hey guys, HAPPY NEW YEAR! i wanted to update before the new year, but i ran out of time with the holiday rush, so here it is (a lil later than usual) i hope you enjoy this chapter! i feel like i could've written it forever but cut back quite a bit so we'll see :) i also thought this fic would be finished by 2019 but it's quite a bit longer than i ever anticipated, with a sequel coming once i'm finished!

thank you for all your reviews, let me know what you think of this chapter! hope you enjoy x

Philadelphia, 2007

May

As far as being imprisoned went, Clint thought he had it pretty good with S.H.I.E.L.D. Despite not having a TV and having to pee in front of multiple security cameras, he had a bed and Agent Coulson to keep him entertained. It had been a month since his capture, according to Coulson, and Clint trusted him enough to believe him when he said they were only in Philadelphia and not some island in the middle of the Pacific.

He was silently worried about Natasha, but was managing to keep his cool in front of Coulson and the agents assigned to watch him. They hadn't pushed for much more information, instead letting him know about the way that S.H.I.E.L.D operated until it became clear that he only had one choice: join them as an agent.

Clint wasn't opposed to the idea; as far as he could tell, S.H.I.E.L.D were the good guys, gathering intelligence and data to keep everyday citizens safe. It reminded him of the early days with Natasha, when they had naively thought they could save the world before they realised there were just too many cruel people out there. The difference was that S.H.I.E.L.D had the manpower and the means, and the more he thought about it, the better it sounded.

His only problem was bargaining Natasha into the situation. Coulson had expressed his desire to have Natasha working for them, but Clint was more concerned with the higher ups that he had heard wanted her dead. He didn't want to tell Coulson about her if it was going to end badly; they were a package deal, and he needed to figure out how to ensure her safety too, even though he wasn't even sure she would even agree to it.

The door opened and Coulson entered, wearing his customary suit and carrying a plastic-wrapped sandwich. "Afternoon, Mr Barton."

"C'mon Coulson, you can call me Clint," Clint said, sitting up on his bed. "No one's ever called me Mr Barton before. That was my dad."

Coulson paused, looking at Clint with an unreadable expression. He was a nice man, if not a little too formal, and Clint had really begun to like him over the last few weeks. If he did have to pledge his loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D, he would gladly do it if Coulson was his handler.

"Okay, Clint," Coulson conceded. "How's a meatball sub sound?"

"You know me too well," Clint moaned, taking a seat at the table and pulling the sandwich closer to him. "Am I that easy to read?"

"Like an open book," Coulson commented drily. "Sometimes that's just as hard, though."

"Hmm," Clint hummed around his mouthful. "I dunno. I can't get a read on you."

"I'm a specially trained agent, Clint," Coulson said. "You shouldn't get a read on me."

Clint fought back the urge to sign whatever at Coulson. It wasn't that Coulson didn't know he knew ASL, because Clint had told him a few minor details about his life, but it was the fact that it was Natasha's comeback and Clint didn't want to think too much about her.

"Anyway, what's on today's agenda?" Clint asked, changing the subject smoothly. "Got any more questions on the Widow I can dodge while stuffing my face with junk?"

"Actually, no," Coulson answered. He set a briefcase down in front of him, and for the first time all month Clint felt anxiety prickle over his skin. "I have to admit, we thought she would have come by now."

"I told you she wouldn't," Clint snapped. He was suddenly on edge, and the meatball sub sat heavily in his stomach. "You've been wasting your time, sir."

"Yes, I can see that now," Coulson admitted. "But now that we're sure, the next step is to initiate you as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. After that we can start assessment and training."

"Wait," Clint said slowly. "You wanna make me an agent? Right now?"

"There's a few things for you to read over, of course, but yes. That was the idea."

Coulson opened the briefcase and pulled out a stack of documents. Clint's eyes widened as he took in the sheer amount of paperwork that was laid out before him; it would take him the better half of the day to read it all, unless he just decided to sign it. He wasn't sure about the fine print though. Natasha would make him read it if she were here.

