Rated T: Swearing, mild descriptions of injury, strong hints at suicidal thoughts/actions.
As a piece of adhesive tape was too stubborn to rip, Clint grunted in annoyance as he used his teeth to finish the job.
Oh yeah, this was a great decision. Bandaging up the most deadly assassin he ever faced, hoping that when she did come to, she wouldn't kill him.
He was living the dream.
Not to mention he was hiding from Shield too. He had a feeling that if she woke up to a bunch of agents either helping or interrogating her, she would kill everyone in the room. Although her injury was pretty severe, he knew he had to talk some sense into her. She needed to behave if she was going to have a chance at living through Fury's wrath.
But that would take time. He hoped they had enough of it.
She could withstand a while without proper medical attention at the rate her blood was slowing. As long as he kept what was left of the arrow shaft in her shoulder to help the blood clot, using the medical tape and gauze to keep it steady should give them the time he needed. Once he sterilized the wound as much as he could without reopening it, he covered it with almost all the bandages he had. Keeping his hands clamped against both sides of the wound in her shoulder, the pressure would stop whatever was still trickling until he could convince her not to kill other doctors.
"What the hell am I doing?" Clint mumbled as he hit his head against the walls of the long abandoned factory. How would he get out of hot water this time? This had to be the stupidest thing he'd done by far, and on his first Shield assassination. He even turned off his tracker for this, that was a not going to fly well with Coulson.
And for what? He didn't even have a plan, he just hoped he could get out of killing someone so young because he got an uneasy feeling about it.
Taking a deep breath as his forehead continued to lean against the wall, he took a moment to compose himself before looking back at the girl. She was slumped against the same wall, arms shackled behind her to an old pipe going from the ceiling to the floor. It wasn't high tech security, but it was enough to slow her down in her current state.
Up close she looked so old for her age, her face looking heavy despite her short stature and physical appearance proving otherwise. She looked so tired, and Clint knew that because he had seen it before. In himself. Before Shield. Before his fresh start.
All of a sudden, he heard a low growl emitting from the Black Widow's mouth. She turned to face Clint, her eyes showing furious anger.
To break the silence within their staring contest, Clint said, "Good, you're not dead."
She didn't comment on his words and instead spat back in Russian, "Get your filthy paws off me."
Clint looked at the wound he held in place, peeling off the most recent layer of gauze to see if the blood had spread under the other layers. It had grown a little in the past few minutes, but it was definitely slowing. He was incredibly relieved he had just missed an artery, otherwise she would have been long dead.
Placing the gauze back in its original spot, he simply gave her no option, "You'll have to deal with my 'filthy paws' for a while longer."
Clearly not satisfied with his answer, she tried taking matters into her own hands and violently pulled against the shackles that held her down. She pulled so hard that Clint was sure she was willing to break something, whichever came first: The pipe or her wrists.
He understood why, that was spy business, his business. They had to go to extremes if their life depended on it, but she was going to end up reopening the wound and killing herself if she continued. After all the effort he put into wrapping it up and all the shit he was going to get from Fury already, he would prefer if she didn't do that.
Clint laid his other arm across her, doing his best to force her against the wall while one hand stayed on the injury. In her weakened state he managed to hold her back so she couldn't fight against the shackles with her body pressed harshly against them, but she still struggled.
"Hey!" Clint raised his voice to get her attention. "Stop it. You'll reopen the wound and bleed out."
They both glared at each other, fighting stubbornness with stubbornness until she finally let up. He could tell that she didn't care if she bled out, the only reason she stopped was because she wanted to conserve her energy for an escape attempt later.
Once Clint knew she wouldn't try it again, he released his arm from across her and went back to treating the other end of the wound. He could tell she was still dissatisfied with the silent compromise, so he kept a close eye on her to make sure she wouldn't be stupid again. He could tell by the way her eyes darted around the factory that she was trying to think of an escape route, but as he fiddled with the pressure on the wound he could see her face grimace at the pain.
She was a tough kid, he knew from experience that an injury like this was painful.
"Sorry," Clint mumbled in sympathy, earning him a raised eyebrow. She clearly didn't trust him, but to be fair he wouldn't have either. He did shoot her.
