Well, I'd just like to say a major Happy Birthday to one of my lovely ladies! I hope you enjoyed it while you could because here comes a hell of a lot of pain and hurt and angst. Just like you asked for. Maybe not in the way that I interpreted it, but ah well.

Warning: Character Death, Angst, Darker Themes.

Disclaimer: Yeah. I don't own Avengers.

-;-

"Nat."

There was a knock on the door, and then a blond headed man stuck his nose into the room cautiously, realizing full well that given the lack of light, he could potentially be in quite a bit of danger.

"Nat…."

"Barton, I swear to God." The crimson haired woman moaned beneath her sheets, shifting just enough so that the other assassin could see the narrowed slits that she had for eyes. "You call me that one more time and your intestines are going to be used as Christmas decorations."

The archer shrugged, holding up his hands in a sign of peace, even as the slightest of smirks threatened to take over his face. "Easy, Widow. Just came in to tell you that we just got new marching orders. Korea."

The redhead sighed, and a moment later Natasha was pulling on a pair of slimming black jeans and a loose grey shirt over the sports bra and boxer style underwear. She didn't bother doing anything with her hair, given that it was curly as it was and would most likely do its own thing anyway, so she simply ran a hand through it as she grabbed her boots and pulled them on.

Clint stood by, leaning against the door frame and admiring the rather nice view while he could. After all, the two of them were going to be in their usual distant roles in a matter of hours- no time for screwing around when it could mean that one of them could die.

"Any information on the target?" Natasha asked coolly, flipping her hair back up and out of her face as she stood, pulling the sheets neatly back up the way that they'd been found.

"Nope. Briefing's on the flight over." The archer replied with a shrug.

"Of course it is." The redhead muttered. "You put the knives back in my bag last night?"

"Of course." Clint said, sounding mildly offended. "I'm an idiot, not suicidal. Why would I ever forget your knives when I know what would happen to me later?"

Natasha said nothing, though it looked as though she wanted to say something less than pleasant on the subject, and instead glanced over the room once before flicking her wrist towards the door in order to herd the archer out. He did so with little fuss, and she followed, closing the door behind her.

The rest of their temporary home was bare. The only thing that possibly hinted at them even being there were the two well-sized bags laying in front of the large window overlooking the city, both of which were packed and ready to go.

"So, bets?" the blond asked casually, bending down to pick up their bags, tossing the redhead's over to her with practiced ease.

It was something of a running joke to them, making bets on how the mission would go. See if they could guess what was going to be in store before briefings. Clint, surprisingly enough, was the one who had won the majority of them so far, though the numbers that separated the feat were few.

"Well, short notice, possibly a gang or a branch of the mafia given that we're being briefed on the way." Natasha said, hauling her bag over her shoulder. "Either that or protection detail."

"I'm thinking protection detail with a fairly reasonable chance at a public threat to said person, who could be from a well off company or family." Clint countered, adjusting his own bag. "You good?"

"Yep. Let's go." The redhead replied calmly, moving over to the window and pulling it open before climbing out onto the fire escape and disappearing from sight. Clint sighed, realizing that he was the one who had to close the window this time, before following suit, pressing down carefully and listening for the click as the pane of glass settled into place. That done, he leaned over the rather unsteady railing and looked for Natasha. Of course, she was already halfway to the ground, and they were about thirty stories up, give or take.

Judging the distance and the degree that he would have to shift if he were to jump, the archer decided against it and instead took off down the stairs, using his agility to swing from the bars to the outside of the stairs, easily descending down the rather high height with little discomfort. Honestly, he preferred height. There wasn't quite anything like it, really. The only thing that could make his love of heights any better were if he were out in the middle of nowhere, perched somewhere where he knew no one would be able to touch him with his bow as his only company.

As soon as he'd leapt, it was over, and his feet hit the ground softly in the back alley that the fire escape backed out onto. Natasha was already mounting her black motorcycle, helmet firmly in place and bag slung over her shoulder and across her ribs so that there would be little resistance from the wind, and as he stretched, she gestured with her hand to the other bike. Clint didn't need to see behind the tinted helmet to know that she was furrowing her brows in slight irritation at his lack of urgency, but then again, that was just the way that the redheaded assassin was.

Sauntering over to his bike, Clint pulled on his helmet and quickly revved up the black beauty, taking off past Natasha and knowing that the woman would follow him until she deemed it necessary to pass him. Which would probably be as soon as they hit an open stretch of road. Which, surprisingly enough, wasn't all that hard to find if one knew where to look.

There was silence in the helmet, save for the faint rumbling of the wind as the pair sped through the streets of God knew what city they'd settled into for the time being. Somewhere in India- they knew that much. After a while everything just blended together, becoming nothing but another plane ticket, another temporary home, another something. To anyone else, it would seem like a hell for them to give up everything at the drop of a hat and migrate somewhere else, but to the pair of assassins, it was something that they'd been raised to be numb towards. And it worked; to an extent. Natasha had no problems, of course, seeing as it was driven into her so heavily for so long, but as for Clint…

He liked seeing all the new places, and he occasionally got attached to one place more than another. Several times, he'd commented upon it to Natasha, to which the redhead only snorted and continued to sharpen her knives. Not that it really managed to get to him- Clint didn't take many things to heart, and Natasha and her mannerisms were as always, exempt.

