The prequel to Fifty Shades Of Barton…. Just to help when I release the sequel after chapter 35 of FSOB.
Chapter One: A Different Call
21st November 2004….
Brussels, Belgium…
"Sir, I have eyes on the target," Agent Barton spoke calmly into the comm. link. He watched the young red-head escape down an alley-way. She was wearing a black dress which accented her curvy body. She looked like a goddess. Except with a rap sheet two mile long. The Russian assassin had just exited her apartment and made her way down to the hotel to meet her mark. Him.
"Copy that, Barton. Make your way to the meeting point. We want a clean kill with the Widow," Coulson replied.
"Roger Coulson. On my way. Maintaining radio silence."
Natalia made her way through the gala, her green eyes flickering over the crowd, searching for her mark. She made her way to the bar in hopes to find him there. She kept her eyes on the crowd as she ordered a Black Russian, keeping the stereotype to suit her alias.
Suddenly a young man stepped against the bar, ordering a neat Jameson whiskey. He was around five foot ten, spiky brown-blonde hair, stormy grey eyes. He was wearing an all-black suit and those geeky glasses that actually looked good on him. And he was her mark.
"Mr. le Bláca," she greeted in her natural thick Russian accent, smiling at the young man. He was about twenty-five, six years older than herself. So the intel had been right.
"Miss….?" He replied, raising an eyebrow, his eyes mesmerised by hers.
"Miss Natalia Ivanova," she replied, smiling shyly at the young American; his accent gave him away. "You can call me Natalia. So, what brings you to Brussels, Mr. le Bláca?"
"Then call me Ciarán," he replied, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of her hand softly. "Business, Miss Ivanova. My boss wants me to take out the competition."
"You must be good at your job, Ciarán, to be sent alone," the red-head purred, watching her mark carefully.
"I never miss, Natalia," he replied, cocking his head to the side; she knew exactly who he was. "But I think you already know that. Don't you, Widow?"
"It is an honour to be considered a target by Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, Hawkeye."
Suddenly, the red-head moved, surprising the archer at her quickness. By the time he could react, she was already half-way out the exit. He moved quickly, following his mark outside.
The fire alarm unexpectedly went off, sending the whole room into panic. Clint growled under his breath, ducking out the fire exit. He paused and looked over the crowd, trying to locate his mark. Finally, he headed towards his getaway car, figuring he better be armed with his preferred weapon if he was to take out the evasive Black Widow.
Natalia watched as her mark – or was he her executioner? – quickly made his way towards a car. She hid behind the furthest vehicle, watching the archer as he moved. The info from the Red Room mole had been correct; he was almost as good as her.
The red-head groaned when she noticed her mark take out a case from the boot of his car; she'd been told he hadn't brought his bow for this mission. She mapped out her different escape routes before choosing the one she felt would be the most appropriate. Turning, she took off her heels and took off down the alleyway towards her apartment, looking over her shoulder every now and again to check if her mark was following her.
Suddenly, she heard the quick thud of an arrow as it hit her shoulder. She let out a muffled scream, biting her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. She quickly broke the tip off the arrow before pulling the shaft out of her shoulder. She glanced up and spotted Hawkeye just as he jumped down off a taller building onto a smaller one. "Shit," she cursed, turning and running. She needed to get him on level ground. He had the advantage if there was distance between them.
She quickly made her way into the apartment block, biting back a groan at the pain through her shoulder. Natalia ducked as the door to her apartment blew up. "I thought it was your brother whose Trickshot!" she shouted, smirking smugly when she heard the archer growl in reply.
He jumped through the flames, bringing his bow down to hit her. She ducked and rolled, striking the archer with her foot as she moved. She had to move quickly against him, he was almost as agile as she was. She went to strike with her left hand but Hawkeye was able to dodge her. Then she took out a knife she had hidden under the thigh slit of her dress.
She was able to nick him a few times, splitting his lip in the process. Her shoulder wound was slowing her down slightly. And her injury would give Comrade Shostakov, Comrade Alexandrov and Comrade Belova – not to mention Commissar Petrovitch – reason to punish her when she got back to Moscow.
