"I'll go." Natasha dropped her gaze, her voice soft. Just as Clint looked up at her the power flicked back on in the building and the fence hummed to life.
"Shit." Clint muttered, turning to look at the powerhouse.
"Ah, so you were responsible for the power going out then?"
"Key word being "were". Now we have to get back over that damned fence without getting fried." He ran a hand over his face.
"I know a way out." She frowned. "Let me grab a few things." Clint just nodded, leaning against the window frame and watching as she moved to a chest against the wall. She pulled two black bands out and put them around her wrist and pulled a second pistol out, holstering it on her other thigh. She grabbed a small bag from inside the chest and slipped it onto her back before moving back to the window and crawling out.
"After you." Clint waved his hands towards the fence but she turned and moved towards the back wall. "So you know your way around."
"Stop talking." She said, irritated with the man that followed her. He was different, strange even. Natasha decided she did not like him. He had broken all of the rules thus far, and her life relied heavily on rules. She kicked her foot across a trap door, knocking snow aside. She bent down and opened it up, waving a hand towards the ladder.
"How do I know you aren't about to trap me down there?"
"How do I know you aren't an idiot?" She muttered and moved towards the ladder, but he pushed past her and started down. She pulled the trapdoor closed before climbing down after him and considered kicking him in the head just for the hell of it, but decided against it; what good would it do? He'd still be just as irritating and all she'd have to go back to is Drakov and his men. And if they caught wind of her attempted escape…a shudder ran down her spine as she thought some of the cruel and unspeakable punishments she had received in the past.
"And so the spider whisk the poor fly away to her secret dungeon." Clint said dramatically as his feet touched the floor, pulling her back to the present and away from her demons. "Lovely place you have here."
"You talk too much." Natasha pulled her pistol out and looked around with a frown. "There is an occasional sentry down here sometimes. Be on your guard."
"I am Clint, by the way."
Natasha turned to look at him, a mixture of disbelief and disgust in her eyes. What assassin gave their name away so freely? Who exposed any part of their identity to someone they had just met? Her irritation with him grew as she tried to figure out just what to think about him. He hadn't killed her, but that didn't mean that he wasn't crazy or threat. For all she knew he could be leading her into a trap. Her shoulders tensed as she looked at him, wondering just how hard of a fight he'd put up if it came down to it.
"Stop looking at me like you want to eat me." Clint muttered, pulling his bow from his back and notching an arrow.
"Why in the world do you use a bow?" The question slipped from her lips before she could stop it. She didn't want to give him any ideas about talking to her.
"Because I do not believe in guns." He said very seriously. "They kill people, you know?"
"Excuse me?" Natasha scowled and he chuckled, shaking his head.
"Lighten up Red. It was a joke. I've just always been a good shot. Why change what you're good at?"
" . .that." Natasha bit off each word, her eyes narrowing.
"Well, it'd be helpful to know your name then."
"Not happening." Natasha scowled at him. "Come on, let's get out of here. Where is your extraction point?"
"The De Grand Hotel is Moscow. We have a good days hike ahead of us to make it back to my snowmobile, then it will take a few hours to reach town."
"Walk my ass." She muttered. "I'll get us a ride. There will be a guard stationed at the end of this tunnel. We can take his keys and his vehicle."
"Are you always such a ray of sunshine?"
"Do you always ask stupid questions?" She snapped, pushing ahead of him. They walked down the tunnel in silence, Natasha keeping well ahead of Clint. He followed her quietly, watching her as she watched and tried to figure out what to think about her. She was colder than anyone he had ever met and the walls she had built up around herself were rather impressive. Clint wondered just how much she had been hurt, just how many times had her trust been betrayed? And who was responsible? Clint was so lost in thought that he nearly walked into her, not realizing she had stopped.
"What's the- oh." Clint shoulders tensed as he spotted the ground of four men that stood at the end of the tunnel. They carried M14s and every last gun was pointed at them.
"Do not move, Widow." He heard one of the men say cruelly. "It seems you have acquired a stray pup on your midnight stroll."
"Get out of my way Donovac. I do not have time for your games."
"Oh, but you will when I drag you back to Drakov. Perhaps he will reward me with my efforts. Would you enjoy some time alone with me? Sedated and unable to-"
"Hey." Clint stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "How would you like a few seconds alone with me? No sedation, just you, me, and an ass beating."
"Shut up, American." Donovac spat. "You know nothing of this whore. You'll be nothing more than one of her victims before long."
"I'd be more worried about being my victim." Clint said coldly. "I really don't like assholes and I am pretty sure you are an asshole."
