MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, RUSSIA

"Coulson, if that little bitch keeps me waiting any longer, I'm going to lose a couple of fingers… and some other parts that I most definitely do not want to part with," Clint Barton murmured into his comm. His position on the rooftop of the warehouse had left him exposed to the elements for far too long. The sheet of metal beneath him was still radiating cold, and he was completely hidden under a blanket of snow. The feeling had left his lower body hours ago.

"Copy that," Coulson said with barely concealed mirth. The bastard was probably sitting in a toasty hotel room with a cup of coffee listening to him whine. In a warm bed, after a long hot shower… He snapped out of his fantasies when he spotted the target exiting the storage unit opposite.

"Target acquired. Going radio silent." He slipped the SHIELD issue comm into his vest pocket, and then slowly knocked an arrow. He pulled the string taut, cursing the sorry state of his fingers. It wasn't going to be a clean shot. Aiming for the back of her neck, he exhaled slowly… and slammed into the tin of the warehouse roof as a sharp pain exploded across the back of his head. Twisting sharply, he caught sight of a man on another roof… holding a slingshot. What the hell? And people teased him for using a primitive weapon.

Before he could so much as blink, an arrow was protruding from the man's throat. Barton watches for a moment as he slips off the roof, spasming on the ground, choking on his own blood. He swore under his breath, and turned back around. As he expected, the target had slipped out of his grasp... again. He got to his feet painfully, swung down, and retrieved his arrow. He shook his head in disbelief. This girl was incredible. This was the 23rd time she had slipped out of his grasp, leading him on a wild goose chase around the world. Fury was going to freaking kill him. Sighing, he slipped his comm back into his ear.

"Coulson, you aren't going to believe this…"

MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, COLORADO- SHIELD Headquarters
(A month ago)

"You have got to be kidding me" Clint stared at the file, then looked at Fury incredulously.

"She's dangerous."

"She's a child."

"Natalia Alianovna Romanova is a threat to this agency. You will take her out." A hint of annoyance was creeping into the Director's voice.

"What is she, 15 years old?"

"17." How Fury could deliver this information without any hint of emotion in his voice was beyond him.

"Come on, how many people could a girl who can't even legally purchase alcohol have possibly killed?"

"179."

"WHAT?" Clint spat a mouthful of coffee all over the briefing room table. Ah well, it tasted like motor oil. Fury, however, was not amused.

"That's an estimate… we're almost certain there's more. She has a better success rate then you do, Barton… has since she turned 14."

"You're kidding me. She's that good, and you haven't sent someone after her years ago?"

"We didn't know who or where she was. Only that she calls herself the Black Widow."

"It took the most advanced intelligence agency in the world three years to assemble a…" Clint flipped through the report, "3 page file on her?"

"Well, no… We have a lot more on her suspected kills and history. But it's way above your pay grade."

"How far above?"

"Level ten classification required."

"Ok… I get the picture. She's a really fucking good assassin. But if you expect me to kill her based on the information you've given me, you've got another thing coming."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. Barton was going to be the death of him someday. "You have 36 hours to tail her and see her work for yourself. Then you take her out… now get out of my office before I shoot you."

"Always a pleasure, Director." Clint grinned, and then exited the room as fast as possible. Threats from Fury were not to be taken lightly. Two hours later, he was on a plane to Prague- the Widow's last known location. Little did he know it would take him more than a month to get within 10 feet of who he is now sure is the most talented escape artist ever, Houdini be damned.

Middle of Nowhere, Russia- SHIELD Safe House

"Barton, get up!"

"Wha-what?" Clint bolted upright, and caught the vest Coulson threw at him.

"HQ got word about her next target… her employers aren't nearly as careful as she is."

"Where are we going?" Clint rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. Having dragged his frozen ass back to the motel at three in the morning, he hadn't gotten much sleep.

"Well, we're leaving this frozen wasteland. Hope you've been brushing up on your German." Clint groaned.

"And there's more. Fury's going to pull you from the op after this. You have to get her tonight, or Watson's going to get the case."

Clint snorted. "That moron can't hit the side of a barn. I'd like to see him take her down." He made sure to keep his face indifferent, but his thoughts were racing. If he was pulled, his perfect track record would be ruined. Grabbing his bow, he followed Coulson to the extraction point. It was now or never.

Middle of Nowhere, Germany

"Barton, report."

"Calm down Coulson. She's still seducing the rich guy." Clint shifted on his tree branch, trying to get comfortable. The manor was situated in a forest deep in the German countryside, providing him with plenty of cover. Another bonus was the exorbitant number of windows said rich guy's manor had, giving him plenty of opportunities to examine the target. She sure cleaned up nice. In a floor-length black dress that clung in all the right places and revealed plenty of porcelain skin, no one paid enough attention to her face to notice that even with the heavy layer of makeup, she looked a bit too young to be at the party. She was currently running her fingers up her targets arm, while he practically drooled while ogling her cleavage.

She leaned close and murmured something in the man's ear, causing him to grin and lead her down a hallway. "Target has left with the unfortunate bastard- he didn't last long. I have all exits covered."

"Copy that. Remember, this is your last shot."

Clint chose to ignore that last remark, and Coulson didn't press him. After a few tense minutes, he spotted a figure on the roof of the house. "Coulson, I think she's on the roof."

"What do you mean, you think she's on the roof?"

