A/N: Heeeey, I finally decided to do these author's note thingies! I wanted to thank everyone who has taken the time to read this story and even more so to those who have reviewed. I hadn't planned on writing it at this pace - that silly "real life" business keeps getting in the way - but those comments have kept me going. A guest comment recommended that I edit the story label to warn this is a Clintasha piece, which is a good point. You'e been officially warned now, mwahahaaa! ^_^

Also, I'm on holiday this weekend and might not get much opportunity to write. We'll see. I'm pretty curious to see where these two end up, though... ;)

Having determined the most advantageous course, Natalia literally leapt into action. In less than two seconds, she was in front of the older girl. Katerina was already on guard, but several quick feints from her tiny adversary left her off-balance. Like water flowing over rocks, Natalia moved smoothly through her paces. A deceptively powerful blow to the chin was immediately followed by a sharp jab to the windpipe. Katerina crumpled like a paper doll, gurgling strangely. Wasting no time, Natalia bent down and pulled the gun barrel from her opponent's pocket, and ran back to the work table. Her little hands were a blur assembling the weapon. Matron clicked the stopwatch. 22 seconds. Natalia would eat today.

After the bandages went on, he helped her into her SHIELD suit. It was hotter than hell, but the stiffness of the leather made her feel more secure, like perhaps she wasn't going to fly apart in the next moment. Clint, however, was still suffocating in the heat. He pulled his tactical vest on over his undershirt, silently daring her to laugh at him.

They hadn't spoken since he dressed her bullet wounds. He had turned rather glum, and she had no idea what to say. She stretched experimentally, cringing slightly but satisfied with her range of motion. He watched her without comment.

Natasha pondered her options as she strapped her holsters on. They needed time, they needed a plan, they needed to talk... on more than one front. They'd had enough of a roller coaster already today, though; it seemed safest to start with the mission.

"How do you want to play this?" she asked, her tone purely business.

Her partner was pulling on his pants. "Let's call it out by the numbers. Objective number one, you. Assume the extraction point is compromised. We find an alternate exit strategy and we play it cautiously. We stay low and go. You set the pace, and when in doubt, we stop. Got it?" He grabbed up his quiver and bow.

Her lips were a thin line, but she nodded curtly.

"Number two, Dodona. The counsellor is at risk with his security chief gone rogue. I don't know what Timo's agenda is, but I don't need to. All I have to do is keep Dodona alive. Objective number three. Timo." Clint's grip on his bow tightened until his knuckles were white.

"I'm only going to say this once," Natasha spoke softly. "But he should be captured alive and interrogated. Whatever his agenda is, it likely goes deeper than just him and we put the entire council in jeopardy by throwing away our single source of information."

Clint picked up his bag and slung it across his back. "Noted. Glad we're only going over that once."

"I'm not going to pretend I don't want him dead, Clint. I do. Just... just try to remember the big picture, okay? Please?"

He didn't respond, picking her machine guns up from the bed and holding them out to her. She calmly holstered both of them, trusting that the message was received.

"18:35," he checked his watch. "It's a safe bet we've already got guns out there for us. We need to clear out now. Recommendations?"

"Remember Sana'a?"

He nodded. "Balcony to balcony? You okay for a bit of climbing?"

Natasha gave him the brightest smile she could manage. "Just try to keep up, Barton." She snagged her Grach handgun off the dresser and looked around the room she had died in one final time. "Let's go."

They proceeded stealthily through dimly lit corridors, several floors down to a small and quiet terrace a few stories from the ground. They hovered in the shadows as they surveyed their surroundings.

"How are you feeling?" Clint checked in with his partner, mentally noting that he'd never seen her so pale before.

"Better than expected," she replied. "We can pick up the pace. There is a sniper on the roof two buildings down. What are the odds he's a tourist?"

"A little evening skeet shooting, why not?"

"He's in for a nasty surprise when he realizes you're a hawk, not a pigeon," she joked, and he gave her a funny look. "...what?"

"That was bizarrely complimentary, Romanova," he smiled. He pursed his lips. "I feel bad taking him out from here. There's no way the whole retinue are turn-coats, my gut says Timo's team is clean. Non-lethal force wherever possible."

"Oh, great," she replied. "Now I get to do all the work."

"Hey, you said you wanted to pick up the pace, firecracker. Besides, I'm fresh out of 'tickle the bad guy until he faints' arrows."

She snorted. "Fine. Give the lady a boost, then." She put her hands on his shoulders. In one single motion, she bounced into his hands and he effortlessly tossed her up towards the side of the neighboring apartments. She propelled off the sandstone, back towards their building, and flawlessly kick-flipped off the wall over onto the roof next door. She landed already in a sprint, and was gone before he could blink twice.

