+ + +Natasha sat a few feet in front of the open doorway, for easy escape, in case Clint wanted to go another round, because she didn't. At least she had time to go over how she was going to work this situation, not that it was helping. She never had a set way of working around Clint, she would decide something and always ended up changing it. She had tried to seduce him early on, after he had brought her in, well, even before he brought her in, but he hadn't gone for it. Then she was aloof and dismissive and he had followed her around like a puppy, but when she had tried that again, he had ignored her as well. She had never felt less in control in a relationship and she hated it. Then, suddenly, they fit together like a puzzle. She would have felt relieved about finally getting it right, but she had stopped trying weeks before. She didn't understand what had happened, so she didn't think about it, she had what she wanted, she had thought. They began sleeping together, and while it ended up being fun, it was obvious they didn't fit together that way. So they became friends and she started getting a better read on him, and then, somehow, they became more than friends, and being able to read him didn't matter anymore.

Natasha could tell when Clint started coming around. Like her, he had always been good at hiding it, helped with gathering information, but they were also able to see passed these things.

"You might as well sit up, I know you're awake."

Clint's eyes opened, moving over the room, as he slowly sat up. He looked at the shirt on the floor in front of him, then down at his bare chest, before moving to her. He made no move to pick up the shirt, didn't even cross his arms, just sat there, seemingly daring her to look at him.

"You're in the Hulk room in the Tower, Clint, we're not going to hurt you."

"Comforting the prisoner, that's an old trick, don't you think, Romanoff?"

She saw his eyes sweep over the door and the space between them, calculating time, distance.

He continued, "But you were always so talented at being the 'good cop'..." he said, suggestively, "you were probably the best one to send in here first."

His body shifted ever so slightly.

That was enough of that.

"I can easily make it out the door before you get over here," she said, and let it sink in a second, "so why don't we try just sitting and we can talk?"

Clint studied her a moment, he didn't relax but allowed himself to lean back against the wall, and waited.

They both waited.

Instinctively, she knew if she tried to outlast him, he would win. It would be the first time. But he had been in captivity for over a year, if any of the torture had been to get information, then Clint would have learned to be silent. You could only snark for so long before your mouth would get away from you.

There was no point in drawing this out. "We thought you were dead," she said.

Clint brows lifted a fraction and he huffed a breathe as he rocked his head in a nod.

She was having trouble reading him. "We did."

"I believe you," Clint said.

And she could tell he did, but something was off, there was more to what he was saying but she couldn't see it.

Clint continued, "It must have been a real surprise to see me alive then." His eyes studied her like he was trying to find the perfect place to stick a knife.

"Surprise would be an understatement. It hit the team pretty hard." She paused. "Tony especially."

Clint eyes snapped up to meet hers. "Yeah, I saw he was still alive. I thought I aimed for his heart. Should have known he could fix it right up. At least next time I'll know to aim for the fleshy one."

"Next time?" Natasha was surprised at how much this conversation was already beginning to get to her. "You think you're going to get another chance?"

"I almost did. Nice reflexes by the way. You're still in top form. Or, almost. I gave you a good run there for a bit."

"You did."

This couldn't be Clint, it was just like it was in the beginning, she couldn't read anything off of him, at least not anything that would be useful.

"Do you know why you attacked us, Clint? Or were you just doing what they told you to?"

"'They'?" Clint teased, with barely a smile, "Do you you even know who 'they' are, Romanoff?"

He was making a point of not using her first name.

"Do you?" she countered.

Clint jerked his shoulder, "No. But that doesn't matter. Whoever 'they' are, wanted you dead, so I set this up. We both know I won't follow orders I don't like." He leaned forward, slightly, his voice hard and vicious, "And I really liked these ones."

88888888

"Do you not have orders to kill me on sight?" Natalia asked, tired of waiting for the agent to shoot.

"'On sight' would have been a few days ago," Barton said, keeping his gun trained on the Widow. "You don't hide as well as you think."

"Or," Natalia said, studying his sharp gaze, "You are not given enough credit, Hawkeye."