Speaking of the redhead…

Clint swerved to dodge a possible accidental move from Natasha as she pulled ahead of him in a burst of speed, but as she turned to glance over her shoulder at him, Clint knew that it had been very much purposeful. Mind, it wasn't like he was about to retaliate. Like he'd said before and would be saying for a good long time; he was an idiot. He wasn't suicidal.

-;-

"Told you so." Clint said smugly as the pair descended the ramp onto the runway in Korea, bag in hand. As he'd thought, there had been a public threat to a rather high up family, and they were being called in for protection against said threat. The only thing was, no one knew who they were. Their descriptions had been changed for their own protection, and on the way over, Natasha had been given a brunette wig that fell to her ribs and blue contacts to wear while they were on duty. Clint, on the other hand, had simply been given different glasses and a suit to change into, to which the male had made a rather unpleasant face before changing into it. Luckily, it was looser than the standard suit, so he could actually move around and store smaller weaponry in the many pockets.

"Your point being?" Natasha asked, one hand raising to shield her eyes from the sun, looking for their ride.

"You owe me twenty." Clint replied smugly, adjusting his tie so that it was straight against his collarbone.

"It can wait."

"Of course. But I still won."

"You're such a child."

"And yet we've made it all these years." The archer teased, brushing against the redhead's shoulder as they came closer to the large and private building.

"Excuse me? Are you Agents Duncan and Finch?" a smooth baritone asked suddenly, almost causing Natasha to lash out with one of the knives hidden in the sleeve of her blouse and most likely take out something like a major artery. Clint, on the other hand, had simply stiffened before relaxing, and was the first to recover from the mild shock.

"Yes. I'm Agent Duncan, my partner is Agent Finch. I understand that you've asked for our help?"

"Yes. I'm Alan Bridge. I understand you both have been briefed on the flight over?" the larger man asked, his moustache moving ever so slightly as he spoke. Clint took him in, deciding several moments later that he wasn't a threat and nudging Natasha subtly to get the point across.

"Of course. If you wouldn't mind, we'd like to get down to business. We take our jobs very seriously." Natasha said briskly, tucking the briefcase she'd been issued under one arm and shifting her weight onto one hip.

"Of course, ma'am. Right this way. The client has sent a vehicle." Alan said graciously, moving to one side and motioning towards what appeared to be a Ferrari of some kind that the pair of agents knew probably wouldn't hold up well in the long run if there was any kind of conflict. "As I'm sure you're aware, there is a party tonight at the home, and unfortunately, there cannot be any cancelations, given that there are going to be delegates from several other countries present. I'm sure you can understand how much importance that this holds to the client?"

"Mhm." Natasha hummed lowly.

Great, Clint thought to himself. Now this guy'd pissed off Nat, and it had barely been more than five minutes since meeting him. This had to be some kind of record. Mind, he probably wouldn't bring it up with her until they were back in their small apartment, but he would not forget this record-breaking event.

They reached the car, and after piling in, pulled away. Natasha and Clint were both uncomfortable in their seats, being unused to feeling so open. Usually, their clients would send a vehicle that was actually reinforced somehow, so that there wouldn't be as much of a chance at getting killed.

Yeah. Because odds of being killed were always reduced when he and Natasha were involved.

-;-

Chaos.

Complete and utter chaos.

As the pair had suspected, there had been a leak in security, and before they'd been able to put an end to that bullshit, there were men dressed in black everywhere. Natasha had been separated from her partner within the first thirty seconds of gunfire breaking out, but given that Clint was one who tended to work better from heights, she wasn't overly concerned. What she was concerned about, however, was the lack of information that they had on the enemy. All she could tell was that there had to be at least a hundred of them, and that they all appeared to be heavily armed. Whether or not they knew that she was one of the agents brought in to protect the client remained to be seen, but for the moment, all she really knew was the thrumming of her heart and the twinging of her muscles as she drew her pair of guns from beneath her loose gown and began opening fire on the targets.

Meanwhile, Clint was otherwise occupied, holding back a good number of these rogue agents with just his bow and a set of throwing knives. He was thinking more along the lines of how he was going to not get seriously injured, considering that he'd literally brought knives to a gun-fight, but for the moment he was faring decently.

Pushing through the many layers of people, he gradually made his way back to the other room, where he knew Natasha would still be. Some kind of sixth sense told him that much.

However, just as he managed to reach the entrance of the room, there was a gigantic, shuddering explosion that rocked the foundations of the building around them, and Clint instinctively knew that it was going to crumble.

"NAT!" he bellowed, just as a torrent of concrete and wood came down on top of the entirety of the room.

-;-

Natasha dizzily coughed, blinking her eyes several times in a futile attempt to look around her. Vaguely above her, she could make out the small, glittering lines of stars that stretched across the sky, and for a moment couldn't quite grasp why she could see stars when she was clearly indoors.

Flashing lights burst across her vision, closely followed by the familiar logo of SHIELD, and the redhead coughed again as she attempted to alert them to her position. Shifting, she hissed as every inch of her ribcage protested the motion, and she coughed again, earning a particularly bright light to shine in her eyes.

"We found her, Director!" someone called.

Clint…where's Clint? She thought tiredly as thuds rumbled in her ears. Something must have damaged them, she thought to herself, but then again, it could just be her.

"Hold on, Widow. You're going to be fine." Someone said soothingly before there was a prick in her arm and everything around her ceased.