They traded kicks and punches, the two young assassins matched. But she had the slight advantage of being three inches smaller than the American. She ran at the archer as he was about to roll out of the way, the red-head using his bent knee to push herself up to wrap her thighs around his neck. She flipped over his head, pulling him over with her. But he managed to duck his head and follow through with her. He used his weight to pin her down beneath him.
Natalia hissed up at the American, bucking her body beneath him as she tried to push him off of her. But when he pressed down on her wound, she growled and almost whimpered at the sensation.
Clint watched as the red-head squirmed underneath him. But he was focused on her eyes. They were dull, lifeless. The same way his eyes were. The way they still are. And what he saw was going to earn him months of paperwork. And hours of lectures from his handler and director.
"Do you want to stop running, Romanova?" he asked, surprising the red-head and stopping her movements.
She stilled her attempts to escape, her eyes narrowed in confusion. "Why? What's in it for you, Agent Barton?"
Clint shrugged, watching her carefully. "Months of paperwork. Lectures from my bosses."
"But why?" She was desperate to understand why he would want to help her.
"I don't hurt victims," he replied simply, watching the surprise cross over the red-head's face. "Your eyes reflect the life of a victim. Not a willing murderer."
"How would you know? You only know the basics of a Black Widow. Mostly based on information gained by the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Most of your info is outdated."
"Your name is Natalia Alianova Romanova aka. The Black Widow. Real date of birth unknown but you were born in the year 1984. Place of birth; Stalingrad, USSR. Main spoken languages are Russian, English, Italian, Latin, German, French, Mandarin, Kashmiri and many others. You're 5 foot seven inches and 135lbs. Parents unknown but presumed deceased. Still think our info is outdated?"
Natalia snarled as she hissed back. "Clinton 'Clint' Francis Barton, codename, Hawkeye. Born Waverly, Iowa, USA, 7th January 1978. Level 7 Agent for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Five foot ten inches, weighing 180lbs. Son of Harold and Edith Barton, died 1985. One brother, Charles 'Barney' Bernard Barton. Known spoken languages are English, Russian, Chinese and Arabic. So right back at you, Hawkeye."
Clint leaned backwards but kept his hands around her wrists. "As I said, Miss Romanova, I don't harm victims. But you're also a survivor. So I'm giving you the chance for a new beginning. So what do you say?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Yes. From now on, you do…."
Natalia paused as she let Hawkeye led her into his hotel room, the red-head's thoughts immediately went to thinking that the archer was just after a night of pleasure in exchange for saving her life. Sighing, she pulled her dress over her head, wincing at her shoulder injury. Barton had already entered the bathroom so she was grateful that he hadn't seen her small moment of weakness. Removing her bra proved to be just as painful but removing her other clothing was much easier.
Sitting on the bed, Natalia took a deep breath and closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself. She opened her eyes when she heard Barton re-enter the bedroom, the archer freezing on the spot when he realised that she was stark naked on the bed.
"Why are you naked?" Clint asked, surprising the red-head.
"Isn't this why you spared me?" she replied, gesturing to her body.
"... No..." Clint started as he held up the first aid box in his hands. "I spared you because I know what it's like to be alone," he explained, walking over to his bag and taking out a spare T-shirt.
"Are you gay or something?" Natalia asked, raising an eyebrow at the twenty-five-year-old as he handed her his spare shirt.
"Oh believe me, I'm not," he replied, keeping his eyes on her face as she put on the shirt. "You're possibly the most beautiful woman I'll ever have the honour of seeing. But women aren't just objects for men to satisfy their sexual needs. That's what porn is for."
Natalia's eyebrow arched further in genuine surprise. "Why don't you just take me to settle our debt? I, personally, hate the thought of owing anyone a debt."
"I didn't spare you so that you'd owe me a favour, Ms Romanova," the archer stated as he took a seat beside her and opened the first aid kit. Taking out all the items he would need, he turned to the red-head who was staring at him with a curious stare. "I do agree that not everyone in this life is forgiving. Kind. Caring. But there are people out there who believe in giving others second chances. There are people who genuinely give a shit. Not many, but there is."
