Title: Perfection of Duality
Author: Serena Bancroft
Summary: After she is brought into SHIELD by Hawkeye, the Black Widow learns how to be human, and two damaged people learn what true partnership really is. Slow-building Clintasha. Sequel to White.
Main Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Phil Coulson, Nick Fury, Maria Hill
Ship(s): Clint/Natasha
AN1: It's finally here. Hope you're as excited as I am. This chapter isn't as long or as thorough as you're used to from me, but trust me, it is all a part of the plan.
AN2: This story spans the 8 years Clint and Natasha were partners, and will conclude prior to the events of The Avengers in 2012. It is NOT canon compliant with several of the events of Age of Ultron.
Learning to trust is one of life's most difficult tasks. -Isaac Watt
I: Genesis
Clint always notices how the Camp tends to smell like musty laundry. Musty laundry and sand, actually, considering the number of in-training agents who have no time to do laundry and their locale in the middle of the Sonoran desert.
The Camp is being used as a temporary base of operations while the Hub is being renovated, and quite honestly, he can't wait for them to move base of operations to the mystical 'Helicarrier' he knows is in production. He's seen it. Not the whole thing, granted, but enough pieces to be able to put it together. Schematics and prototype models too. That was back when Fury told him things, when he was just Hawkeye, the best shot in SHIELD and the shadowy agency's top agent. Now however, things have changed. Fury's a secretive guy, and that's not even when Barton's ass is on the line.
The Council wants to see him, and that's never a good sign.
He had only had one meeting with the Council when he brought the Black Widow into SHIELD, but the reaming he got from them was enough for a lifetime. Normally he's not one to be affected by the words of some holographic pencil-pushers, but there was talk of taking his badge, throwing him into the Fridge, turning him back over to the Military Police to answer for his crimes he'd run from all those years ago, convening a tribunal to decide whether or not to execute him. Clint doesn't like to acknowledge his fear, but that Council meeting was one time where he can say with absolute certainty that he was afraid.
A member from each developed nation sits upon the Council since SHIELD isn't supposed to be directly affiliated with any particular country. While SHIELD usually only deals with no more than six of those members directly, the entirety of the Council still makes the decisions. If his instincts are right, he and the Black Widow have been a hot topic of conversation these past six months.
The Council communications room is the inner sanctum of Fury's office, not that Fury treats it that way. Calls the Council members 'sanctimonious dicks who cannot pull their heads out of their own asses' whenever they are not listening (and once when they still had audio communication. That had been awkward.) He used to vocally agree with Fury on those counts, but since that meeting... shit, they literally scared him out of his wits and reminded him that they are SHIELD's ruling body. They could make his life a living hell with the snap of their fingers and not bat an eye. He's not eager to get back on their immediate radar anytime soon.
There's no one else in the hallway leading to Fury's office as Agent Barton approaches. Most SHIELD personnel tend to stay out of Fury's way; the eyepatch look helps with that air of intimidation. The halls are sleek, with steel post supports along the walls, and fluorescent lights beating down from above.
Inside Fury's office, the one-eyed SHIELD director sits, obviously waiting for him. "Your spider finished training today."
He'd initially attempted to reprimand anyone for calling the Black Widow 'his' since at least 98% of SHIELD thought they were fucking and that the only reason he didn't put an arrow through her skull is because she is excellent on her back and on her knees. He still isn't entirely sure why he hadn't. Killed her, that is.
He'd had an arrow nocked, bullet in the chamber with her in the crosshairs multiple times, the perfect shot lined up. And he hadn't taken it. And he could have. So many shots, just given up. Hawkeye is always decisive. Doesn't pussyfoot around an action if he believes it to be the right one.
That final, fateful mission to Italy still hangs heavy in his memory. It was less than a year ago, and the faces of Wendell and Gail still play preeminent roles in his nightmares. He can still hear Gail's scream of anguish and rage when the Widow shot Wendell. Can still see the Widow dropping his agents without a second's hesitation. (They still haven't gotten their stars on the wall of fallen agents. The ceremony is supposed to be tomorrow.) She'd been beset on all sides by Russian agents before that, bearing those red stars on their shoulders and with the intentions of dragging the Widow back to the Red Room alive.
