**December 21st 2009**
Clint refused to take the blame for this one.
For once he was completely innocent. Natasha was watching him like she wanted to punch him in the face, but it wasn't his fault this time. Seriously, it wasn't.
They'd been in Warsaw, just working a job like any other. It had been Clint's turn to take out the guy - some small-time gang leader with a surprisingly large bounty on his head. He wasn't loving the job or anything - the dude didn't seem to have done much wrong only sell weed and threaten a few assholes once or twice - but a job was a job and money was tight. Clint didn't get the luxury of being picky.
It was done. The whole thing had been clean as hell, because, contrary to popular belief, Clint was good at his job most of the time.
But he was just heading back to meet up with Natasha when he realised a few guys were on his ass. Honestly that wasn't even a problem. It was Clint's average Tuesday night. About ten minutes into the fight Nat came to see what all the gunshots were about. After that the fight was going about as well as could be expected with seven against two.
Everything was going completely fine until someone pulled a machine gun out of their ass.
That was just taking the piss.
"Oh come on!" Clint shouted at the sudden burst of rapid fire, throwing himself behind the same wall Nat had taken cover behind. The gun followed him, fire chewing up the concrete where his feet had just been. "That is fucking overkill!"
Nat shot him a sharp look as she reloaded her pistol. Like the adult he was, Clint stuck his tongue out in retaliation. Or at least, he tried to. In that moment debris rained down on them from above; the bullets chipping away at their wall and burrowing deep into the bricks behind them.
The bombardment wasn't stopping. Clint crawled closer to Nat, her face and hair now powder grey. He knew he was no better. The dust had coated his mouth, dry and gritty and choking. He couldn't concentrate, eyes burning and lips cracked as he tried to turn his aids down. The ratatatat of that stupid gun felt like a fucking jackhammer drilling into his skull.
Struggling to regain his senses, Clint didn't realise Nat was already talking until she was about halfway through. He only caught the words "shot" and "cover" which didn't help anyone.
But she was already gone, crouched at the edge of their wall and clearly preparing to go over edge, guns blazing. It wasn't a bad idea, actually. Clint could see the logic. Any kind of return fire was better than none and buckling under the attack and getting backed into a corner wasn't even an option for them.
All in all, it was a decent, strategic, well thought-out idea.
But Clint had a better one.
He caught her by the straps of her backpack before she could go anywhere. Her head whipped towards him, eyes flashing with irritation until he let her go.
"Wait," he yelled above the thundering rain of bullets. The total waste of ammo almost made Clint cringe. These guys were no professionals, that's for sure. "Gimme a gun. I got a plan."
Nat only took a few seconds to process that, frowning. The hesitation was understandable considering the last time Clint said that everything had gone to shit. But this time, in the end, he didn't even have time for an explanation.
Something went sailing over their wall, just a little too big to be debris. It's landing was inaudible but Nat's head snapped towards it like it had exploded on impact. Her eyes widened and then she was pulling her hoodie up to cover her mouth and nose. She pressed one of her guns into Clint's hands and giving him a shove to get him moving.
Clint didn't have long to be confused because the canister began to spew gas, thick and white and burning. Fingers fumbling, he hurried to cover his own mouth but it was too late. The exposed skin of his hands and face was already on fire, his eyes screwed up, irritated and watering. Someone was grabbing his wrist and tugging him off in another direction and he was so disorientated he had no choice but to let it happen.
Rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands, Clint found he had been dragged into a multi-storey carpark, his vision blurred by unexpected tears. "What the hell was that?" he asked, who he knew to be Natasha, trying to stop the stinging pain in his eyes. He turned his aids back up knowing that lip reading in this state would be even more impossible than usual.
"Tear gas," Nat replied, her voice strained. Clint could see her leaning heavily on one of the support columns a few feet away. "There's gotta be a weapons supplier in town. That's the only way they could get their hands on it. Police use it for crowd control."
A cough or two later and Clint was straightening up, his eyes no longer watering as bad as they had been. He brushed the dust off his coat and walked towards her. "A supplier would explain how they got their hands on that fucking machine gun," he huffed, still a little peeved about how fucking over the top it all was. "But Nat, this shit is way too overpowered to bring out for just two people. They're small time thugs and this is their trump card. I mean, they're blowing their whole hand on us. It doesn't make sense unless..."
