Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers, if I did I would be in fangirl heaven. The characters belong to their respective owners.
Author's Note: So here's the end, I hope it doesn't disappoint.
A huge thank you to everyone who encouraged this story and took the time to leave a reveiw,a fav or add this to their alerts.
Your amazing!
Silvermonkey
Natasha dodged between the trees, their black silhouettes merging into one. Clint was struggling to keep up, feet slipping and sliding on the slick mud. His head throbbed, like someone had it in a vice and was squeezing. It was almost thirty minuets back to the safe house but Clint was certain White's men would have regrouped by now and would be coming after them. Somewhere in the distance the two agents could hear the distant sound of quadbikes.
Natasha swore violently in russian.
Clint arched an eyebrow.
The assasian glowered at him, "This is your fault for getting caught in the first place."
"My fult?" Clint injected mock hurt into his tone, "I was out numbered."
"So you say," her voice was cold but her eyes sparkled slightly.
Clint glanced around, eyes searching for shelter of some kind. The storm was still raging above them and the rain made it impossible to see for any amount of distance, even with the archer's vision.
Natasha followed his gaze, "Did you see anything when you were conducting surveillance?"
Pursing his lips Hawkeye tried to recall anything useful from his preliminary scout. Nothing instantly came to mind. He called up the mental map he'd previously created. Twisting his head he attempted to locate a land mark. There, a previously lightning ravaged tree, split down the centre and leaning a little to the left.
"There's an abandoned tample to your left."
The assasin smirked, "Got to love Tibet."
Clint half laughed, half coughed, "Admit it, you love Tibet because its full of mountains and miles away from civiliseation."
"That is a bonus."
Natasha veered left and they started to assend. The trees thinned into a dirt path, well it had been until the rain, now it was a mud coloured stream. Even so they slogged upwards until they could see the outline against the clouds.
Carefully the Black Widow eased her partner to the ground, "How's the concussion?"
Clint concentrated, "Not bad, bearly a grade one." He coughed violently, his ribbs jarring.
Natasha pulled off one of her gloves, cool fingers lightly brushing against his forhead, "You're hot."
"Thanks," the archer teased.
Frowning Natasha replaced her glove, "Seriously, do you feel cold?"
All humour drained from his expression, "Aren't you?"
"No."
"Damn it," Clint looked away.
Loading a new magazine the Black Widow moved towards one of the windows, "How long were you outside?"
"Since they got me," the archer replied sheepishly.
Natasha turned back looking him up and down, "Can you fight?"
He met her gaze, "Always."
The loud drone of the quads reched their ears over the rumbles of thunder. Clint heaved himself upright and joined his partner by the window squinting into the gloom, "I count ten."
She nodded handing him a spare gun and one of her prized knives.
"Phil's going to kill me," Clint muttered.
Natasha quirked an eyebrow.
"At least it wasn't my favourite bow," he mumbled sorrowfully.
"Focus."
They flanked the door way and waited. The engines cut and they could hear the mercenaries dismount. Thug number one didn't stand a chance. Natasha caught him across the jugular and pushed his body into the room behind them. The second met the same sticky end by Clint's hand.
Merc's numbers three and four opened fire but two well placed bullets from Clint ended them. Thug five got three shots off forcing Clint to dive for cover. Natasha elbowed him in the face, her leg sweeping round to knock him on his back. Thug five's knife slashed down her shin. Wincing Natasha darted backwards. Hawkeye took him out with a bullet to the head.
The assasian nodded sharply in thanks. Thug six creased Natasha's arm before she broke his back. Number seven shot number eight as Clint swung him round to act as a human sheild. Natasha shot him twice in the chest.
Nine's blade glanced off Clint's cheek. The archer spun lodging his knife between the man's ribbs. Number ten ducked Natasha's intended head shot. He came up swinging, one fist coliding with Clint's nose. Natasha used nine's falling body as a spring board launching herself into the air, her legs wrapped round ten's throat, she locked them and twisted letting her momentum do the rest ofthe work.
Panting and bleeding from surface wounds the two assasins stood surveying the carnage.
"Do you think you can get away with this?"
They both spun round weapons flying up in defence.
White stood ridged in the enterence his entier body trembling with poorly concealed rage.
Natasha narrowed her eyes, "You should have remained hidden."
The weapons trader raised his gun, "Oh really."
"Yes, now we have more than your scare to identify you with," she stated cooly.
White's expression wavered, perhaps he had made a mistake.
Clint aimed carefully, "I might not have a skewer but I hear a bullet does as much damage."
Panic crept across the man's face. One bullet whizzed past Barton's head, the second narrowly missed his knee.
Natasha grabbed his wrist and twisted it painfully, "Don't"
Hawkeye lined up his shot once more and fired with the next breath.
Romanoff dropped the body with disgust, "Did you have too?" she wiped crimson from her face with her hand.
Clint sagged, exhaustion finally catching up with him.
Natasha was by his side in an instant, "Are you hit?"
"No but you are."
"It can wait. We still have three minuets to get to the airstrip."
Clint smirked, "And somebody kindly donated us some quadbikes."