"Put your weapons down before I shoot your hands away." Donovac replied in a calm tone. "I won't kill you, yet. First we will find out what you are doing here and what your purpose is. And then perhaps the guard dogs will eat your filthy scrap of a body."
"Last warning Donovac, get out of my way." Natasha glared at him.
"Only if you fuck me, Na-" He never got the chance to finish his sentence. An arrow lodged in his shoulder and he stumbled backwards with a cry. The other three men's guns roared to life and Clint grabbed Natasha, yanking her behind a stack of crates.
"Get your hands off of me!" She snapped, shoving him hard and nearly knocking him out of cover.
"Sorry for trying to save your life." He muttered. He whipped another arrow from his quiver and fired a blind shot. He heard a man's cry and he smirked, knowing he had hit someone.
"Shit." Natasha swore as she heard a siren begin to wail overhead. She pulled the silencer off her pistol and fired several shots towards the end of the tunnel. "We are about to have company."
"We already have company." Clint whipped around and fired on instinct alone. His arrow found the neck of the solider who had ran up behind them. The man's weapon clattered to the ground and the man sank to his knees, dead. "We have to get out of here or we will get surrounded."
"Too late!" Natasha swore as a group of soldiers clambered down the tunnel from the direction they came. Clint shot an arrow over the top of the boxes towards the tunnels exit where several more soldiers had converged.
"I hate tight spaces." Clint muttered, firing several arrows in rapid succession. "Getting too crowded over here, can't get a clear shot."
"Then switch!" The swapped in unison, standing back to back with each other. Natasha fired slower than Clint, but every single one of her shots downed a man. Clint's bow sang as he fired arrow after arrow in the mouth of the tunnel, but the men kept pouring in. He reached for another arrow and swore when he grabbed air. He reached to his side weapon and pulled out a pistol, firing several deadly shots into the group. Clint heard the click of Natasha's empty magazine and he reached into his belt, grabbing a mag and tossing it over his shoulder. Natasha caught it, surprised, and loaded her pistol once more. The trickle of men slowed and the crowd became thinner, then stopped all together. They stood there breathing heavily and Clint holstered his pistol.
"Well then."
"You aren't a bad shot." Natasha admitted. "I was surprised."
"A bow isn't always practical." He shrugged and leg the way towards the mouth of the tunnel. He heard a click behind him and he whirled around. "Duck!" He yelled as he drew a knife and threw it in one fluid motion. A bullet flew past Natasha's head and Clint's knife found the throat of the soldier that hadn't been quite dead.
"Thanks." She looked at him in surprise. "I didn't even see him."
"Me either. I heard him." Clint shook his head and looked at her curiously. They had just fought off an entire Russian compound with nothing more than a few scrapes and bullet grazes. They had worked together with a harmony that only came from years of practice, yet they had just met. They hard worked with an uncanny harmony, and Clint could tell the woman was just as troubled by it as he was.
"Drakov is sure to send reinforcements. That was not the entire compounds guards. They'll be sending in the dogs and fraggers next. We need to move."
"Right." Clint picked up several arrows as they picked their way down the tunnel and returned them to his quiver. "Here." He grabbed a pistol from one of the soldiers and tossed it to Natasha. "There."
"Thanks." She tossed her spent pistol aside and replaced it with the new one. "You shot Donovac first…why?"
"Because I can not stand men like that." Clint scowled. He wanted to ask her just how many times she had been subjected to such a punishment, how many times they had done her wrong, but he knew better. That was opening himself up to get shot. They stepped out into the open air and Clint heaved a sigh of relief, then jumped as his cellphone rang.
"Finally!" He heard Coulson's worried voice on the other end. "Where in the hell have you been? We lost signal on you over two hours ago!"
"I've been a little busy Phil. No time to explain. Can you get a ping on our coordinates?"
"Let me see…yeah, I've got you locked in. Wait, our? Who is with you?"
"Long story. I need an extraction here as soon as you can. We aren't going to make it back to Moscow!"
"We? Clint, what in the hell have you done this time? Why is it always you?" Clint cast a sideways look at Natasha and he could tell by her smirk that she had heard Coulson.
"You have a reputation for trouble?" She raised a brow, but he ignored her.
"Can you get us out of here or not?"
"Of course I can. Give me fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes, right." Clint heard a clamber in the tunnel and he nodded at Natasha, setting off at a jog. She followed him into the forest as the baying of dogs became audible from the tunnel. "Keep a track on us, we are on the move. And we are bringing company."
"Of course you are. We are on the way."
