The hooded figure crossed the rainy streets of Budapest, moving swiftly through a crowd of people dressed identically to her. With their hoods pulled up, umbrella over their heads, you couldn't recognize anyone. She blended in perfectly as if she was a normal citizen. Except she was anything but normal. Budapest was lovely, and she really she had the time to visit and explore the area. Cathedrals crowned every corner, and market stalls filled the streets. Vendors yelled at her from their cart in Hungarian, asking her to sample this lamb or examine this crystal plate. But she had a mission to complete.
Turning down a dark alley and dropping her umbrella, she climbed up a high fire escape ladder with a cat-like agility. She crept up silently until she reached the roof. Taking a few steps from the edge, she took a deep breath and jumped the gaps between roofs. Parkour was a skill she excelled at, her flexibility really giving her an advantage. Strapped to her back was a case, riding awkwardly between her shoulder blades. She would love to drop it right there, but it was a critical piece. To anyone looking from the ground, she would just be a blur of black against a gray sky. They would think nothing of it, which is exactly what she wanted.
When she reached the right building, she peeled off the slightly wet hoodie and sweatpants as the rain slowed down. A tiny amount of sun poked through the clouds, giving her a clear view of the street. All that was left on her was a skin-tight black leather suit. Besides a mop of bright red hair and piercing green eyes, she blended in well with the dark sky. The discarded clothes were left in a pile at the edge of the roof, forgotten. She sat on the brick edge of the roof, observing the diner across the street where her target sat.
Her target was a high ranking Red Room officer, turned traitor. He knew enough information able to shut the whole program down with just one whisper. She dreamed of the day that the Red Room was gone, but she wouldn't live to see that day. The ending of the program meant getting rid of all the participants, including herself. He had set a meeting with an official from the Hungarian Police. That's where she stepped in. Her superiors had wanted her to get the job done quickly, instead of using her normal routine. That consisted of going undercover, getting to know the target up close and personal. After gathering all the information, it was time to end it, without a trace. Except for this mission. This kill was simple. Find the target, get in range. Take. Him. Out.
Set on what seemed to be a completely different mission, the young man climbed up the wall of the diner, using the bricks as handholds. Once on top, he sprinted behind a giant air vent on the roof for cover. He spotted a red blur move across the roof of the building across his. He wasn't told much about his mission. He knew there was a meeting in the diner. An informant was giving information to the Hungarian authorities dangerous secrets, and he knew the lady was sent to kill him. The general population assumed that an assassin was a man's job. The only difference was that he knew with the proper training, a woman could be the same deadly assassin. That's one of the reasons he respected women. It's not very hard to respect a woman that made it her mission to kill you.
He had been sent to kill the Black Widow, the woman on the roof. She was one of, maybe even the most deadly assassin in the world. She could take out military leaders, presidents, entire governments in the blink of an eye. No one dared to face her. Countries had sent their best assassins to try and kill her, and they had been sent back the heads. There was no evidence that the Widow did it, it was just assumed to be too big of a coincidence. He was an assassin as well, up there with the best of them. The only exception being he worked for the good guys, SHIELD. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. The organization dedicated to keeping peace. The director, Nick Fury had sent him because he was one of the best agents. That part that made him so special was that he never missed. He wasn't your regular assassin, either. Instead of using long-range rifles to snipe or silenced handguns, his chosen weapon was a bow and arrow. His eyesight was nearly perfect, and that was where his code name came from, Hawkeye. His real name? Clint Barton. Did she need to know that? No.
He pulled his collapsible bow out of its case and slid his quiver down into a holder on his back until it clicked in place. His specially made arrows sticking out of the top, dark maroon fletchings matching his suit. He silently jumped off the diner roof, hitting the ground without a noise. At the same time, the Black Widow set up her sniper rifle, a gun she did not particularly enjoy using. She preferred pistols, and smaller weapons, like knives. But this was what the job required. Today, she took her time setting up, laying out all the pieces of the rifle on a towel, before slowly putting them together to make the final product. In a regular mission, she could put it together in less than five seconds. Now, for the first time, Black Widow had an easy assignment.
Climbing the back of the diner, Agent Barton could see her. The Black Widow. He was surprised he was even able to sneak up on her. So he made sure to be extra quiet, careful not to do anything that would grab her attention. Black Widow knew there was a person behind her. She always had to be aware of her surroundings, it was part of her training. But whoever the figure was, they must've had some of the same training; before she could turn around to face them, an arrow was shot at her.
