The moment Natasha Romanoff turned her back on Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson, she felt something she hadn't felt in decades: regret, because she had to leave them. Although Sam had offered her a place to stay, she had turned it down. The Black Widow had never been the kind of woman who settles down and does as she is told. She doesn't work that way. It would only be a matter of time before they would find an opportunity to lock her up. The government wanted her skin, but she wasn't willing to sell it. Steve assured her that he would never let anything happen to her, but it didn't matter anyway. The guy has always been more than this world deserved and hé deserved better than to be Natasha's personal guard dog. So when she told Steve to ask agent Carter out for a date, she'd meant it. She wanted him to move on, to find someone he could trust and rely on at any time. Carter had shown that she could be exactly that person, something Natasha could never be. And above all, Sharon could become his lover one day, if Steve ever wanted that. Natasha would always remain nothing more than what the Captain asked her to be: a friend.

As she walked away, the Widow looked fierce and confident, but on the inside she was crumbling. It was just like she said before: "I always pretend to know everything, but I don't." Moments ago, she'd pretended she knew exactly what to do, but in fact she didn't have a clue. For the first time in years, she was on her own again. No SHIELD-officers to watch her back, no Director to stand up for her when she needs his help. She was alone, just like she used to be. People used to say that she had always been perfectly capable of handling things herself, which was true. But sometimes, she had to admit that a little bit of help was exactly what she needed. As she kept walking, she gazed around as if she was looking for someone. Natasha silently hoped that a car would stop and that someone would invite her in and drive away with her. Or that a particular someone would be leaning against a tree and greet her with a snarky comment and an invitation for a drink. She hoped that thàt someone would offer her a way out, just as he once did. But the someone she was waiting for, wasn't there like he had been all those years ago.

3 weeks later, Moscow

It was a remarkably sunny Thursday in Moscow. People were cheerfully chatting in the streets, tourist were taking pictures of the Kremlin and others were enjoying a drink at a terrace in the sun. One person who wasn't enjoying this summer day as much, was a particular blond woman who was reading a newspaper at a bench in Lefortovo Park. She was dressed in a black dress, porting a French barrette and wearing black, high heeled shoes. She seemed sunken in thoughts and apparently didn't notice when a man sat down beside her. She did not look up when he glanced at her, nor when he leaned back and stretched his arms.

"You know, when you told me you wanted to wipe out the red in your ledger, I didn't expect you to put it on the internet," the man remarked.

The woman suddenly stopped reading, but still didn't look up. Instead, she closed her eyes and lowered her newspaper. The sun fell on her face and reflected on the arrow necklace around her neck. When she finally turned her head sideways to greet the man, he was gone. Where he had been sitting, was laying something that looked like a business card. The woman frowned when she read the message written on it, stood up and left, leaving the newspaper behind.

Natasha pulled the hood of her black and grey striped sweater over her head as she crossed the street. Rain was pouring down and her clothes where soaked. It was already dark and the temperature had dropped at least 9 degrees since the afternoon. In the distance, she could hear the clocktower hit eleven o'clock.

"You're late," she whispered to herself. She started running, eyes fixed on the house numbers. "Number 223, number 223,…" she kept repeating that mantra. She halted in front of an old bookstore with number 221. Her gaze shifted to the building next to it: 225.

"You're joking," she thought as she turned around on her heels. As she expected, there was no number 223 on the other side of the road. There must have been something she overlooked. She pulled the card out of her trousers' back pocket and read it again. It clearly said '223'. But house 223 did not exist. Natasha started doing sentry-goes up and down the pavement in front of the bookstore, while listening to her own footsteps. When she stepped on a sewer lid, she almost slipped. She grabbed on to the windowsill of number 221 and looked down. The lid hadn't been closed. She kneeled in order to properly shut it, when she noticed the number engraved to it.

223

"Shit," she cursed. Natasha looked up to make sure there was no one who'd seen her, shoved the lid aside and climbed down the sewers. It was pretty dark down there, but something inside her told her it was going to be alright. She put the lid back in its place and it made a subtle noise, announcing her arrival. Hé must have heard it, as she noticed someone clearing his throat at her right. She headed towards the source of the sound and after a few minutes, she spotted a figure in the shadows.

"Next time you invite me for a date, I prefer a dryer place, where they have wodka," she remarked dryly. "I hope I didn't ruin my shoes for nothing," she added as she didn't get a reply. The figure stepped forward and threw a bag towards her. Natasha managed to catch it, due to her quick reflexes. Inside, she found a flashlight, a bunch of papers and – to her surprise – a bottle of wodka.

