"What is it they call her again?" he asked, adjusting the position of the spotting scope slightly to the left so that he could see rear entrance to the building clearly. Usually he chose to observe without the benefit of the scope, preferring to rely on his unusually sharp gaze, but there were times when even his hawk like eyes were insufficient and the building he was watching was some distance from his current perch.

They had been in Odessa for three days and all they had seen of the infamous spy that they were hunting was a fleeting glimpse as she disappeared into the crowds at Teatralnaya Square, he was hoping for something more from his current stake out. She was extraordinarily good, he'd give her that, grudgingly, but it was fortunate that he could be extraordinarily patient. He was committed now and he always got his man, or in this case woman.

Coulson's voice sounded tinny over the comms link, his tone that of a man who had all the facts and didn't fully understand why his agent did not. "Black Widow," he replied, "and believe me when I tell you she lives up to the name."

Clint turned that information over in his head. He had known her name but asking had allowed him to ease the boredom that sometime set in during long surveillance jobs. It was true that the Black Widow was a well-known name in his field, her moniker being linked to several high-profile assassinations and more security breaches than he could count. For all she was almost a legend however, there were few who could claim to have actually laid eyes on her and that particular detail had always bothered him, feeling as he did that such a reputation could easily have been garnered by more than one woman if they each assumed the same identity. It would certainly help to explain why no reliable description of the woman existed.

Before they had left Volterra, he had asked Coulson to request all the data that SHIELD had on file about her and, after a thorough study of the information, he had concluded that they were in fact dealing with only one highly skilled, if slightly bipolar, woman. Intelligence suggested that she had been affiliated for many years with a covert division of the Soviet government and that she had been orphaned at a young age. Clint could relate to that element of her background as the loss of his own parents when he was a boy had been a large part of the reason for him making the wrong choices in life. Was her story similar to his, had she been so desperate to fit in somewhere that she had made poor choices or had she walked her own path? Didn't matter either way, an assignment was an assignment. He might have some sympathy for her but he would still do what was necessary to neutralise the threat that she posed.

It was a while later that he saw the red-head moving through the grounds. At first glance there was nothing particularly noteworthy about her, aside from a walk and physique that made him think exactly the kind of thoughts that would distract him from the job at hand. He gave her a cursory glance and was about to dismiss her presence when he noticed the way that she moved, staying close to the tree line, confident but obviously alert to her surroundings. Instincts prickling, he tracked her more carefully.

"Target is within your range," Coulson's voice announced through his earpiece. Adjusting his grip on his bow, Clint squinted into the late afternoon sunlight and tried to get an accurate read on her. He followed her movement through the trees, observing the way her hips rocked with every stride as she broke cover and headed toward the research laboratory that he had been surveilling, every movement filled with a power that spoke of more than an occasional gym workout. This was his target, he knew it in the marrow of his bones. This woman who drew no attention as she moved, who blended in as if she belonged there, was who he was waiting for.

Their intelligence suggested that the Black Widow had been hired to steal proprietary information from the organisation and her presence on sight certainly seemed to back that up. He wasn't sure what it was that she would want at a laboratory like the one she was heading to, a lab that specialised in genetic testing, but it didn't matter. When he apprehended her, he would be able to return the data to its rightful owners. "Got her, should I neutralise her now?" he asked.

Coulson's answer was immediate, "negative, hold your fire Agent. We'll pick her up when she exits the lab."

What followed seemed like an age as he waited for someone to get eyes on her leaving the site. From his perch high in the branches of the trees, he had a clear view of the main and rear entrances but there was a side entrance which was also being watched. She was nothing like he would have expected but perhaps he had been expecting a cliché. When he'd heard rumours of a Soviet super spy, he had always imagined a statuesque, blue-eyed ice queen; though he hadn't gotten a close enough look to see her eye colour, he had easily been able to see that she was neither tall nor blonde.

As security alarms from within the building began to wail and security guards ran toward the lab, she appeared to his left, moving fast between the trees as she fled the compound. He had to give her credit for clearing the building before the alarm was sounded, for making it as far as the trees before he saw her coming. Security flooded out of the building in her wake, the main gates slamming shut with a resounding crash as guards locked the site down. Clint tracked her once again, marvelling at the sure-footed way she wound her way between the tree trunks. She moved like a dancer, fluid muscle memory carrying her over the ground with a speed and agility that would have been almost impossible to match.

"Barton, report" the voice in his ear startled him into action and he aimed his bow ahead of her current position, taking into account the time that it would take for his arrow to reach her and performing the necessary calculations in his head to adjust for wind speed and time that would elapse between release and impact. "She's out and headed in your direction."

"Got her in my sights," he replied calmly, counting the beats of his heart, sure and steady, while he waited for the order to come over the comms.

Unexpectedly the Widow slowed, appearing to favour one ankle. She stopped in a clearing among the trees, glancing around herself as if she weren't sure which way to go, and for the first time Barton wondered whether this had been her planned escape route or whether she was improvising out of necessity. She turned, scanning the trees as if she expected to find someone watching her and for the first time he saw her face.

She was petite, her red hair falling in waves that blazed like fire around her shoulders and hung to her lower back. Her skin was porcelain pale and contrasted sharply with the black of her clothing. Stunning. As though his thoughts called to her, she turned her face toward him, the wind catching her hair as she stared over her shoulder toward his location although there was no way that she should be able to see him from where she stood. Her eyes were as green as emeralds, as deep as oceans, bright and shining with tears or perhaps just emotion as she stood perfectly still, waiting although she couldn't possibly know what she waited for. They remained locked like that, staring directly at each other across a great distance as if connected by some force that he could not see. He wondered if her instincts were ringing the way his were.

Coulson's voice interrupted the moment, coming strong over the link, "Barton if you have her take the shot, I repeat, take the shot."

Clint hesitated, caught in the spell of her eyes and unable to look away. She could see him he realised, knew that he was there and was waiting to see what course of action he chose. Though she must have known that she was in danger, that every second she remained in his sight was another moment that he could end her life, she waited. There was no mistaking the emotion on her face, no illusion powerful enough to hide the tears on her cheeks as she stared right at him, right through him. Clint was not a man to be moved by sentiment; he had the mentality of a soldier. Tears did not affect him in the way that they might affect others, but he found himself curiously frozen, torn between the impulse to let her go and the need to know what had caused her such distress.

Stretching out, the moment became impossibly thin and fluid as they watched one another across a great distance and then he heard the baying of dogs as the security team began to close in on her. He glanced to the left, searching for the sound. The scent dogs and their handlers had reached the tree line, close enough to pick up on her trail and perhaps his too. It was no longer safe for him to stay in position; it definitely wasn't safe for her to stay where she was on the ground.

Within seconds they could be discovered; he had to make his choice and make it now. Turning back, he looked for her again but she was no longer there. The clearing was empty and the Black Widow was gone.