Changing topic as if they had been in a conversation, he asked, "So, do you have a name other than Black Widow?" When he didn't get a response back, just as he expected, he continued anyways. "Yeah, me neither. I'm Hawkeye."
For a solid half hour after that introduction, they were both silent. Clint made sure she didn't grow any more pale from blood loss as he kept pressure on the wound, and the Widow simply looked dead ahead. It wasn't a blank stare, that would have been a bad sign. It was a focused stare. No doubt she was still trying to think of a way to get the upper hand in this situation.
After that time, the wound had clotted enough for Clint to release the pressure. So he sat a few feet away from her, interrupting her line of vision. She didn't look away as he sat directly in front of her, only seeming to stare into his soul with annoyance.
Clint took that time to unwrap his own arm injury. He messily covered it in his haste to help the Widow's more immediate injury, only taking enough time to make sure their two injuries didn't infect each other. Now, he was finally able to properly sterilize and inspect his arm.
It thankfully wasn't too deep, a few spots would need stitches but he'd survive. As he treated it, he looked back up at the kid multiple times to keep an eye on her. She didn't falter in her concentration as he used whatever gauze was left to wrap up his own wound, but he knew he would have to break her focus eventually. He couldn't hide out here forever, so he got down to business.
"Whoever taught you, taught you well," Clint mentioned in between glances to break the ice. "You're good at keeping your mouth shut and good at looking for opportunities to strike. You put up quite a fight for a kid."
He figured she wouldn't speak as he finished securing the gauze with tape based off her earlier tactic, so he was surprised when she did.
"You're not much older than me, you know."
She was right, he was probably only five years older than her. Still a young adult but significantly younger than almost all the people in this business.
However, Clint was confused about why she spoke when she had remained silent for so long. She had no reason to unless...
"Ahh," He smirked. "You're playing along. You want to get your own information out of me so you're going to try twisting the conversation to your will. Smart."
She kept her unreadable glare but once again, remained silent. She could tell she would have to use different techniques to get the information out of this man, so she'd have to play his game differently.
As Clint looked directly at her, he said, "I can already tell you're amazing at what you do. I'm not even going to bother with protocol and strategies. I'm already breaking every rule in the book for not killing you."
No response.
Shit.
Even if she was going to play along to get information, he at least wanted her to keep talking. He needed her to work with him.
So Clint decided to be blunt about the situation, he was going to be serious with this kid. He needed to do something to keep her reacting because he had to be sure he was making the right decision for not completing this mission. The only way he could do that was to keep gathering information on this kid. He had to cross check, so he decided to ask another question. "Do you know why?"
"I beg your pardon?" The kid asked.
Clint repeated himself, glad he was getting responses again. "Do you know why I didn't kill you? Answer honestly."
He leaned back on his hands, legs extended on the cold concrete as he waited for minutes on end for an answer. When she realized he wasn't going to let up until she answered him, she played his little game of twenty questions. "You're weak."
Clint shrugged. They were getting somewhere now. "Maybe I am, but that's not why. Guess again."
She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "Why?"
"Come on, it's a guessing game," He responded. "Us 'kids' are allowed to play a game every now and again. Guess."
"Interrogation." She said without hesitation. All spies had a motive for keeping an enemy alive and it was usually to gather intel. "That's what you're doing right now."
"You're right about that, but I'm not going to torture you," He said every word carefully, keeping close watch of her reactions the whole conversation. He pressed forwards in hopes she would realize she knew why. "Come on, you know there's a different reason."
She was quiet. She honestly has no idea what this Hawkeye was trying to get at. Those were the general reasons an enemy would keep her around. What else did he want from her? She was tired of his game.
When he realized she didn't know what else to say, he sighed. She didn't even consider the fact he knew.
Instead of bluntly saying why, he decided to tell a short story to ease into breaking her cover. "You know, I was a lot like you. I was an assassin for hire, did a lot of shit, got a lot of blood on my hands. But do you know what's funny? As I was killing, I was never proud of it."
He let that sink in for a moment before saying, "Are you proud of what you do?"