Immediately, his brain was in overdrive. She was pushing too hard, she wasn't telling him the truth. Less than two hours ago, she was bleeding to death in his arms and he was breathing for her. How many sutures was she pulling out right now? Why did he think she should be scampering up buildings to confront gunmen head on?

Right at the instant panic seized him, her tousled red head appeared over the rooftop above him. "Hey hotshot," she called down, "did you miss me?"

Oh, right. He thought she should do it because she could. She was Natasha Romanoff. He rolled his eyes at her, and she beamed down at him. Skillfully, she hopped from the roof down onto a balcony and had climbed back down to the terrace in seconds.

"Nice work, Tash."

"The uniform confused the hell out of him. Timo didn't mention that his 'insurgents' were flying SHIELD colors."

"Good, maybe that will buy us some breathing room."

"That would be nice, because we need to get moving. They are rolling up a machine gun across the street," she pointed down the block.

"Dammit!" Clint exclaimed, and they quickly scampered down to street level via the next door balconies.

With the big guns coming out, they seemed to agree they had no time to waste. In perfect unison, Hawkeye and the Black Widow advanced down the narrow alley. Without warning, Natasha began to run towards the building she pointed out previously. Clint stayed in the shadow, constantly scanning the area in case her had to provide cover. Without a word, he pulled five arrows from his quiver simultaneously and knocked them onto his bow. Natasha didn't slow down as she approached the wall, but barely a heartbeat before impact, she leapt up into the air. At the apogee of her jump, the archer released his arrows and they shot into the wall right at the very instant that his partner descended. She ran up what was suddenly a perfect arrow staircase without any hesitation, flipping up onto the roof smoothly. In the blink of an eye, she had dispatched the machine gun crew with silent efficiency. From the height of the roof, she scanned the area quickly before jumping over the side. She grabbed the top arrow and circled it as though performing a grand rotation on uneven bars. She dropped to the next arrow while pulling out the first one, and when her feet landed back on the ground, she was holding all five arrows out to Clint.

"Show-off," was what Clint meant to say. When he saw her shining green eyes and flushed cheeks, her lips curled into an elated grin, however, that wasn't what came out when he opened his mouth. "You are fucking amazing," he burst out.

They both seemed surprised by his words. Flush with adrenaline and endorphins, Natasha's next action could only be described as reckless. Ignoring the burning in her chest, she grabbed the straps of his tactical vest and pulled him sharply towards her. His exclamation of shock was smothered as she mashed her lips up against his. He was off-balance in every way possible: falling against her fists, unsure where to put his arrows, his head swimming with want and need but not understanding what she was doing, and his entire being drowning in the hunger and desperation of her mouth. The pit of his stomach clenched with desire, steadying him, and suddenly he was giving as good as he got.

Natasha was completely overpowered by yearning for her own partner. She roughly pushed him up towards the sandstone wall without breaking their kiss, unable to bear the aching thought of ever letting him go. She pressed up against him even as she pulled him closer, she wanted to tangle her hands in his sandy blond hair but wasn't able to untangle them from his vest, she wanted to kiss him breathless at the same time that all the words that had been dammed up inside her wanted to pour out. She unconsciously telegraphed all of these dilemmas to her partner, and with great reluctance, he grabbed her hands from his chest and broke away from her lips.

"I'll be honest," he gasped, his voice rough. "I'm not sure if you're kissing or attacking me. I've gotta say that I'm enjoying the hell out of it either way, but maybe it should be clear for the record... is this you stabbing that hypothetical guy with your knife?"

Natasha was breathing hard. "You can be such an idiot, sometimes, Barton," she despaired. "We're in crappy cover and it's sheer luck that we don't have civilians all over us, and you want me to clarify my motives for wanting you so badly it hurts?"

"I want you to tell me why you asked about love earlier," he replied, his eyes widening. So much for steering them back on track.

"I dunno," she sighed, sounding rather exasperated. "Death-bed regrets? I have no idea how this is supposed to work, Clinton! I know it's convenient to bash it into a metaphor and talk about love like it's just another weapon in my arsenal, but I think at that point we really just mean sex, don't we? I've spent my whole life confusing the two and it honestly hadn't occurred to me there was a difference until now."

He was staring at her as though she had just announced her intention to retire from espionage and take up competitive flower arranging.

"And I hate to ruin the mood, trust me, because I was really enjoying that, I think we should probably haul some ass. I'm holding up surprisingly well and we should make a play for Dodona together. We can bicker about our feelings later, okay?"

"Promises, promises," he muttered, finally jabbing his arrows back into his quiver. "But okay. If you're sure you're not about to peg out on me..."

"I'm sure," she interrupted.

"Alright, then. Let's go catch ourselves a counsellor."