This is my first leap into Marvel territory (I've traditionally been a more Batman oriented fan) but I was ridiculously interested by this prompt on avengerkink and I just couldn't stop myself. I have so much headcannon around how these two met and work together that it's probably a little sad, but I couldn't resist trying to work out all reasons Natasha might have felt it necessary to shoot Clint;-) I meant to make this lighthearted and funny, but that…didn't really happen. Sorry!
Depending on your personal slant, you can read this as either shippy or BAMF!BFFs at work. It works either way. I have absolutely no knowledge of the comic-canon for any of this. I've seen the movies and read a bit on the internet, but most of this is guesswork and make believe;-)
Five Times Natasha Had To Shoot Clint, and One Time She Just Wanted To
OR: A Selection of Excerpts from Coulson's Form 444c (Agent-Involved-In-Shooting-Clint) Collection.
1. From Case #0399-4: This has resulted in Agent Barton losing his credit card privileges until further notice.
She comes back to consciousness in stages, which is only surprising because she hadn't expected to wake back up at all. Still, training and time means Natalia knows to stay perfectly still until she can take stock of her situation. She's got no more injuries than the ones she lost consciousness with, and the worst of them, the puncture wound at her hip, has inexplicably been dressed. Ankles are bound, but not her knees (she can work with that); wrists tied behind her back (some type of cord that will be hard to get out of without a sharp edge, but she can find one after her captor is dead); no blindfold. Every weapon she had on her is gone, but at least she's still wearing all her clothing. All in all, she's woken up worse.
Voices drift over the hum an engine. Some kind of aircraft; single pilot in communication with at least one other.
Conversation. Americans. Hawkeye.
He is now being called "Barton" and quickly demonstrates that he has attitude with everyone, not just her, so she'll let the one being pestered ("Coulson"…?) live if he's present when she escapes. He's clearly earned the mercy. They are arranging some kind of rendezvous point, as their primary has been compromised, and Barton seems to take his orders from this voice. More or less.
Well, perhaps less than more. She's crossed paths with Hawkeye before, albeit never face-to-face, and is a little flattered that her exploits have merited him as an opponent, but her respect for man who supposedly took out Anton Dragoff at 400 meters is rapidly dwindling. That he has not followed protocol is obvious, and his handler is upset.
The aircraft is slowing now, descending. The engine noise is a slight bit quieter and Natalia hears the final words of the conversation from the voice over the speaker, which are loud and thick: "Jesus, Barton. Don't speak to her. Or look at her. Or go near her. She will kill you and I just might let her. Lock her in storage and I'll meet you with a team." Natalia knows what is not said: To finish the job.
"You didn't see what I saw." Barton knows too. "She's got it in her. This is in her."
There is only silence after that.
Natalia takes a gamble and opens her eyes. She doesn't know what awaits her at landing, so she needs every second she can get now.
"Your handler seems competent. You should listen to him." If Barton is surprised that she's awake, he doesn't show it. Natalia takes a moment to look around. Several of her weapons are casually placed on the co-pilot seat next to him, a temptation, but she's near the back of the craft and his bow is next to him. They both know she'd never make the distance.
"There are worse people to work for." Barton agrees, with a glance in her direction. "You interested?"
"I'm not really the corporate type." It's the concussion she must have, and not the knowing look in his eyes, that causes her to answer him. "You didn't strike me as a CIA flunky, either."
Barton actually laughs out loud. "Oh, trust me- we're way worse than those fuckers." There is silence until plane hits the ground smoothly, and after it stops he turns from his seat to face her. Natalia's eyes narrow. That worse-than-a-fucker is wearing her sidearm on his belt.
He's a dead man.
The engines are quiet and the outside is too. They are not where they are supposed to be; his backup is not here. Barton stands. "Look, what you were doing in San Paulo was suicide. We both know it." He steps closer. Natalia looks up at him with wary eyes. "You want to end your life? I can see why. But don't be a waste. I can offer you a chance to have a new one."
She looks down, hiding her face, and shudders. Barton leans in and places a hand on her shoulder.
Bingo. The White Knight types always fall for it.
Natalia flattens her palms against the floor and catches Barton in the face with her knee. He only falters slightly, but she was waiting for it. She moves fast to his left side and reaches into his pocket, slips her gun from his holster and an arrow from the quiver on his back in smooth motions. She frees her ankles with the sharp tip quickly, but her captor is has not earned his reputation for nothing. He rolls over one shoulder, grabs and loads his weapon in less than a second.
A standoff. "This doesn't have to get messy. The offer still stands. Be your own person for once. "
There are flashing lights and motors in the distance, steadily coming closer and Natalia tenses. Barton might be willing to spare her, but the rest of his team is not, and although going down in a violent firefight was appealing a few hours ago, she suddenly finds herself tired and conflicted. He notices the source of her discomfort.
"I'll back your play." He says softly. "If want to go, then go. You are obviously not going to keep yourself alive long enough to be of any concern to me anyway. But, Natalia, if you want to stay-fuck, Romanova!"
Natalia calmly shoots him in the shoulder and sweeps his bow away with her foot. It's a through-and-through; no permanent damage. A professional courtesy. "It's not a bad wound. But it should make things easier on you. Your boss will think you tried to stop me." He shouldn't have to pay the price of failure because she can't decide whether to live or die.
"I could have just told them that!" He snaps, as he tries to press a piece of cloth around the gash. "My people actually trust me and have my back. We could have yours too."
Natalia shrugs. People lie all the time. Blood is more convincing. "I'll think about your offer." She waves the wallet she pulled from him. "I'm sure I have your card."
She slips out of the jet, streaks the opposite direction of the incoming caravan for some time, and briefly considers just putting her weapon to her head. She's cold and dirty and there's an ever-growing list of things- peoplefeelingsghostsbullets- that she's running from all the time now.
You are obviously not going to keep yourself alive long enough to be of any concern to me anyway. The words echo in her head. She must, at least, at the very least, get far and lost enough that Hawkeye won't ever know. It's unfair of her- she'd be righteously pissed if one of her marks escaped only to off themselves hours later- but something in her just can't stand the thought that he'll know he was right.
By time she reaches anything resembling civilization, the first dark alley she comes across has an undeniable appeal, but is unfortunately occupied by two drunken punks trying to pull a pretty fifteen year old off the main street. They don't even know what hit them before they die.
The girl is sobbing. "Wha- What're you going to do to me?" Natalia pulls all the cash from Barton's wallet and hands her the wad. She's got the wrong hair color and speaks the wrong language, but to Natalia, this girl is suddenly no different than a girl half a year and half the world away that she didn't save. She doesn't need to torture little girls to death anymore. Maybe she could save them instead.
There are two credit cards left in the wallet and no id. Natalia picks the unmarked black one to check into the most expensive hotel she can find. She hesitates when the clerk asks for the name.
Don't be a waste. Be your own person. Maybe it is time for someone new. "Romanoff. Natasha Romanoff."
The room is nice, nicer than anything she's allowed herself lately, but she doesn't sleep. She sits in a chair, next to the window, with the lights on all night. If he comes back to kill her, she can at least make it easier this time.
She refuses to acknowledge disappointment when it's Phil Coulson who knocks on her hotel room door the next day. "Agent Barton will be on medical leave for the next two weeks. You're my probationary agent until then. Sign this form." It is not a question. "I know it's hard, but in the future, please try to not to shoot him."
She signs the form but makes no promises.