She originally wasn't going to answer him, however she wanted information on her enemy just as much as he did. Ultimately, she replied with, "Yes."
But she had hesitated with her response. There was doubt in her mind, whether she acknowledged it or not. Clint was going to help her see that because frankly, he was too far into this hole to get out now. Since he was going to get in trouble with Fury either way, he might as well make the most of it. "You're an excellent liar," He responded. "You're so good that you even convinced yourself of your lies."
She huffed a laugh after he said that, almost in disbelief of such a crazy idea. So she mocked him. "Yeah, I really hate being an assassin," Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "I can't stand this life I live."
Clint pointed an accusing finger at her after she spoke. "You see, I think you were partially telling the truth there. You didn't hesitate that time."
The Widow rolled her eyes. "Jeez, I thought you were smart enough to pick up on sarcasm."
"Hey, I know sarcasm. I'm one sarcastic son of a bitch," Clint said. "I know it's often used as a defense mechanism to hide the truth."
"You're one insane assassin," She commented, still finding him unbelievable that he was continuing this conversation.
Clint shrugged, "I'm pretty sure that's the norm for assassins." Leaning forward, arms resting on his now crossed knees, he was about to continue before she suddenly straightened her posture.
Something was off. It was clear that she was holding back, he could see the way her body tensed up. She tried her best to hide it but the next thing she knew, she couldn't control the shiver that ran through her body. She was a trained assassin, she couldn't show any weakness, yet here she was because of a natural body instinct. Shivering from the cold room that wasn't much warmer than the blizzard outside.
Clint felt like an idiot. He had to take off her coat in order to treat her wound, but it was still sitting besides her. He didn't even think to give it back.
She may have been from Russia, but the cold could get to even the best assassin.
Putting their conversation on hold, he picked the fur coat up and draped it over her shoulders. "Sorry," Clint mumbled as he did his best to situate the coat so it wrapped around her core given the hands behind her back.
While doing so, the Widow concealed her confusion. An enemy would want her to feel uncomfortable, that was how they interrogated people. Why was this one helping her feel the opposite? This must have been a trick, try to gain trust before attempting to break her.
It wouldn't work, even if he took off his own coat to cover her exposed legs that sat upon the freezing floor. Though either way, she couldn't help but feel a bit relieved by the newfound warmth.
Clint was still uncomfortable with the temperature, especially after giving up his own coat, but he had enough layers. The fancy dress she was wearing to blend into the mansion wasn't doing any favors against the elements, so she could honestly use the coat more than him.
"What a gentleman," She joked as he sat back down in front of her, hoping to keep some form of conversation going to figure out his plan. If she didn't find out soon, well... It wouldn't matter anyway. Now, she thought of a backup plan. "Giving up your coat while I'm still shackled to the wall. I'm much more comfortable."
"Hey, you're still a deadly assassin who tried to kill me," Clint defended.
"You tried killing me first."
"Good point..." He noted because he couldn't deny the arrow still in her shoulder. "But I'm not trying to kill you now. Want me to go back to the guessing game as to why I'm not trying to?"
She leaned her head back against the wall in annoyance. "Oh god, not again."
"Okay, okay, I'll spare you this time." He put his hands up in defense but kept an unwavering gaze on her. "I see that you have potential. I'm not quite sure what that potential is for, but I have a feeling it's important enough to not be thrown away. Like you were about to."
Clint figured out through all the red flags that she was trying to purposely fail her mission, to end it all. She had come close to getting her wish too, but now that Clint saw her plan, he wasn't going to let her die.
Maybe he was being selfish, not wanting to kill a kid when she clearly wanted him to, but once he saw the truth he just couldn't go through with it.
But she barely responded when he told her his new knowledge, he thought it would initiate at least some form of a response either through speech or body language. He observed her closely, trying to decipher if she was hiding behind her mask of focus again.
No, it wasn't focus this time. Her gaze was drifting, and her face looked almost blank.
That's when Clint noticed her skin. It started to look unnaturally pale, worse than it had been before. Now that he noticed it, he saw her eyelids had grown much more heavy, seeming to weigh her down.
"Shit. You didn't…" He bolted over and whipped off her coat, a smirk on her face the whole time as if amused by his plans being ruined.