"I figured you might need a drink," the man in the shadows said. Natasha flashed the light on and pointed it in his direction. Clint did not look like himself at all. No sunglasses, no army boots, no SHIELD uniform and above all, no bow and arrows. He was looking neat, dressed in a grey suit. His pants were soaked in mud, but apart from that, he seemed flawless.

"You hurt my feelings," Natasha smirked, "you left me to become a bank clerk in Russia?" Clint snorted: "If only." A painfull silence fell between the two of them. After a while, Natasha broke it.

"Why took you so long?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. Clint sighed: "I couldn't contact you as soon as I found you, Nat. It took me 2 weeks to find a place to meet." Natasha shot him a perplexed look. "I beg you pardon? I haven't seen you in months! You left, I didn't really know where you were all this time. And yesterday, you show up, like you appeared out of thin air and now you tell me you've been following me for 2 weeks?" Clint apologetically raised his shoulders: "I'm sorry I didn't write you letters." The irony in his tone didn't escape Natasha.

"So, are you going to tell me why you disappeared?" she demanded. Clint sighed again and leaned against the wall, dirtying his suit. "You are smarter than that, Nat. You know I did not simply disappear."

"I kind of figured that out. But I became worried after I found out that you didn't leave that mental facility you were in after one week. I took a bet with Stark, I said that you'd be gone after 12 hours. He thought you would leave after 2…." Natasha gazed at him: "You know, I wanted to visit, if I could, but…"

"You were busy," Clint dropped his eyes, "I am sorry you had to find out I was gone from someone else than me. I couldn't tell you."

Natasha felt her heart ache when she noticed the pained tone in his voice. "Why?" she asked quietly

Clint looked her straight in the eye as he spoke again: "I didn't intend to go there in the first place, to the facility I mean. But it was the only way out, the only place where I could think. Back at SHIELD, people were looking at me, pointing at me. You do remember that I'm the one who's responsible for the dead of those peoples colleagues and friends? Nobody trusted me anymore, no one but you and Fury. I couldn't live with that, but I couldn't leave my old life behind just yet. I wanted to stay around as long as I could, and a vacation at the mental ward was my best shot at that. I pretended to be batshit crazy. I didn't run around naked like Selvig did, but I convinced the shrinks of my bad mental health anyway. They left me alone, because they believed that talking to me would be no use. I really enjoyed that time. People around me became uncareful, talked freely because they thought I wasn't listening. I picked up a lot of interesting stuff, but none of that matters anymore because, you know, HYDRA happened. I didn't have time to stay around after that."

"You were already gone when…" Natasha interrupted, but Clint cut her short.

"No, I wasn't. Before everything escalated, Fury paid me a visit. I believe it was a week before the Winter Soldiers assassination attempt. Fury told me he never believed my 'crazy' act for a second, but he was glad other people did. Because he needed help with something and he figured that no one would've expected that he would trust me of all people – a crazy traitor."

Natasha was all ears.

"Fury asked me to leave, 'the sooner the better' he said. He found out that we had been infiltrated, but also that HYDRA still had important links outside America. He asked me to head for Eastern Europe, in order to keep an eye out for certain people. He arranged me a job at a weapon-manufacturing company which has strong ties to former HYDRA officials. I've been working for them ever since I left. Fury was right, they were up to something, but you know what's funny? They weren't working for Pierce, or any of the American HYDRA-members. They ran a business on their own. I wanted to report that to Fury, but he 'died' before I managed to reach him. He was the only tie to SHIELD I had left, so after the accident, I was on my own and I couldn't even drop my cover. I'd be dead before I could ditch this awful suit."

Clint stared at Natasha, who was unusually silent.

"When the news of HYDRA's defeat by the Captains hands reached me, I assumed the European clan would go into hiding soon enough - and I'd be safe. But that's when the funny part kicks in. They didn't. It's true what they say. 'When you chop one head of, two more grow in its place.' Literally. I've seen them, those two. It's something you've never seen before."

"You know there is not much I haven't seen in my life," Natasha declares gloomily.

"I do, but you'll be surprised of what secrets life still holds. HYDRA is planning something they call 'The age of miracles'. I didn't believe in real sorcery, Tash, I really didn't. But I guess I had a change of heart." Clint pointed at the bag that Natasha was still holding on to: "Take a look for yourself."

Natasha pulled the folder out of the bag and opens it, curiously.