Now that he could see her properly, Clint realised the gas had affected Natasha far more than it had him. She'd had more bare skin on show, her arms pink with irritation and her hands rubbing furiously at her eyes. "Unless they know who we are," she coughed out, her voice tight and hoarse. "Unless they were warned we would come."
He spat on the floor, getting rid of all the grit and bitter chemical taste. The gang - or 'Niebieskie Węże' as they called themselves - weren't idiots, Clint had to give them credit for that. They had smoked them out nice and good, got them right where they wanted them. Defenceless fish in a barrel. But not for long. Not if Clint could help it.
"Wait here, I won't be long," he muttered before sprinting up the nearby car ramp to the next level of the carpark, ignoring Nat's whisper-shout of 'where the hell are you going?'.
"Anyone comes through that door you shoot them dead, okay?" he yelled over his shoulder as if she needed the reminder.
The second storey looked identical to the first as expected. Clint ran over to the large openings in the walls overlooking the streets below and grinned. Just as he'd thought, from here he could quite clearly see the small huddle of men that made up the Niebieskie Węże. Which roughly translated into 'Blue Serpents'. It was a stupid name, in Clint's opinion. Sounded like a fucking 90s boy band. But then, the gang wasn't exactly known for their genius. Hell, they were so small they weren't known for anything really.
There were nine in total. Clint knew he could pick a few of them off, make things a bit easier for Nat when they finally got through. He clicked the safety off Nat's pistol and took careful aim at a tall, lean man at the centre of the group, pulling the trigger without a second thought.
Nothing happened.
"Really?" he groaned under his breath, checking the clip and finding it empty. "Son of a bitch."
He turned his back on the street and paced into the centre of the level, shaking his head. Well there went his bright idea. Nice plan, idiot. What the hell was he going to do now?
Clint got the odd feeling that he was missing something. Something right in front of his face. He was about to shrug it off and move on when he finally noticed the blood.
Oh. Well that explained it.
The dark trail was smeared and inconsistent, almost as though the thing leaving it was being dragged along. Curious, Clint followed it, moving quick and quiet as possible. It went straight down the side of the carpark before coming to a stop behind one of the cars. As he came closer Clint's aids began to pick up a male voice; whimpering; crying.
The guy was curled up beside the car, his eyes wild with fear and cheeks damp with tears. His hands were pressed tight to his leg, blood seeping through his fingers and Clint couldn't imagine how long he'd been up here. Getting caught up in the crossfire like this, it could be anything from a few minutes to an hour.
A scarf covered the guy's mouth but Clint could still see the curl of blue and black ink brushing his cheekbone; the trademark tattoo of Niebieskie Węże . It was a complicated black and blue dragon that went from the member's collarbone to their cheek.
Clint thought it was a bit of a stupid idea considering how distinguishable it was, but hey, it wasn't his problem.
The boy - and he was a boy, no older than 15 or 16 now that Clint got a good look at him - stiffened when Clint's shadow fell over him, his eyes widening in panic. His fingers left his leg in favour of grabbing a baseball bat that lay by his side, giving it a wild swing in an attempt to batter Clint's brains out.
Clint snorted, dodging the attack with ease, and when another came he caught it mid-swing and twisted it out of the boy's hands. The boy's face glistened with sweat, his breathing coming hard and furious. He made a last ditch effort, surging forward, fists flying until Clint put the bat in the centre of his chest and shoved him back against the wall.
"Gez man, chill out," Clint muttered, not really expecting an answer as he tried to survey how bad the kid's leg was. Not that the kid was making it easy. "Are you always like this?"
"Skurwysyn," the boy spat out, blonde hair falling into his eyes even as he tried to hold back his tears.
Clint nodded, yanking the scarf from around the kid's mouth despite his protests and wrapping it around the bullet wound, tying it tight as possible. "Yeah, sure, kid. You got it."
An ear-splitting boom suddenly spilt the air. The foundations of the building shuddered worryingly, the ground beneath them shifting enough to almost send Clint on his ass. When the ground finally settled the steady beat of running feet could be heard coming towards them, clear as day. Clint swore, snatching up the kid's baseball bat and stepping forward, ready for a fight.
