. However, Clint Barton was not disappointed. The lack of provided details just meant he'd have to go looking for his own. Which was always entertaining, to say the least.

The archer slid his bow out of its case and slung it onto his back, next to his well-stocked quiver.

He had been called in by his handler with a new mission early yesterday morning. No audience with the Director. No flashy entrance. Not even a pep talk. Agent Coulson had handed him a thin file and a passport, and told him that he was headed to Prague.

Getting there was no problem, thanks to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s ready supply of transport. Once there, he scouted out a crappy, nondescript hotel with a free room. Then he did some reconnaissance.

The Black Widow was a rogue assassin. He'd heard rumors of her work through the underground before he teamed with S.H.I.E.L.D., but not many specific details. And not much more came up through his questioning, even though he spent the night in some of the sleaziest bars known to mankind. The only thing that he found, after a bit of bribery, was the location of her next mark. "A tall bloke," the guy told him. "With 'eh goatee. Not much to 'em, but 'e's sure got the ladies 'ight under 'is thumb, dun'he?" There was a gala being held at one of the high-end hotels in the richer part of Prague, and one of its guests had pissed off the wrong people.

So here he was, changing from Clint Barton to Hawkeye with the simple addition of his bow.

Hawkeye headed out, avoiding the streets in favor of the rooftops.

.:.:.:.

Hordes of women passed by, four stories below. Hawkeye was crouched on the top of a building barely a block away from the luxury hotel. He swiftly scanned over each one, fully aware that the Black Widow would be camouflaged in amongst the most posh of them. That is, if her skills were as legendary as her reputation claimed.

She could be any one of these women, Hawkeye thought to himself, running his fingers over the bow he had cradled in his lap. But only one of them had a death wish. And yet, his observations caused him to dismiss almost every woman he came across. That one was too old. As was that one. And she was coloured; the Widow was white. And her? A bit too overweight, if you were to ask him.

It wasn't until halfway through the night, when the flow of arriving guests had decreased to an almost stopping point, that anything happened. A couple exited the hotel via the front door, the woman considerably more drunk than the man. She had long, wavy blonde hair and was sporting a mid-thigh-length, midnight blue dress. Her companion was tall but bland looking, and obviously rich. And he had a goatee. He led her over to the valet, but the woman had something else in mind. She tugged on his arm, saying to him something that Hawkeye could only guess at from this distance. The blond stumbled down the street and the guy quickly followed, laughing.

Hawkeye watched their every move as they brought themselves closer to his vantage point, then right past it. He glanced back at the hotel, then, leaping from roof to roof of the closely-built buildings, followed the pair.

It didn't take long. Three blocks from the hotel, the man became impatient. He told the woman so, motioning back the way they had came. He had a car and could take them anywhere she wanted. Hawkeye, from two stories above them, grimaced. Yeah, he added silently. Like his bedroom.

The woman offered him a coy smile. She grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him into a dead-end alley while Hawkeye notched an arrow and drew his bow. One wrong move and she was going to become a pin cushion. But he had to be sure it was her.

He watched them, barely breathing. The man had the woman pinned against the wall, his face buried in her neck. He couldn't see her expression, but Hawkeye had a clear view right down the shaft of his arrow. It changed from 'pleasured' to something else entirely with an almost audible 'bang' in less than a second. Hawkeye tensed his arms, drawing his bow more taunt. It wasn't until the man dropped to the ground that he realized the bang had been audible.

Shit. Coulson would not be happy about that. Hawkeye pointed his bow at the Black Widow, ready to loose his arrow. But, he didn't. Because he was puzzled. He hadn't yet taken careful note of what expression her face now held. However, as he watched her more closely, he instantly recognized it: Regret. What was a cold-hearted assassin doing feeling regret? Or feeling anything for that matter.

But the regret was gone in another heartbeat when the Black Widow smothered her feelings under a stone-cold mask. Hawkeye lowered his bow by mere inches, familiar with the tactic. How many times had he done the very same thing? The archer looked at the assassin more carefully as his mind reeled.

What had Coulson said? That she needs to be 'taken care of' because she's 'extremely dangerous'? Hawkeye shrugged, an action of reflex. "I can live with that," he said quietly.

The Black Widow, crouching to confirm the death of her victim, froze as the softly spoken words reached her ears.

In a snap decision, Clint Barton drew back his bow and let go of his arrow.