A/N: Many, many thanks to ladygris for doing the Beta honors for this fic. She's a great friend, and I don't say this often enough. God has blessed me with her and her family as friends.

Namaste,

~Sandy

Avengers

The Hidden Courtyard

Chapter 10

Two days after Clint's "demise", Anton went for a long walk in the woods to "clear his head." Inside the main building, most gave him a wide berth, and he didn't blame them. He was present at both of the recent aircraft incidents. The superstitious ones believed he was a jinx. The rest either went along for the ride or had a healthy sense of self-preservation.

He arrived at the designated area at the appointed time, all senses alert, spinning around at the voice coming from behind him.

"Right on time, Riddle."

He hadn't heard the archer's approach. "You too, Barton. Everything in place?"

Clint nodded, his eyes flitting across the landscape keeping watch. And in those eyes Anton saw a trace of sadness that hadn't been there before he jumped from the Cessna. His left hand fingered the bow string and strap that crossed his chest. Natasha told him about Clint's affinity for the unconventional weapon, pointing out that he'd helped stop the alien invasion with just a bow, a quiver of arrows and no superpowers. Anton wanted to see Clint in action first hand. If this take-down didn't go as smoothly as he hoped, he might just get his wish. "SHIELD and MI6 are ready when you give the word."

"Good." Anton hesitated before asking the next question. "Barton, you and Natalia have worked together a long time."

Clint's forehead crinkled with what looked like annoyance. "What of it?"

"In all that time, has there been anyone special for her?" The silence from his companion went on so long, Anton didn't think he was going to respond or would say it was none of his business. Then, finally, he did speak.

"No."

"What about you?"

Again Clint hesitated, taking a deep breath as if trying to decide how much to give away. "We're friends and partners. That's it. Our physical relationship ended a long time ago. A flash in the pan. Started hot and burned out quickly. Nat is…she's complex. Her upbringing was not what anyone would call normal, and her present life is far from it. Any other details you'll have to get from her. Wouldn't count on it though."

"Understood. One more question. The two of you keep making references to Budapest. What happened?"

Clint shook his head, fighting a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "She's a better storyteller than I am. Ask her."

"I will."

The two men parted, Anton back to the estate, and Clint to his post to wait for the signal. Now that everything was in place, their plan could be put into motion with just a word. But what the bad guys didn't know was that every single one of them would be taken out of circulation before dinner. That is if plan A went off without a hitch. If there was a plan B on the books, it hadn't been shared with Anton.

He waited another fifteen minutes before returning to the estate, going straight to Jesse. Emerson was there as well. He greeted both men with a nod. "They're ready when you give the word."

The men looked at their watches, Jesse saying, "Their plane lands at sixteen hundred. Make certain your people stay out of sight until then."

"Don't worry. They've done this before." With a nod, Anton left Emerson and Jesse alone to finalize plans that would never come to fruition.

In his room again, Anton changed into dark clothing. Opening the false bottom of his suitcase, he took out several items that would've aroused suspicion if anyone in L'Assemblée had seen them. The glasses he hooked into the pocket of the jacket. They looked like ordinary sunglasses, but were much more than that. With the touch of a button, he would have access to a HUD and be jacked into the frequency of the assault team awaiting the order to commence operations.

He clipped his service weapon to his right hip. The ammo he shoved into the pockets of his cargo pants. Tugging the sides of his jacket together, he zipped the front and left his room, arriving outside the main security office moments later. This is where the fun would begin.

Anton's watch beeped to announce the hour, though not the one that Jesse was expecting. It was time. He slipped on the glasses and tapped the left earpiece. "Gold Leader, this is Red One. How do you read?"

"Five by, Red One. We're good to go."

"Roger that, Gold Leader. Red One to Red Two."

Natasha's voice came to him, steady and strong. "This is Red Two. Ready when you are."

"Copy, Red Two. All units. Commence with Operation French Lily on my mark." He counted off five seconds in his head. "Mark!"

~~O~~

Over the next two days, Natasha played the part of a woman bravely carrying on with her life following the tragic death of her fiancé. One or two asked about Margaret, and Natasha gave them the excuse that she wasn't feeling well, giving the impression that it was a "female issue" without coming out and saying so.

Once the members of L'Assemblée were rounded up, Natasha would follow up on Margaret. The contact she sent her to would see to it that the girl was well taken care of and that she entered a business that was less likely to get her killed.

