Hey all. I don't usually add Author's Notes to my stories unless there's something important to say but I usually make an exception for the first chapters of new stories. There are a lot more readers and writers here than in my other fic-circles so I hope I get more reviews than usual. I am taking the Marvel canon loosely so the story may be exactly following in some areas and taking only hints in others, but please let me know of any mistakes you notice. Additionally, I am a college student so, while I have plans to continue this story, uploads will be sporadic and length may vary. Thanks for reading, and please enjoy the story!
Barton glanced at the file again, though he knew he had it memorized already. While he was careful not to show it this mission had him more worried than usual. All his tasks had a certain amount of danger but this time he was up against the Black Widow. This promised to be one of the more difficult missions of his life. He hadn't actually wanted to take it. Fury, however, wouldn't let him out of it, so here he was on a jet to Russia and, he thought, probably his death.
He was dropped off and instructed to meet in the same place in exactly two days with the mission completed. He was also given a com in case something went wrong. A luxury he was only provided on missions more dangerous than most. Not what he would consider a comfort.
Four hours later he found himself on a dark rooftop across from a hotel. Intelligence said that she had been hired to kill one of the prominent guests at a party being held there that evening. He positioned himself at the edge of the wall and pulled his scope out of his pocket and began searching for his target.
"Don't tell me they've double booked the job." He heard in Russian behind him. "I do hate competition."
"Natalia Romanova. Pleasure to meet you." Barton said, attempting (however unsuccessfully) to hide his surprise. "No," he added, answering your question. "I'm after a different target tonight."
"Good." She raised her arm and, without breaking eye contact with Barton shot her gun in the direction of the hotel, causing almost instant chaos in the party. Barton's surprise was completely evident this time as he raised his scope to his eyes and looked to the party.
"How did you- you didn't even- you didn't miss!" He spun to look at her only to find that she wasn't there. "Damn. Fury's not gonna be happy that I lost her," he whispered. Knowing he wouldn't find her again tonight he picked up his bow and turned to leave. He was almost across the roof before it happened.
She had jumped on him and knocked him flat on his back and pinned him with her foot on his chest.
"Who sent you?" She demanded. No one had gotten this close to catching her. Most people didn't know she existed, save for rumor.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. We're the good guys." He answered quickly.
"Why?" She pushed a little harder on his chest. In lieu of answering he raised one of his eyebrows bemusedly and gestured to the other side of the roof where they had been only moments before. Barton was wary when she stepped off of him. He was a threat to her. If the rumors were right he should be dead. She was silent for a moment before she said, "for the record, I never miss." She shot him in the right shoulder. Flipping on to his stomach Barton drew an arrow back in his bow and aimed for the woman casually walking away from him. He reconsidered though he wasn't entirely sure why.
He pulled the radio out of his pocket instead and called for evac. "I've been shot. Not critical." Within minutes he was in a chopper and headed for safety.
A week later Barton was in his living room recovering and watching movie before bed. He walked to the kitchen to wash his tea mug and was startled once again by a question asked out of the darkness, in Russian.
"What did you mean, 'good guys'?"
"You know I have a door. You could knock instead of sneaking up on me." Barton responded, turning on the kitchen light. The Black Widow was sitting in a bar stool, feet in the counter, leaning back more precariously than most people would be able to manage. She shrugged at his response.
"Why didn't you kill me?" Barton asked in English, ignoring for the time her question.
Another shrug. "Your answer. I wanted to know more. So again. What 'good guys'?" She asked again, still in Russian.
Barton gave her an explanation of S.H.I.E.L.D. but kept it vague enough that he didn't breach security. He also told her the general story about how he had joined. He opted to leave out the messy personal details.
"And why did you join them? You could have kept going on your own." She asked when he finished.
"I had no aim. No purpose. I would have either burnt out or become a target."
"Like me." The Russian stated simply. "Except you didn't kill me. Why not? If everything you said about your organization is true I shouldn't be here."
"You hesitated. You aren't like the other assassins we've dealt with from Red Room. You don't seem to be at any rate. You didn't kill me and, now again I could be mistaken," he teased, "but you seem to have a conscience."
She pondered his answer for a minute before speaking. "And this S.H.I.E.L.D. They helped you?"
"And they can help you. You don't belong to the Red Room. You could choose to leave and be a good guy. Use that conscience of yours." As she pondered Clint took a close look at her. She was young. Granted he was young, too, but that didn't stop him from being sad for her. "How old are you? The file we have on you is pretty sparse. You're a bit of a ghost."
"Nineteen. As of last month," she stated simply.
Barton struggled to hide the pain painted across his features so he turned around under the guise of rinsing his mug. "Young," he stated, afraid that if he said more his words might catch in his throat.
"In some ways, maybe," the Russian responded, "not so much in others."
Barton understood and nodded softly. "You can stay here if you like." There was a long silence and Barton had to turn around to see if she was still there.
"Okay."
