Disclaimer: I do not own The Avengers, or any characters, plots, names, storylines, or events belonging to Marvel. If I did, I'd be on a yacht sipping margaritas and rolling around in all my money.
This was originally going to be a part of a series of Avengers one shots, but I developed too much of a back story, and thus, A Different Call was born. I will have a one-shot compilation up soon also, which may or may not connect to this story. I you came here from my Sherlock Holmes story, I will be working on that soon, but my computer got a virus and only a few of my stories were backed up. This story will be an eventual Clint/Natasha. It will mainly involve S.H.I.E.L.D., and depending on how far I take this, it might have a few of the Avengers in it as well. I hope you enjoy :)
I apologize for typos. I had to type this on my iPod and fanfiction apparently felt like being a troll and deleted nearly half of my spaces.
Distractions
I squint into the scope of my bow, re-adjusting so that the middle of the cross is situated on her long fiery mane, my finger hovering drawing the cable back. I think to myself; The famous black widow, sitting on an open porch in the ghetto of Moscow. Her eyes are closed in relaxation, and her gorgeous features fall gracefully into a lazy smile. Right now, It's hard to believe she's killed 93 people, not even counting the hospital fire. Instead of her usual catsuit, she's wearing a loose, black tank top, a long bohemian looking skirt, and a pair of high heeled sandals.
But it doesn't fool me. I've seen her in action before. During my debriefing I watched hundreds of videos; learning her tactics, her skills, and finding her weaknesses. I watched as she killed men more than twice her size with ease, not showing remorse as they die at her feet, maybe even enjoying it. Her targets may not have been innocents, but the Black Widow was anything but. Does punishing the terrorists and murderers of the world constitute as terrorizing and murdering? It's what S.H.E.I.L.D. does every day. I try to push those thoughts out of my mind, but it doesn't work. It's what I do every day. I recalibrate my aim.
She shifts in her chair, crossing her long legs and letting out a long sigh. I can't help thinking this is a little too easy. The only thing keeping her alive right now is the fact that she can't stay still. It's like trying to catch a spider. She moves her head to the side again just as I'm about to release the arrow, and I groan inwardly. I close my eyes for a second, getting my bearings. This mission cannot fail. She's gone too far for that. I open them again, my eyes searching for the redhead, but I don't see her. Shit!
I try to calm myself. There's no way she could have seen me; I'm three buildings away, in cover, at two in the morning. There is no possible way she could have seen me. I wait for her to come back out to her patio. I wait a little longer, and I realize I might be too late.
"Hawkeye, status report?" Phil's voice comes through my earpiece, loud and raspy through the tiny speaker. My assignments never take this long. I'm being sloppy. Or maybe she's better than you. S.H.I.E.L.D. could use her skills. Yeah, that would get me fired. I shove my bow and arrows into the holster on my back and make my way to the fire escape.
"Still on it." I mumble back as I slide silently down the fire escape. My feet hit the pavement with a soft thud. My left hand sitting just above my hidden knife, a handgun in my right. I try to stay in the shadows, not knowing where she could be, or if she knows where I am.
"Still on it? Hawkeye, we're not calling NATO in on this, we need to ambush the Red Room, and she is the best way to do it."
"Roger that." I mute my speaker when I see a figure flash by, not wanting to give away my position. I hide inside a crumbling, stone archway and look around. It's very dark outside, but I can just make out my surroundings. The archway is situated in a long, narrow alleyway. The north side faces the cobblestone street, and the southern side makes a dead end. Abandoned tenements surround the street on all sides, drowning it in shadows. I make my way to the let side of the alley.
My feet fall lightly as I look for her in the dead of the night. It's easier to see now that my eyes have adjusted. I listen for any disturbance of the peacefulness, but hear nothing. The night is silent, and the only noise I hear is my breathing. She couldn't have gone far, and the street is a dead end from this direction. Rounding a corner, I peek around the shabby brick wall. Absolutely nothing. This is not good. I check every nook and cranny and I don't find the woman anywhere. Fury is going to be pissed, but I can't help but admire her skills.