"Oh," Clint said. He rubbed a hand over his head self-consciously, feeling his earns burn a little with embarrassment. "I can have a go, but my comprehension skills…"

"You taught yourself to read Russian," Coulson deadpanned. "I have no reason to worry."

"My English teacher did," Clint muttered. "CPS too. They worried a lot."

Something in Coulson's expression shifted just slightly. "It's not important, Clint. S.H.I.E.L.D won't treat you any differently."

"So long as I can shoot straight, right?" Clint laughed, trying to brush it off. He could read, and he could write too, but sometimes it got all messed up in his brain, or there was too much for him to concentrate on. It was only really now that Clint was noticing it, because before then he hadn't had stuff like this to read.

"Right," Coulson agreed tiredly. He stood up and brushed down his suit, even though it was immaculate as always. "I'll leave you to it. Someone should be by in a few hours."

"Roger," Clint said, dragging the paperwork across the table to himself.

Coulson left the room, the door clicking loudly behind him. Clint had been allowed out a couple of times, handcuffed and with a gun trained on him at all times, but it was out nevertheless and it had given him the opportunity to survey his surroundings in a little more detail.

There were cameras everywhere, armed guards at every corner, and when they left the holding rooms the place was swarming with agents anyway. If Clint had wanted to make a run for it, he would be stopped in seconds. He didn't even know if he did want to make a run for it; all he knew was that there was a part of him that was ready to leave, and the more time he spent away from Natasha, the harder it was getting to ignore.

He sighed and flipped through the pages, head already aching at the thought of looking over it all. He resigned himself to a boring afternoon. Hopefully when Coulson came back, he had pizza.

Clint wasn't sure how much time had passed before the door clicked open again, but he had migrated to the bed and was lying on his back counting how many times the word 'terminated' appeared on page 184 when Natasha walked in.

He froze, briefly wondering if S.H.I.E.L.D had the kind of tech to imitate a person's face perfectly, except it wasn't perfect because she had a scab on her lip and dark bags under her eyes and –

"Clint," he heard her say, and then she was in front of him with her small hands holding either side of his face. "Is me. Is real."

The voice was the same, her hands were the same. "How do I know?"

He could tell that Natasha wasn't hurt by the question, not that he expected her to be, and she pulled him up to his feet as she answered. "I like borscht with extra sour cream. You teach me to drive. I have doll called Yulia."

"True, true, true," Clint muttered to himself, not missing Natasha's playful eye roll. "Tash, I…"

"You have to hurry, we already are running out of time," Natasha said. She thrust a change of clothes at him, and for the first time Clint realised that she was wearing a pencil skirt and blouse, and her hair was short and black.

"Is wig," she told him when she noticed him staring. "Hurry. We need to leave."

Clint didn't fully understand what was happening, or why no one was rushing into the room to stop them. He took off his S.H.I.E.L.D issue tracksuit and replaced it with the suit Natasha had brought, accepting a pair of glasses that he didn't think would do much to hide his face.

"Okay," Clint said, feeling a hint of trepidation as he followed Natasha out of the room and around the two guards that were slumped against the wall. "Are they dead?"

"Nyet," Natasha responded, continuing briskly down the hall and past another set of unconscious guards. "They are taking nap."

"Right," Clint drawled, catching up to her in a few big strides. "Hey, you know you made me look like a liar now, right? I told them you weren't coming."

"I can put you back," Natasha said.

"Nah, s'all good," Clint chuckled. He brushed his fingers against hers, catching her smirk out of the corner of his eye. "It's been a long month."

"I know," Natasha said softly. She straightened slightly and used her lanyard to swipe them through the next set of doors. Clint didn't even want to know where she had gotten it from.

"Hey," he said, gripping her elbow and swinging her around to stand in front of him. They moved closer to the wall, letting another agent pass them. Clint held his breath but the agent didn't seem to realise anything was out of place.

"We have no time," Natasha hissed, eyes darting around the narrow hallway.

"You okay?" he asked her. "Honestly. Because I know it sucked."

"Is fine," Natasha insisted. "We can talk later. I am okay."

