I apologize about the delay. An orchestra audition has pretty much eaten up all of my time. (A history essay should also be beckoning, but I digress.)

Thank you for reading, following, favoriting, and reviewing. c:

Chapter 1

"They don't trust you, y'know."

"I'm aware."

Clint mopped up the rest of his soup with his bread, shoving the soggy mass into his mouth and wiping the corners of his mouth neatly with a paper napkin. Natasha poked half-heartedly at her tuna sandwich, taking a small bite before pushing the tray away from her. The SHIELD cafeteria was slow that lunch, with only maybe the two, and a few quiet parties at other tables. Natasha was painfully alert to the looks she kept receiving from the agents around them, could hear them mumbling under their breaths. She told herself that she couldn't give a shit about what they were saying, but apparently something showed on her face, because Clint kicked her gently under the table, awakening her from her daze.

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm not."

He raised an eyebrow, getting up from his seat. He took his tray in one hand, reaching for Natasha's with the other. She grabbed it back before he could. It was how it was since the first day of her week and a half at SHIELD, and it seemed it would stay that way. She followed Clint to the disposal area.

The ex-KGB wasn't used to people being concerned about her. He didn't seem to persist at talking, however, and she was thankful. Working with a permanent partner, as a strike team, was alien. Having someone watch her back, and watching theirs in return, was also alien. But having someone paying attention to her outside of work was the strangest.

"It's 1345." Clint checked his watch after dropping off the tray. "Have anything you want to do? We still have fifteen minutes."

Natasha shrugged. "I can't go anywhere." Her agreements with SHIELD and Director Fury had included a probation from going anywhere outside of the headquarters, and no missions without an agent accompanying. She should have felt lucky to be allowed to even be a part of a strike team. But instead the agent was resentful at the short leash she was being kept on. Natalia Romanova wouldn't have tolerated it. But as she met Barton's trusting gaze, she decided that Natasha Romanoff would. For just a little longer.

"I'm sure they won't mind if you go get some fresh air," he smiled. He turned on his heel, walking out of the room in his easy, silent stride. She contemplated letting him just walk out himself, and retreat into her room for the rest of the hour. But as she watched him look over his shoulder inquiringly, she decided to follow. In spite of herself, she wanted to figure out something, and Barton might be able to help.

"We're going to a rooftop garden," he said, a tinge of pride in his voice.

"I didn't know SHIELD could afford planting flowers on the roof."

"Oh no, they can," he said, climbing what was the fifth flight of service stairs. (Natasha couldn't see why they weren't just riding the elevator.) "They just deemed it pointless and didn't advance the project." His irritation was obvious to the expert interrogator, and she hid a small grin.

"So it doesn't exist."

"No, no. It does."

He flung the door at the top of the stairs open, the noon sunlight blinding Natasha for a moment before she could see the supposed 'garden'.

A few potted plants stood against the ventilation structures dotting the rooftop. Of course, 'stood' being a loose term. What would have been perhaps a couple of rosebushes, tall houseplants, and trees were now withered pathetically in their ceramic containers. A look of disappointment crossed her companion's face.

"No, no, no..." he groaned, trotting over to inspect a leaf. "It was Coulson's turn this week." He glanced around quickly, pointing to a watering can sitting by the door. Natasha picked it up, carrying it over to the distraught SHIELD agent. Now she was smiling openly at his futile efforts. As if he could hear her thoughts, he whirled around on his heel, pointing accusingly at the assassin.

"Stop laughing."

"I'm not!"

He stared down at the pots, shaking his head before motioning for her to follow. They rounded the corner of a tall vent to reveal an old, reclining lawn chair sitting forlornly in the sun. Clint dragged the piece of furniture into the shade, plopping down on one end of it and gesturing to Natasha to sit. She dropped down on the other side, sitting in silence.

"You're quiet," Hawkeye remarked after a moment of silence. "You wanted to ask something, didn't you?"

She looked up with a hint of disbelief. Natalia Romanova was not read that easily. Was she?

"Yes," she replied slowly, eyebrows lowered distrustfully.

"Fire away."

"Why did you save me?"

He met her gaze, a quizzical look on his face.

"Right to the point then, huh?" he mumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest and blinking out over the cityscape. "I didn't kill you because you're lost."

"How poetic," she responded dryly.