"Wanda Maximoff," she read aloud, "and Pietro Maximoff. Twins, orphans, Eastern Europe. Specials powers. Pietro possesses the ability to move at superhuman speeds and Wanda …" Natasha's eyes widened as she read on in silence. "No shit," she whispered when she'd finished, "This is impossible. These are fairytales, things you read about in comic books. This can't be real."

"I've seen them," Clint replied simply, "They aren't exactly the people you want to run into at night. What they can do, it's nothing like a power I ever witnessed. And just like you, I've witnessed a lot in my life. HYDRA's holding them prisoner in a facility in Kazachstan, somewhere underground. They're going mad, but it's clear to me that they are sane enough to understand what HYDRA is planning to do with them. They've tried to escape several times, but apparently without success..."

Suddenly, Clint's eyes darkened: "Loki's scepter is in HYDRA's possession as well. I can't imagine…" Clint stopped talking and Natasha had to resist the urge to give him a hug. Ever since Loki'd possessed him, Clint blamed himself for what happened. Like Clint had pointed out earlier, Natasha too had noticed that people were whispering behind his back. They blamed Clint for what he did, they hated him, even though they knew he did not have a choice. The mere possibility of things like that happening again, to him or anyone else, must be Clints worst nightmare.

"So, you want to find that scepter," Natasha guessed. Clint nodded: "A weapon like that, in HYDRA's hands… But that's not everything. The twins – I believe they are a more powerful weapon than that scepter. We need to get them out. I wish I knew how to gain their trust, but I can not talk to them, not without revealing who I am. I can't do this on my own."

"That's why I'm here."

"I need your help, but if you're not willing to do this, you can still walk away. I won't chase you and beg you to stay."

Natasha leaned against the wall, right next to Clint, uncapped her bottle of wodka and took a drink. She offered it to Clint, and he thankfully took it.

"How did you know where I was?" she asked again.

"You really believed I left you without ever looking back?" Clint turned to look at her: "I did a little research, figured you'd leave the country after I saw your trail on the news. I managed to track your whereabouts after hacking the board list of some planes. And even though you're now looking like a Barbie doll, I can still spot you from miles away. But seriously Nat, Russia, of all places? Why did you come back?"

Natasha takes another shot of wodka: "It's probably the only place no one expected me to go to. They leave me alone here and that's all I ever wanted. I needed time to think, to figure out where to go from here. I don't have a job anymore, the government is still trying to find a way to put me down. Your situation isn't much worse than mine, I'm as undercover as you are. Or did you think I like wearing haute couture dresses and pointy shoes? "

The tension between the two of them eased a bit.

"Thank you for looking out for me," Natasha whispers all of a sudden. She grabs Clint by the shoulders and presses him against the wall: "But don't ever, ever leave like that again. Promise me!"

Clint gently takes her hands into his own: "I'll try, but you told me promises are for children. Remember? You'll just have to trust me when I tell you that I'll always look out for you. So when the day comes and I have to leave, I'll return to you, sooner or later."

Natasha shoots him an annoyed look: "Fine."

"I missed you too, Tash," Clint whispered in her ear as he pulled her close to him. Natasha laughed as she let her hands slip out of his. She leaned forward, until her lips nearly touched his: "So, how do you intend to do this, 'Hawkeye'? You can't storm into the building with me and run away with two lunatics and a scepter. That's suicide."

"I do not intend to drop my cover yet. But that means that I can't look for any help, and we'll need it. I can't take such a risk again, or I'm a dead man. But you can contact certain people. So…"

Natasha smirked and asked in disbelief: "You're not implying what I think you are?"

"I'm afraid so – I don't see any other option."

"Assemble?"

"Yeah, I guess it's time for us to suit up again."

Natasha nodded slowly. She always knew this day would come, but she didn't expect it to be so soon. Strangely, she didn't mind.

"No time to lose, is there? I guess I'll get started straight away. When will we meet again?"

"We'll see. You'll find everything you need inside that folder I gave you, as well as a way to contact me. Call me when you're ready..."

"Alright, I guess this is goodbye, for now. Don't get yourself killed out there Clint," Natasha turns around, ready to leave.

"Hey, Tasha! Clint grabs her by the upper arm.

"Yes?" she replies, without turning around.

"Thanks you for helping me out."

"Anytime, Clint, anytime."

So, this was my first try at a one-shot. Please tell me what you think about it in the comments!

(As a none native speaker, I tried to correct the english grammar and vocabulary as much as I could. I hope it's not too bad).

Thanks for reading!

xxx