Author here! so this started off as a one-shot but ended up being a bit longer, as you will no doubt find out. This little story is inspired by the Avengers movies which came out in May 2012... Hopefully you've seen it... I mean who hasn't XD Anyways, I would love to have your input on this, and maybe some helpful tips as this is my first time writing a fight scene.

So Hopefully this makes sense, if not feel free to point it out (nicely)

I don't own anything if I did I would definitely make a Clint and Natasha movie! Without further ado, I present to you avid fans: "Budapest"!

Agent Barton waited for the chopper to land. Like a perched bird, he was silent and attentive, ignoring his cuts and bruises and the thick layer of dirt covering his body. The other agents where strapped in safely along the carrier's wall. But not him. He crouched quietly and with an almost inhuman stillness for 6 hours. The time it took to travel from Budapest to the nearest European S.H.I.E.L.D safe house.

If Clint was anything, he was not a team player. You couldn't give him orders, you couldn't make him follow a group and most of all he wasn't going to let you. For he prided himself in enjoying one freedom, his mind. That was his. Some thought that made him stubborn or a product of his tragic upbringing, but to be honest it was a bit of both. Born with a strong will and hardened by years of loss and treason had made him this way.

The mission today had not gone smoothly. The terrorist he and his team where meant to eliminate had not died. However, as the three empty seats would suggest, two of S.H.I.E.L.D's best field agents had. Despite the results the agents where told that the mission was over. They where going home. However agent Barton wasn't under that impression, and so remained at the ready. His eyes focused on his prisoner. He knew that constant vigilance was the only restrain keeping her in that seat. He had seen her kill too many people and come out of to many situations, that the cuffs on her wrists and ankles didn't mean anything to him, or her.

The lack of sound emitting from the passengers was compensated by the constant humming, buzzing and chopping noises the military aircraft made. Along with the occasional turbulence, which made the equipment shake in their straps and the prisoner's chains rattle, and the rare announcement from the pilot, no one spoke. The agents where too busy processing the events that had only taken 90 minutes and the lives of two of their friends. In the field emotion and hesitation where common foes, but here with a long trip ahead of them, the time to think, question and analyze was no longer a luxury. "When did it go so wrong?... what could I have done to save him... why didn't I do this... Should I have pulled the trigger at this time... I saw that rubble, maybe if I had warned him... I underestimated the threat... Those people shouldn't have been there... The intel was wrong... We got up too soon..." where all thoughts fighting to be heard inside the resting soldiers.

The same couldn't be said for agent Barton. He had been awake for 36 hours, and in that time had remained in constant battle mode: his eyes careful, his mind sharp and his muscles tensed. He couldn't afford to think of anything else but his mission. It had been his call after all and therefore the captive became his responsibility. Too many lives had been lost for him to screw up now. Unless this was all one big mistake. Had she wanted to be captured? and if so to what end?

There where 3 means of escape. The first two involved a parachute, for which the emergency pack was located at the front of the plane, behind the pilot's door. To get it she would have to pick both her ankle and wrist restrains. Which wasn't looking good for her due to his constant watch, and then running the whole length of the aircraft without anyone stopping her. The third way he could see, is if she took one of the 7 resting agents hostage, or possibly the pilot. However with her skill set, he didn't put it past her to kill everyone on board and fly herself to safety. But again, she wasn't going anywhere, let alone committing a massacre onboard a moving aircraft with her feet and hands firmly bolted to the floor.

So they where at a stale mate. Sometimes they're eyes would meet, and Clint could swear he saw a hint of humor in those big green orbs. As if she where mocking him: "I'm getting out of here and there's nothing you can do about it". But the glare in her eye vanished as soon as he would recognize it.