She made it quite clear as she killed all of them that she would escape or die trying.
She'd been some sort of wild animal when she approached her, feral, bloody, and ready to strike out again.
Then she'd accepted his offer after they'd trekked through Milan's streets, watching each other's backs and fighting their way to safety. It was a tentative bond of trust, one that was tested shortly after she'd agreed to join SHIELD.
Six Months Ago
"You did what?"
It isn't often that Phil Coulson loses his cool. His level-headedness is why he's a good agent and is part of the reason Fury keeps him so close to command. But even without being able to see him, Clint is able to discern exactly how badly Phil has just exploded by how loudly he yelled (is still yelling) into the phone.
"For fuck's sake, Barton! I thought you were smarter than this!"
Clint sighs. He'd known this would be difficult. But he'd made her a promise, and he would follow through. "Coulson, I need you to just listen-"
"No, you fucking listen you stubborn, stupid, insolent child. She killed two SHIELD agents right in front of you! And you did nothing!"
"That's not-"
"Interrupt me again, Agent, and I will have your badge." Shit, he is not fucking around. "Clint, that infraction alone is enough to call for dismissal. Hell, that's grounds for a goddamn trial. What were you... What were you thinking? I thought I trained you better than this."
He hears the implication even though Coulson refuses to say it plainly. "For god's sake, I'm not fucking her."
"Trust me, I won't be the only one who thinks so." He feels a brief glimmer of hope. Maybe Phil isn't as opposed to this development as he seems. "Is... Is she with you right now?"
He looks over to the Widow, sitting on the couch in her ruined disguise and watching his conversation intently. "Yeah."
She offers then, "Tell him I can give SHIELD intelligence not just on Russia, but on many of their targets."
"She says she can offer you guys intelligence."
He hears Phil scoff. "Likely one hundred percent truthful intelligence, no doubt."
"Now you're just being childish."
"And you're being naive. We know that malevolent groups in Russia who have very, very awful designs on SHIELD have sought the Black Widow's skills before. Who's to say they aren't doing so now? God, just—just for one second, try to be the SHIELD agent I thought you were, and imagine what would happen if she gained access to one of our bases. Imagine if she released one of her computer viruses in the Hub or got access to the Fridge."
"You could've said the same thing about me," Clint points out. "I worked for the highest bidder before. Hell, I worked against SHIELD several times. You know that. The only difference is that you were in the field to see it."
"And your point, Barton? We had your records from the Army. You showed signs of remorse, of looking for another way out."
"Yeah, and so has she. You haven't been out here, Phil. I have.
There is an emphatic pause before Coulson speaks again. "You didn't kill any of our people."
"It's not like SHIELD hasn't worked with people who were our enemies before, or did you miss all the SSR history in your training? Project Paperclip? I'm asking you to trust me."
"It's not you that I don't trust."
"Pardon me for not accepting that glowing commendation, but I really think it is me you're not trusting here."
There's a long pause, but Clint knows Phil is still on the line. "I need to make some calls. Don't—" he breaks off with a frustrated sigh. "Don't go anywhere. Don't talk to anyone. Wait for my word."
Phil hangs up and Clint is left waiting.
"I'm assuming that didn't go as you had planned," she deadpanned from the couch.
It almost made him smile. "Not exactly planned, per se, but... I'd kind of hoped, though." He sighs, not sure where to put his feet. "He'll come around," he finally says. "Fury definitely will. You're an asset, one that we could use." She doesn't seem to like the word "asset" being applied to her, but she doesn't comment on it.
"He made a good point," she says. "I killed your people."
He closes his eyes. He doesn't want to think about them right now. (How did she hear that?) "Yeah. I'm not exactly known for my team spirit."
Her brow furrows. "So, you meant for them to-"
"No," he interrupts firmly. "God no."
"Then I don't understand—" she cuts herself off, and descends into silence, something obviously heavy on her mind. He wants to know what it is, but he doesn't know how to pry it out of her. Even if he did, he has a feeling she wouldn't answer.
