For notes and disclaimer, please see part one. Also... to the numerous readers who have set this story to watch and/or who have favorited... Wow. Thank you. Wasn't expecting that kind of a response. ~K

Previously, on Avengers: Clint Barton is following the illustrious Natasha "Black Widow" Romanoff and, while he's tasked with killing her, he offers her information instead.


She'd gotten over being furious, but it had taken some time of sitting quietly, alone in the shadows. Once she'd calmed down, she began retooling her plan, wondering if her mystery man would join her, as he'd said he would. Given the vast increase in guards, it would be helpful, having someone watch her back.

If, of course, she could trust him not to shoot or stab her there. She still wasn't sure about that.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly. Her night would've gone so much better had she been able to catch that midnight flight, complete with a champagne nightcap before drifting off to sleep on her way to safety. Instead, she fumed. Stupid Barton and his stupid intel.

What the hell kind of name was Barton anyway?

Clint attempted to keep the smirk from his lips when he came quietly, stealthily up to her position. "Morning."

She shot him a dangerous, annoyed look.

Wordlessly, he removed the recurve bow from its case and, with a well-practiced flick, extended the compact model into its full size.

She was sure he'd be packing heat, but hadn't expected sharp sticks. "Listen, Robin Hood, this isn't Nottingham."

"Budapest. I know."

"It's also the twenty-first century…" His knowing smile irked her even further.

"Are you concerned for my safety, Widow, or my inability to save your skin?"

"Americans," she muttered in Russian under her breath.

He let it slide. "So, what's your plan?"

She looked at him quizzically.

"The great Black Widow… scourge of the scourge… as deadly as she is beautiful… without a plan?" he asked, disbelieving.

"I'm working on it!" Taking a quick breath, she realized she'd let him annoy her far beyond where she should've. "If I could cause some kind of a distraction, at the front and side entrances, it would force Dimitri out the back, out here," she said, gesturing to the abandoned factory's sparse loading area that lay before them. There was very little cover opportunity.

"On it," Clint said with a nod.

Natasha grabbed his arm roughly. "Wait… How?" She felt his muscles twitch beneath her hand, through her black leather gloves. There was a gentle whirring sound was oddly mechanical and very out of place.

"Mind releasing me? I'd be happy to show you."

She shook her head. "If this goes badly…"

He lowered his voice, sounding earnestly serious. "I'm in this as deep as you are, Natasha. The way we both survive this is through teamwork." Off her hesitation, he added: "It's not fatal. Promise."

"It could be," she quipped but she let go of his arm.

He offered her a smile in return. In one fluid, swift motion, he pulled and nocked an arrow before letting it fly.

Her eyes narrowed, watching as it landed at the side entrance doing… absolutely nothing. Through clenched teeth, she sighed. "Barton…"

Except, he was already on the move, keeping to the tree line cover she'd found.

While she drew her weapons, keeping one gun trained on her so-called ally, her eyes never left the building.

Loosing another arrow, Clint ducked for cover.

When she turned to see if he'd somehow double-crossed her, and the arrows (because, really, who used those?) had signaled Dimitri's men instead, she was suddenly rocketed by dual explosions. It had been exactly what she'd asked for, and it had worked exactly how she'd imagined, as men came pouring out the back door.

Clint rushed back toward her, offering her a hand up.

She eyed his outstretched arm for a moment before accepting it. "What the hell was that?"

"That? What you asked for. This is where you say 'thank you.'"

She didn't have the chance to respond, instead firing at Dimitri's small army. The first wave fell easily, but more kept coming. She ran through ammunition like water, ejecting clips and slapping new ones in as fast as she could go. "How many did your reports indicate might be here?" she asked over the sound of incessant gunfire. She had to give it to him—Clint was good under pressure, calm and collected.

He fired off two more arrows while she took aim again. "Best I have, he went from about twenty-five to two-fifty, maybe three hundred."