His panic proved unnecessary. Nat's familiar face appeared as she ran up the ramp, looking a damn shade better than she did a few minutes ago, her face flushed red with the exertion.
"They're coming," she announced as she came closer. "I blocked the entry but it won't hold them for long."
Clint grinned cheekily, holding his bat at the ready. "We can take 'em."
"Where's your gun?"
He shrugged. "Empty. Would I be holding this thing if it wasn't?"
Nat let out a groan, her hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Then no, we can't. I'm empty too. I - there's not much we can do but-" She let out a reluctant sigh and shook her head. "I'll just have to blow the place."
Clint dropped his bat in his shock. "Wait, you're going to blow the what?"
But Nat was already moving, slinging the backpack off her shoulders and taking out a handful of silver discs, each small as a bottlecap. When Nat rubbed her thumb over them they sprang to the size of saucers, LED lights blinking white. She ran between the support pillars that, let's face it, was never built to withstand much; placing one on each. They somehow stuck to the concrete without adhesive, the little lights now glowing a bright, electric blue.
"Hey you can't just blow up a building! It 'draws unwanted attention', remember?" Clint yelled after her, quoting something she'd said to him back in Argentina because she was being a hypocrite and he wasn't letting her get away with it.
When she ignored him, Clint walked over to glare at one of the little glowing discs and frowned at the StarkInc. logo that stared back at him. Nat never mentioned owning any StarkTech before, he thought, a little confused.
A moment later Nat came back to his side, panting a little, eyes still tinged red from the gas. "We're done. Any ideas on how to get out of here?"
He stared at her for a beat before shrugging. "Only one place we can go," he said, pointing a finger to the ceiling like a dweeb. "Up."
She nodded, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Lets go."
Clint only got a few steps before he remembered the kid, lying a few feet away. Scared, bloody and in pain. Completely unaware of the grizzly fate that awaited him.
He thought of the people in Argentina. Civilians. Innocent and unaware, just like that fucking kid. He still felt a twist of guilt when he thought about them. Maybe the boy was a chance for him to make it right.
God knew the last thing Clint needed was another civilian death on his conscience.
There was no real choice here. Not for him.
"Fuck, wait. Wait. Goddamnit," he muttered under his breath, turning back.
"Clint, where the hell are you going," Natasha hissed. "We don't have time for-" But Clint waved her argument away, knowing she would go on whether he said something or not.
He ran back to the boy who was still letting out those little whimpers of pain through gritted teeth, his face now an unhealthy grey. The kid looked like he might pass out any second.
"C'mon, buddy. Time to go," Clint said, hooking his arms under his knees and his back, lifting him bridal style. The boy screamed in the agony of it, his breathing harsh and ragged with terror and the new pain. His hands scrabbled at Clint's face and arms, his body too weak with blood loss to wriggle out of his hold.
"Jesus, be quiet," Clint muttered, doing his best to pick up to a run. He was all too aware of how little time he had to work with.
The boy didn't pay him any attention, saying something in Polish that Clint wasn't even certain was a coherent sentence. He was babbling nonsense, his eyes rolling into his head as he pleaded, fresh tears in his eyes. The jolting of Clint's running was only making things worse it seemed.
"Yeah, yeah I know it hurts, I'm sorry. Shhhhh man, please," he found himself whispering, trying to keep the boy as steady as he could as he tore up the second car ramp to the roof.
Nat was already at the edge, one foot on the ledge, looking down at the street. "We've got three minutes, come on!" she yelled over her shoulder at them before she had to do a double take. Oh boy, he was in trouble. Clint could see the disbelief, the fury that blazed in her eyes, her fists clenching tight. She jabbed a finger at the boy. "Who the hell is that?"
Clint shrugged helplessly. "I -" He paused, gasping for breath because carrying a dude and running for your life at the same time was surprisingly difficult. " - I don't know. Couldn't leave him."
"A civilian? Are you fucking kidding me?"
Shouts and pounding feet and isolated gunshots echoed up from the car ramp opening and Clint paled, looking at Nat with pleading eyes. "Please. Escape now. Talk later."