It's like she's fucking invisible.
I turn on my headset, and I'm about to report for pick up, when I feel small, but strong fingers around my neck. My hands go backward, grabbing and pushing on her face until I shove her off. She hits the ground, but her legs hook under mine, flipping me over on the hard pavement. I grunt. She takes out a knife and straddles my waist, her eyes grim and dark above mine. My instincts finally kick in, and I shove her to the left, her back hitting the brick wall. We both stand up, and she gets a running start towards me, her knife out in front of her. I manage to block it, but not without a deep cut to the arm and a hard kick to the stomach that's sure to leave a bruise. I take out my handgun from my pocket, but she kicks it out of my grip, causing it to slide way out of both of our reach, and dislocating a few fingers in the process. In pure frustration, I lunge at her.
I wrap my arms around her neck, and she pushes her forearm against my throat, blocking my oxygen intake and slowing my movements. She thrusts her blade in the direction of my throat, and I grab her wrist, forced to remove a hand from her neck and bringing her dangerously close. She's a versatile fighter, reacting to my every move and keeping me on edge. Nothing seems to phase her. We both push with as much strength as we can, and the knife remains a few millimeters from my lungs. She suddenly releases and I stumble forward into the alleyway. I turn around and a terrifying sight meets my eyes.
She has a fierce look on her face as she sprints at me, her eyes clearly contemplating all the ways she can kill me, which I happen to know is a lot. When she reaches me, she jumps up with her feet pointing out, knocking the air out of my chest and sending me into the wall behind me. My vision blurs a little, but only takes a few seconds to focus. As soon as I get up, she throws punches at me at high speed, only stopping to block mine. I land some, and she lands just as many. We're evenly matched, and I'd be a liar if I said I wasn't having fun. We do this for I'm not even sure how long, and her punches get softer and her kicks land weaker. I'm beginning to get tired, and luckily she trips on something in the alleyway, allowing me to lunge or my discarded gun. I finally get her pinned up against a wall. She grabs my hand but it's no use, the gun is pointed right at her forehead.
I have her arms and her legs locked. She knows what's coming, and she looks into my eyes with her emerald ones, without fear, just acceptance. That's not something I usually see in my line of work. It makes me hesitate.
"Get on with it." She says, a strong Russian accent laces her harsh words, and I'm brought back to reality.
I wait for the final blow as I look directly into his brown eyes. I always thought I'd go like this. I just didn't want it to be right now. He seems to be hesitating, so I push on his arms and legs that are pinning me down, but to no avail. He pushes me back down with more force, but doesn't pull the trigger. The cold metal's going to make an imprint on my forehead if he waits any longer. That's not really going to matter though.
However painful my death will be at the hands of this man, it is absolutely nothing compared to the thought of not doing what I came here to do. Maybe luck hasn't ever been on my side. What the hell is taking them so long? They should have followed me here too. This is a major setback in my plans, fatal maybe. I should be at my "safe-house", pretending to relax, not fighting whoever this guy is. His brown eyes pull me out of my thoughts. I see a few emotions I can't place flash in his eyes. It's not lust; the emotion I usually see on my escapades, it's something else. Understanding maybe? I have no idea what this guy is playing at, or if this is some sort of tactic. Mind games are more than just playing, they're a deadly tactic.
"What are you waiting for?" I ask, a little bit frustrated. Slow deaths are cruel, even by my standards. "Just pull the damn trigger." He brings the gun away from my forehead, but doesn't loosen his grip on me. He's about to say something when a bullet flies between us, just missing both of our noses. I've been expecting this for a while now, and his surprise is the perfect opportunity for me to escape. I knee him in the stomach with all the force I can muster, sending the assassin to the ground. I feel a little bad leaving him there, after he didn't kill me, but he'd only slow me down. Liabilities are not an option for me.