To prepare for the coming fight, Natasha did an intense workout and cleaned her weapons. When it was time, she got into her black jumpsuit and put on was her gloves, snugging them down into the spaces between her fingers. Made of the same thin yet durable material as her jumpsuit and Hawkeye's uniform, they fit her like a second skin. The last to go on were her Widow's Bites. Another feature of the jumpsuit was the grounding properties for when she used the Widow's Bites, though that wasn't an exact term. If she were to be hit by a Taser, special fibers woven into her clothing and gloves would be store and shunt the electricity back into the Bites again allowing her to recharge on the run and protecting her from the effects.

Climbing through the vent in the bathroom, Natasha vacated her room without looking back. Anything she left behind could be replaced. She'd brought nothing on this mission that had value. She also had very little in the apartment she kept in New York City related to sentimentality. A single photograph of the Avengers after the invasion, a few cherished books-first editions that Clint had given her on Christmas or her birthday. Certainly no old family heirlooms handed down from one generation to the next, tarnished and worn, imbued with a sense of history chronicling a family tree.

Shaking her head to rid it of the melancholy that had crept in, Natasha peered through the slats into the clinic. The doctor wasn't about, and Natasha wondered at the woman's motives for joining a crime syndicate. They would find out soon enough once she was in custody.

From inside her top she took a pair of glasses that would provide her with a HUD and contact with the rest of the team. Sliding them on, she activated them just in time to hear Anton say, "Gold Leader, this is Red One. How do you read?"

"Five by five, Red One. We're good to go," was Clint's immediate response.

"Roger that, Gold Leader. Red One to Red Two."

Natasha took a deep breath and let it out. "Ready when you are, Red One."

"Copy that, Red Two. All units. Commence with Operation French Lily on my mark." There was a five second pause then, "Mark!"

The duty Natasha had drawn was to get into the secure offices, this time with the means to hack into their database. She wouldn't be able to store it on the small device that Stark had created. Instead, the information would be streamed to the helicarrier where SHIELD and MI6 would painstakingly analyze every gigabyte.

Her first stop would be the office Jesse and Emerson had taken over. Through the door, she could hear Jesse shouting. Opening the door gave her a full view of both men and they of her, if they'd bothered to look.

"Lock it down! Yes, the entire building. Don't be an idiot! We have to clear this up before William and Emily arrive…" Jesse yanked the Bluetooth from his ear. Even from the doorway Natasha could hear the static. That meant Anton had reached the security office and had overloaded their systems. It also unlocked the secure area at the far end of the hall. But first things first.

Emerson saw her and went for his weapon. Flexing her wrist as she raised her left arm, one of the Bites shot through the air to hit him square in the chest, delivering an initial fifty thousand volts and disrupting his body's ability to communicate with its muscles. The voltage dropped to around twelve hundred volts as he fell to the floor unconscious.

Stunned immobile for a millisecond when Emerson was hit, Jesse quickly regained his senses as he too drew a weapon. Natasha didn't give him time to aim. She rushed forward and jumped, wrapped her legs around his neck, and twisted, using that force to take him to the floor. He pressed his hands into the carpet trying to regain his feet. She stopped that with a punch to the side of the head. Jesse wasn't nearly as tough to defeat as Clint had been. Using zip ties, she secured their hands behind their backs.

Turning left out of the office, she entered the secure area, going right to the computer on the first desk. From a compartment on her belt she took a small device similar to the one Stark had used to hack SHIELD, placed it on the monitor and pressed the middle.

The system came on, information scrolling across the screen faster than the human eye could comprehend. But Natasha was long gone by then, on her way to rendezvous with Anton and the advance team.

Jogging down the hall, she came upon a group of four armed to the teeth and ready to do business. Natasha left them in an unconscious heap without breaking a sweat or missing a beat. She tapped the headset. "Red Two to Red One."

"Go ahead, Red Two." Anton's voice sounded strained and in the background, she heard fighting and gunfire.

"On my way to the rendezvous point. ETA sixty seconds."

He swore in Russian and fired off a few rounds before responding. "Roger, Red Two."

The shooting stopped abruptly, and Natasha recognized Tilda's voice. "Throw down your weapon, Dante. Now!"

A thump followed her orders then Anton, obviously trying to defuse the situation, changed to a calm, unruffled tone. "Put the gun down, Tilda. You don't want to make this worse than it is."

Tilda scoffed. "It's already worse. Who are you? Is Dante even your real name?"

"My name is Anthony Riddle. MI6."

Natasha made no noise as she crept to the corner and peeked out to survey the scene. Anton's back was to her. If he hadn't been in the way, she would've taken a shot. But here, the hall was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, and he was in the way.

Tilda gestured with the end of the gun held in her right hand. "Whatever your name is, start walking. You're going to be my free pass out of here."