Between their conversation, she had managed to move her arm. Enough of a shrug would have been enough to reopen the wound, and with the coat over her injury he wasn't able to see the blood stains starting to soak through the bandages.
She did.
"You jerk!" Clint said as he began reapplying pressure to the wound. "I'm trying to keep you from dying!"
"Yeah right," She slurred as she kept her head leaned against the wall. She was just about to close her eyes in hopes of getting some rest when instead she tensed up, bolting forwards against the shackles as if sensing something.
And just as Clint thought nothing else could go wrong, it did.
Clint was forced to take his attention away from the kid in order to take the bow off his back and knock an arrow at the sound of people scurrying behind him.
It was an ambush team.
She had been distracting him. This was a trap.
Or so he thought, until he noticed the emblem on one of their arms. It was Shield.
He was about to be relieved before he heard one of the team members speak into their earpiece. "We have eyes on Barton and the Black Widow. Executing now."
They were going to complete his mission.
Before thinking, Clint positioned himself in front of the kid on the ground, who was just conscious enough to start weakly tugging at the pole hoping this was her moment to escape, but her injury held her back. Clint did his best to block their path of fire and was ready to attack as he yelled to the officers, "Don't shoot!"
But at least one of them had to. Luckily this agent didn't have the best aim with Clint blocking his path, unluckily the bullet hit Clint in the arm.
He had no time to dwell on it. Grunting through the pain, he fired one of his trick arrows at the agent, causing him to fall backwards as the arrow split in midair. A second later a net was wrapped around that very operative. Before the others could shoot, Clint yelled again. "Don't. Shoot."
His harsh tone was enough to make them pause until he got his com link working again. "Base, this is Barton. Tell them to hold their damn fire!"
The other line was dead for an anxious moment before Clint heard Phil say, "Andros squad, hold your fire."
He sighed, partly from relief but mainly because he knew he was in deep water if Phil was now overseeing this mission.
"You better convince me otherwise, Barton," Coulson threatened. "Fast."
Clint pinched the bridge of his nose and thought about what he was going to say. He came to the conclusion that there was only one thing he could say. "She's a valuable asset."
That was the only consideration Shield would take into account when not killing a code 407 enemy. The kid card wasn't going to work here and this was the one reason that would buy the Black Widow time. He only knew it would work because Phil had done the same for him.
"Now send Evac now or she will bleed out." Clint nearly begged his superior, leaving Phil with no choice but to take Clint's idea into account.
Phil sighed over the earpiece. "A medical team will be there in three. This better be good, Clint. The stakes are unreasonably high for this case."
"I know," He said and turned to face the kid against the wall.
She was barely conscious at this point, only the last of her adrenaline keeping her alert enough to flinch away when Clint keeled closer. For the first time, he saw a clearly visible expression on her face. It wasn't shrouded in lies and strategy, she wasn't thinking straight enough for that. Her expression was one of a kid, one of fear.
The agents nearby would have missed it, her training still hid it well as her struggling seemed to be out of desire to escape. However, Clint was able to clearly see through her veil for the first time since meeting her.
He had to hide his shock in order to keep his features collected. Slowly reaching out, he continued putting pressure on her wound. "I'm not going to let you die," Clint muttered so only she could hear. "I'm only trying to help. Trust me."
At this point, she was running on her fight or flight response, but she could barely do either. He noticed in the scurry she had almost managed to escape from her bonds through picking the lock with a hairpin, but she was still trapped against the pole like a scared animal. Her brain becoming hazy whether she liked it or not, but she was still putting up a fight even if she knew she couldn't win.
He almost missed it when she breathed out one last word, as if processing what he said for the first time. "No..."
Within the next three minutes, Clint did his best to calm her down for the medics. He was successful in helping her sit back properly to keep the wound in check, and she had no other option but to roll with her fleeting conscious. She couldn't go anywhere in her state, and before she drifted off when the medics arrived, she mumbled one last time, "No."
That one word hit too close to home. She really didn't want help, and it reminded Clint too much of his first meeting with Phil. A meeting where he didn't want to accept help either.