Natalia kept still as the archer began to clean the several cuts on her face, gently applying the alcohol to the grazes. "Why?" she whispered as he cleaned her lip tenderly.
Clint frowned in thought but continued to clean her cuts. "Do you know what it's like to be hungry? To feel like the only one who cares is yourself?"
"Yes," she breathed, noticing the hurt and sorrowful look in the agent's stormy grey eyes; it was the same look she saw every time she looked in the mirror.
Clint smiled sadly at her admission. "So do I," was all he said in reply. Once he had cleaned all of her cuts, he paused as he gestured to her injured shoulder. "You'll need to pull the shirt to the side to clean out that shoulder," he stated matter-of-factly.
Natalia pulled the neckline down over her shoulder so Clint could clean out her shoulder. The red-head kept quiet as he began to stitch her wound close, his movements slow and graceful as he tied the knot on the stitch. Glancing down, she found the archer was quite a good nurse. Frowning as a thought struck her, she lifted her head to look at the agent as he put back the items into the kit. "Stop," she said, placing her hand on his wrist when he was putting away the alcohol and wipes. "Cleaning my cuts is definitely a favour I'm sure you won't mind me repaying," she explained, gesturing towards his own cuts.
Clint could only raise an eyebrow at the red-head, bemused. Handing her the items, he pulled his own shirt over his head. "Just don't touch me shoulders or my chest," he directed, earning a confused, raised eyebrow. "I have haphephobia," he explained, pointing at the visible scars on his chest. "My drunk, abusive father was a little too trigger-happy with broken bottles, belts and cigarette buds."
Natalia had no words to respond to the archer's admission. Instead, she simply began to clean his cuts with the same care and gentleness he had bestowed on her. "You haven't told me what I should call you by," she stated, trying to ease the tension she saw in his shoulders.
"Clint," he responded, watching her move so gracefully yet so controlled. "I'm not going to hurt you," he added, watching the Russian pause. "I promise. I'm not one for taking advantage of women."
"Why should I trust you on that?"
"My father abused my mother."
Natalia stopped what she was doing to look Clint in the eye. "Okay. I guess you're not lying."
The archer snorted in reply. "I wish that it didn't have to take that admission to make you believe me."
"For what it's worth, Clint, I trust enough to believe you won't hurt me."
Clint nodded before hissing at the sensation of the alcohol cleaning his scars. "You weren't even using a knife," he complained, glancing down at the cuts on his skin. "Manicured nails aren't that sharp. No, wait, you were using a knife. Where the fuck were you hiding that thing?"
Natalia raised an amused eyebrow at the archer but she bit back the smirk that tried to grace her lips. "Under the slit of my dress."
"Now you're laughing at me," he complained, throwing his head back as she wiped away the excess alcohol. He grinned at her when he brought back down his head, watching her carefully put the medical equipment back into the first aid box. "Did I actually make the Black Widow laugh?"
"You're an idiot," she informed him, narrowing her eyes at him, watching him carefully. "Are you sure you're not gay?"
"Yes. I have seven ex-girlfriends who can vouch for my sexual orientation. Five of which also work for the agency which employs me."
"Your boss will not kill you?"
"No. My boss may be a prick at times, untrustworthy in others but loyal to a T. He'll punish me for disobeying a direct order but he won't kill me for it. All we need to do is convince him that you'll make a good asset for the agency. And that you won't just suddenly turn."
"Why would I want to go back to a place that experimented on me, took me away from my family and killed said family all before I was four years old?" she asked, showing no emotions other than the darkening of her eyes from anger.
"Knew you were a survivor," he replied, noticing how she was closing herself off again. He knew she was probably gaining info from him as well; she was known for her reverse-physiological techniques of interrogation. He could only hope he was able to refrain away from revealing enough info to keep safe.
"Because I had the same look in my eyes as you?" she asked, curling in on herself while the archer stood up and returned the first aid kit to the bathroom. When he returned, she was lying on the bed, her eyes focused on the ceiling once more. "What happens now?" she asked, not looking at him.