"No. You were committing suicide by sniper."

"Where is the 'I think Romanova would be beneficial to SHIELD's operations' part of this?"

"It's there, but it doesn't matter."

"It doesn't?"

He smiled tiredly. "Fine. A little."

"Excuse you," she responded, tone jokingly-offended. "I nearly garroted you twice if it wasn't for your bow in the way."

"Sure." Clint rolled his eyes. She smirked in response. Both of them knew the original topic had been dropped, but neither pursued it further. Hawkeye, because he didn't feel like he could talk about (or even identify) his exact motives to not putting an arrow through her cranium, and Black Widow, because she had an uneasy suspicion to why he hadn't.

SHIELD was hard pressed for good spies and fighters, and along with Barton's persuasion, Natalia Alianovna Romanova had been spared. Her alias was changed permanently to Natasha Romanoff, she was put on the records as an Agent, effective immediately, and she was recruited into a two-man strike team, alongside Agent Clint Barton.

Or that was how the story went.

As Fury watched Strike Team Delta enter the briefing room, mumbling to themselves and occasionally laughing under their breath, he noted that Clint Barton was likely to have ulterior motives. He contemplated mentioning the SHIELD policies of no relationships between working partners, but decided to keep his silence. Perhaps it would enhance their (already present) intuition in the field. He'd seen the files and CCTV footage. Barton refusing to kill an unprotesting Romanova, an ambush by the latter's group and her shifting of alliances once they targeted Barton for being present.

It was all interesting, and a bit unsettling at the same time.

"Director."

"Agents."

He pulled out a couple of files, leaning forwards to slide them across the table. Natasha snatched hers up first, flipping it open and shuffling through the pages.

"You asked for a more complex mission, so here you are." He watched them carefully. "An undercover track and capture, a drug cartel leader suspected of planning a failed assassination on a high-ranking US official. We've got agents investigating the official, but we need you two to bring back Aleksandr Garfield."

Black Widow seemed to have perked up significantly, nodding. "What's our identities?"

"Your shifted alliance is yet to have been revealed to anyone but the previous small cartel that has been permanently eliminated. You will be posing as your...previous self, Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow. According to our sources, they've been expressing wants for a capable assassin. Certainly the Widow's resume will be up to par for their needs."

"What about Agent Barton?"

"He will be your working partner, Clint Breton. Ironically, his cover has been set up to be an Agent for the United States, but has defected to...we can say 'vigilante' status, after some personal disgruntlement with the government. He works alongside his romantically affiliated partner." he nodded at Romanoff. "Some impressive accomplishments have been added to his own false profiles from SHIELD, CIA, FBI, et cetera. Barton is not well established in the intelligence community as of yet, and as much information of him as we can find have been temporarily pulled down, but in case they sniff you out...well. You know how to get out."

"Is this so important that you've gone to these lengths?" Clint interjected, frowning. Nick's countenance was impassive.

"This is of nearly national importance." he responded flatly. Natasha shut her file, attempting to read her new commanding officer's expression, but to no avail.

"A private jet will be on the runway at 530 hours tomorrow. You will bring nothing but your weapons, and instruments. Street clothing, cards, money, and everything regarding your covers will be provided at the flight. It will land halfway in Spain, and a commercial plane will take the rest of the flight to Budapest, Hungary. Any questions?"

They regarded him silently, and he dismissed them with a wave of his hand, gathering his papers as they left without another word.

"You ready?" Clint mumbled as they exited the room. A growing smirk was present on the assassin's face. She could almost feel the suit back against her skin, all of her weapons at her disposal. She hadn't worn it since Barton had turned her over a week and a half ago.

"You have no idea." She turned in the hallway, leaning in close and patting his shoulder, eyes twinkling before striding off down a side passage. He watched her go, steeling himself for the next day. Though a part of him was relieved they had gotten a legitimate mission this time around, it was transparently obvious that this was still a sort of 'initiation' of Director Fury's.

But at the moment, all he found himself hoping was that he could hold onto his version of Natasha Romanoff, the one he'd saved on the moment that seemed like yesterday; lost, deceived, and looking for truth.

'Had he done the right thing' is basically his entire thought process/dilemma at the moment, hehe. Poor Clint.

Anyhow, reviews keep me writing. c:

Reviews are lovely. c;