Chapter Forty Three
When Clint Barton received his mission to kill the 'Black Widow' assassin, he felt like something was missing.
His gut told him that something was off, and his gut was usually right. It was one of the reasons he had survived for so long.
The feeling stayed with him as he packed. It stayed on the way to the airport, and on the plane ride.
And it got stronger and stronger.
By the time he had reached his destination – the assumed whereabouts of the Black Widow – it took all of his strength to keep going. With each step he took, it got harder and harder to walk. As he pulled his bow out and unsheathed an arrow, he had to take several breaths before he could notch it without his hands shaking.
You can do this, he told himself. It's nothing you've never done before.
But he still didn't feel right.
Get over it! He told himself. He kicked the door open, and found himself staring into a wide, dark room.
He took in everything immediately. From the boxes, to the woman, to the gun in her hand.
Lethally beautiful, that's what he'd call her. There were no pictures of her on file, and this was the first time he – or anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. – has gotten a good look at her. She was younger than he thought, too. Somewhere between nineteen and twenty two. Only a few years younger than him.
The rumors of the Black Widow assassin have circled around for over a decade. Which means that this woman had started killing when she was nine to twelve years old.
She had beautiful flaming red-orange hair, and she was quite petite. He also noticed the steel expression in her eyes, and the way she gripped her gun. He took in her sweaty expression and the way she stood; defensive, but not as strong as it should be.
She was scared.
Was she feeling the same thing that he was?
He watched her eyes as she took him in, and he realized too late that he was still in an attacking stance. He watched as she adjusted her arm.
She's gonna shoot! He thought. There's only one thing to do.
He stopped his semi shaking hands and drew back the bowstring.
She pulled the trigger.
He released his arrow.
And the targets hit their marks.
Leaving the room ringing silent, with two bodies coloring the floor a deep, scarlet red.