"How'd you do that?" Clint said, reaching out to touch her lip but dropping his hand at the last second. The hallway they were in wasn't exactly empty, and he had read enough of S.H.I.E.L.D's policy to know that interpersonal relationships were not allowed. He didn't want to draw any more attention to them.

"Someone hit me," Natasha told him, eyes finally meeting his. "They are dead now."

Clint nodded, stepping away from the wall and gesturing for Natasha to lead the way. He didn't know what would happen next or what Natasha's plan was, but he trusted her enough to step into it blind.

"Chase is hacking security camera," Natasha muttered to him as they approached the next door. "They can't see us in room but we don't have much time. We pretend to be agent, walk out door, and get in car to go."

"What if they realise?" Clint said. "Or they kick Chase out of the system?"

"I have gun," Natasha deadpanned, shaking the handbag that hung from her arm. "I shoot way out."

"Okay," Clint agreed. "Except… We don't shoot to kill, okay? Agent Coulson had a deal and he's not… he's actually not that bad."

Natasha glanced at him briefly, eyebrows drawn together, then shrugged and swiped her pass again. The doors opened before them and they stepped out into the main foyer; there were agents walking around everywhere, and Clint felt his nerves kick into overdrive as he surveyed the area. The exit was so close.

"I thought it would be harder to just walk out," Clint said quietly.

"When there's a security breach, its all hands on deck," Natasha replied, slipping into her American accent flawlessly. "A lot of agents are responding to reports of a break in at the armoury."

"Busy day at S.H.I.E.L.D," Clint commented. "I can't believe this is working."

"Well, we haven't left yet," Natasha muttered, grinning broadly at a woman who was approaching them. "Karina! How are you?"

Clint had a million thoughts racing through his mind as the other agent answered Natasha. He didn't understand how they could know each other, unless Natasha had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D or had done a whole lot of research on their agents. Not even the building was what Clint had expected; it looked like any ordinary office building, and Clint idly wondered if it was to ensure the agency remained discreet.

"Has Broadford let you in on that translation yet?" Karina asked, snapping Clint from his thoughts.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "No. I'm still relegated to coffee runs and photocopying."

"Don't let him push you around," Karina laughed. "Anyway, I better keep going. Did you hear there was a security breach earlier?"

"It's terrible," Natasha agreed, shaking her head. "I'll see you around."

"Bye Nadia!" Karina called, and left Natasha and Clint to continue on their way.

"You're gonna have to tell me how you pulled this off," Clint said to her.

Natasha opened her mouth to answer when there was suddenly the sound of an alarm blaring throughout the building. They stopped walking, looking around in shock like the rest of the agents, but Clint could feel the tension radiating from Natasha. He readied himself, trying to pretend that he didn't know what was going on.

"Out of time," Natasha breathed, and then reached into her bag and pulled out a handgun. She subtly passed it to Clint, her face steely. "You run as soon as you can."

"And you?" Clint asked tersely. His hearing aids squeaked against the influx of noise but he couldn't afford to turn them down.

"I'll be right behind you," Natasha assured him. "The building is on a main street. The car should be there, but if we get separated don't be followed. We'll meet at the apartment."

"We can't stay there," Clint said incredulously. "Coulson said they don't know about it but it's the one thing I don't trust him on."

"We're getting the stupid dog," Natasha said.

"Oh," Clint said, then grinned despite himself. "I hate that accent."

"Ukusi menya" Natasha said.

Clint rolled his eyes. Natasha focused on something over his shoulder and he turned to see a swarm of agents burst through the door that they had left not even five minutes ago. They were armed, and Clint began moving before his brain even fully registered what he was doing.

Natasha dropped her handbag, aiming her own gun at one of the light fixtures on the roof. There was an ear-splitting bang, and then sparks as the light exploded with the impact of the bullet; people started screaming, and Clint was aware of Natasha running beside him as the exit loomed before them.

The strike team behind them started shooting, and Clint spun to return fire, ripping the glasses from his face as he aimed at everything except the agents. They ducked to cover, and Clint used that time to put some more distance between them, except when he turned around Natasha was nowhere to be seen.

