A/N: Thank you everyone for your patience and your reviews! I'm back to the land of internet and back to my regular posting schedule. Also, I am not an expert on explosives or deafness so I apologize for any inaccuracies there. And everything I know about this particular incident in Budapest I learned from Wikipedia so accuracy there depends on your faith in Wikipedia.
ShoshonaThe Rose: Yes, the rest of the Avengers will eventually make it into the story, and the phone call doesn't quite go the way you predicted, but don't worry, there's plenty of heartbreaking angst surrounding it.
Warnings: Major character death (canon compliant)
Clint's on a particularly tricky mission that involves explosives. He's not used to the types of bombs they're using because they're modeled off a terrorist cell's, but they're trying to make this hit look like it'd been the terrorists who'd done it, so Clint's playing with new toys.
He doesn't mind, too grateful that he's been let back into the field. Coulson thought he needed time off, because he'd taken out Trick Shot and Barney in such quick succession, but Clint convinced Fury otherwise, and now he's working with Smithfield, because Smithfield is in charge of the Azerbaijan situation, and Coulson is still putting up a fuss about Clint being back to work so soon.
Clint knows the drill by heart. He's supposed to rig the explosives when he gets the signal from Shepard and then run. They're setting off five separate blasts along this road, and Clint's is important for distraction. It's Harris's bomb that's going to hit the target.
"Time for some fun," Shepard says over the comm.
Clint grins and starts fiddling with the bomb to get the countdown started. His cell phone rings as the numbers start to countdown from 2:00. He pauses because he'd brought his phone as a distant hope, not because he thought he'd use it. Only one person has the number on this phone, and they know only to call if it's an extreme emergency.
1:56
Clint flips his phone open. "Dean?" He tries not to sound panicked, but he is. He and Dean have spoken sparingly since Barney's death, both dancing around each other, not wanting to fight again, but not really knowing what to say. The fact that Dean is calling him without checking first, when he knows that Clint is on a mission, is bad.
"Clint?" Dean sounds terrified and his voice trembles like he's on the verge of tears.
1:52
"I'm here. What's up?" Clint tries to sound casual as if he's not in the middle of the desert, like they're friends chatting about some mundane aspect of their lives, but neither of them have the luxury of mundane moments.
"I can hear them coming for me," Dean chokes out. "They're barking, and they're getting closer, and I really thought I was going to get out of this. I thought—"
Clint hears him swallow back a sob, and his heart stutters. This is it. The recordings Dean had made for Clint had information on Hellhounds, about the monstrous creatures that come for those who've bargained and literally drag them to hell. Clint tries to push back his own fear, because whatever he's feeling, Dean must be feeling ten times worse, and Clint can't let him do this alone.
"I know," Clint says. "I'm here. I'll be here the whole time."
Dean takes several shaky breaths. "You were right. I'm a selfish son of a bitch."
"I'm sure your mother was a lovely person," Clint chokes on his attempted laugh. "You shouldn't talk about her like that."
1: 45
"She was incredible. I should've told you this earlier. Or maybe I shouldn't tell you at all, but I'm down to my last few minutes on Earth, and I'm already going to hell so I might as well be a selfish dick."
"Barton, what the hell are you doing?" Shepard shouts through the comm. "Move your ass!"
Clint rips his earpiece out and tosses it to the ground. Dean's about to tell him something important, and he's not going to miss it.
"You're important to me," Dean says. "You weren't supposed to be, I mean you almost got me killed so I should've kicked your ass and walked away, but—" Dean pauses and Clint can hear deranged barking through the phone. "oh shit," Dean says, "they're here. Shit! Wait. I love you. Dick move to say now, but you deserve to know. That dinner date we had—it was—"
Clint hears the tearing of fabric, Dean screaming and then a loud smack as the phone hits something, presumably the floor. The growling of the dogs is louder, and he can hear claws ripping through skin, the drag of a body. Dean's screams mix with someone elses's—Sam?—and a woman is laughing.
Suddenly the screams are gone. Clint pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it for a long moment. Dean's gone. For real this time. Dragged to hell. And yet. He said that he loved him. Clint should've said something back. He should've given him something positive to take to hell with him. He should've done something besides just stand here.
1:01
Clint spots the red numbers and swears spill from his mouth. He's going to get himself blown up if he doesn't hurry. He can think about this later. Shit. He jams his phone into his vest and starts running.
He knows he's not going to make it. There was a reason the timer was set for two minutes. He needed time to get away from the reach of the blast. He's only given himself a minute. He forces his legs to move faster, his arms to pump harder.
His heart is pounding in his chest, sweat is dripping down his face, and his whole body is tense waiting for the explosion.
It still catches him off guard. There is a deafening sound and he's swept off his feet then slammed into the ground, and everything goes dark.
"I can do it," Clint insists, crossing his arms over his chest.
"No you can't," Coulson says.
Clint turns his full glare on the agent. "Are you discriminating against me for my disability? Because I'm positive that's against SHIELD policy."