Clint didn't know much about this Black Widow, but he knew one thing: He had made the right decision by not killing her.
If she was even a little bit like him, she could still be saved.
"Sloppy. Pretending to fail."
"You never fail."
She hoped she could. Just once. She had wanted to fail.
But when she pried her eyes open to see the blinding white walls, she knew she hadn't. She wished she was in hell, not the hell on earth she had come to know so well. The Red Room.
She was back to square one, and she couldn't be more disappointed in herself.
Or at least she thought she was back in the Red Room, until she realized there was someone sitting in a chair at the foot of her bed, staring her down.
It was that hawk guy, the enemy.
They had captured her. Great.
She was aware of how he kept a cautious eye while she took in her surroundings, but she chose to ignore him. As she considered options for escape, she saw there was only one exit of a heavy duty door in the corner of the room. However, she quickly realized she couldn't go anywhere due to the fact she was restrained to a hospital bed.
The pain all over her body didn't help her situation either. As she let out a shaky breath, she noticed most of the pain was centered just above her heart.
Now she remembered, that hawk guy shot her. She loved him even more.
She looked down at the arrow wound to her shoulder. Her left arm was currently in a sling that resembled half of a straight jacket as the ends wrapped around her waist and back. They didn't just want her to reopen the injury, if that was the case her uninjured arm wouldn't be shackled to the bed railing.
She tested the strength of their bonds but at the slightest movement, pain surged through her body. She was clearly not given any pain medication, whoever this man worked for, they knew they needed to keep a leash on her. Leaving the pain wouldn't do her any favors when escaping.
Resting her head against the pillow, the red head continued to pay no attention to the man at her feet. She didn't want anything to do with him. He ruined her plans.
But then he spoke. What he asked surprised her.
"How are you feeling?"
She didn't want to look at him, but she couldn't help it. Whenever someone in the Red Room asked her how she was feeling, it was drowned in annoyance she got injured or fake sympathy. This stranger… He was really good at fake sympathy.
She didn't know how to respond, and he seemed to sense her loss for words.
So when she didn't answer for minutes on end, he frowned. "I need an answer if I'm going to help you. If the pain is a lot then I can see what I can do, but you have to answer the question."
"I know you won't give me any morphine. And I'm fine," She almost spat. He was trying to get her to lower her guard, she refused to let him win.
The man stood up, dragging the metal chair across the floor and spinning it around when he was at the right side of her bed. He sat in it backwards with his arms resting on the frame before answering. "Yeah you're probably right, they won't give you morphine. But if you need anything else, I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me for a while."
He was still a number of meters away near the far edge of the bed, but she still tried to squirm away and gain an extra inch of distance. She did her best among the straps on her legs and arms, and even though she didn't move much, it made her feel more comfortable to adjust herself in the new position with clenched teeth.
Witnessing her struggle for distance, he kept his. Then they proceeded to not say anything for a long time. The man continued to keep a watchful eye on her as he fiddled with his fingers, but she refused to acknowledge him.
"I can tell you hate me," He seemed to like disturbing the silence. "I foiled your plans, didn't I?"
She almost scoffed but held it in. He didn't know her plans.
...Did he?
He saw her tense up in defense and elaborated. "You know what plans I'm talking about. Your plans to escape. Everything. Permanently."
There was that voice again. That fake tone trying to make her lower her guard. She wasn't going to fall for it.
So she looked away. Honestly aggravated he was bringing this up and even saw through what she had planned.
It was none of his business.
"It may not be any of my business," Somehow being good at reading even the smallest of thoughts. She needed to get herself together. "But I can see you're struggling because I've been in a similar spot before. Many times."
It was too late to prevent the small chuckle that escaped her lips as he compared his life to the life of an assassin he never knew. She couldn't help but find it hilarious. He knew nothing about her. He had no clue what the Red Room did to people.
"Hey, don't dismiss it," He broke a small smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. "How do you think I became an assassin at this prime age of twenty-one? I've already been here a few years and I'm only like, what? Five years older than you? We both had crappy lives if we became this good at our jobs."
"Nice to know we have so much in common," She gave a snarky remark even though it hurt her dry voice.