"That won't happen, Tilda. My team has orders to take everyone in. Alive, if possible. But they won't hesitate to shoot, if need be."

To transfer the focus from Anton, Natasha holstered her guns and showed herself. "No one has to die today, Tilda. Let him go. I promise you'll be treated well."

"No! I won't go to prison. I can't."

That told Natasha all she needed to know about the other woman's state of mind. She thought Tilda's recent actions had been fueled by desperation and this confirmed it. Tilda would do whatever she had to in order to get what she wanted. Wisely, Anton remained silent, knowing that anything he might have added would only exacerbate the situation.

One slow step at a time, Natasha walked toward Tilda until she stood beside Anton. "Put down the gun and we'll talk about it."

Natasha was unprepared for what happened next. Tilda began to cry, the muzzle of the gun dipping toward the floor. "No one has ever taken me seriously. Not my father, my brother, not Madame Gauthier, and not you, Liliana. Not once. And Dante. I just wanted a man to pay attention to my needs, to think of me before himself."

Slowly, an inch at a time, Anton lowered his arms. "I'm sorry Tilda, but I can't be that man."

"Because you're in love with someone else."

He took a step forward, one hand out, silently imploring Tilda to hand over the gun. Natasha could've told him it wouldn't work, and it didn't. With his second step, the weapon came back up, pointed at the middle of Anton's chest, Tilda's finger tightening on the trigger.

The next few seconds happened so fast it took her breath away.

Natasha pushed Anton out of the way just as Tilda squeezed the trigger several times. At the same moment, Anton bounced off the wall and spun in her direction tackling her to the floor causing the fired rounds to hit the walls and ceiling, plaster chips flying in all directions. Above that, the pffft! of an arrow being shot from a bow and the sickening sound of said arrow entering flesh made Natasha cringe inwardly because she knew what it meant. Clint had just saved their lives and had been forced to take another life to do it.

~~O~~

Lying on the floor, his body covering Natasha's, Anton heard the twang of a bow string, a gasp and a thud in quick succession. Chancing a look, Anton lifted his head, seeing Tilda breathe her last. He turned to thank Clint, not seeing him at the end of the hall where he expected the SHIELD agent to be.

"Here."

Rolling off of Natasha, Anton finally located Clint hanging by his knees through a ceiling vent, the bow still in his right hand. "Thanks."

Getting to his feet, Anton helped Natasha up next to him. Clint gripped the edge of the vent and swung down to land a silently as a cat, a smug grin all over his face. "Welcome." He tapped his headset. "Gold Leader to all units. Report."

While Clint received all clear reports, Anton sneaked a peek at Natasha who was studiously ignoring him in a way that said she wasn't ignoring him at all. That maybe she'd been as affected as he by the intimate position they found themselves in when Tilda started shooting. The emotions from years before that Natasha had effortlessly reignited embarrassed him somewhat because he wasn't certain that she felt the same. All pretenses aside, he loved her more than ever, and though he wanted to tell her, he didn't dare. Not yet, and not in front of her partner. Anton wasn't embarrassed by his feelings, but didn't want to make Natasha uncomfortable. Sneaking in another quick glance he was amused to see it was too late for that.

Not long after, the plane carrying William and Emily landed. Anton and Clint, posing as Jesse and Emerson, greeted them on the tarmac then took them into custody without even drawing their weapons. Of course that could've been because of the double squad of armed SHIELD and MI6 agents that had surrounded the plane. The pair, whose real names were obscured by the sheer number of aliases they had used over the years, refused to speak even when threatened. Deprived of legal representation, they would be begging to provide the requested information after a couple of weeks in a prison that no one would admit existed.

Back-up arrived, and returning his attention to the mission, Anton nodded at Clint's order for a room by room search. The three agents parted, each going in different directions. Somehow, Anton had been assigned a slender young woman with dark hair and eyes as his back-up. She didn't speak, just nodded each time he gave an order, her jaws working a piece of gum and occasionally blowing a bubble. He used it to track her state of mind. When she was relaxed, she chewed slowly. Tense? It sped up then stopped suddenly only to start up again when the room was cleared. After a while, it didn't bother him anymore.

~~O~~

The last of L'Assemblée had been taken away leaving Natasha, Clint, Anton and a squad of armed soldiers behind. The squad's job was to keep an eye on the building and question anyone trespassing to see if they were connected to L'Assemblée in any way. The trio of spies were there to wind up loose ends. All that remained was the debriefing that would take place on board the helicarrier.

Clint collapsed his recurve bow, placing it and the quiver carefully into the protective case. The single missing arrow mocked him, a reminder that Natasha hadn't been able to neutralize the threat Tilda created, forcing him to put an arrow through her heart before she killed his friends.