"My extraction is tomorrow. We'll stay here for the night then head to the meeting point at 06.00 tomorrow. But I will have to handcuff you so you don't try to leave. You okay with that?"
"It's not much of a change from the Red Room," she replied with a shrug, offering him her wrists. Her comment had made the archer stop as he retrieved the cuffs from his duffle bag.
"What did they do to you?" He couldn't stop the words from leaving his mouth.
Natalia's mouth set into a grim line. "It's… complic-… they did a lot to us. They used to handcuff us to our beds at night to stop us from escaping."
Clint frowned and slowly walked over to the bed. He sat down, a million thoughts crossing his mind. "Personally, I don't want to put these on you. But I've already broken enough rules today. Will you be okay with me putting these on you. I'll take them off first thing in the morning. At least, as long as you promise to come quietly?" He phrased it like a question, raising his eyes to look at her.
Natalia raised a surprised eyebrow before slowly nodding. He hadn't lied to her – she had been trained to be a better than any lie detector in the world – so she figured she could trust him. At least, for now. Until he proved otherwise. "Okay. I'm giving you my word that I will go with you. And the handcuffs don't bother me. But I will not allow any of your colleagues to handcuff me tomorrow. No restraints tomorrow. That's all I ask."
"I'll see what I can do tomorrow. My handler might disagree but he's more reasonable than most of the other senior agents."
Natalia took a deep breath before reoffering her wrists to the agent. He gently cuffed her right wrist and cuffed it to the bed. He left her injured side alone, surprising her. But she figured that he didn't want to hurt her. Her shoulder wound still hurt but it was a manageable pain.
"You won't touch me while I sleep?" she asked, her eyes focused on the archer.
Clint shook his head, grabbing the spare pillow and blanket. "No. I won't. I'm not my father. Or like those bastards from the Red Room," he replied, moving onto the clear view of both the door and window.
"How do you know that they were bastards?"
"Your reaction to me. You don't like being touched unless you know what the person is going to do. And as I have haphephobia, I know the signs when I see them."
Natalia nodded before resting her head against her pillow. She chewed on her bottom lip before twisting her head to look at Clint. "Thank you," she told him, surprising him. "For sparing me. And not using me."
"No problem, Natalia. I never will either. No one's going to hurt you now…"
Coulson hesitantly approached the Black Widow as she snarled at the junior agents who tried to handcuff her. "Ms Romanova, you're under arrest until Director Fury speaks to you. The handcuffs are necessary."
The red-head raised an eyebrow at the suit. "You're handing me a weapon if you put those on me," she warned him.
"Then what do you suggest we do instead?"
"I gave Clint... I gave Hawkeye my word that I would come quietly. I don't go back on my word."
"Why should I trust you?"
"I trust Hawkeye."
Phil paused at that. "You trust Barton?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He offered me a way out of Hell. Who was I to deny that chance?"
"Then why does Barton have three knife wounds? And you have had an arrow removed from your shoulder?"
"That was before he made a different call," she deadpanned.
Turning to the agent beside him, Phil took a syringe filled with a heavy sedative and turned back to the red-head who immediately began taking steps backwards. Her breathing had deepened, her green eyes wide. She was scared. Terrified, even. Because of the needle.
"Please, no. Please, don't," she begged, punching Phil in the face when he came too close. The suit shouted out in pain, stumbling backwards while clutching his nose. The sight of the red-head sliding down the wall - for a lack of a better word -cowering from the needle was too much for Clint to handle. The red-head really had gone through Hell if she was that terrified of needles.
Approaching her slowly, the archer dropped to the ground where Natalia was, gently pulling her into his arms. "Sshh, it's okay. Natalia, it's me, Clint. No one is going to hurt you. I promised you. I'm not going to break that promise. They won't hurt you. I won't let them hurt you. Relax, okay? They're not going to touch you," he whispered into her ear, repeating himself until she calmed down. He knew she wasn't a risk when she buried her face in the crook of his neck, taking deep, calming breaths.
Every agent on the plane went quiet, staring at the infamous Black Widow cowering Hawkeye's arms. Natalia had curled herself up against Clint. Noticing her still scared body language, the archer wrapped his strong, steel-like arms around the red-head protectively, holding her close.