He seemed to have noticed how she licked the inside of her mouth because he instinctively got up from his seat and walked over to the one other thing in this room, a side table with a plastic pitcher of water. He poured a cup as he continued to speak. "I can tell we have more in common than most," His voice dimmed for a slight moment before, again, lightening the mood. "The sarcasm is my thing, by the way. You're stealing my thunder."
She rolled her eyes as he plopped a straw in the cup and held it up to her lips since her own arms were busy being restrained. He didn't force her to drink it, but he simply held it nearby until she ultimately decided to take a few sips.
She had to hide how enjoyable the water felt. She may of had an IV in he arm to keep her hydrated, but there was just nothing like drinking water. Especially when it felt like she hadn't for a month.
He put the cup back on the table when she was done, assuming his previous position in the chair. He was silent for a moment as if in thought of where he should go next with this conversation. "We've kept you under sedatives for a week," He said and noticed the kid's surprise. He could tell it wasn't surprise from how long she'd been out, like a normal reaction. "I know, a lot of people had the perfect opportunity to kill you. Me, the doctors, the Director… But we didn't."
When she caught on that he expected her to contribute to the conversation, she decide to humor him. "What do you want? A thank you?" She wasn't going to thank whoever they were, that was the last thing she wanted to do. She knew what they wanted, why they kept her alive. Information.
She could withstand torture, she'd done it before. They'd get nothing.
The man replied. "No, I know a 'thank you' is the last thing you want to do after that stunt you pulled, and I'm not going to pretend that we don't want something. Every organization had their motives."
"Then what is it?" She wanted him to stop beating around the bush. This conversation had gone on long enough.
"We want to recruit you."
She raised her eyebrows. That was honestly the last thing she expected would come out of his mouth.
The man knew that she wanted him to elaborate, so he did. "It took a week to convince the Director not to kill you because I think you'd be a valuable member to the team. You have a mad skill set, kid, unlike any I've ever seen. Plus, I can tell you don't like whatever job you currently have with your eagerness to lay down your life."
There was a long moment of hesitance as he debated if he should say something else. Letting out a sigh, he quietly added, "I know the difference between laying down your life for a reason and laying it down because you ran out of reasons."
This game he played was messing with her... Badly. She had barely been listening to what he had said in this whole conversation, only replying with snarky remarks. She didn't know how, but whatever compelled him to say those last few sentences allowed her to open her mind enough to actually process his words, instead of letting them flow in one ear and out the other.
Whoever this Hawkeye was, he was good at his job. He was already breaking down the barriers she had surrounded herself in for years.
"I work for Shield," He continued with his proposition. "An acronym for a long list of terms meaning 'protection agency.' You have these amazing skills and you can put them to better use than just killing. You can use them to protect people."
"But you still kill," The Widow couldn't help but comment as she desperately tried to find the holes in his lies. "You were willing to kill me."
"As a last resort, yes," He defended even though he knew Shield wasn't without shortcomings. "We thought you were dangerous enough that we had to, but then I saw your potential. I believe that you can do better than this."
She didn't want to admit it, but it was a nice thought that someone believed she was more than the assassin the Red Room made her, even if it was the thought of a stranger who knew nothing about her. Yet, she had to admit that it was just that: A nice thought. It wasn't reality.
The Russian let his words sink in. "I'm going to be blunt here. You presently don't have many options on the table. Sure, you can attempt an escape or die trying, but if you succeed then you'll go back to whatever you wanted to escape in the first place. Or, you can refuse our offer and the Director would have no reason to keep you alive. Or... You have a chance at hopefully, something better."
If the man was telling the truth about one thing, it was that her options were few and clear in her current state. It was either die, go back to the Red Room, or try something else.
If she wasn't restrained, she would have punched herself in the head for being an idiot because for the first time, she even considered the possibility of something else. She hadn't been able to do that before.
"What if I fail?"
"You never fail."
She never failed because they never let her fail. Madame B. never let her fail. She was caught in the endless loop of trying to fail, not being able to, then following new orders just to try again. Even this mission, it would have been the perfect opportunity to fail because this Hawkeye was actually good enough to put up a fight. She could have easily made it look like she didn't fail purposely, but then he decided to spare her. Not letting her fail.
