The white-suited staff opens the door of the black limousine, and there is the hollow clink of a high heel as a beautiful redheaded woman steps out. Following her is a young man with chestnut hair, and she slips her dainty hand in the crook of his arm. Together, the couple enter the ballroom of the mansion, her long scarlet hair trailing behind her like a silken cloud of flames.
As they enter, Natasha breaks into an excited grin. Around them, rich music swirls and wraps them in its spell; the scent of silk and spices floats in the air, and the guests shift and mix like an ever-changing, jewel-coloured rainbow. Above them hangs a flamboyant chandelier, like raindrops suspended in mid-shower. For a moment, the two are transfixed.
Then something snaps them out of the enchantment.
"He's here," she whispers out of the corner of her glossy red lips. Clint nods. The two break away, he, to a corner to wait for her signal, and she, to the centre of the floor where a dozen couples whirl to the upbeat music.
She walks forward, in smooth, fluid motions, letting her flaming curls billow around her porcelain shoulders. As she walks, she holds the man's eyes in a coy, half-lidded gaze.
She waits for a transition in the music, and in one smooth motion spins herself into his arms just as he changes partners, one beautiful woman to another.
Clint positions himself in a corner, watching as Natasha spins in and out of view with the creep. He's not jealous, though. It's just that he...felt that the delicate balance between performance and reality has been at stake one too many times...
Then, as he watches them whirl and dance, he feels a strange satisfaction. Within seconds, his own arrow will skewer the idiot's lust-filled heart.
"My, my, sahib, you truly are something," he says, half-smiling at her. In response, she leans closer to her, until her perfume-laced breath rolls across his olive skin.
"You really think so?" she purrs, making sure he can't see her clenching her teeth. Inside, she feels so dirty. Her charm should be saved for Clint, and Clint only.
"Oh yes," he grins. He sizes her up and down. "You are Russian, yes?"
The question catches her off-guard. None of the weapons dealers she encountered before this were this accurate. Nonetheless, she only tilts her head and smiles, hoping to mislead him.
"You have the most beautiful hair," he croons.
"Why thank you," Natasha says coyly.
"Mm...Come, come, Sahib. I would like to show you my favourite place in the mansion," he beckons.
"Well, I am honoured," Natasha gushed. She began to feel that there was something unsettling in his sparkling smile, something not to be trusted.
But if it was for the mission, it would have to be done. Placing her hand in the crook of his arm, they sweep off the ballroom, to a twisting staircase.
The two figures ascend a staircase and Clint begins to feel uneasy. She was moving away, out of his range of sight. Wherever they are going, it-
"Excuse me sir, you must be Mr David Philips?" his line of thought is broken by a service staff in a white tuxedo.
"Huh? Oh yes, of course," Clint says, in the fake British accent he loves to use.
"According to the guest list, you should be in the VIP function room, sir. Would you like to proceed this way?" the man gestures somewhere made invisible by a jewel-coloured crowd. Clint's feeling of uneasiness is heightened. Could they already...?
"VIP guest list?"
"Ah, yes sir. With the complements of Mr Harris. In fact that is where your...companion is headed to now," the staff says. Clint hesitates. If he agrees, there is a possibility that this could be a trap. But if he disagrees, it could lead to unnecessary suspicion...
"I see. Where would that be?"
"Right this way, sir. "
Clint and the butler enter a lift. The interior looks like it was supposed to look posh and opulent, but to Clint its nothing more than a prison of velvet and mirrors, one that he can be attacked and killed in and no one will know.
They stand in silence as the numbers on the wall flicker and grow. Clint's hand goes to the briefcase slung over his shoulder. Inside the briefcase is his bow and a dozen arrows. He has an uneasy feeling that he's going to have to use more than one arrow tonight.
The lift slides to a halt, and they walk out. And before he can flip the cover of the briefcase open Clint has his suspicions confirmed.
There's a small click behind his head.
The butler has dropped all his suave finesse, and growls, "Hands up and drop the bag, enemy agent. "
Clint's hand falls from the briefcase, and lets the briefcase fall to the carpeted floor with a thump of finality. Then slowly, agonisingly, his hands rise...
"Thwack!" goes the gun as it clatters to the floor. Clint has whirled around and kicked the gun away, like he's seen Natasha do it a thousand times before. The butler punches him, and he elbows the butler, and before long it escalates into a rapid flurry of blows and hits.