Ending a life was never easy. He'd given Natasha and Anton as much leeway as he could before taking matters into his own hands, not hesitating even a fraction of a second before removing the irrational woman from the equation.

Assuming his place in the pilot's seat, he watched Natasha from the corner of his eye as she made herself comfortable to his right. The co-pilot's main function was to man the rail guns and take over if the pilot became unable to fly. One of the best things about being her partner was that he knew her better than she knew herself, though she would deny it even in the face of empirical evidence. And what he was sensing from her now was that she had something other than flying on her mind.

"Nat?"

"What?" The word came out short and clipped, as though they'd been arguing and she was still pissed at him.

"About you and Riddle…" The way she avoided looking him in the eye was a dead giveaway, telling him he was right about where her thoughts had strayed.

"It was a long time ago." Clint opened his mouth and snapped it shut again when, through clenched teeth, Natasha said, "One more word, Barton and I will kill you in your sleep."

Clint had no doubt that she was deadly serious and, for once, decided that shutting up was the wisest choice. Besides, they'd have plenty of time later to talk. It wouldn't be long before someone told her about the accident and their positions would be reversed.

It had taken him a long time to come to terms with the heinous acts he'd committed while under Loki's influence and now, the guilt was back. Not as potent as before, but there nonetheless. Clint set the auto pilot and went into the back to find Riddle sacked out on the bench thwarting his efforts to get under the MI6 agent's skin by teasing him about Natasha. It annoyed him because now he had nothing to keep his mind off Adele, and he didn't want to think about her right now.

Taking a cue from Riddle, Clint reclined in the work station chair and closed his eyes. "Wake me when we get close, Nat."

Seconds later, he was out like a light and didn't budge until Natasha dumped him out of his seat onto the floor. He leapt to his feet looking around for possible enemies, sagging in relief that Riddle had landed the quinjet allowing Clint an extra few minutes of sleep. And as stated in the Guy's Handbook, Clint acknowledged the act of kindness by punching Riddle in the arm. The MI6 agent responded in kind, neither seeing Natasha rolling her eyes at them.

~~O~~

The debriefing was long over. Clint and Natasha had retired to their quarters for much needed rest while Anton had hitched a ride back to London with Deputy Director Holdsworth.

Natasha slept soundly for nine straight hours, worked out, ate and finished her report on the mission, all before lunch. It was now late afternoon and Clint had yet to make an appearance. Not even for coffee. Like her, he could go days without rest, but then would sleep up to twelve hours or more to make up for it. Though how he could call what he got at night rest the way he thrashed around, she didn't know. She filed it under the heading "Great Mysteries We'll Never Solve" and left it at that.

Or tried to.

Something about today was different, and now that she thought about it, Clint had been acting strange even for him since just prior to the assault on L'Assemblée. He was himself, yet he wasn't. She would give him a couple of days to pull out of it before the usual confrontation.

Or not. What she needed was intel. And who was the one person on this boat who knew everything about everything? With a mischievous grin that Clint would've appreciated had he seen it, Natasha made a call. "It's Romanoff. Got a minute?"

Twenty minutes later, Natasha climbed out onto the conning tower, something that was only possible when the boat was docked. Clint was sitting with his knees up and elbows resting on them, hands clasped between them. He didn't even glance her way when she sat down, her head tilted back to let the wind lift the hair off her face and neck.

The silence stretched on, until Natasha felt it was time to break it. "I heard about Wolf…Adele, Clint. I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

She held his hand and he let her. "If you want to talk, I'm here."

This time, he nodded, but didn't respond. What he needed was Natasha's special brand of TLC. No, she wouldn't be hitting him really hard on the head. This time, the situation called for subtlety. Opening the thermos she brought with her, Natasha poured a measure of the contents into two cups and handed one to Clint. He gave her nod of thanks and took a big gulp…and immediately began choking. "What the hell, Nat. Are you trying to poison me?"

"Sissy. It's Irish coffee. More Irish than coffee. Just the way you like it." With a cheeky grin, Natasha tossed back the contents of her cup, following it up with, "Ahhh! That hit the spot."

Clint finished off what was in his cup then held it out for a refill. "You might've warned me."

"Now what would be the fun of that?" They sipped quietly for a while.

"At least one of us is having fun." Extending his cup for another refill, Clint sighed. "What?"

There were disadvantages when two people knew each other so well, but the benefits far outweighed them. "Don't feel guilty. I'm sure Adele knew you loved her."

Clint's eyes dropped to his lap then back to that spot six inches in front of his face that he seemed to find so fascinating. "That's just it. I don't…didn't. It was a relationship of convenience for both of us. I did care, but wasn't in love with her."