So she was back in the endless loop. The next step was to follow new orders.
But who said those orders had to come from Madame B.?
That was a thought she never thought she'd have. This was the first time she ever experienced the idea. The potential freedom. Freedom not through death.
"It's your choice," The man broke her thoughts. "Only you can decide where to go from here."
She frowned. The thought was nice, but it wasn't logical. She could never be free of what they made her to be. She could never be free from what she had done, the red on her ledger. She was a monster, and nothing could change that.
Besides, she had tried to escape the Red Room years ago and it never worked. They always caught up to her eventually. They always brought her back.
The man had watched her mental battle unfold for minutes on end. Eventually, he asked, "What are you thinking?"
She didn't respond for a long time. She frankly didn't know what to say. Her brain couldn't think of the right words. In all her training, she had never been prepared for this sort of interrogation.
So for once, she told the truth. Something the Red Room taught her to avoid. "They always come for me."
He didn't really know if she'd actually consider the opportunity, but the fact that she said others were holding her back... There was a chance she was willing to try.
"But they're not here. Right now, it's your choice and your choice alone," He said in hopes of getting these people out of the picture. He even let a smile cross his face as he complimented, "Plus, you're a damn good fighter. Are you sure whoever they are can get passed you? Especially with another awesome agent at your side? Aka, me."
She would have broken a smile at his pride if she didn't hold it back. "You give yourself too much credit. If I wasn't injured you would have been dead a week ago."
"But I landed that injury," He pointed an accusing finger at her, finding the flaw in likely true statement. "Not everybody can land a hit on you. Not to mention multiple."
She glared at his smirk, staring him down until he spoke again. "So what's your choice? The Director does want an answer soon."
Looking down at her lap, she considered her few choices. She didn't want to go back if there was a way out, so the question became: Did she want to throw that chance away?
If it didn't work out, she always had her original plan to fall back on. She was being handed an opportunity she'd wanted for years on a silver platter, it was too good to be true. It could be a trap. Did she want to risk it?
She looked back up to study the man in the chair again. He was an agent, he knew how to act genuine by lying through his teeth. He could easily be doing that now.
In her studying, she noticed he was wearing a black t-shirt exposing his arms and the many bandages that littered them. One was across his forearm and had been the knife wound she inflicted. The other, was one she didn't inflict.
Before passing out, they were being surrounded by men who were going to kill her. He stood in their way. He took that bullet for her when she was in no state to survive another injury, and he might have selfish motives but he had still taken that bullet.
Why?
"I'm not going to let you die. I'm only trying to help."
"Trust me."
That statement had been true so far, he hadn't let her die, but was the second half true? Did she want to put even a small bit of trust into this potential opportunity of escaping the Red Room? Did she want to gamble her way into this potential trap?
She just needed to keep her guard up. She'd handled traps before but if there was a sliver of a chance this was real, she might as well give it a try. She may never get another chance and if she was being honest with herself, she had nothing to lose.
She couldn't believe what she was about to say, this could be the worst decision of her life. If she returned, the consequences would be sever, but maybe she wouldn't have to return. There was a small chance and deep down, she wanted to take it.
Her voice was barely audible when she spoke, "If I can get back at you for shooting me… I wouldn't mind sticking around."
She quickly read his expression after saying that and he seemed… Glad. Almost relieved that she made that choice. She couldn't help but be perplexed by this man.
If she got anything out of this decision, maybe she would finally figure out how he ticked. That would be satisfaction enough.
Through his smile he said, "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of chances to get back at me. I'll be the one training and keeping an eye on you."
She would have face palmed her forehead if she wasn't tied down. She didn't want to be around him constantly, she still hated him after all. "Is it too late to change my answer?"
He shrugged, "That's up to you." He had a feeling she wouldn't actually change it, but he knew she had a bone to pick with him for ruining her plans.
But he was okay with that. Proposing this idea to Fury, he knew that if it went through he was bound to have a rocky relationship with her. She would likely be guarded for the rest of her life due to whatever she'd been through. She was trained to live and act certain ways, training her differently would take time and frustration, but he was willing to go through with that.