I start off running as hard as I can, my feet hitting the pavement with small clicks and my now torn skirt trails behind me. Shit. I liked this skirt. Bullets fly past me as I make my way down the alleyways, cutting between them left and right. I'm glad I learned the layout of the city when I make my way to another dead end. I shouldn't have worn heels, I muse as the balls off me feet get sore. Silly me, for thinking I could have five minutes to relax before going off on a mission. I have to get this done. Not for the Red Room. or me. i
My breath gets heavy in a matter of minutes, but I don't slow down until I reach my destination. Damn him, he's thrown my entire game off. I am not unprepared. Just surprised. This is just a minor setback. I go over my (considerable) amount of enemies, and come to the conclusion that he must be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, based on my more recent endeavors. I run until I reach the blockade of bricks at the end of the alley. I feign devastation when I see the wall ahead of me. I can't look like I'm trying to get caught.
Polzin's minions come out from behind to grab me, just as I expected. I push and shove helplessly, barely even moving the two guards who have grabbed me. Two more linger behind, in the circumstance that I escape their grasp. Not likely, I muse. I'm exactly where I want to be.
I stare into her emerald green eyes as she awaits the final blow. Her eyes fierce and even a little impatient, like I'm taking up her time. I can't help but think S.H.I.E.L.D. needs more agents like the Black Widow. I don't think it'd be hard to convince her, once I offer to take her away from the Red Room. That is, if I can get her to trust me long enough to get a word in. Fury may even consider it, if she can give us info. The Red Room is a blank file back at headquarters, and filling it in would give us a huge advantage.
But the thing that gets me most is her eyes. Her strong façade is almost flawless, but her eyes tell differently. I don't pretend to have a clean record. Before S.H.E.I.L.D. found me, I was almost as lost as she was. I recognize the resignation.
"Just pull the trigger already." She says, taking me out of my reverie. I'm about to say the words that could end my career, when a bullet whizzes past the tip of my nose. I jump back, surprised at the unknown party. Bad move. Natasha knees me in the stomach, causing me to fall backwards. I get up in a matter of milliseconds, but she's already forged her way down one of the many back alleys. As I am maneuvering myself upwards, one of the largest men I have ever laid eyes on steps forward from the shadows, a 500 magnum in his holster, and steely grey eyes.
"Who are you?" The man asks me, with a heavy Russian accent. his gun cocked to the side, pointing directly between my eyes. I'm not really sure how to answer at first. My file didn't have the Black Widow down for any missions, but why else would they be following her? S.H.E.I.L.D. doesn't miss stuff like this; we have eyes on the inside. I opt to say nothing at all. I have no idea who these people are.
When I don't answer, the man gets frustrated, agitation clearly showing in his eyes. "Who do you work for?" He switches hands on the gun, and gestures towards a few men on the rooftops above us. "Benko! Markovich! Petrowski! Find the girl and bring her to me. Alive. I need to kill her myself."
The men give their consent, and run down the alleyways in the direction she did, only moments before. Four more guards remain on the roof. Each of the men are as big, if not bigger than the man above me. My gun is useless, as they all have bulletproof armor on. Who are these people? The man with grey eyes is plainclothed, wearing a battered blue shirt and khaki's faded by the sun, but he shows no fear. If I were to even move my hand that holds my gun, I would have five bullets in me in a nanosecond. I really wish I hadn't turned off my headset. Phil's always telling me not to do that. Maybe I should start listening to him, I think, as the man crudely presses the tip of the gun into my face.
"I will ask you one more time." He pauses, probably for the dramatic effect. "Who do you work for?" I hesitate, and the man hits me over the head with the butt of his gun, and I am met with darkness.
Yes! A cliffhanger! Haha! Don't worry if you're here from my Sherlock Holmes story. I'm typing the new chapters as you're reading. I've actually had this written for a while, but my computer is not working. I really didn't want to update anything until I could use word again, but I'm not sure when that will happen. A word of advice; don't let your cousin play fashion games on your laptop. I'm lucky I had this saved on "sky drive". That's a program I recommend to you guys. It can be used on the computer, and anything with internet access. It also has an app for the iphone/ipod. Really convenient if you're a virus magnet like me.
Next chapter will be up soon!