The grin on Natasha's face was grim. "Acceptable odds. Hope you brought your a-game, Barton."

"I'm always…" He drifted off when the men fell back, retreating into the building. "Ready," he finished dumbly as their once target-rich environment emptied.

She muttered a curse, running toward the main complex itself. Clint could only follow.

The fire lapping at the side entrance hissed as water was intermittently thrown onto it, to try to douse the flames.

Through the window, Natasha was able to see another half dozen men and dispatched of them easily. Though she didn't have a firm count on the dead or gravely injured, she knew that she and Clint had to have done some major damage to their numbers. Pretty impressive for a two-man operation.

"They must be desperate," Clint commented, his blue eyes ever watchful, waiting for his next clear shot.

"This place was supposed to be fortress-like. Three entrances, no roof access, no basement levels, though. No place for Dimitri to hide," she said, nearly growling in anger at the mention of her target's name.

Clint clicked through to the explosive arrowheads again. "They're having enough trouble with these two doors… seal off the last exit, there's no way out." He backed up enough to get a clear shot at the final door. It sailed cleanly, landing solidly at the center of the door. "Brace for impact," he told her, giving her a moment to prepare before igniting the incendiary with another button press on his bow. He felt her eyes on him, studying him. While he didn't look back at her, he offered her a slight shrug. "Not so old-fashioned after all, is it?"

"Hmm," she murmured.

"You could at least admit—" He was unable to complete his thought, as an armored vehicle suddenly tore out the side of the building, coming straight for him.

Natasha didn't think; she merely reacted.

Clint found himself on his back, the wind knocked out of him by the lithe Russian on his chest.

She remained focused on the tank, however, and once he was safely out of harm's way, she was on her feet, taking a few potshots at it.

Getting to his knees, Clint loaded a different arrow, this one with a focused, short-range EMP. It landed on the rear of the tank, stopping it immediately but also supercharging the air at their distance.

Their eyes met briefly, before there were more shots to return, more cover to take. Both dropped and tumbled to safer, defensible positions. Natasha may have spoken glibly about the odds, but they were making a dent and neither had yet to take any real damage. If she got the chance, she'd love to goad Dimitri about the perils of finding good help.

The longer the battle wore on, however, the more she wondered if he'd gotten away, if he'd slipped out somehow, when she wasn't looking. The thought made her sick to her stomach. The whole job was supposed to be different. She wasn't supposed to pick up some hanger-on, or to be taking on what appeared to be a never-ending army. Her employer had promised a quick jaunt to town, a simple assassination.

"Barton?"

He glanced briefly at her.

"What'd you say your agency was?"

He toppled another attacker before responding. "I didn't."

She sighed, catching her breath for a moment and checking her ammo count. "Are they sending back up?"

"Why would they?"

"Just curious. To see if they want my services as badly as you claim. To see what you're worth to them."

"I won't be a feather for your cap if you kill me," he told her. "There are far bigger, better targets."

"Oh?" she queried innocently. "Such as?"

"Running low on ammo over there, Widow?" he deflected.

"Bullets are smaller than bolts. I'm all right. You?"

"Adequate."

"That quiver of yours… Magical?"

"R&D is kicking, but they aren't that good yet." He fired off another round. "Romanoff?"

"Yeah?"

"This Volodin guy…"

As though she could read his mind, she shook her head. "If he was dead, these hired guns would scatter. Once the money man's gone, there's no reason for them to stay. Until then…"

"Gonna be a long morning," he quipped.

It had felt like they'd been at it quite a while already, as the sun was peeking over the horizon already. The burgeoning daylight made her black leather outfit and his dark gray suit stand out in stark contrast to the grass and foliage that they'd easily been able to hide in before dawn. Natasha didn't want to admit it. In fact, if tortured, she'd never confess. Having Clint with her was a relief. His aim was true, his heart good. She was glad her shadow had introduced himself to her.


Stay tuned…