"What should I call you?" he asks instead, abruptly changing the subject.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"Your name. People call me Hawkeye, but that's just my call sign."
Her face doesn't betray much, but her tone is confused, if a bit curious. "You... you have another name?"
"Yeah. Do you go by your birth name?"
"Not for a long time," she answered. Her fingers rise to her temple, eyes closing in a classic indicator of a headache.
"Should I call you Black Widow? Bit of a mouthful, but I can manage it, I think."
"Natasha," she says suddenly. Her fingers fall from her head, twining together on her lap. She doesn't fidget. "No one's ever called me Natasha before. I like it."
He feels like he's made some sort of break through with her, which does make a smile appear on his face. "Nice to meet you, Natasha."
She looks down, hiding some sort of small smirk on her lips. It only makes his grin grow. When she meets his eyes again. "You said you have another name?" He nods. "What is it?"
"Clint Barton."
"Clint Barton," she repeats, quietly, as though she is saving it to memory. Her smile comes back then. It's small, but it's a victory. "Nice to meet you, Clint."
His phone disrupts their exchange, and anticipating his handler, he answers, "What do you have for me, Coulson?"
"Not Coulson," comes the voice of Nick Fury over the line. Clint automatically straightens his posture.
"Director Fury."
"Agent Barton. Your handler just gave me some very interesting news."
"Sir, before you rush to judgement, she will make an incredible agent. You know it."
"My knowing it isn't going to be an issue. I've talked to Pierce about doing exactly what you've just done on several occasions. The Council has debated it, even."
He feels the hope again, and he doesn't know why he's so inextricably tied up in this woman. "So they're open to it?"
Fury sighs. "Why do you think we kept giving her a Black priority status, Barton? No, they never approved of a plan to get her on our side, but the fact that it was debated makes me think they could be receptive."
"That's the spirit," Clint says weakly. "What's the procedure here, sir?"
"You remember what Coulson did for you?"
Shit. Oh shit. "Yeah," he answers.
"Do it. Someone will be there to receive you once you arrive. I'll be there as soon as I am able."
He closes his eyes, swearing emphatically in his mind once more before he gives his affirmative answer and hangs up.
"That seemed to go better," Natasha observes. She cocks her head. "But you're troubled."
"Look, Natasha," he says, his tone already apologetic, "I made you a promise. I'm a man who does his damnest to make sure he keeps his word." His quiver is still strung around his back, and he reaches one hand back for it. She tenses, her fingers whitening and shoulders straightening. He raises his free hand in a calming gesture, and says, "Hey, I'm not going to kill you. Trust me, I've had plenty of better opportunities before now." He gently pries a very specific arrowhead from his selection, thankful he'd chosen to fully stock before they began their mission. "But I can't show you where the base is. I can't just blindfold you, either."
Understanding dawns on her face, and she shuts down faster than a blink. He grits his teeth, determined to not let his frustration over his loss of progress with her show. She says bluntly, defensively, "You want to drug me."
"Yes." The arrowhead comes out of his quiver and he brings it in front of him. Her eyes track his arm the whole way. "It's standard procedure when you bring in a, uh, potentially hostile asset."
She doesn't respond, her breathing even and deep but louder than it was before.
"There's not really much of a choice here, but I want to give you one." He rolls the knockout arrowhead between his fingers. It's smaller than most of his arrowheads. Lighter too, mostly so that whoever was on the receiving end wouldn't end up with the arrow through their neck rather than with an injection. "I wasn't given one when they brought me in, and I was pissed about it for weeks." (But then, he was angry about a lot of things.)
"What is it?" she asks, standing and walking towards him, but still looking like she was considering making a dive out the window before she let him near her with that thing.
"5 CCs of… ah, shit, what did Sci Ops give me… the key components were Fentanyl, I think, mixed with something Benzilate." There are many things that Clint cares very much about in his training, but the proper chemical names of incapacitating agents are not one of them.
She hesitates before saying, "I've… I think I have a tolerance for those."
"A tolerance?"