It doesn't take much for Clint to realise that anything he can do, the butler can do twice as quickly-and thrice as powerfully. The butler hurls himself at Clint, and he stumbled backwards through a door. He staggers to his feet shakily, and prepares to block the hits.
"Okay, now from here on, you have to close your eyes. Only open them when I say so, yes?" the man tells Natasha suddenly. She inconspicuously runs her hand over the gun-shaped lump at her thigh and a sense of security rushes through her.
"Oh, sure", she smiles wearily. She realises with a stab of nervousness that she will have to play his game-to the death.
Doors swing open periodically, and she soon feels the cold night wind whistle and swirl around her.
"Open your eyes."
She slowly parts her eyelids and-
"Clint?!"
They set them up. They knew from the beginning, and it was their plan to get the two of them separated. If only she realised...
The butler has his fist knotted around Clint's collar. Clint dangles over the edge of the building, with only his heels hooked over the edge. The sounds of horns and engines call tinily upwards from below.
Suddenly Natasha feels a sharp pain sprinkle through the back of her head, and feels herself being yanked down. Their target tangles his fist in her waterfall of scarlet curls, and pulls her to her knees.
"You two have caused us an awful lot of problems tonight," he snarls dangerously. "And it ends here."
Shoot, Natasha thinks. She can get herself out easily, but the problem lies with saving Clint. If it was a gun or a knife, perhaps, she could come up with something fast.
But gravity is just not something one toys with.
Either she comes up with something, fast, or...
"You think I don't know a killer when I see one?" he snaps at her, yanking her head back. "You think I'm so susceptible to womens' outward charms?"
Then he growls slowly, clearly enjoying every moment of this. "Well now you watch, you lovesick little pig, as your loverboy dies!"
A dull sensation twists her gut. It's now or never...
Suddenly, it's like time slows down, and everyone's moving in water.
Natasha slips two fingers into the heel of her shoe and draws out a razor. She swings it behind her head as hard as possible, then slides it up the target's ribs.
She hurtles forward, swinging her leg into the butler's stomach, throwing him off the building. It takes forever for Natasha to react and clamp both hands round Clint's ankle before its too late.
"I've got you!" she yells down. It's not really meant to convince him. It is to assure herself that the butler's the only one dead at the foot of the building.
"That's great," Clint smiles wryly. But it's clear that nothing can hide the overwhelming fear spreading through him as he feels the blood rush to his head.
Natasha clenches her teeth as a sharp ache shoots through her arms. Panic ripples through her. Not now...no, no, no...just a while longer...
"Aahh!" she screams as her hand slips and she almost drops him. Hot tears of desperation rim her eyes as she grits her teeth and tries to hold on just a little while longer...
She musters all get strength and squeezes her eyes shut. Clint's not gonna die. She won't let him.
Then with the feral cry, the cry of a dying animal not about to go down without a fight, she grips his ankle like a vice and swings him up with all her might. He doesn't really land entirely on the roof, but it is enough for him to pull his legs over the edge.
The two sit silently for a while, panting and not quite able to believe that just seconds ago, only half of the pair would be returning to Base alive.
Then Clint finally breaks the silence with a shaky voice, eyes still emptily fixed on the flickering lights below."You...you just-"
"Sshhh," Natasha places a hand on his shoulder. "We're partners. Sacrifices are all part of it. "
Their eyes meet, and for a long time they stare at each other, having a whole conversation in telepathic silence.
Over the city, the sky has just begun to break into a violet sunrise, clouds slowly chequer themselves with golden light, and the sky is streaked with crimson and scarlet hues. Suddenly, everything is calm.
"Hey, we should probably get back to Base," Natasha says slowly.
"Yeah..." Clint nods, still transfixed by the sudden transition from a tense brush with death, to a beautiful dawn. "Oh shoot! I left my arrows in the lift..."
"Let's go get it," Natasha grins and begins to stand up. Clint follows slowly, limping a little.
On their way to the door, they pass a quick glance at their target. His eyes are still wide open in shock, and the handle of her knife is barely visible under his sky-blue tie and-
Still clenched in his hand is a shock of fiery scarlet curls, quivering lifelessly in the wind...