Nothing fancy to say this go-round. Thanks to my reviewers though ^-^ EscapeHollowFieldsClub and I were- *ahem* enthusiastic when we received them (._.) Hehehehe.
- Shadow
The arrow flew past the Black Widow's head, parting the air with a muffled whistle until it embedded itself in the cracked wall behind her. Clint didn't wait for her to react. As soon as the arrow left his hold, the archer slung his bow over his shoulder and leapt off the building. He landed on a fire escape, flipped over the railing and dropped to the ground. Five feet away, the Black Widow had her gun aimed at his head. This was going better than he had expected.
"Хорошие движения, для покойника," she snarled smoothly, her tone as level as her weapon. (Nice moves, for a dead man.)
Clint slowly raised his hand above his head to show that he had no ready attack while, silently, he cursed himself. She was a Russian spy. Why did he assume she would understand him?
"Do you speak English?" he asked out loud. If she didn't, this would be hard. He hadn't taken the initiative to learn anything past entry-level Russian.
The Black Widow's stance didn't waver. "Почему? Планирование разговаривать меня до смерти?"(Why? Planning on talking me to death?)
Clint tried again, in broken Russian. "Английский язык. Вы говорите по-английски?"(English. Do you speak English?)
"иногда," she said with narrowed eyes, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. "Но это не ваше дело." (Sometimes,) (But that's none of your business.)
He recognized a bit of what she said, courtesy of the small amount of language training he had received, but she was talking too fast for him to follow completely. However, the cheekily-spoke 'sometimes' stuck out.
"Can you speak in English now?" Clint took an extremely cautious step forward, his hands still raised. "I want to talk. Just talk."
The Black Widow tensed, a finger curling around the trigger of her pistol. Her body language told her adversary not to move another muscle, but something in her eyes, however briefly, sparked, Giving Clint the sign he had wanted. Regardless, her face was still empty of any emotion, even as her voice held contempt. "Вы, американцы, и ваше желание поговорить. У государства даже не знаю, как для надлежащей подготовки убийц больше?" (You Americans and your wish to talk. Do the states not even know how to train proper assassins anymore?)
"That's not English." In one swift movement Clint swung his leg up, kicking her gun from her hand. Just as the weapon clattered to the ground, a fist connected with his jaw, followed by a bare foot to the other side of his face. That's going to leave a mark, he thought as he stumbled backwards, regaining his balance. He rubbed the side of his jaw as he brought his gaze back to the Black Widow.
She was set into a defensive semi-crouch, her strappy high-heels abandoned to the side. She shifted her stance, edging closer to her weapon.
This seems like a lot more trouble than it's worth. Clint leapt forward, a fist balled and aiming for her face. The Black Widow slipped out of his way and around him, kicking out one of his knees from behind. Clint's legs buckled and he fell, turning it into a neatly executed forwards roll before bouncing back to his feet. The two assassins gazed at each other, eyes sharp and jaws set.
The Black Widow took to the offensive and lunged at Clint. He blocked the majority of her skillfully-aimed blows, landing a few of his own in the process. He wasn't aware that the steps backwards he was being forced to take were completely intentional until the blonde assassin dropped into a low crouch and fluidly swung a leg around to swipe his from underneath him. Lying on his back at the bottom of the alley, Clint summarized that she had pushed him back far enough to reach her gun; she was crouched over him, the pistol pressed to his neck.
A sluggish trickle of blood ran from the Black Widow's nose down her upper lip, and Clint was sure one of her punches had split open a bit of skin on his forehead, but they both ignored their minor injuries and glared at each other straight in the eyes.
"You won't kill me," Clint told her, his voice steady even though his breathing was mildly ragged.
"Да?" The Black Widow's eyes were as hard as flint. "What makes you so sure?" She pressed the gun harder against his throat. (Yeah?)
Clint hid his surprise at her almost accent-free English. "Because you're curious." He swallowed. "You want to know exactly what I want to talk about."
There was a pause. "…And if I'm not?"
Clint flashed a smirk and glanced up at the wall above him. Lodged in a crack was a simple looking black arrow. The Black Widow made to follow his gaze, and that's when Clint made his move.
The archer pressed a nearly invisible button on one of his wrist guards with the thumb of his opposite hand. Almost instantly, a minor explosion went off above their heads. He bucked the assassin off of him as the alleyway began to fill with smoke.
Clint jumped to his feet. "Just because I didn't kill you tonight, doesn't mean someone else won't tomorrow," he called quietly through the haze, knowing that she could hear him. The barely-there sounds of the assassin collecting her weapon and shoes reached his ears. "I can offer you an out," he continued, his voice hard. "Not safety. A purpose."
With the bait dangling, Hawkeye exited the alley the way he had entered it. He didn't expect the Black Widow to follow him, nor did she. From the rooftop, he couldn't spot her anywhere. But the look he had seem ignite in her eyes was as familiar to him as the feel of his bow. She would find him, and maybe he wouldn't have to kill her.
Clint ran a hand across his stinging forehead. It came back coated with blood. "God damnit," he grumbled as he headed back to his hotel room via the rooftops. "She did split my head open."