"Chemical training," she says in way of explanation, as if it's commonplace. "I'm pretty sure Quinuquidnyl Benzilate is what's in there, and I know Fentanyl doesn't affect me."
Clint's eyes widen of their own accord. This is one of SHIELD's most potent knockout drugs for humans. "So will this not work at all?"
Her lips purse, and he can practically feel her defensiveness radiating off of her. "No matter how much training we did with the Benzilate, I was never able to acclimate. I don't—" She takes a breath, steeling herself. "I don't like not being in control of my body."
This is going nowhere fast. "Natasha, I can't bring you to the base fully lucid. You either get injected with this, or we probably both get shot before we make it to the front door."
He sees the muscles in her jaw tick. She doesn't like this. "Fine." She strides forward and snatches the arrowhead out of his palm. She examines it a moment before saying, "Concussion from the arrow triggers the plunger. Nice."
"Thanks." He tries not to preen. He loves his arrows, but now doesn't seem like the time.
She rolls up her sleeve, and without looking up says, "Don't let me kill anyone when I come out of this, please." With that warning, she pushes the needle into her skin and presses down on the plunger.
At SHIELD headquarters, Fury hangs up from his call with Barton.
"So we're set?" asks Phil from where he leans on the wall.
Fury nods. "Barton's following standard protocol and is going to take her to the Underground. Fisher made sure the information is going to be sent through the proper channels. Now, we watch his security program and monitor all outgoing communications. Hopefully the mole will root themselves out."
"And if they decide to take her back by force at the Underground?" Phil asks. Nick can tell that not telling Barton about the plan is grating on him. Regardless of the tension between the two of them, Coulson cares very much about the young agent he trained.
"Then lets hope that your boy still has that knack for getting himself out of impossible situations."
Present
He knew he made the right decision to invite her into SHIELD when he heard that she made a fellow recruit cry in the first day of interrogation tactics without laying a single finger on him. That had made him laugh.
"Has it been six months already?" he asks
He doesn't sit down. You don't sit unless Fury tells you to. "Don't play coy, Barton."
"Wasn't trying to, sir." He honestly hasn't noticed. Well, kind of hasn't. It seems like he hasn't had a moment's rest, going on back-to-back missions in the last six months. He has no doubt it was either Fury's or the Council's decision to try to keep him out of their hair while they dealt with his actions. "Also, not trying to be a pest or anything, but aren't we supposed to be talking to the Council?"
Fury does't look amused or even move a muscle. "They are all still rather sore about my decision to not shoot you when you literally brought the Black Widow to our front fucking doorstep."
Barton protests, "I followed procedure—"
"Don't say a single word, Barton. You won't be having any communications with them in the near future—"
"Thank God."
There's that glare. Doubly potent the fewer eyes you have, apparently.
"Apologies, sir."
Fury sighs. "You weren't wrong to bring her in. She's passed every test we've put in front of her, and not just passed. We've never had such high scores in any category. We had to create a new scale to accommodate her espionage scores. She left many of your scores in the dust." Barton doesn't hesitate to smirk a little at that. He knew she would do well. "But honestly, her aptitude didn't surprise anyone. She was trained as a covert spy and assassin since she was a child. What we don't know, however, is how she will react in the field." Fury leans back in his chair, examining Barton carefully. "To SHIELD at large, she is still a loose cannon. We don't know if she's going to betray us at the first opportunity, if she's planning on playing the long game with us, or, hell, if she's actually doing this because you made her see the light. The Council made the decision to partner you with her for all of your missions for the foreseeable future."
Okay, that was not what he expected when Fury opened his mouth. Probably should have expected something like this though. "And since when does the Council deal in the dirty little day-to-day affairs like assigning agents partners and missions?"
"Since you decided to bring in the Black Widow instead of killing her, that's when. Barton, I know you've talked your way out of a lot. You talked your way out of reprimand for bringing her in. I don't have to be a SHIELD agent to know that you see similarities between your life and hers, but what you did is unprecedented. She was a Black priority target. Even you didn't get that high on our list before we took you in. Everyone else with a Black priority status is either dead or locked up so deep in the Fridge even Fisher can't find them.
