Monitors buzzed in quietly as the rain fell in synchronized motion, falling on the blade that reflected the street lights off the blood of the Yakuza. The rain had become music to the enemies that he had drowned, seemingly putting them at rest, feeling no pain, as his blade struck them; again and again, pulling out life.

The man, with his ebony suit, stood above the victim of this blade. The victim begged for his mercy, his voice coming out in panic breaths, pleading to the man holding the blade to spare him. Please, he pleaded, please let me go. I have a wife. I have a family. Please.

The man struck him again, and the victim's eyes rolled, shock kissing the ghost of his pale face, his mouth turning in anguish, his head falling back.

The man wiped his blade on his arm, the blood already washing away in the rain. He breathed in the smell, looking up, letting his mask soak in the cries of season.

"Clint?"

His heart stopped. The break of a voice calling him shuddered.

Carefully and slowly, the man turned, tearing away his mask. There stood a woman, her umbrella shading away her face, her figure curving as she walked towards him. The water had drenched his face, dripping off him like the blood of his blade.

"Clint." Natasha moved her umbrella, over his head, and tried to meet his eyes. He looked away.

"'Tasha," he breathed, "What are you doing here?"

"Clint," she said again, "What are you doing? What is this?" she grabbed the mask that he held, looking at it. She shook her head, "They're calling you Ronin – "

"—You don't need to be a part of this," Clint backed away silently, walking back into the pouring rain. His eyes were ice, quiet, and hesitant. He couldn't look her in the eyes.

"Clint," she said again, her voice stronger. "We need you back. The Avengers – "

"—They're gone," he said, "Come on, 'Tasha," he sighed, turning away from her. "They're all gone."

She knew that he wasn't speaking about their former teammates. He was speaking about everyone else that was affected. She couldn't fathom what he had just gone through.

"Clint," she said again, pausing before she chose her next words, "There's a way to get them back."

Her eyes were filled uncertainty, but a hint of confidence. She stood tall in the pouring rain, facing the man that had once saved her from herself, with an overwhelming amount of strength. He was so far down his path of revenge; it seemed like there was no way back. But, maybe, if she lead him some way…

"Don't lie to me 'Tasha," he said, scoffing, "not you. You've never lied to me like that before."

"You know that's not true," she warned, "I've lied countless of other times - "

" - Times I could tell you were lying. I don't need false hope right now. If you want to be helpful, help me find a man named Bakuto. Then I'll talk."

He swung his blade and flipped it back into its sheath. The unnatural look of Clint Barton with no arrows laid an unsettling presence on Natasha Romanoff, and she furrowed her brows as she watched him walk away.

She wanted to call out to him, to pull him back, but then she understood that this was not a matter that would be settled in a day. Like he had once done for her, she had to do for him.

But she first had to track down Bakuto.