Nat glared at him but turned away in favour of pulling yet another fancy fucking gadget out of her rucksack. God was there anything she didn't have?
This time it was a thick metal cylinder that she shook violently before pointing it in the direction of the building next door. The end of the cylinder exploded, revealing a grappling hook-esque head with a reel of wire attached. It sailed through the air and into the open window Nat had aimed at, the wire stretching tight like a zip-line.
Why the fuck had he never heard about all this shit before? All the weapons, all the opportunities, all the James Bond jokes he hadn't even been aware of. Did Nat not think it would be useful for him to know?
"You can't jump with him. It won't hold the extra weight," Nat pointed out as she set up the line, something akin to triumph in her voice that irritated Clint more than tear gas ever could.
She was right though. The wire was as thick as his thumb, clearly made for only one person at a time and the kid would never make it on his own.
Fuck. Clint hated it when she was right.
"Then I'm not jumping."
Nat looked at him like he'd gone crazy, and yeah, maybe it was a little justified this time. "Yes, you are. And you're leaving him here."
The boy whimpered, almost like he could understand what was happening. But when Clint looked down at him his eyes were squeezed shut, a sheen of sweat coating his pale forehead and his lip caught between his teeth. "I'm not leaving you anywhere," he reassured him even though he was 90% sure the boy didn't speak any English. "Nat, there's gotta be another way."
Nat glanced at her watch and then over Clint's shoulder to where men poured from the car ramp and onto the roof. More and more and more. Fifteen at the least. There were too many for the small gang of felons they'd been told the Niebieskie Węże were. No. They were so much more than that. Better prepared for their attack than Clint had ever given them credit for.
Sirens pierced the air. Oh how late they were.
"Thirty seconds, Clint. We don't have time for this. Drop him and jump right now," Nat demanded and then she was gone, already swinging herself across the line to safety.
With one final glance over his shoulder at the crowd of advancing bastards Clint let out a groan. "Oh fuck it," he muttered, adjusting his grip on the kid who let out a dry sob when it jostled his leg. Clint ignored him, focusing on unbuckling his belt and wrapping it around the zipline. He didn't even have the time to hesitate.
The kid let out a terrified squeal as they went over the edge, his fingers digging deep enough to leave bruises on Clint's shoulders. Clint held his breath as their combined weight sent the wire dipping low, groaning under the unexpected strain.
They hung there for a few terrifying second, all eyes fixed on the wire as it let out painful squeals of complaint. The boy's grip on him had become almost frantic, like he thought Clint was going to let him fall. Which, given the circumstances, was fair.
But somehow, beautifully, against all odds, the line held.
Clint let out a soft shuddering breath of relief and started to move.
The ride was slow and painful, Clint's muscles aching, straining to keep them both alive. Fuck, this was way harder than he'd thought it would be. His breathing came hard, his face flushed red. Clint could feel his hands sweaty against the leather, the danger of slipping and falling to their deaths higher than he would care to admit.
Although it wasn't until about halfway through their journey that shit really began to go sideways.
The line began to jerk. Bouncing and shuddering in a way that it had no right to. It was almost like... it was almost like there was another weight on it.
Clint struggled to look around, the twist of his body doing nothing to help his grip on his belt or the jolting of the line. But by the time he finally managed it was only to see the startled look on a middle-aged thug's face before the line finally snapped.
They dropped like stones. Clint's heart stopped. His stomach leapt to his throat. Could he survive a fall from this height? He wasn't sure anymore.
It was only by some miracle that Clint's hand caught the end of his zipline. He grasped it tight and held on for dear life.
Their trajectory came to a painful end with a jolt as the wire finally went taunt. Clint felt the yank of his shoulder threatening to pop out of place, but it was worth it. So, so worth it. Because they were alive. They were fucking alive and they were swinging inwards, straight towards an open window that looked oh so inviting.
They missed it by about 5 inches, Clint slamming into the windowsill with a grunt of pain, holding on by his fingertips, if only barely.
Nat suddenly appeared above them and he could have cried in relief. They had to pry the kid's death-grip off his body to get him inside, the boy crumpling to the floor, sobbing in relief as soon as his feet met solid ground.