He could tell, whoever this Black Widow really was, she deserved a second chance.
So he got up from his seat, reaching into his pocket to reveal the keys he stole from the guards earlier. He was incredibly glad he turned off his earpiece going into this conversation because he could basically hear Fury screaming into it.
He wasn't going to break all the rules today, but he'd break enough. He uncuffed her right hand from the shackle and the whole time, he kept watch of her face. He saw a whole range of emotions from confusion, to shock, to debating escape. He even saw her decide against it.
That was all the proof he needed. She was actually willing to give this a try.
Once she was freed from one of her bounds, she didn't start trying to undo her other restraints, much to Clint's surprise. She currently wasn't trying to 'overstay her welcome,' but even if he wanted to trust her, he would have to make sure it stayed that way. Complete trust would still have to be earned on both ends.
For now, Hawkeye extended his arm towards the Black Widow.
"I think it's time for a proper introduction. Hi, I'm Clint. Welcome to Shield."
She was hesitant to actually accept the greeting. She gave her real name to nobody. The only people who used it were those in charge of the Red Room. If she was really going through with this, she didn't want to use the name she had learned meant punishment. Besides, if this was a trap she shouldn't be too quick to trust.
It took her much debate, but she eventually shook his hand in what felt like the first authentic greeting she had in her life. "Natasha."
"Well Natasha," Clint smiled, "Rest up. Trust me when I say you're going to need all your strength to deal with me."
If she believed anything he said that day, it was that. Years later, she still needed all the rest she could get to deal with him.
"But that's the abridged version," Clint whispered as he placed the sleeping child carefully into the crib. "It took longer than a couple conversations before she decided, and it was far from smooth sailing after. There was still a long road ahead of healing, treachery, gaining trust, many fights, and Shield protocol to overcome."
Natasha watched Clint tuck in Nathaniel under the blanket, placing his favorite teddy bear right next to his cheek. "It was a rough ride, but we eventually made it this far," She added.
When Clint stopped gawking at his son and turned back to his friend, they shared the brightest smiles. It was a smile that Natasha only let him see as their past memories meant so much to the both of them.
Especially to Natasha. Clint had stepped up to help her when she was about to throw her life away. Even if it took time for them to get along, it had meant so much to have him by her side through it all. He allowed her to push aside all the wrong she had done to start anew.
Glancing back at Nate, Clint finished their story where they began. "We were never the best of people, your Aunt and I. We both had our issues, our pasts…" He looked back at his tired friend and walked over to where she sat on the floor, holding out a hand to help her up. "But if there's one thing I learned over the years, it's not to judge people on their worst mistakes."
Natasha didn't hesitate to take Clint's hand. He pulled her to her tired feet, still holding on even after she was steady.
While other friends might have hugged, they almost never felt the need to. Simply being in each other's presence was enough to light up the room as they tightly held hands like it was a lifeline.
And while they were both each other's lifeline in different ways, for Natasha, he meant so much more. He had kept her so grounded when she needed it the most, he was the glue that held her breaking body together. Without him, she would have been dead long ago.
As they walked out of the nursery, hand in hand, she was unbelievably glad she had Clint by her side. He was a genuine superhero, and she was glad he didn't let her die when they first met.
She knew that one day, she'd repay the debt she owed him in full. Even if it was the last act she ever did, she would save Clint the way he saved her.
While I tried to keep the tone light as this is a fictional example, suicidal thoughts and even attempts are a very serious and real topic. I have some close friends who've had to battle this form of enemy and thankfully, are currently in a good place because they've had help. Not everyone is going to have a Clint to swoop in and help unannounced, so if you are struggling with this demon I urge you to take the leap and reach out to someone you trust. It's easier said than done, but it's easier to tackle this demon with support.
I'm not a therapist or 'all knowing' at anything, writing is just my way of spreading awareness to these important topics.
On a happier note, after writing this two-parter I realized that I have more ideas for one-shots about Natasha first joining Shield and how she and Clint grow close. Not all of them will fit within this story so I may make a separate fanfiction where I write about their relationship more in depth. If I do, I'll be sure to update you all!:)
