Alright, alright, you get your stinkin' Budapest. Sheesh leave me alone!
Nah, just kidding. I was actually really excited to write this and it was pretty fun, too. Thanks to my reviewers, ya'll made my day.
Budapest, Hungary
September 18
0022 hours
Hawkeye kicked the back door to his safe house open and walked inside, carrying a still-unconscious Black Widow over his shoulder. He dropped her on the couch with about all the gentleness of a dead gorilla and dragged himself to the kitchen, barely mustering the energy to set up the coffee maker. He cursed himself for not having set up one of those fancy ones that you just put the little cup in and out comes your coffee ten seconds later, all hot and bitter and energizing. Then, he made a face at himself for even having that kind of thought. He was so…damn…tired.
It sure took a lot of work to get out of SHIELD's line of sight. Sure, he knew how, but it didn't make it any less of a hassle. It had taken eight favors, nine plane flights, six times going through customs, and countless times lying about why he was carrying a sleeping redhead, all just to get him the relatively-not-far distance from Morocco to Budapest. Well, to get him there without SHIELD being able to track him, at least. Jet lag eventually caught up to even the best.
The coffee maker beeped, snapping him out of his daze. He pulled the pot out and drank the stuff black. Cups were overrated, anyway. Feeling a bit better, Clint smacked himself in the forehead. He had forgotten to put any sort of restraint on the Black Widow. How stupid could he be?
Moving as fast as he could in his current state of exhaustion, he pulled a rope from his bag and tied her wrists together. He was about to tie her ankles when he noticed the broken one again. After digging around for his first aid kit and a few other supplies, he set to work putting a splint on it. Unbeknownst to him, Natasha was awake and watching him, wincing every once in a while but remaining silent.
Try as she might, Natasha couldn't figure out why SHIELD's infamous Hawkeye had brought her here, nor why he was currently tending to the ankle she had broken several days ago. She wasn't afraid, per say. More like extremely wary. This man was the only person in the world who could match her. Her wrists were bound, her ankle was throbbing with renewed vigor at being touched, and all her weapons were gone. Not to mention that her head was still a little foggy from the amount of gas she had inhaled. In other words, if he noticed her soon, she was screwed.
When Hawkeye finished, he sat back on his heels and inspected his work. The splint wasn't quite conventional, made from things he found around the house, but it was definitely functional. He smirked, proud of what he had accomplished.
"Is that seriously a handle from a spoon?"
The voice caught him off guard. He spun around to see the Black Widow, fully conscious, watching him with curious eyes. To his credit, he recovered quickly.
"It's from a spatula, actually," he informed her, looking at her strangely.
The way he was looking at her made her uncomfortable, not that she showed it. "What?" she demanded.
"Of all the questions you could ask, the first thing on your mind is what I set your ankle with?"
"Well, I'm not really in the position to be asking anything else, am I?" she snapped.
He smirked at her and stood up, moving towards the kitchen.
"Where are you going?" Natasha demanded. She pushed herself into a sitting position and attempted to stand.
"Sit back down. I left your feet untied as a courtesy because of your ankle. Don't make me tie them," he sighed. She slowly did as told. The two stared at each other in tense silence for several minutes. Clint didn't like the way she was looking at him; it felt like her eyes were cutting into his soul. It was that day that he learned the true meaning of "a deafening silence."
"I'm Clint," he said finally, breaking the silence.
"What?"
"My name's Clint. Clint Barton. Yours would be?" he asked. Of course, he already knew, but he was attempting to form some sort of trust.
She saw through it immediately. "You're from SHIELD. You've probably known my name since you joined up."
"You have a hell of a lot of names," he admitted. "Which one is the real one?"
Natasha blinked at him. Her real name? If only he knew how complicated that really was. Was it her given name, the one her parents had given her? The name the Red Room gave her? The name on the passport she had with her now? Feeling a surge of defiance toward her supposed 'bosses', she chose the first option. "Natasha Romanoff."
Clint nodded, but didn't say anything more, letting her take the next move.
"Why am I here?" she asked.
"I want to make you an offer," he told her. "SHIELD want's you dead. If you refuse, I'm going to have to kill you, just telling you in advance."
"Well, that certainly sways my decision," she said sarcastically. "What's your play, Barton?"
"Come back to SHIELD headquarters with me. Work for us," he proposed.
She glared at him in outrage. How dare he suggest such a thing? Russia was her home, her country. Her first language was Russian, her heritage (or what she knew of it) was Russian. She was one-hundred percent loyal to Russia. Maybe not to the exact government at the moment, but definitely to Russia. "Never," she growled vehemently.
He sighed. "Look, Natasha, I know how the Russians treat people like you. In case you forgot, I've had Red Room students and graduates as my marks. But there's a difference between them and you. I saw that look in your eyes when I told you Jason was forced into being an assassin. You didn't want this life, you were dragged into it. You have a heart, no matter how locked up it is. They are going to force that out of you and make you a cold-hearted, mindless killer, just like they did to all the other Red Room girls. It's not too late to make a better choice. Come to our side; shoot the bad guys for once, not the good guys."
"Liar!" She shrieked. "I may not have chosen this life, but neither did they. If what I have is a heart, then so did they. I am one of them. My skills may be greater, yes, but this only means that my government will have my back even more. My government is on my side. I do shoot the bad guys. I shoot lying pigs like you!"
He sighed at her words. "I didn't kill Jason. Your government will see that as a failure. Both our governments know we're together right now. They're already going to think you've defected. They're going to kill you if you go back."
"My government would never do this!"
As fate wanted to prove one of them wrong, a bullet came through the window, narrowly missing both of them. "It's your government!" they shouted at the same time.
"It doesn't matter whose government it is, but we both die here if we don't work together," Clint said.
"Agreed. But you need to give me my weapons back for me to fight," she added. He nodded and grabbed his bag. He dumped her weapons on the table. She hurriedly began strapping them on.
"Can you stand?" Clint asked.
"I was last night, was I not?"
"Point taken."
And then the door busted in.
-The Tale of the Widow and the Hawk-
The Black Widow and Hawkeye fought back-to back for the first time that day. It wouldn't be the last time they had each other's back in a firefight. They never officially found out whose government had attacked Clint's safe house. Clint always blamed Russia and Natasha would adamantly say it was Uncle Sam. But when it was over, and dead bodies lay strewn all around them, Natasha looked at one in particular for a long time. When she finally turned away, she agreed to Clint's offer. She never told anyone why she stared into the eyes of a dead man for so long.
SHIELD did not welcome Natasha with open arms, by any means. But after years went by, they began to trust her, and eventually accept her as one of their own. She was finally accepted into the tight-knit family that was Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. Clint became her full-time partner, and they never once failed a mission. Something neither of them would acknowledge began to grow, a strange attraction that led to watching each other when they thought they wouldn't be noticed and touching hands a moment longer than needed when passing a bag of chips (or weapons…). And then, he was called off one day to somewhere to guard something, and she was sent to Russia, of all places. To be honest, the mission was a waste of her talent.
And then Phil Coulson called.
End of story.
Not gonna lie, that was a tough one. But it was a fun challenge, and a pleasure to write. Reviews very much appreciated. Hope you liked it.
BA&A
