Title: Five Times Natasha Lied to Clint, and the One Time He Lied to Her
Author: Shaneequa
Rated: T
Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. The characters, cities or whatever else that is copyrighted and trademark that appears on any of my fanfiction. I'm only a poor college student who spent all her money on books.
Summary: (see Title) Natasha has only lied to Clint five times in their partnership. He's only lied to her once.
A/N:I know.. I already suck at updating Little Hawk, I shouldn't try to do two stories at once. But here I am! I have this one mostly written out.
I hope you guys like it! Happy reading!
1. Wanting to Die
He's been following her. From Madrid to Beijing. Pyongyang to Berlin. Fury had sent him on this long-term undercover mission for a year. They anticipated that was how long it was going to take to identify, confirm, target, and eliminate the elusive Black Widow.
It took him three months with the intel to her down. Her appearance always changing. She was alike a chameleon. He understood why other agents had a hard time keeping track of her. Why she was still alive after all the havoc she had caused in her short life. He had to give the Russians one for training her, molding her to be as close to perfect as a human can get.
She killed with such precise execution. Seduced with calculated movements. He never saw her take time off to just cherish the beauty of the city around her. He never saw her take a break aside from light sleeping where the footsteps of a maid or a child running in the hall would wake her up gun trained at the source.
He sat on rooftops watching her. Wondering if she smiled, if she laughed, if she felt regret after her kills, wondering if she knew what it felt like to be loved, or to love.
Clint's opportunity came 378 days after he was placed on the mission, briefed and set out. He tapped her phone line, intercepted messages from her bosses.
He sent up daily reports on the Black Widow, and Fury replied that the Widow's target was an enemy of SHIELD as well. Someone they have had on the hit list:
Antoine Shakrovick.
Before Natasha could make contact with the mark, Clint took it upon himself to interrogate and execute. Then, he took the place of Antoine Shakrovick.
He intercepted her messenger and replaced the dead man's pictures with his. After letting SHIELD collect the body, Clint took over the man's life.
He knew that Natasha was to make contact with him at a gala in a few days, therefore Clint read up on everything that created Antoine Shakrovick's life. How to act like the man that the Widow received a profile on so when the night of the gala came, he would be ready and the widow would be eliminated.
He really couldn't wait to get home to his warm bed.
So when he laid his eyes on her, in an olive green dress. Clint watched as she moved across the floor with a charming smile on her face, occasionally meeting his gaze on her peripheral vision. He was going to make this easy for her, make her think that her target has been lured into the web. When in all actually, it was she who would be trapped.
"Hello," he heard her familiar throaty voice in his left ear. He let the shiver that ran up his spine as a reaction, half for show and half, because there was a beautiful woman whose chest was pressed against him.
"And to you, as well," he replied, mimicking her motions, his mouth grazing her ear.
"Would you care to accompany a lonely woman tonight?" she asked him, offering a hand.
He smiled at her, "I find that hard to believe miss..."
"Beatrice," she replied softly. "Beatrice Wynne."
"Antoine Shakrovick," he replied, letting himself adapt and broadcast the heavy Russian accent he often practiced. "It would be my pleasure to accompany you tonight."
"Pleasure's all mine," she replied with a coy smile leading him to the dance floor.
They danced in the middle of the floor, their bodies swaying to the melody that the band played. Sometimes, Clint wished that they would play a livelier tune, but he knew it wasn't fit. Not with the guests, the formal attire that everyone wore, and the venue that fancy events like that were hosted at. Still, he couldn't help but miss the country club that he frequented in America. Though, he couldn't complain, he never got the chance to dance with a girl as beautiful as the one who currently filled his arms.
"You are beautiful," he told her, slipping back into the persona of Antoine Shakrovick.
"Thank you," she replied softly, shyly. She glanced up at him with big green eyes, pausing in her steps. She leaned up and pressed herself against him, her mouth mere inches from him. "Would you like to get out of here Mister Shakrovick?"
Clint smiled down at her. Finally. "Yes."
Clint let himself be led by the Widow until they reached the elevator. "Would you rather go up to my suite? I have the penthouse."
To that, she smiled adoringly at him and gave him a chaste kiss on his mouth, moving down to his jaw and neck.