Clint would have followed him but his sweaty fingers struggled to find grip on the ledge. He tried again to pull himself up but found his arms had no strength left for it, shaking with the strain of his bodyweight. Fuck. Fuck, this was not a badass way to go out. Come on, he'd made it this far.
His feet kicked out, desperately searching for a foothold, but no, he was slipping. He held his breath as he slid further down, gravity doing its job in the worst way possible.
Nat appeared in the window above him and for a heart stopping moment she kept her arms folded, unwilling to help.
"Nat?" he gritted out desperately, fear sending adrenaline shooting through his body. He knew he had only seconds left before he fell.
Finally a hand shot out to grasp a fistful of his jacket and pull him up and into safety. Natasha's furious expression was not exactly what he would expect of someone who had just saved his ass for the hundredth time. Or, come to think of it, maybe it was.
Clint blinked at her stupidly, trying to clear the adrenaline fuelled haze of his head. "What took you so long?" he muttered, his voice slightly slurred. She pulled him closer; their faces close enough that he could see the pinkish rash the tear gas had left behind on her skin.
"I should've let you fall," she growled and then let go, not caring when he sank to his knees like the pathetic piece of shit he was.
The kid was muttering in Polish again, a little more coherent than before. "Dziekuję, dziekuję, dziękuję…" he breathed into the carpet of what Clint thought might be a hotel of some sort.
Nat had gone, and Clint didn't have the energy to go after her.
He hardly noticed when the carpark beside them finally collapsed in a series of deafening explosions and a cloud of dust. The collapse rocked the ground like an earthquake. A decorative vase filled with flowers fell from the table nearby, shattering and spilling water all over the rug.
The hotel windows blew inwards with the force of the blast - showering them both with glass and debris.
Clint wasn't overly bothered, honestly.
It wasn't the worst thing to come out of today.
Fast food and a clean motel room was quickly becoming Clint's idea of heaven.
Well, it would be heaven, if Nat didn't look like she wanted to beat him over the head with a blunt object. That tended to detract from his good mood, just a little.
Clint was the King of ignoring the elephant in the room. He had slumped back on his bed, a box of rather delicious Chow Mein in his hand and was enjoying the quiet for a while. He was watching a news report on their antics earlier in the day, a sort of morbid fascination keeping his eyes glued to the screen, when the TV was turned off.
"Hey!" he complained, his mouth full of food, but one look at Nat's face said it all. She'd had enough. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand but swallowed, muttering, "I was watching that..." moodily under his breath.
"Have you always been this stupid?" she asked coldly, folding her arms. "Or did your last concussion give you brain damage and I just didn't notice?"
He snorted, putting his food to the side, until it was very clear she wasn't joking. "Aw, c'mon Nat, it wasn't so bad."
"Wasn't it?" she snapped. "Really? Because I distinctly remember you putting both our lives on the line because some civilian brat you took pity on. How is that 'not so bad'?"
He scowled at her, more than a little pissed off with her bullshit. She didn't get to talk down to him like that. Like he was some kind of fucking child. "Well, what the hell was I supposed to do? Leave him there?"
"Yes! That is exactly what you should have done," she yelled, her hands thrown up in exasperation. "He did nothing but slow you down and put us both in danger."
"Well, I fucking slow you down all the time, right? Why do you keep me around if I'm such a bumbling fucking idiot?" Nat scowled and opened her mouth to answer but he wasn't done. "You know what? While we're on the subject. When the fuck were you going to tell me you had all that StarkTech on you, huh? Did you not think that was something you could fucking mention?"
"That doesn't matter. I used the last of what I had to get us out of the impossible situation you created."
"Don't you fucking dare pin this on me, Nat. None of this was my fault," he demanded because fucking hell he wasn't going to just sit there and take the blame for this. "Where the hell did you even get all that shit? Were you ever going to tell me?"
"It was none of your business what I had," she bit out, defensively.
"We work together of course it's my fucking business." But now Clint's mind was working on overdrive, catching up with his mouth. Sure, he was mad but not as mad as she was. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her body in a defensive stance like she was ready for a fistfight. Which hey, given their history wasn't exactly off the cards.
What if she cracked again, right now? he thought as he remembered the last time they fought, the unhinged fury on her face. What if this time she manages to kill me for good?
