Title: The High Road Is Hard to Find

Summary: He had been sent to kill the Black Widow. But as he sighted down the arrow something shifted and he suddenly found himself making a different call.

Chapter title: I've Got Blood On My Name

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: This is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit will be made and no copyright infringement intended.

The high buzz of her cell opening seemed to tear Romanoff from her deep thoughts and her head jerked to the door where Phil lingered for a short second.

She hadn't moved from the position he had last seen her in, although she looked a little more fatigued than before. He doubted she had rested since Clint had brought her in, God knew the rest of them hadn't. Her sharp green eyes followed Phil's movements as he slammed the door shut and dragged a steel chair into the small cell space and placed it opposite of her cot. He leaned into the backrest and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"I have some questions, Ms Romanoff," he stated. "This isn't official so nothing goes on record. I just want the truth. That means no manipulative words and no telling me what you think I wanna hear. I suspect you're lying or playing me and I'm leaving. Understand?"

Romanoff only stared at him and curtly nodded at his terms. He took it as a permission to go ahead.

"Good. Why do you deserve a second chance?"

"I don't," she replied without hesitation. Her voice was gentle, but something dark lurked beneath the surface. Phil frowned at the answer. It wasn't exactly the one he had expected.

"Agent Barton certainly seems to think so. So why don't you enlighten me?" Phil tried again. He did his best to keep his voice neutral and professional.

"If it's agent Barton's assessment you're after then perhaps you should ask him."

"I am not asking him, I'm asking you."

Romanoff averted his eyes for a second. When she looked at him again, her orbs were a swirl of uncertainty. Phil knew she was a master at manipulation and could probably fake just about any emotion, but there was something genuine hidden inside of her and he wondered if he had just been offered the first glimpse of it.

When she spoke again, her voice was raw and quiet. "I don't know why he spared my life. By all accounts, he should have taken it the first chance he got. But he didn't. Make of that what you will."

Phil felt his insides soften at the amount of bitter self-hatred the Widow seemed to hold towards herself. It was an emotion hard to fake, though he wouldn't put it above her to use it. But still, he swore he could see the sincerity oozing from her. He caught his mind drifting towards Clint and his own recruitment and all the lines of similarity that began to stretch out before him. He suspected he began to see what the archer claimed to exist within this Russian assassin.

Takes one to know one.

"He tracked you down when you followed Vladimir Angeloff. You weren't in Moscow to assassinate him, were you?" he then asked.

"No. Rumor has it that he has several underground contacts, all specialized in extraction and the art of wiping an entire person's existence," she stated. "I hoped he could get me out of Russia and help me vanish before anyone caught on to what I was doing."

Phil nodded at the information. He had started scrambling information together about the Russian politician when Clint had reported the Widow's peculiar behavior. Though he didn't see it at the time, her story was plausible and certainly possible. But those were always the best lies.

"I'm guessing then, it was agents of the Red Room that tracked you through Moscow?"

"They figured it out sooner than I had hoped. They came after me. Agent Barton got caught in the crossfire."

Phil pursed his lips. Funny. He had almost expected the wound to have come from her hand. "But you got him out of there?"

She nodded a single time. Her eyes grew distant and seemed almost lost in thought. "He saved my life," she then said. "I figured I owed him that."

"And that's the only reason why you hauled him out?"

The only answer he got was a stern face and a raised eyebrow. Her face had changed and the hard mask of indifference she had arrived with slipped back into place. It was clear Phil couldn't get anymore useful information out of her. She was done talking. Phil exhaled harshly and got up from the chair, not even bothering to take it with him as he headed for the iron door. He suspected she wasn't planning on using it for a weapon.

"Well, then let's hope he didn't almost lose everything for a lie," he said, intentionally loud enough for her to hear as he walked out.

Just as the door closed he caught a quiet response, one Phil wasn't sure was meant for his ears or not.

"Not for a lie."

Two days later

Clint's leg seemed to vibrate on its own as he stood leaned against the wall, his arms crossed before his chest.

He checked his watch again. He knew Fury was making him wait. He knew the Director was dragging it out as far as he possibly could to make the agent restless and annoyed because he hated simply waiting. But he didn't try and amuse himself like he normally would. He had been dancing on the thin line laid out before him since he came back with Romanoff in tow and he was confident that one single misstep, however minor, would cost him dearly. So he stayed silent as he impatiently waited for the judgment to fall. Fury and the Council were in there to decide whether or not Natasha Romanoff should be a SHIELD member. The Director had been inside the room for almost three days straight, debating, and now it finally seemed to be at an end. The archer was certain that Fury made it stretch on with the single purpose of pissing him off. All the waiting around made him jittery and anxious and he hated it.