"I'm not sure… if that's her, she somehow managed to change into a black bodysuit."

"Maybe she had it on her?"

"Coulson, I'm no expert on women's apparel, but I'm pretty sure people would notice if you had camouflage gear and numerous weapons tucked under a skintight dress." Clint replied dryly. He missed Coulson's reply when she ran across the roof, leaped off the edge, and landed on a tree branch. She swung from branch to branch, with catlike grace, and only slight rustles indicated her location.

"Shit, I think she's heading this way." He looked around frantically, then decided anything he did would only give him away. Thankfully, she seemed to think that she was far enough away from the house. Taking to the ground, she walked among the trees away from him.

"Ok, she's moving away." Clint whispered. At that moment, his mud caked boot slipped off the branch, snapping several twigs.

In an instant, she had whirled around and aimed her gun at him. Not in his direction, but directly at his head. Clint swore. Nowhere in his briefing had Fury mentioned the girl had bat hearing. He held his breath, hoping she would blame the sound on the tread of an animal. She did not.

"Coulson, I've been made." He murmured, before disengaging his comm. Then he raised his voice. "Considering that we both have weapons pointed at each other's head, how about we call it a stalemate? Do you promise not to shoot me while I climb down?"

She cocked her head, considering him. Then, she slowly lowered her pistol. "I'm better at hand-to-hand combat anyways." Her voice had a slight musical lilt to it, the only sign that she was not a native English speaker.

Clint hung his bow on his quiver, and then swung to the ground. He approached her slowly, wary of dying at her hands like so many before him. He could see her face clearly now. Somehow, she had managed to scrub it free of makeup, and her true age was clearly visible.

"You're that American whose been following me since Prague." The statement shocked him.

"What-how- you knew?" He spluttered.

"No roof repairman is as well fed as you are, and if they were all so dedicated the city would not be so decrepit," She answered easily, amused.

"You're good."

She inclined her head. "I would not be alive if I was not the best."

"The best? I don't know about that-" He stopped talking to block a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. "Enough small talk," she growled, jabbing at his side. Clint concentrated on not getting killed in the next few minutes. He had been observing her long enough to know how deadly her graceful, aerobic style could be. After a while, he noticed that he was laughing in exhilaration, and that she also had a small smile on her face. It was so rare that he was able to find a suitable sparring partner, but they were well matched. He was much stronger, but she was infinitely more agile and flexible, throwing kicks so fast they were dizzying. While she was dodging one of his punches, her ski cap came loose. Her mane of bright auburn hair caused him to lose focus for a fraction of a second, and next thing Clint knew he was on his back, bow digging uncomfortably into his shoulder, while she sat on his chest.

"Men," she scoffed, "are far too easy to manipulate. Now, whom are you working for?" She hissed, holding a knife to his throat.

"I- Coulson!" He exclaimed, staring over her shoulder, hoping it would distract her. Her head whipped around, and he flipped them over until she was under him, and pinned her down with both arms. After a few moments, she stopped struggling, acknowledging hissuperior strength. He pried the knife out of her hands, tossing it aside. In an instant, an arrow was at her throat.

"Such a medieval weapon," she spat. "Must be low-budget, if your agency doesn't even have the money to buy a decent gun." He ignored the verbal jab.

"I am here to kill you," he said slowly. To his surprise, she seemed resigned to the fact, and raised her head to look at him. "Do it then," she said, her voice losing it's sharp edge.

He stared down into her emerald green eyes. He saw why her victims were rendered helpless in her presence. With the fiery hair and porcelain skin, she was drop-dead gorgeous. "You aren't going to beg?"

"Please, there's no point. I would have killed you." She said bitterly.

"Why are you doing this? You're too young to be in this business."

"I have a very specific skillset. If I don't work, I'll starve. Kill or be killed, right?" She laughed bitterly.

"I was like you once." Clint realized. That was the final straw. "Come work for SHIELD."

"What?"

"My agency. We could use someone with your skills."

"No. I swore no one would own me again. I'm free now, and that's how it's going to stay."

"But are you free, really?"

At that, she fell silent. "You know I'm right. You kill anyone to survive, no questions asked. At SHIELD, you get paid monthly, not for each job. You get to ask about the targets, and can turn down missions as you see fit. So in a way, I'm freer than you are."

"They all say that," she said bitterly, a hint of remorse creeping into her voice. "I won't fall for it again." Her broken voice sealed the deal.

"Listen, my people are on their way. I'm being pulled off this case tonight anyways, so if I let you go, no one will bother you unless you screw up. Just consider it, ok? I've watched you long enough to know that you'll know how to track me down if you change your mind. Now, if I let you go, do you promise not to shoot me in the back when I walk away?"

She stared at him for a moment, and then slowly nodded. He rolled off her, set his weapons on the ground, and handed her the knife and pistol he had knocked out of her hands. She took them, and got to her feet. Backing up a few steps, she opened her mouth, but seemed to think better of it. Turning on her heels, she sprinted through the dense trees. In seconds, she was gone, leaving Clint to ponder exactly what the fuck he had just done.

AUTHORS NOTE: So, this is my first attempt at a FanFiction story, so I would love to hear from the more experienced writers out there! Please review guys, I want to make this story as good as possible, and that's only possible if I know what the readers think about it. Expect updates every few days (once a week at the least)… Don't worry; everyone's favorite assassins will meet again in the next chapter!