Chapter 6

The debriefing was every bit as awkward as Clint imagined it would be.

"So let me get this straight, Barton," Fury said flatly. "You decided, on your own initiative, to spare the Black Widow."

"Yes," Clint confirmed.

"Do you have any idea what could happen because of this?"

"As a matter of fact, sir, I do."

"Then I would love and explanation right now, as to why I shouldn't execute you for treason right now." Yup, Fury was scary when he was ticked.

"I already told you, sir. I believe she truly regrets some of her past actions."

"And I think you're a naïve fool."

"Then I'm a fool. I acted in what seemed to be the best way at the time, and if it comes back to bite, then I will accept the consequences, sir."

Fury looked at him for a moment, his one good eye glaring hard at Clint. "You're willing to stand by that?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

Fury stopped glaring and simply looked at him. Shaking his head, he said, "I think you're in the wrong line of work; you're too trusting." He turned and began walking away. "Actually, I've been looking for someone with her skill set to complete a team."

"Do you have anyone else lined up?"

"As a matter of fact, I do: you."

Clint looked at him in surprise.

Fury nodded. "The whole idea behind this team was to have a small number of people with similar skill sets but differing strengths to be a sort of all-purpose team. You were the first part. Your hand to hand isn't bad, but your eyes more than make up for it because you can hit before anyone knows you're there. I needed someone with better close-up skills. Since no one else will trust her once they find out who she was, we can add her to the team, if she's willing to work for me."

"I'll have to talk to her first."

"Do that later. You look like crap."

Clint laughed ruefully, running a hand through his hair. He really needed a freakin' shower. "Yeah, well, at least the clean clothes removed most of the puke smell."

Fury smiled, a rare event in and of itself. "Congratulations, Agent Barton, you get to keep your job. Keep in mind though: if she's playing you, your career goes straight south."

Clint laughed again. "Isn't that why I'm here in the first place?"

Fury extended a hand. As the other shook it, he said, "Go talk to your prospective partner, then get some rest. And take a shower before you come in tomorrow!"

"Yes, sir,"

Natasha had been seen into the waiting room by a polite female agent with short black hair, given a cup of coffee and left to amuse herself. No one mentioned she'd be on her own for two hours. The coffee long gone, she was currently amusing herself by imagining every way possible to turn flimsy magazine paper into a reasonable weapon, when the door opened. The man that walked in seemed to have the aura of hidden competence that every experienced spy had, along with an air of danger. He was black, bald and goateed, and, most surprising of all, had an eye patch covering his right eye. Clearly, this was not a man to be messed with.

"Natasha Romanoff?" She nodded. "I'm Colonel Nicholas Fury, director of SHEILD."

Natasha swallowed.

There were two people even the most novice spy had heard of. Stories of daring and impossible escapes, rumors of information stolen from under the noses of alert guards and delivered without incident into enemy hands, legends of mysterious sabotage incidents with only whispered speculation as to who was responsible. Two men, almost myths during the Cold War, going head to head without ever seeing each other: the Winter Soldier and Nick Fury. The only real difference was that Fury had been bold enough to use his real name.

That's who I've been up against? No wonder I almost died.

"It's an honor, sir." She said, her mouth suddenly dry.

He looked at her for a moment. "I'm sure it is. I need to know whether or not you're serious about this."

Natasha thought for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts a little more. She'd been doing a lot of thinking lately, trying to decide whether or not she really had changed. "I…I think so."

"I'd step very carefully if I were you; if you're not careful, you'll drag Barton down with you."

That brought up a plethora of questions, none of which she would ask Fury.

Fury nodded, as if seeing what he'd expected. "So tell me, what exactly do you think of Barton?"

"He's a good man. Better than most."

"Why exactly would you say that?"

"He made I call, that I couldn't have."

"You respect him? Enough to work for me?"

"Yes," She answered without hesitation.

"Why?"

"I've got red in my ledger. It didn't matter to him."

"It wouldn't really." Fury turned to go, pausing in the doorway. "Look out for him, Miss Romanoff; he's too compassionate for his own good."

She stood in the center of the room, staring absently at a painting on the wall, thoughts nowhere in particular for once.

"Tasha? You okay?" Clint was looking at her, full of concern. Apparently, he'd walked into the room and she hadn't noticed.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He clearly didn't believe her, but didn't push it. He sat down on one of the couches and she joined him after a moment. "So," he said slowly, "Fury wants to put a team together."

"Yes,"

He seemed bemused. "I didn't ask yet."

"You don't have to."

He cocked his head, curious. "Why?"

"I got read in my ledger; I need to wipe it out."

He nodded, as if he understood. Considering his violent reaction back in Murmansk, he probably did.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Tasha couldn't stand it anymore. "Why?"

"Hmm?" He looked up.

"Why? You risked your career, staked your life, to save a Russian assassin."

He smiled slightly, sadly. "I wasn't planning on it."

"Clint," It wasn't a name; it was a request for honesty.

He was silent for a moment. "Back in Murmansk, you asked me if I was in the army.

I joined the army when I was eighteen- I guess I wanted to take my skills and do something worthwhile with them. Anyway, about six months after boot camp, I was assigned to a small squad protecting a tiny African village on the Congo border. I'm sitting up in my sniper nest, 'bout a mile away, and my CO calls in an attack. Anything that moves is hostile. So I line up five targets and take them out. All headshots, instant kills."

She could see where this was going. "They weren't hostile were they?"

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, rubbing them. "Children, all under ten years old.

"I didn't find out about that until the next day. I'm up in my nest, when I get jumped by ten people. Before I can even start thinking straight, there's ten corpses around me. Found out later they were the parents of the children I'd shot, out for blood. The oldest couldn't have been much older than seventeen."

Well, then. That explained the puking.

"We were only there a day after that. Two days, and I'd single handedly wiped out half the village.

"I confronted my CO after he offered me rather snide congratulations. Found out he was behind everything; he'd even told the kid's parents where to find me. So like a naïve idiot, I told him I'd turn him in. He just laughed and told me to go ahead and try; said he had friends in the tribunal department. He also told me that if I turned him in, he'd make sure I was brought up for war crimes.

"So when I was rotated back to the States, I put in a request to be discharged. My file came across Fury's desk, and, well, you can probably guess the rest."

The silence that followed was a comfortable one.

Natasha wrinkled her nose slightly. "You stink. I hope you're planning on taking a shower before coming in tomorrow."

Clint let out a noise that was half-way between a groan and a laugh. "Not you too! I thought partners were supposed to be nicer than that."

She smiled at him.

"Partners?" He asked, extending his hand.

"Partners," She responded firmly as they shook.