"It's in the name, not my fault if it doesn't clue people in," he shrugged, with false modesty.

"So you will not shoot me?" She asked, tilting her head and shifting her body to a more open position.

Barton gave her a look, "Saying no would kinda defeat the purpose of pointing a gun at you."

This was taking too long; if he wasn't going to kill her she needed to be on the move. She gave him a shy smile,"You wish to do something else with me then?"

He smiled back at her, "That depends."

"On?"

"On whether or not you actually want to die."

Natalia blinked, "What?"

"Do you actually want to die? Because the way things are going for you, you're not going to make it much longer. But you're smart enough to know that, so I've got to think that's your plan, your endgame."

"You know nothing," she spat.

"I know you didn't want to kill that girl."

Natalia froze.

"Drakov's daughter? You were purposely given bad intel, you didn't know she was coming to see him that night. You probably thought it was a guard coming to check on the noise." He hesitated. "She was a dancer, wasn't she?"

In a blink Natalia had a knife in the air, but Barton had also fired the gun.

She closed her eyes, expecting pain and then nothingness. This was the famous Hawkeye, he didn't miss. But when there was no pain and she was able to open her eyes, she thought she might need to rethink that. The bullet had hit a few centimeters to the right of her ear. She looked to the agent.

He had dodged the knife well enough, but it had still caught him on his side, by his ribs.

"I didn't miss," Barton said, his voice clipped. "We were still talking. Shooting you would have been rude."

Natalia showed no sympathy.

"I might have deserved that," Barton allowed. "But do you really think you deserve to die?"

He couldn't be serious. He must be infatuated with her.

He continued, "That's seems to be letting yourself off easy."

Natalia frowned, "Excuse me?"

"Sure, you could let someone kill you, then you wouldn't have to deal with any of this shit anymore. But the people who sent you to take out Drakov didn't care that his daughter would be there, didn't care that she could end up dead."

She raised an eyebrow, "And you believe I do care?"

Barton motioned to his fresh knife wound, but she barely glanced at it, she was studying his gaze again. There was something familiar there.

"We could stop them," Barton offered.

She gave him a questioning look.

"The people that don't care about kids," he clarified, "Who don't care if they're collateral damage."

"That is very idealistic," Natalia scoffed.

Barton's eyes hardened, "No child should see those kind of things, or be a part of them. You feel the same way or you wouldn't have gone rogue after that hit."

Natalia sat quietly, thinking. "What makes your SHIELD any better?"

Barton smiled and challenged, "Why don't you come in and find out?"

88888888

"When did you figure out it was me? You had to take off the mask, didn't you?"

"The bow should have given it away," Natasha admitted.

"I do have killer aim," Clint bragged. But, again, Natasha could tell there was more to what he was saying.

"You were always the best," she agreed.

"Yeah, I know what I'm good for."

Natasha pursed her lips, he was starting to slip. "More than your aim."

Clint made a show of acting like he was thinking it over, "You're right. I have been told I'm a decent lay. But you already know that."

"Better than decent," she amended, "if I remember correctly. But you were also a willing participant with me, so…"

Clint held her gaze longer than she expected, but he still looked away first, letting his eyes sweep the room. "So, Hulk's room. Somehow I don't think SHIELD was in on this decision."

"I brought you here. SHIELD doesn't need to be involved. This is an Avenger matter."

"Wanted the first crack at me? I bet you'll enjoy it. Working me over."

"I would never do that to you Clint," she defended.

"Then why are you even in here, Romanoff? Not for payback or torture. Maybe trying to see how much of a hold you still have over me?"

"Hold?" She asked, not liking where this seemed to be going.

"Don't pretend you don't know what I mean. I would have done anything for you. Asked how high and everything."

"But not anymore?" She prompted.

Clint shook his head. "If you were capable of it, you would have laughed your ass off at me; just like every other man, mooning over you like some lovesick teenager."