"The way the Council sees it, this kills two birds with one stone. She flips on us, we know where her loyalties lie and you are the only one caught in the crossfire."
"And what if she doesn't flip on us?" Barton suggests.
Fury smiles then, "Then I have no doubt that STRIKE Team Delta will become one of the greatest assets SHIELD has ever had."
Her quarters are different.
Everything is different, really.
Her living assignment is at a base called the Camp in the Sonoran desert. She's not sure of the exact coordinates and that sets her on edge until she realizes she never knew the exact coordinates of... of the Red Room either.
An agent showed her to her room, a bit put off by her lack of personal belongings, but polite nonetheless. It's a change, having someone at SHIELD besides Hawkeye—Clint—offer her courtesy. It isn't something she expects, never has, and it's an interesting sensation. Having a smile directed at her. At her. Kind words.
The quarters are as spartan as the ones she grew up with, but these are different. She has a window, an actual window that leads outside and has the desert sun streaming through it. There's much more space. The bed isn't bolted to the floor, and there is an armchair. (What on earth is she supposed to do with that?) She has a whole bathroom, not just a toilet at the base of her bed. There's a closet with several SHIELD uniforms inside. "These are... These are mine?" she had asked the agent.
She had nodded, still with the polite smile. "Yes. I'm sure they taught you all about uniform protocol during your training."
She's more astounded by the fact that these things are hers. She remembers her plans for her Widow's Bites, suddenly, still trapped beneath the carpet in her room back... back where she came from. If she can have these uniforms... maybe she can have those too.
There's so many things she just has now. Free time. Freedom to come and go as she pleases. Clothing. A badge.
She hears a knock on her door, and she tenses and falls into a defensive stance on instinct, but reminds herself that she is trying to make a new start here. A new name for herself. She goes to answer the door, determined to try to smile at the agent who had been polite to her.
She finds Hawkeye on the other side. "What are you doing here?" she asks. She hasn't seen him in months, not since he first brought her to SHIELD.
"Heard you got assigned to the Camp. Thought I'd pop by and say hello."
She wonders why, but instead says, "Oh."
He doesn't seem put out by her lack of reaction. "You're lucky you got living quarters in the Camp. Most of the time they have rookie agents do a stint guarding the Fridge and that's a live-in job. I had to do it once a couple years back. It sucked."
She tries to remember her training (from before) about how to hold a conversation like this, but she has no identity to fall back on. She can't be Natalia or Maria or anyone else. She has to be Natasha Romanoff, someone she's never been before and has no idea how to be because she has no identity profile and she never realized how much she needed those profiles before.
Clint continues as if he hadn't noticed her pause. She's grateful. "So how was training? You got the same six-month period that I did. For some people it's longer."
The direct question comes as a relief. She knows how to relay information. "Effective at teaching techniques, although many of the agents in training were not as capable as I am."
He smiles. "No shit. It can really kick your ass, but you look no worse for the wear."
"I've had worse," she answers.
That dims his smile a bit, and she worries she's said something wrong. "Of course you have," he says quietly. "I actually had a reason for stopping by," he says then returning to normal, "SHIELD has decided to make us partners. Thought I'd give you the word in person before you got the official assignment."
"Partners," she repeats, the word tasting strange on her tongue. "I've never... I've never worked with anyone before." She's had to involve people in her work, people who her handlers directed her towards, but she's always relied on herself to complete her missions. That's the way she knows how to do this.
Hawkeye shrugs. "I don't either, really. I never did, not until..." Italy, she hears, even though he doesn't say it. "Yeah, I just don't work with people much. We're kind of in the same boat with that one."
She remembers the courtesy of the agent who showed her to her room and decides to take a page out of her book. Why not? Natasha Romanoff is a blank slate. It's about time she starts creating who she wants to be. She sticks out a hand. "I look forward to working with you."
He eyes the hand as though it's a snake for a moment, but he quickly grins that easy, lopsided grin of his, and takes her hand in his. "Me too, partner."