"Did she feel the same?"

The shoulder nearest her went up then down. Just an inch. "Never discussed it. Her rule. Not mine."

"Sorry. Again."

He chose body over verbal language by shrugging both shoulders. The signal that he didn't want to talk anymore. Natasha didn't blame him. After the invasion and his part in the deaths of so many agents, he'd had more than his share of talking about his feelings with one therapist after the other. In the years since the invasion, Clint had seen at least six different shrinks. The reason being that, after a while, he got pissed off at the questions and suggestions that he allow himself to hypnotized. A couple even made the monumental mistake of prescribing medication. What he told them they could do with their pills wasn't repeatable in public. And the sessions always ended with Clint slugging the men and telling the women to "piss off." Eventually, Fury and the Council gave up.

Natasha offered Clint the last of the alcohol laced coffee, replaced the cap and set it aside. This whole situation with Clint and Adele reminded her of Anton. And no matter how hard she tried, he just wouldn't stay out of her thoughts. She would banish him to the nether regions of her brain, but he kept finding his way out again.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Clint.

"All that **** with Loki has made me think." His voice was soft, as if he were talking to himself and was letting her listen in. "I don't want to die a lonely old man whose only friend is…"

"…a lonely old woman?"

He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Wasn't gonna say that."

The shroud of gloom that surrounded them lifted just enough for Natasha to peek underneath, and what she saw didn't surprise her. It was a vision of Clint and her, wrinkled and white-haired, sitting side by side in mismatched rocking chairs. And all they had to show for their lives was a collection of old weapons and the scars on their bodies chronicling victories and failures. There were no children or grandchildren in this scene. Just a dog that slept between them during the day and with Clint at night. Such a sad, sad life.

And suddenly, like the sun coming out after a long, hard rain, Natasha saw the light. Energized, she got to her feet and slapped Clint on the shoulder. "Come on. I need a ride."

Startled, Clint stood up and followed her down to the catwalk, he quick strides carrying her to the stairs so fast he jogged to catch up. "Where we goin'?"

"Not sure yet."

"Na-at!"

At the bottom of the stairs, Natasha turned left then right at the main corridor that led to the bridge. She had a short whispered conversation with one of the techs, coming away with a smile that wouldn't stay down no matter how hard she tried.

Clint caught up with her as she was coming out of her room. "Nat! Nat, stop!"

"Can't. Don't want to be late."

"For what?"

He was becoming exasperated with her non-answers so she put him out of his misery. "The rest of my life."

The dumbfounded look that came over him made her laugh. Her first real laugh in a long time. "Um…what?"

Leading the way onto the deck and over to one of the helijets, she waited until they were in the air to explain. "I thought I knew it all, Hawkeye. But these past couple of weeks I've learned that there's a difference between just living and living well."

"And what brought about this epiphany? Don't tell me. Riddle."

"Anton. Yes. I fell in love with him when I was fifteen, and I still love him." She took a deep breath, and for the first time in years, the weight that had settled over her chest the day she'd left Anton all alone in their hidden courtyard lifted. "I just hope it's not too late."

Across the small space between them, she could feel the restraint Clint employed to keep from making one of his smartass remarks. Silently, she thanked him for it.

A short time later, the helijet landed in the woods outside of Volgograd. Reaching into the back, she grabbed her bag, unbuckled her harness and opened the door. Before leaving, she leaned over and kissed Clint on the cheek.

Standing in the tall grass, she waved as her partner and best friend flew away. When he was lost to sight, she broke into a jog, coming up on the one place she'd felt true happiness, her smile growing bigger with each step.

Pushing open the rusty gate, she looked around, but didn't see what she'd hoped. "Anton?"

"Natalia?" Anton rose from the bench, their bench, slowly, his dark eyes big and round. "What are you…"

Dropping her bag, Natasha ran forward and threw herself into his arms. He stumbled back a step at the impact, both arms instinctively holding her close. Not giving him a chance to speak, she kissed him long and hard. When the need for oxygen became desperate, Natasha eased back to look into his eyes.

Setting her on the ground, Anton kept hold of her hand, urging her to sit beside him. "Natalia…"

Natasha stopped him with two fingers across his lips, removing them to press her lips to his once more. She parted them just far enough to whisper, "Ya tebya lyublyu."

Taking Natasha's hand, he tugged, and she willingly allowed herself to be draped over his lap. Anton wrapped her in his arms, smiling with happiness. "Ya tozhetebya lyublyu." Parting their lips again, Anton rested his forehead against Natasha's. "So, tell me about Budapest."

The End