A sickening crack reverberated in the plane. Suddenly, after hours of staying still, Clint got to his feet, his right hand flying to his holstered hand gun. He immediately made a move towards the prisoner only to be too late: her hands where already free and in the time it took Clint to get up from the awkward position, she had summersaulted on the floor grabbing a loose bolt on her way up, she immediately began picking at her shakles with a practiced ease. "She timed if perfectly" thought Clint: waiting for the perfect moment to strike, just long enough so that his muscles would be sore if moved suddenly, slowing his process down by a few precious seconds. The speed and accuracy she used to get free suggested pre-meditation. Which during the long flight had plenty of time to do. And finally summersaulting in the direction of the spare parachute was a simple and effective way to travel the length of the airplane. He understood all of this, except how she had managed to get her hands free in the first place.

The other soldiers looked up in surprise, the crack having brought them out of their daze and their sight on the escaped terrorist in the middle of the plane. Seconds is all it took for them to start tugging at the seat belts, desperately trying to get free of the safety precautions. The next thing they knew, the crouching prisoner was flying across the interior of the plane with agent Barton having tackled her to the ground. In a moment of panic he had lunged for her pushing her strong shoulders to the ground. They rolled on the floor for a couple seconds each trying to get on top. Contrary to the stunned spectators, Clint had formulated a plan in the milliseconds following her summersault. The first step was to contain the situation and that meant leading her as far away from the parachute as possible. So when she was too busy fighting him for supremacy in the scaffold, he discretely angled their bodies so she was facing the back of the plane. Finally they broke from this dance and the prisoner was sent sliding down the end. Clint having broken off about midway down the length of the plane, spotted the lever to the emergency exit. "Perfect." he thought, a small grin creeping up his jaw. Without a moment's hesitation he pulled hard on the metal handle as the doors to the outside world slid open. Clint glanced at the other soldiers still strapped in their seats and then at the two empty ones. "Sorry guys, but this was my call." As if on cue, the fluorescent lights of the aircraft switched to a sickening flashing red and the seat belt lock was activated. All the emergency signs where now blinking and the previously silent plane now booming with the depressurization sirens. The wind rushing past the moving aircraft filled the cabin, making the rattling of the equipment even louder. In the chaos one of the soldiers screamed: "Barton! What the hell is wrong with you?! Close that door immediately that's an order!" the agent that had spoken up was livid. His piercing glare directed towards Clint in a matter that would make most shrink back in intimidation.

"Sorry sir no can do!" but not Clint. "I can't have anyone else die."

The red in the other agent's face became even brighter if possible. Never had another soldier so casually refused an order. Sure he had heard rumors surrounding agent Barton, but Director Fury had put him in his team. He had obviously thought at the time that he could put this soldier back in line. After all he was one of SHIELD's most decorated and respected commanders. His success rate was almost at 90%, ten percentiles above the average soldier in his age category. Therefore, he couldn't understand why his authority could be questioned. Especially by a trouble maker who clearly, after the events of today, had no concept of a chain of command.

It was this notion which aggravated the experienced commander and made him double his efforts at unbuckling his seatbelt. Unfortunately for him, the safety protocol of the aircraft had already kicked in and all seat-belts where locked until the door closed or the plane landed.

What the furious agent had failed to see in his blind rage, was the sad but heavy sigh that escaped the Clint's lips. As if he held the responsibility of the world on his shoulders. However, this didn't last long, as his gaze quickly went back to the fugitive at the back of the plane. Since he had opened the emergency exit, she had opted for a more stable fighting position: her left arm in front of her ready to block and jab with her knees bent in a wider stance. As they both surveyed each other, Clint noticed her right wrist bent at an awkward position. "That can't be natural." he thought. "Unless..." his eyes widened when he realized where his thoughts where carrying him. She had done that to herself. That was the only possible solution. She had broken her own wrist in order to escape the handcuffs. This realization came as a shock for Clint. I mean here he was, protecting his teammates by facing her alone, while she was prepared to do anything in order to get what she wanted. This, if possible, made her that much more of a threat.

ok... ya END OF PART 1! Please tell me what you think, and what I should correct. I hope it wasn't to complicated and you understood everything.

Thanx for making it this far XD