Coulson takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he's a professional. He knows that Agent Barton hates rest between missions, but he needs to take a break. Two incredibly personal missions should've been enough to bench him at least until he'd had some psych evals done, but now he'd gotten himself injured on what should've been a straightforward mission.
"You're still getting used to your hearing aids," Coulson says, "and you haven't finished rehabbing your arm. Your physical therapist says another three weeks at least."
When Clint had woken up from the explosion he'd been in the hospital, and his skin felt tight like a bad sunburn, and any small movement hurt. His skin was too sensitive to touch anything, and his muscles were sore like he had a bad case of the flu. Coulson had been there, though, sitting at his bedside waiting for him to wake up.
He didn't scold Clint for going off on a mission Coulson warned him against, didn't ask him what went wrong with the bomb, just looked at him and said 'are you okay'. Only, Clint didn't hear the words so much as see them. And when Clint answered his voice sounded weird, like he was underwater and listening to people talk above him.
He remembers the first bite of panic, how his chest constricted, and the machines started beeping rapidly. He remembers Coulson reaching out a hand and touching one of the few places Clint hadn't been burned by the explosion. His touch had been comforting, grounding, and Clint knew he hadn't deserved that.
The memory doesn't stop him from fighting with Coulson now though. Clint doesn't like sitting still, and he hates being on medical leave. He doesn't want to sit around his apartment thinking about Dean, replaying their last conversation, dreaming about what their live could've been like if things had worked out differently. He doesn't want to spend his days staring at his cell phone, waiting for it to light up and for Dean to say 'hey guess what, I came back from the dead again'.
He needs to move so he can forget. He needs something to focus on, and he's found the perfect mission.
"She's only saying that because she wants you to sleep with her," Clint says. "I want to go to Budapest. It has the Widow's MO written all over it. I bet she seduced Gyurcsány, stole his speech, and published it to rile things up. She's still there, and I can get her."
"Absolutely not. You're on limited activity and even if you weren't, I wouldn't send you after the Black Widow on your first mission after a serious change to your routine."
"A serious change to my routine?" Clint rolls his eyes. "I'm partially deaf. It's okay, you can say it."
There's a knock at Coulson's door, Coulson's glad for the excuse to put a momentary end to this fight. "Come in."
Fury enters and if he seems surprised that Clint is there, he doesn't show it. "How are the hearing aids working?"
"Just fine, sir. I can even adjust them to pick up things I couldn't before."
Fury nods. "I'll pass your thanks on to Tony Stark. Having you been hitting the range?"
"Yes sir. I'm recovered."
"No you're not," Coulson says. "Don't lie to the director."
Fury looks between the two of them as they glare at each other, trying to figure out which one to believe. "Barton, I want a full physical assessment. If you're feeling as good as you claim, we're going to need you."
"Mission?" Clint asks perking up.
"We need our best on this one," Fury says. "Go report to Dr. Ledah. She's expecting you."
Coulson waits until Clint's left and shut the door behind him to protest. "You can't bring Barton to Budapest."
"We need our best," Fury repeats, "and Barton's the best."
"He's broken."
"Then you fix him. If he passes the tests, we're flying out tomorrow. A recording of the Prime Minister was just released where he admitted that not only had his party lied to win the election but that they'd done nothing useful in the four years they've been governing for. Chaos is going to break out, and the Widow will stay to watch some of it, but our window to catch her is going to be small."
Clint listens to the file on the fight to Budapest. He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to look at Coulson's disapproving frown and works on committing everything to memory. She's been raised by the Russians to be a femme fatale, and she's the best in the business.
She's more than that though. She's also an assassin, a well-trained one if her body count is anything to go by. Clint listens to lists of her victims, and he wonders how a woman like her is made. The file obligingly goes into detail about the "Red Room", a rumored facility where orphaned Russian children are molded into killers.
Everyone's heard of the Red Room, part of the anti-Soviet propaganda that's so popular in US government agencies, but he'd thought it was just that. Propaganda. A tall tale told to keep US agents in line. "You think our training is tough? Be glad you didn't have to train in the Red Room". He's heard everything from it's a torture chamber to they actually have brainwashing machines, and he doesn't think he believes any of it.
Besides, it doesn't matter what her background is. All that matters is that he's been given orders to kill her, and SHIELD is trusting him to follow through. If you kill someone then it's over. He takes a deep breath and pushes the voice of a dead friend from his mind. Dean's philosophy on life had gotten him killed, and Clint has plans for living for a nice long time.
Why?
He shoves the question aside. Why does anyone live? Because they're alive. Because they have to. Because they're proving to the world that they're strong enough to keep breathing no matter how shitty life gets. Death is admitting defeat, and Clint isn't done fighting.
There is chaos in the streets when Clint gets to Budapest. The peaceful protests are no longer peaceful and the riot police have dispersed in to the crowds with tear gas and a water cannon. He flinches as some of the crowd, ones who weren't protesting get hit. Several people run back. Others surge forward, determined to meet this attack with one of their own.