Clint had been released from the infirmary only a few hours prior. Or he had released himself much to the disdain of the medical personnel. His body was still sore and if he stretched too far, his side would throb in time with his heartbeat. He still felt like he could probably sleep for a week if he got the chance, but nevertheless he was fine. The bullet wound had stopped bleeding yesterday and he would prefer trying not to rip his stitches in his own room or the rafters of the high ceiling, far away from the judgmental eyes of every SHIELD agent that passed him in the hall. He hadn't exactly been overly popular before this, but now it seemed just about everyone decided he had crossed the line, though most of them had no idea where that line lay or what it meant. They just judged him for it. He pointedly ignored all the poisonous glares thrown his direction and all the quiet whispers in the corners. He didn't care about their opinion of him, whether it was good or bad.

Footsteps echoed on the tiles and stopped by Clint's side. He didn't need to turn to know who it was and he didn't acknowledge the presence either. His handler simply leaned up against the wall the same way he did. They both stared straight ahead from the bridge, lazily following the SHIELD personnel that milled about in the large, busy hall underneath them.

"Heard you discharged yourself again," Phil said it without much didactic. He was simply stating the fact. Which was why Clint didn't bother explaining it away.

"You plan on dragging me back again?" he asked instead.

"I don't see the point," Phil said. Clint heard his suit rustle as he shrugged his shoulders. "You'd probably be out in two hours anyway."

The archer vaguely nodded his head even though Phil wasn't watching him. His handler knew he hated the infirmary and opted for keeping a careful eye on him and staying close instead. He would never voice it, but Clint appreciated how Phil went out of his way to make sure he didn't end up bleeding out somewhere.

The gentle swish of the door opening brought Clint out of his thoughts and the two agents out of their silence. Fury stalked out of the room, the stoic and hard look he had been sporting the past week still present on his face mixed with his usual scowl. Clint couldn't decipher what the look meant and if it carried good news for him or not. He knew he should be more restless and eager to know if his career had just ended. Phil, however, wasn't as good at hiding it.

"So?" he anxiously said.

"They're willing to give Romanoff a chance pending her evaluations," Fury simply stated. His remaining good eye switched from Phil to Clint. "They were however very dissatisfied with you."

"Have they ever been satisfied with me?" Clint huffed.

Fury ignored the comment. "There was talk about an official reprimand, but I convinced them that we could handle it internally."

The need to make a snarky remark must have been written clearly on his face because before Clint could open his mouth about Fury actually caring, Phil beat him to it.

"So what happens now?" his handler said and gave the agent a warning glance. Clint did his best to ignore it.

"Romanoff's gonna undergo the psychological and physical evaluation. If SHIELD is still standing by then she will begin recruitment training shortly after."

Phil noticed the look in Fury's eyes in the silence that followed and quickly picked up in the hint. He cleared his throat. "Guess I'm gonna start with her paperwork then."

Then he turned on his heel and left. Fury watched him go before he walked up to the railing overseeing the area underneath. Clint stayed where he was.

"You pissed them off good this time," Fury then sighed.

Unsure of what else to say, Clint simply stated, "I know."

"And yet you went along and did it anyway." The Director turned his piercing eye away from the crowd and towards the archer. His gaze was unrelenting and firm. "Just because I stopped the Council from tearing you a new one doesn't save you from me. You're the best asset SHIELD has ever had. I can't afford losing your talents. However you have had a habit of making my life miserable from the day you arrived, but I put up with it. Because you're a damn good agent I don't wish to lose."

It had to have been one of the most flattering things Clint had ever heard Fury say. Especially about him. His throat turned dry at the words and for once he had no fancy retort to throw back.

Fury's voice turned grave then as he continued, "But you overstepped the line this time, Barton."

"Yes, sir," was the only thing Clint could say.

"I want you out of my base and I don't want to see your face for the next month."

Clint simply nodded.

"Therefore I'm sending you on the Kazakhstan-mission. Threat-level 2. That means observe and report only," Fury held his eyes sternly. "Do not test my limits this time. You're valuable, but not irreplaceable."

This was more like the Director Fury he knew. He had no idea where this submissive behavior came from. Maybe it came from the feeling of having just dodged a major bullet and he didn't want to open his mouth, fearing he couldn't stop whatever mocking remark that would undoubtedly make its way across his lips. Instead he just nodded his head again.

Clint knew he was dismissed and therefore turned to leave the same way Phil had. Before he could disappear down the hall though, Fury's barking voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Barton!"

He turned.

"Don't screw up."

Clint's lips quirked wryly before exiting without another word.

TBC