Clint had to keep himself in check, the Black Widow was not the world's most successful assassin for nothing. He read her file, she was a master in the art of seduction by age fourteen.
It seemed like an eternity to him until the elevator bell rang, signaling that they have arrived on the top floor of the five star hotel. She peeled herself off of him gracefully as they walked to the door of Penthouse 2 where he was staying.
"Would you like some help finding your key?" she offered him innocently, getting a feel in his pants pocket before producing the keycard.
Clint gulped. "Thank you."
She placed her lips against his as she slipped the keycard in the slot and opened the door to the expansive suite.
She cracked an eye open, looking for exits (window, vents, door) while he dragged her into an attached room (where he kept his bow and arrow, along with a few guns), their lips and hips seemingly attached.
He walked her to the bed, lifting her up to straddle his waist before plopping her down to the bed. He crawled their bodies up to the headboard where he then reached to his side for zip ties, tying her securely on the bed before stepping away from her.
"Is this how you would like to take me, Mister Shakrovick?"
He smiled down at her, reaching for his Glock tucked under his boot. "Well I don't usually like to kill with a gun; and it's Barton."
Recognition filled her face as she struggled through the seemingly ordinary set of zip ties that he used on her. As if on their own, the zip ties tightened around her wrist and seemed to multiply in width.
He smiled. "Stark Tech. It's escape proof."
She rolled her eyes at him. "Kill me now then."
"I will, once you answer my questions," he replied with a shake of his head, his weapon still trained at her. His eyes were watching every movement she made. Every little flick of her wrist that could show him that she was escaping the bonds which he tied her to. While it was true that nobody has escape the Stark Tech bonds, he wouldn't be surprised if the Black Widow was able to the first one to do it.
"Then ask your questions so that we can be done with this!"
He huffed, "Fine."
"What is your name?"
"Natalia Aliaonova Romanova."
"Who trained you?"
"The Red Room."
"What is your kill count?"
She turned away from him not meeting his eyes.
"What is your kill count?" He repeated, gently this time as to not scare her. He never thought that he would worry about scaring the infamous Black Widow but her reaction showed him more than any of the files that they had on her.
"My ledger, it's gushing blood," she whispered. "I... I don't know my count. They take my memories away."
"They do what?"
"Take my memories away," she said, her voice stronger than before but with a bit of emotion that Clint never expected from her. "They re-program me. Humans, no matter how they are trained, will mourn and will feel guilty. I'm not a robot... I have to be re-programmed so that I will keep obeying. That I can keep killing."
He shook his head. It's a trap, Barton. This was a woman who was trained to deceive. To get out of any situation. That's how three other agents were pronounced dead after Fury sent them to track the Widow and take her out.
"You ready to die, Widow?" he asked her, determined to get it over with before she royally played with his head.
Her eyes met his. "I have been waiting for death."
Clint shook his head. "Nobody waits for death. They just wait to stop living."
"Then that's what I am," she stated. "Take the shot, you coward."
"No."
"Take the shot!"
"Give me a reason to."
"I want to die!" she screamed at him tugging at her bonds, her eyes staring at his angrily.
He walked closer to where she was tied up on the bed, gun trained between her eyes. It would be quick, painless for her. She wouldn't even know what happened.
But he would.
"Tell me the truth, Romanova. Are you afraid of dying?"
"No."
Liar! His brain screamed at him.
"A part of you must be," he stated turning off the safety. His hands steadily aiming at her.
"No part of me is afraid of death."
"You're not scared of what's after? Heaven? Hell?"
"There is no other place for people like me besides hell."
"Burning hot lava. Large flames. You aren't afraid of it?"
"I am Natalia Romanova. I am not afraid of anything."
He sighed shaking his head. He aimed to his side and pressed the trigger of the gun. The shot echoed throughout the room. He looked down at Natalia's face. Her eyes shut, a tear falling down her face.
She was afraid.
But she was also relieved.
In a split second, Clint decided to put down his gun, forgoing the safety. He walked up to her, getting closer, before injecting a sedative in her neck. Her eyes remained shut, and another tear fell.
"You only welcome death because you're afraid of living," he whispered to her unconscious form before stepping away and dialing Coulson's number.
"Barton, tell me you've neutralized the threat."
"Well, sir. That would be a lie."
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