Clint shoved the phone back into his pocket and ducked in and out of the trees. Natasha went to move straight forward but he grabbed her arm and pulled her sideways, ignoring her attempts to hit his hands. She finally relented and allowed him to lead her through the trees. She frowned as she realized they were working backwards now, back around the compound.
"We are going backwards!"
"That ledge is the only place around here they can land!" Clint staggered as a gun fired and his bicep seemed to ignite. "Damn it!" He turned Natasha loose and clutched a hand over the hole in his arm. "Don't stop moving."
"Didn't plan on it." Natasha spun around as she ran, running backwards for a brief moment and firing several shots towards the sound of the following soldiers. "You ok?"
"I'll-" A dog sprang out of no where and pounced at him. Clint hit the ground and the rolled, his arms moving to cover his face. He felt sharp teeth shred at his arm and a scream got stuck in his throat. The sound of a gun made his ears ring and blood sprayed his face as the dog's jaws relaxed on his arm. He shoved the lifeless body aside and staggered to his feet, blood pouring from several holes and shreds in his arm.
"Oh shit." Natasha's face whitened. Clint looked down at his arm and his vision swam as he saw bone. "Oh shit." She repeated.
"Keep moving." He gritted his teeth, hugging his arm to his stomach and staggering towards the ledge. The sound of a chopper came within earshot and he stumbled, heading towards the ground. Natasha caught him and hauled his arm over her shoulder before dragging him along, swearing the entire time.
"Barton!" Coulson yelled as the chopper swooped into view. A ladder dropped and swayed there before them and several bullets pinged from the metal. "Get up here!"
"Go!" Clint snapped at her, his head swimming.
"Oh, shut up and climb!" She shoved him towards the ladder. He grunted and wrapped one hand around the wrung and stepped onto the ladder. Natasha scrambled on beside him and hung there, trying to keep as much distance between there as possible.
"Pull us up!" Clint yelled, swaying slightly. Coulson hit a button and the ladder began to retract as bullets whizzed around them. Natasha felt one catch her calf and her breath caught as she fought the urge to scream.
"Can't this thing move any faster?" She snapped, grinding her teeth together. A set of hands appeared and Clint was yanked into the chopper. She used her good leg to hoist herself inside and the door slid shut behind them. She felt the chopper veer sharply and she knew they had changed directions, heading away from trouble.
"What in the hell happened?" Coulson demanded, propping Clint up against the wall. "Is that bone? Oh god."
"Move." Natasha snapped, shouldering him out of the way. She grabbed a parachute pack and ripped it open, grabbing a knife from her belt and cutting off a large strip. She wrapped it around his shredded forearm before tying it as tightly as she could, then repeated the process once more. "That should stop the bleeding until we can land. He needs stitches."
"You don't say." Coulson narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
"Does it really matter?" Natasha snapped before sinking to the ground, holding her calf. She swore in Russian and cut another strand of parachute, wrapping it around the hole in her leg.
"I am going to talk to the pilot. There has to be a friendly area we can land in long enough to get him patched up." He turned to Clint. "We'll talk as soon as you aren't dying. I need answers, sooner rather than later." He turned and looked at the woman, his brows furrowing. His face suddenly paled and he took a step back, his eyes darting to Clint. "Barton, please tell me you didn't."
"Just get us the hell out of here." Clint groaned. "You can yell at me later."
"Oh god." Coulson muttered to himself as he escaped towards the cockpit, his face white as a sheet. Natasha watched as he fumbled his phone from his pocket, hands shaking, and then the door shut, cutting them off from the other two men.
"Hey, thanks." Clint looked at Natasha intensely. "You saved my life."
"Yeah, well, you kept me from getting shot in the back of the head." She muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.
Natasha pulled her backpack off and pulled a cleaning kit from it, setting it on the ground. She tossed the borrowed pistol aside before pulling hers out and she began dissembling it with practiced ease. Silence filled the room and Clint's head dropped back against the wall. She cast a sideways glance at him, trying to make sure his chest was still rising and falling. Her breath caught for just a moment but then she saw him take a shallow breath, his body trembling. She did not like him and to make matters worse, now she owed him. And if he died while she owed him…she shook her head. This is exactly why she refused to work with others.
"Wake me when we get there. Please." His voice was barely audible and she could hear the strain there.
'What if you don't wake up?' She thought, eyeing the blood that was beginning to pool through his bandages. She couldn't help but wonder what would happen to her if he died then. Would they kill her too? Or imprison her? Or worse, send her back. She shivered and sat the pieces of her pistol down, studying his face.
"Ok." She finally said. She paused for a moment and watched his head sag towards his chest. "Romanoff. You can call me Romanoff."