A Cold Caller

Moscow, Russia

12:45pm

The gentleman ordered a beer and took a seat on the terrace overlooking the high street. From there he had the perfect view of both the park, the bank and the subway entrance, he could keep a close watch on everything going on around him. It was bitterly cold outside and he was the only person on the terrace. He pulled up the collar of his jacket and adjusted his hat to cover his ears. He pulled out his phone from his jacket pocket and checked for any messages. It was empty. Good. That meant everything was running smoothly.

The bright afternoon sun burnt his eyes so he reluctantly pulled on his sunglasses, this wouldn't make him look as inconspicuous as he'd have hoped but his eyes were his livelihood and they had to be protected at all costs.

He decided he would wait out at the roadside café for an hour or two, observing the lunchtime rush. If he couldn't collate anything useful from his watch he would head back to his hotel, change and try a different café or bar or restaurant, anywhere with a good lookout. He took a sip of his drink, it was ice cold and refreshing. Around him most people carried steaming cups of tea or coffees laced with vodka to warm themselves against the harsh Moscow weather, but he preferred the crispness of his beer, it would keep him alert and fresh.

"For a spy you sure do a shoddy job of staying hidden," the female voice was husky and familiar. He turned to the table next to him where a red haired woman clad in black leather sat reading the morning paper. She gave him a smug smile.

"What the hell are you doing here?" the man demanded gruffly.

"Good to see you too Clint," Natasha Romanoff folded her paper and came and sat opposite him, blocking his entire view of the subway. "I'm glad you're your usual cheerful self."

If there was one thing Clint Barton really hated it was being rumbled. How had he not spotted her? He had thought he'd had the perfect lookout. It seemed he needed to work on remaining undetected.

"How did you find me?" he asked Natasha who still looked mildly amused.

"I have my ways," she said with her usual vagueness, Clint sighed, he should have known he'd never get a straight answer from Natasha. "Besides," she added eyeing his beer "you're the only person who's not drinking vodka."

"Maybe next time I'll force myself to drink it," Clint suggested feeling irritated, he might as well have had 'tourist' tattooed across his forehead. "You didn't answer my question," he pointed out "what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied coolly. Clint didn't answer but after a moment or two could see that she had no intention of sharing any details with him about her agenda so gave in.

"I'm job hunting," Natasha gave him a questioning look and he smirked "don't forget Nat, I'm currently unemployed thanks to you and your buddy Rogers." With SHEILD gone Clint knew he had taken the first plane to Russia. He needed a new agency, or at least someone to report to, Clint didn't kind doing dirty work, so long as he had guaranteed protection and cash. Russia was the place to be he just needed to keep his eyes open.

"You do realise that Steve and I exposed HYDRA don't you?" Natasha quipped, a flash of anger in her eyes.

"Steve now is he?" Clint noted with satisfaction "what you do to get him on a first name basis?" Natasha ignored his jibe,

"Where were you when SHEILD fell?" she asked him and Clint began to feel like he was being interrogated "we could have used your help."

"I was unavailable." Natasha gave him a cold look. What did she want to hear? Despite all their years as colleagues and even friends Clint still couldn't quite work her out. "What are you suggesting Nat?" she didn't reply and Clint saw what was happening. "I get it," he said "you want to know where my loyalties lie. SHEILD or HYDRA. Am I right?"

"I need to know whether I can count on you or not." She replied.

"If you honestly think I was a HYDRA agent then you're not the SHEILD agent I thought you were." Clint could feel his anger rising, his fingers twitched with anticipation. Natasha seemed to lose some of her cool exterior.

"I want to know why you weren't there to help us take down the Helicarriers," she snapped, her fist slamming down onto the table. "it wasn't just another run of the mill mission, Steve nearly died!"

"Am I supposed to care about Steve Rogers?" Clint snapped back at her "he's long past his sell-by date as it is." That cut deep, Natasha stood up and made to leave.

"It's your call Clint," she said to him before she walked away "you can go looking for your own agency or you can help me save what's left of SHEILD, what's left of the good guys." Clint scoffed at his old friend,

"Don't fool yourself Nat, we're not the good guys."