At first, she was shocked. An arrow? What was this, the Renaissance She barely had enough time to dodge it before it lodged into the backside of the gun barrel, rendering it useless. She swore in Russian while pulling two pistols out of her waistband and shot at him, then diving behind one of the AC vents on the roof. He had the same idea, on the opposite side. Black Widow had to admit though, he was a pretty good shot. But she was better. That's how she was trained. To find your opponent and become better. One question filled her mind as they traded shots. Who did he work for? He couldn't have worked for the Red Room, because that was only girls, and he didn't seem like an officer. An officer would've confronted her, and shot her, execution style.
"Who do you work for?" She shouted to him in Russian. In Budapest, the natives spoke Hungarian, but she was more comfortable with her own native language.
A pause, then he replied, "Nobody you need to know."
His Russian was good, but not good enough. It was close, but he didn't have the same speech pattern as some of the native speakers. With practice, she guessed he would become quite good. But it wasn't her concern. In total, that meant he wasn't from Russia like she originally thought. He released another arrow and dove behind an air vent, out of sight. There was a quick silence as both sides reloaded their weapons, and the Black Widow could hear he opponent talking to someone on the other side. Pieces of the conversation were missing, given she could only hear the archer's words.
"Nick Fury to Hawkeye. Hawkeye, come over." Fury called to Agent Barton over comms.
Barton was pressed up against the back of the air vent, breathing hard. "Siempre en el momento equivocado-Hawkeye here." He mumbled under his breath as he pulled out more arrows. Fury always called at the worst possible times.
"Barton cut the Spanish, I can still understand you. Have you taken out the Black Widow yet?" Nick sighed. Barton was one of his best agents, he didn't need to lose him just like everyone had. It was a risky mission, Fury knew, but he also knew that Barton could handle it.
"The fight is in progress, sir, you've got me at a pretty bad time. Neither of us seem to be getting headway, over." Fury rubbed his hands over his face from the safety of his office.
"Well, get it done. After this, there will be no more contact. Just get to the coordinates and we will pick you up then."
"Copy that, sir." Barton tapped his comm, ending the call. He looked around, bow in hand, and realized he had lost sight of her. He swore at himself for being so stupid. Barton heard movement behind him, and his senses heightened. Without turning around, his arm snaked back into his quiver and picked out a special arrow. He whipped around and took the shot, the arrow hitting its mark. He could hear a slight ringing from where it struck the metal of the vent. A net released from the arrowhead at the same time, tangling the Black Widow inside. As she struggled with the net, he nocked another arrow, preparing to let it fly.
"You don't have the guts," She growled in English this time, reading his body language. She didn't believe he would let the arrow go, he didn't look like that type of man. Not like some of the other men she met. Agent Barton pulled the arrow back further, and she smiled evilly, thinking she had got under his skin. She couldn't help herself, it was her speciality.
One shot, Baron thought. One shot, and his mission would be over. Months of planning and preparation, with one shot he would go back to the SHIELD base a hero. He'd be the agent who took down the Black Widow. His eyes steeled and his body tensed, ready to take the kill shot. Black Widow relaxed, knowing that the intimidation failed, and he was going to kill her. But she was ready. She had failed her mission, and she would much rather die by stranger-a quick death. If she returned to the Red Room, she would be subject to the slow and painful death by torture.
She stared at him, green eyes locking on grey. It was the most unusual color of eyes. It was like grey clouds swirled together, blocking the little bit of blue that peeked out behind it. What amazing details people notice when they were staring down the face of death.
"What's your name?" He asked. The Black Widow just stared, confused. He dropped his bow and put the arrow back in his quiver, staring down at her. Barton didn't know what he was doing, but he couldn't kill her.
"What?" She stuttered, in udder surprise. There were a billion different questions he could've asked her. 'What happens in the Red Room?' 'Where is your base?' 'How many people are there?' Instead, he asked the one question that nobody had ever asked in her entire life.
"You are the Black Widow, everybody knows that. No one knows your real name." He said, pacing back in forth in front of her. Black widow watched him carefully, her fingertips curling around the net. The man was tall, a dark suit and pants were highlighted by strips of maroon, accented by laced-up combat boots and knee pads. A quiver was slung over his shoulder, a gun in a holster strapped to his thigh. In his right hand, he held a bow, an arm guard covering his arm guard. On his left was a finger guard, that fist squeezing over and over again. A sleeveless top exposed muscular arms, defined along with the rest of his body by years of training.
"Yes, and I intend on keeping it that way," She growled and her plan was thrown into action. She ripped off the net, freeing herself from out from the tangled rope. The man noticed this and had nocked an arrow and shot it had her, in a matter of seconds. She dodge it, the arrow narrowly missing her chest. The Black Widow was back on her feet before he could even nock another arrow. She grabbed the bow out of his hand and delivered a kick to the back of his leg, bringing him to his knees. Taken by surprise and off balance, she punched him in the jaw. The man fell on his back, dazed. Black Widow packed a punch; she was also pure brawn behind that beauty. The rough roof dug into his back and head as the Black Widow crawled onto his chest, straddling him. She held his own arrow to Barton's throat, the tip almost touching skin.