He's turning away when he spots a child getting trampled by the crowd. He's going to jump off his perch when he sees someone scoop the child up and run with her. The woman tucks the child to her chest and shoves her way through the crowd, unafraid to knock people to the ground when they get in her way.
Her movements are efficient and have signs of some kind of training. Clint tracks her movement, and her headscarf is ripped free by someone in the crowd. Red hair tumbles out, and Clint's breath catches in his throat.
No.
It can't be this easy. Can it?
He grabs his binoculars. He's found the Black Widow, and she's moving out of a crowd and into open space where he can easily hit her. No one will even think anything of it now that the police and the rioters are fully engaged.
He picks his bow up and remembers that she has a child in her arms. He decides the psychological trauma to the child is worth the Black Widow being eliminated. He nocks an arrow.
He's pulling the string back when he realizes that she's holding a little girl. A little girl she rescued from what would've been an extremely painful death. His grip loosens. She'd saved this girl's life.
But how many others had she cost? He pulls the string back to his ear. He has a clear shot. He should take it.
If you kill someone then it's over. You've run out of options or you've given up on them. He has options right now. He doesn't have to kill her. But he has his orders. But she just saved a little girl.
If he doesn't shoot soon he's going to lose her. She's going to disappear behind that building and then he's going to have to track her. All he has to do is let go, and he'll hit her. He'll have taken down one of the greatest threats to the free world.
If you kill someone then it's over.
In the end, you're the one pulling the trigger or letting the arrow go. You are the one killing them. You have to make sure your conscience is okay with that.
Now is not the time for Clint to start questioning orders. After he kills her, sure, but right now? Right now he could secure his place as greatest agent in the history of the world. Why is he hesitating?
Hell's real.
Damn it. Clint returns his arrow and straps his bow to his back. He can't kill her right now. She's holding an innocent child, and maybe the rumors are true about the Red Room. Maybe she's been trained to do this. Maybe she can be trained to stop. He can't kill her until he tries.
If you kill someone then it's over. You've run out of options or you've given up on them.
Clint digs his earpiece out and tosses it onto the roof the building he's one. He stomps on it with his heel and starts moving. A few roof jumps and he's caught up with the Widow. She's turned down an alley with the girl, but he's not being very quiet, and she turns up to look at him, her free hand reaching for her gun.
Clint holds up his hands in the universal surrender sign. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"You're just stalking me," she says pulling her gun out.
"I was going to kill you, but I've reconsidered. The people I work with haven't so you might not want to stand still."
With one hand, Natasha tucks the girl's head into her shoulder so she can't see what's going on. With her other, Natasha points her gun at Clint. "Why should I trust you?"
"If I wanted you dead you wouldn't have made it out of the crowd."
She considers this and lowers her gun. "I prefer to talk face to face."
Clint grins and climbs down the side of the building. He lands about ten feet in front of her, and he approaches but gives her enough space to feel comfortable. "This isn't a good place for us to talk."
Natasha unwinds the girl from her body and puts her on the ground. "Can you get home from here?"
The girl nods and gives Natasha's hand a squeeze before running off.
Clint watches her go. "She was your best insurance of not getting killed. Our guys hesitate before shooting children."
Natasha shrugs. "Aren't you worried that defecting will get you killed?"
"Who said anything about defecting? I want you to join my side."
Natasha raises an eyebrow. "You're crazy."
Clint grins. "You have no idea. I bet there are snipers moving into position as we speak. Our best bet is to get back to the riot. We can lose them there."
"And then what?"
"Then we find my handler. He'll know what to do."
"I could kill you right now," Natasha says. "I could knock you out and leave you. Why should I follow you?"
Clint really hasn't thought this plan through very well. "Aren't you tired of following orders? Of doing everything the Russians tell you to? Don't you want to be your own person, be Natasha Romanov instead of the Black Widow?"
She laughs at that. "You're obviously government and since you're American I'm guessing CIA. Don't tell me you don't have to follow rules there."
Clint smiles. "I broke them by not shooting you the moment I recognized you."
"You'll get killed or fired for that."
"In that case, we'll run away together and be killers for hire."
Natasha's silent for a moment. "You are crazy." Her eyes light up. "I like it."
She grabs his hand and they start running back toward the riots.
"You need to toss that," Natasha says as they push their way through the crowd. "They're going to be tracking it now."
Clint's texted Coulson so they can meet up. He'd texted him in code, and he desperately hopes that Coulson understands it and doesn't have the place lined with snipers when they go to meet him.
"I can't." Clint rubs his finger over the phone. For a while this phone only texted and called one number though Coulson's personal cell (Clint stole the number one day when he was bored) now makes that two. It's the only link he has left to Dean, and Clint can't just throw it away, especially not to be trampled in the streets of Budapest.
"Sentimentality will get you killed."
"I know but I've learned that you have to take that chance, because if you don't care about anyone then you're not human and it's not really worth living."
Natasha pauses, managing to freeze even though they're being jostled by protesters and there are elbows flying and people trying to push through, and for a moment Clint thinks she can see straight into his soul.
"Americans," she says dismissively and then they're moving again.