He shook his head as though to dispel the thought, feeling almost guilty. Nat wasn't crazy. She wasn't some unhinged psychopath who would lash out at any moment. She'd been forced to tell him only a fraction of what she dealt with. There was no point in looking at her different because of it.
That was why he was still fucking pissed.
"I got those months ago, from Stark's warehouse in France. What does it matter?" she bit out, her arms folded across her chest. She was dressed in baggy pyjamas and her hair was tied back in a ponytail but that didn't detract from the intimidation tactic one bit.
Clint frowned, slightly taken off guard by the admission.
France. She'd stolen a haul of weapons from Stark's warehouses in France. But that wasn't the only thing she'd taken.
He put his hand to his ear, unconsciously fingering the aid there. "You broke into Stark's warehouse for these?" he asked, still unexpectedly surprised by the revelation. After all he had known they were stolen; that was a given. But the extra effort just - he hadn't expected it from her. Especially not from months ago, back when they were still practically strangers.
She avoided his eyes, instead looking to the ground. "I was already going there. I needed new weapons and the - the aids were a last minute decision."
She didn't explain why. Clint hadn't really expected her to.
They lapsed into silence. Clint lay back on his bed, allowing the tension that had built up in his body to release with a sigh. He scooped up his forgotten, now kinda cold Chow Mein and went right back to eating it. He grabbed the remote and switched the TV back on like nothing had happened between them. It was a good act, he thought. But the awkwardness that hung in the air still lingered.
"Why did you save him?" Nat asked at last. Sitting back on her own bed, her food still untouched. "He meant nothing to you."
The TV bustled in the background and Clint shrugged, looking down into his noodles and shoving them around with his fork. "Bet he means something to somebody."
"He wasn't your responsibility."
"S'just a kid. I found him. That makes him my responsibility."
She shook her head incredulously. "You care so much about these people."
"And that's a bad thing?"
Nat didn't answer, instead at last taking a sip of her milkshake, almost as an afterthought. Her eyes narrowed in on his face, searching for something and Clint didn't even want to know what. He, for his part, tried to keep his eyes trained on the TV, allowing her to psychoanalyze to her heart's content.
"It's a weakness," she finally said, so quiet his aids struggled to pick it up. "It'll get you killed."
He snorted, stuffing another forkful of noodles into his mouth. "I'll keep that in mind. And I'm sure you'll be there to say I-Told-You-So." He shifted uncomfortably, aiming for levity. This was not a fun conversation. He would like it if this conversation never took place, thank you.
She rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at him.
"What? Am I wrong?" he laughed with his mouth full, catching the pillow and launching it back with ease.
Nat smiled back at him, the last of the tension bleeding away from her features. She looked better that way. Younger.
As much as he loved to see her happy, Clint found his eyes drawn to the TV behind her. The news channel was once again going over their stunt with the carpark, but something wasn't right.
He watched as the English subtitles ran across the screen and the smile dropped away from his face. "Nat," he said distantly, giving her a nudge
"What?"
"That can't be right, can it?"
Her head whipped around to follow his line of sight. She too read as the reporter claimed there had been no casualties in the attack. No bodies. No injured. Nothing.
"Impossible," Nat whispered, her eyes wide. She and Clint shared a look of abject shock before they were both up and moving at the same time. Clint threw Nat her empty pistols and she threw him the jacket he'd thrown over a chair near the door. They gathered their shit quickly and in silence, packing rucksacks and duffle bags with what little they had. They had never been so efficient. It was fucking weird.
Clint didn't quite know what it meant that 15 men survived such an explosion. It didn't make sense; his mind could hardly wrap itself around it. But never had there been a clearer sign to get out of Doge than when the locals start acting bombproof.
"You got everything?" he asked, slinging his own rucksack over his back.
She nodded, checking her phone to find out where their next job would be. Clint wished they didn't have to leave so soon, he'd could enjoy the kick-back and relax thing for another day or so. But fuck he didn't plan on pushing his luck.
"Let's go," she said, trying to smile but the news was clearly still troubling her. "We have a plane to catch."
He tried to smile back but couldn't find the energy, the door closing behind him with a bang.