"Who do you work for? What do you want from me?!" She hissed, pushing the tip of the arrow closer to his neck
Barton didn't look phased at all. Natasha looked in his eyes, flicking back and forth, looking for any sign of fear or worry. In lightning speed, his hand snuck behind her back and he grabbed the bottoms of her wavy red hair, pulling it down hard. She cried out, distracted, and he used her disadvantage to switch their position. Barton now kneeled over Black Widow, one leg on her stomach, pinning her to the ground. Barton never really fought clean, but then again, neither did she. All in the life of an assassin. The Black Widow looked up at him, only to see him smirking a god-awful smile.
He was quiet for a moment, before asking again. "Can you answer my question?"
She paused, judging her options. She could lie, or she could tell the truth. Or part of it. She didn't like either option. But giving a little information in return for something else, to then kill him was all part of her job. Small sacrifices for the job.
"Natasha Romanoff. Now answer my question. Who do you work for?" She demanded, not as quiet as he had asked. She stared at him with harden eyes, made from years of killing. His didn't have the same look of killing at all. They were, sympathetic. "Can you maybe put down your arrow?" She asked, changing her tone to try and play on that sympathy. Barton squinted slightly, feeling uneasy and the arrow pointing at her neck loosened a little bit.
"Okay." After being silent in his own thoughts, Barton figured out how he wanted to play things. Barton could feel something different about her, and he didn't want to kill her. Something was off, she felt like a real person, as opposed to some of the other assassins he had gone up against. So he was going to try something he had never done before.
"How about a bet?" Romanoff stared at him for the second time that day in complete surprise. This man was different, she knew it. Maybe he was different enough to actually consider listening to and not killing.
"Let's hear it," She smirked. She was good at betting, it almost always worked out in her favor. Barton walked over to the edge of the roof, looking out above the market below them. Romanoff followed slowly behind him, one hand resting on the top of her gun on her hip. He may have put up his weapons, but she wanted to be sure that if the time came, hers were out and ready to use. Silently, he pointed out into the busy square and she followed his finger until she found the stall he was pointing at. Way down at the end of the street was a watermelon vendor, the stall keeper talking to a customer while a large watermelon rested in his hands. Romanoff looked at Barton who smiled cockily and shook her head, judging the distance. It was way too far away to be possible.
"If I can hit that watermelon in the trader's hand, you have to at least hear me out. Listen, just for a little bit, and maybe you can come back with me." Barton didn't actually know what he was going to do. It was a long shot-not the watermelon, but being able to talk her into not killing him, joining him. He was breaking about seven different SHIELD protocols even to just consider bringing the assassin he was supposed to kill, back with him.
"And if you miss?" Romanoff asked, curious. She didn't know what direction this was going. The man felt unusually comfortable with her, she was not used to it. She honestly didn't even know why she was still there, she could've just killed him right then and left. But she had missed her target, so the Red Room was going to be looking for her. Maybe it was about time she had some help, so she could have the actual possibility of escape. Escaping was her dream that was always just out of reach. Maybe she could use this to benefit herself, use his resources to help herself disappear.
Barton spread his arms out wide as if he was inviting people into his life, his secrets, opening himself up completely. "Then you kill me."
Romanoff's mouth went slightly agape, he didn't looked bothered at all by his own statement. No one she had ever met had been so willing to die, especially for an impossible shot. Quickly, she changed her mouth into a sneer. "You better not miss," she taunted.
"I never miss."
Romanoff's corner of her mouth turned up ever so slightly so it resembled a smile at the immediate answer; the cocky way he held himself and his confidence that he would make the shot. He pulled his bow off his shoulder and held it out in front of him, so it almost looked like a flat table. After an arrow was pulled from his quiver and nocked onto the bow string, he brought the bow up and drew it back, so the string was tight and the fletchings were brushing the corner of his mouth. He aimed downwards, one knee up on the brick edge of the roof while the other still connected to the gravel. Barton breathed in a out slowly, watching the ground intensely.
One second the arrow was there, the next it wasn't. Romanoff leaned forward against the edge of the roof to get a better look, and she saw a terrified shop keeper holding a large watermelon with an arrow sticking out of it. She turned back to the man with a look of slight awe on her face, and he smiled. He put the bow back in its place on his shoulder and leaned back against an air vent.
"So. I work for S.H.I.E.L.D and I was sent to kill you."