He pushed past shocked agents, eyes scanning the crowded foyer until he finally found Natasha closer to the entrance; she was locked in a hand to hand fight with a man almost triple her size, and Clint couldn't quite tell who was winning. He diverted towards her in case she needed help, keeping one eye on the agents that were pursuing them from behind.

Natasha slipped beneath the man's legs and reappeared over his shoulders. The man reached up, gripping her hair and pulling hard enough for the wig to fly off, and Natasha fell with it, only saving herself by wrapping her legs around the man's neck. Before Clint could blink the man was flipping through the air to land heavily on his back, and Natasha slammed her gun against his head to end their fight once and for all.

Clint caught up with her and they sprinted, lungs and legs burning as they dodged the people trying to cover themselves from the gunshots that rung out behind them. Clint couldn't even hear the alarm anymore; all that mattered was reaching the door, getting outside and running for his life.

Natasha swiped her pass as Clint fired the last bullet from his gun, and then they were on the street. A few civilians stared as they burst through the doors, but Clint didn't have time to notice before Natasha was pushing him across the road and into the back of a SUV.

Chase grinned at them from the front seat. "You guys missed a show."

"Drive," Natasha snapped, falling back against the seat. She was panting, and Clint could see blood dripping down her forehead from where the wig had ripped her skin.

His head was swimming from the adrenaline rush. He glanced out the window to see the strike agents spill out onto the street, but Chase was pulling away before they even knew which car they were in. His hands shook against his thighs, and he clenched them into fists to try and stop it. They had actually done it. He was out.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

"Prison treated you well," Chase commented. "Though I gotta say, everyone in that control room looked pretty put together. Guy with the eye-patch though? He was a little off putting, to say the least."

"I didn't meet him," Clint said. "God. How did this happen?"

"I am good," Natasha murmured warily.

"Plus, S.H.I.E.L.D was kinda hiding in plain sight," Chase chimed in. "They may not in concreting, but they did register their fake business name to that building."

Clint laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, then rubbed his hand across his face. His hearing aids would need a little adjusting; they would probably need replacing soon anyway, but he filed that away for another day. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, the usual exhaustion he felt afterwards was starting to set in.

Natasha was watching him, and even though they were already sitting shoulder to shoulder, Clint opened his arms and let her crawl onto his lap. She sat facing him, legs on either side of his thighs and hands on his cheeks again.

"Hey," he murmured thickly.

"Hi," she replied, resting her forehead against his. "You are okay?"

"Yea," he said. He reached up and swiped some of the blood off her forehead, wincing at the bruise that was already beginning to from around the small wound. "I missed you."

Natasha didn't reply, instead closing the little distance that remained between them and drawing him into a kiss. It was slow yet urgent, and as he held her against him he could feel the worry and tension leave her body. He wanted to stay there forever with her, but then he tasted something metallic and pulled apart to see that Natasha's lip was bleeding now, too.

"You gonna tell me about this?" he asked as she swiped the back of her hand over her lip.

"Da," she said. "I have lots to tell you."

"You don't know how good it is to hear your voice," Clint laughed, squeezing his arms around her.

"Tell me about it, man," Chase said. "I thought for sure it was gonna be the blind leading the blind when we realised you were gone. Snapped her straight out of her funk, though."

"Is not funk," Natasha moaned, pressing her head against Clint's chest.

"It was a little bit like a funk," Clint said. He rubbed his hand down her back and took a deep, steadying breath. He was out. They were okay. They just had to get Lucky and they would be in the home clear.

Except, Clint couldn't help but wonder about Coulson and his offer. He had been so close to potentially signing on to be an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D, and he hadn't been nearly as bothered about that as he had thought he would be. Maybe he could mention it to Natasha. He didn't think she would like it, but it would ensure their safety and mean that they didn't have to keep running.

For now, he was happy to get out of there, relieved that they had even managed to pull it off. All they had to do was pick up Lucky, and their family would be reunited again.