"You never-"

"Well you must have found it entertaining, for you to keep me around for so long. What's your average relationship? A day? A week? However long the mission is? But that is who you are, the Black Widow, killing someone while 'I love you' still hangs on your lips. You really are perfect, Romanoff. Perfect in lies and murder. I didn't think about it before, but what kind of hero goes by Black Widow? You didn't even bother to change it. You obviously wanted people to continue to fear you but you must have also known the truth… you're no hero, you'll never be one. You're going to drown in the blood you've spilt."

Silence. She kept her face neutral, "So reminiscing seems to be out of the question."

Clint laughed, but it didn't sound like him, or maybe it did now; hollow but hate filled. "Ever the professional, Romanoff. I wouldn't expect anything less than calm and collected while you flip off the world. That's my girl."

Natasha wanted to leave. She could barely stand to look at what was done to Clint, what his captors had turned him into.

"But you never were mine, were you? You blinded me from the beginning. Never the Red Room's either. They just peeled back your innocent skin to expose the real you. A sadistic murdering whore. You had to be the best. What was the point if you weren't? The best at murdering. What an interesting thing to strive for. What does that say about someone?"

Natasha stood.

"It means they want to be alone. Because who could actually love a murderer? No one. No one loves them." Clint spat. "So here you are. Pulling people close even as you push them away. Forever your own."

Natasha stepped backwards through the doorway.

"Finished already?" Clint asked, not sounding curious at all.

She turned to leave, signally the door to close.

"Hey Romanoff!" She looked back to Clint. He wasn't smiling, she couldn't read anything off him as he mouthed 'I love you' before the doors snapped close.

The hallway was empty, Thor would be waiting in the living room, so she let herself take a deep shuddering breath. Clint thought he had won that round and she would let him. She wasn't sure she wanted him to know what he had revealed.

They just peeled back your innocent skin to expose the real you. You didn't come. You didn't come and they tortured me until realized why.

A sadistic murdering whore. I wanted to kill them all, watch them scream in pain, begging for mercy the way I was. I could have fought back more, but I let them do this to me.

You had to be the best. What was the point if you weren't. If I'm not best, no will want me. I was the best in the circus and they still didn't want me. I'm only as useful as my next shot.

The best at murdering. What else would a markman be good at? So I turned to murder and it's sick how good I am at it.

It means they want to be alone. Why pull anyone else down with me?

Because who could actually love a murderer? No one. No one loves them. And that's all I am. Good for nothing else. It's no wonder you never came for me.

Pulling people close even as you push them away. Because that's what I have to do to survive.

Forever your own. Forever.

Natasha needed to get away. She hurried down the hallway, further away from his eyes.

It was unnerving, because there was a complete lack of expression in his gaze, only calculation. The only other time she had seen him like this was when they had fought on the Helicarrier. She would have prefered the luminescent empty eyes now, if only to know it wasn't him.

As she came into the living room Thor stepped into her path, making her stop a foot or two before him.

"Natasha." His voice was sorrowful, his posture meek.

Movement on the tv caught her attention. It was showing Hulk's room. Thor had seen the entire exchange.

She made to move around him, but he again blocked her way.

"He does not know what he says," Thor said, softly.

Natasha smile, sadly, "He does Thor. We're going to need to warn the others to keep their guard up when talking to him."

She saw his hands twitch. "What can I do for you, Natasha?"

She clenched her jaw, and looked him in the eye, "Are you trying to coddle me, Thor?"

He smiled slightly, "I would no sooner kiss a Bilgesnipe."

Natasha raised a brow, "A Bilgesnipe, really? I heard you talking to Coulson about those, you know?"

Thor, for a moment, looked at a loss, "That was… it came out not as I intended."

She tried to produce a soft laugh but it turned into a wince. Shaking her head, she closed her eyes and leaned forward, resting her forehead against Thor's chest. She found it comforting that even in jeans and a t-shirt, he was still Thor. There was no lie to him; he was who he was and she didn't have to dig into him to discover the truth.

Thor immediately stopped his apology and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in closer. And she let him.

She was going soft.

"This will be righted," Thor soothed.

Natasha wanted to snap something back at him but, for once, lately, it was nice to have someone else telling her things would get better.