Looking at every agent there, Clint narrowed his eyes at all of them, including Coulson. "No one is to come near her. And get rid of every syringe. If any of you have a problem, you'll answer to me. With an arrow through an eyeball," he threatened, glaring at Agent Ward who had had the syringe ready for Coulson. "Agent Coulson, you might want to have that nose checked too."
Coulson glared at Clint for his last retort with a look that said, 'You think?' "You heard him. Everyone get back to your stations. Leave Agent Barton to deal with Ms Romanova." Once every other agent had left the room, Coulson turned back to Barton. "You trust her?" The red-head had her eyes closed, her body still shaking as she fought off flashbacks from her past.
"She's no threat to me. Anyone else? We'll see."
"Did you sleep with her?"
"No, I didn't. Now do you have any more inappropriate questions, Sir?"
"You know that will be the first question Fury and the Council will ask you. I just needed to know to be able to back you up. Her obvious reaction to the needle shows that she has some type of PTSD, it makes your call easier to defend too."
Clint nodded at his handler, absentmindedly running a soothing hand over Natalia's back. His eyes focused down at the red-haired nineteen-year-old. Her hands were curled up in his shirt and surprisingly, he was okay with it. And he was sure that Coulson noticed too.
"You sure you two didn't sleep together?"
"I'm sure. No one's touched me in any intimate way in almost a year. Not after I was cheated on. But you should know this."
"You weren't even tempted by theУерная Вдова?"
"She's nineteen-years-old, Phil. You think I'd take advantage of any woman? Or anyone barely legal, for that matter? Even though you know reasons why I wouldn't?" The archer was pissed. He thought it was obvious to the handler that he hated the idea that the suit would even ask him these questions.
Phil hung his head in shame; he knew enough about Clint's own past to know that the abuse of women was a touchy subject for the archer. "I'll leave you be. We'll be touching down at the Triskelion at 14.00." Without any further comment, he left the room, closing it behind him.
"You sound angry, Clint," Natalia whispered against his neck, surprising Clint; he had thought she was asleep since her shaking had stopped.
"I'm annoyed with my handler, Nat. Is it okay to call you, Nat? Your past doesn't give you much space to have nicknames and the likes. That are nice, you know?"
Natalia but her bottom lip before she slowly nodded. Yeah. You can. I know you won't hurt me. But your colleagues… They don't seem to like the idea you spared me, no?"
"Well, you did kill five of our agents in Berlin last year."
Natalia immediately raised her head, looking at the archer with wide eyes. "That was your agents?"
Clint nodded with a sad grin. "Yeah. One of them, Ryans, he was married two months. Had a little girl three months ago. He was the senior agent." Natalia ducked her head in shame much like Coulson had done moments ago. But Clint placed his hand under her chin, gently pulling her face up so they were looking each other in the eye. "Hey, hey. I know you were following orders. That's not on you. But Fury will want all the information you can give us. Will you be able to talk about what you went through in the Red Room?"
Natalia paused for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. I can do that for you."
"You're not doing it for me, Nat. You're doing it for yourself. Okay?"
She only nodded in reply before placing her head back in the crook of his neck. She watched his pulse beat against the side of his neck. She could easily bite down and slit his throat. But she didn't. This man was risking his career to protect her. Against his own agency. She had decided that he had earned some points for her trust. "Thank you, Agent Barton," she whispered against the skin of his neck. She couldn't stop the grin that spread across her face at the shiver the archer let show because of her breath on his skin.
"Stop thanking me, Nat. You have nothing to thank me for, okay?"
"I'm not allowed be grateful?"
"It's not that. You just don't owe me anything, Nat."
"Yes I do. But don't worry. I'll find some way to repay you. Although I still don't know why you won't let me repay you through sex?"
"I don't take advantage of women… I've told you this…"
"Yes, I know that. And your father is the reason for that. But I don't know why that is?"
"I'll tell you someday, Nat. Just not today."
"Okay."
So, this is the first chapter of the prequel. I'm writing this to help clear up references which will be made in the sequel.
Was this any good? Next chapter will be up next Friday :)
