Hi, everyone! I'm back, with a new chapter for y'all. First of all, I would like to thank TactfulLizard for catching that error. I haven't been to school in a while because of Covid-19….I must be getting rusty! Anyways, without further ado, here's the next chapter.
It was silent. And very awkward. Fury glowered at Clint, opening his mouth, but then closing it again. His right eye was ticking and his veins pulsed on the side of his head. Clint studied the reddish, purplish hue of Fury's face and wondered how long it would take for Fury to have a stroke. Fury finally put himself back together. "You have disobeyed direct orders, agent. The mission was to take her out, not recruit her." He said slowly. Clint raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Fury interrupted. "That was a huge security risk, bringing her on the Helicarrier. Do you know how many agents were put in danger?"
"Yeah well, she didn't hurt anyone, did she?" Clint shrugged. He immediately wanted to take the words back when he noticed Coulson shaking his head frantically with wide eyes behind Fury's back.
"Oh, but she did! There are 7 agents in the infirmary, with two broken arms, bruised neck, and dislocated shoulders." Fury snarled. Clint whistled, against his better judgement. Coulson stepped in before Fury could strangle Clint.
"They were trying to disarm her. That was a very idiotic move, considering she can do equal damage, with or without her weapons," Phil explained.
Clint started. "You tried to disarm her? She's 'one of most dangerous women in the world' and you tried to disarm her? Do you have any idea what a weapon means to an assassin? She's in an alien environment, surrounded by hostile forces and you tried to disarm her?" He growled. "It's a miracle none of those agents are dead,"
Fury blinked in surprise. Clint was usually so laid back, he'd forgotten how he was like when angry. Of course, that was no excuse for talking back to the Director. "Since when were you an expert when it came to handling sadistic murderers?" He asked scathingly. Clint stiffened. There are not a lot of things that can cow Director Nick Fury, but he immediately stepped back and wished fervently to take back his words. Too late. The damage was done. Clint was gone.
"Hey,"
Clint looked up. Phil walked into the archery range, hands up in a gesture of peace. Clint sighed and lowered the bow he had instinctively aimed and him. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Phil eyed the riddled targets across the range as Clint raised his bow to let loose another round of arrows. He tossed Clint a water bottle. Clint eyed it suspiciously.
"I didn't poison it," Phil deadpanned. Clint raised an eyebrow and lifted it to his lips. Phil relaxed and leaned casually against the wall.
"Fury's sorry," He said abruptly. Clint snorted, which wasn't a good idea considering the amount of water that he was consuming. He choked and spluttered while Phil watched him with amusement.
"I'm okay, thanks for asking," Clint grumbled, when he was done coughing up half the water bottle.
"I knew you'd survive," Phil shrugged nonchalantly. Clint rolled his eyes.
"So, Fury is sorry?" Clint asked incredulously. Phil shifted uncomfortably. "I knew it!" Clint crowed.
"The fact that he's not shipping you off to a random island on the other side of the world for 'surveillance' is the closest you're going to get to an apology with Fury," Phil muttered.
"Sooooooooo, I'm getting off with no punishment?" Clint hedged.
Phil smirked. "Hell, no. You are going to be the welcoming committee with me. You're going to train with me everyday like normal with one extra participant,"
Clint stared. "You're kidding,"
"I'm afraid not," Phil shrugged. "She's already managed to put 5 more agents in the infirmary. There is only one agent in SHIELD that the Widow has interacted with, without strangling, breaking any bones, or attempted murder,"
"That one agent," Phil looked at Clint straight in the eye, "Is you."
"Miss Natalia," An agent began. Natasha's eyes flashed dangerously. The agent changed tracks at the speed of light. He cleared his throat and meekly stepped back as Agent Coulson impatiently snatched the file out of the agent's hands.
"Natasha Romanoff, you will spend 4 months in training with Agent Barton and I," He read briskly. The slightly murderous gleam in Natasha's eyes somewhat subsided as she glanced curiously at Clint as he smirked at the cowering agent trying to slowly edge out of the room.
"You will go through a placement test today, and begin your training tomorrow," Coulson continued as he led Clint and Natasha into the training room.
"Okay, you and Clint will spar until someone yields. You are not fighting to kill," He added sternly. Natasha looked mildly disappointed.
Clint rolled his eyes as he casually positioned himself on the mat. Natasha looked unimpressed as she did the same, developing a stance that looked disturbingly like a predator stalking its prey. No one moved. Phil, despite his professional manner, couldn't help but to lean forward with interest. He watched Natasha tracking Clint's every breath, matching his every twitch with hers. Her eyes darted, catching every movement and unconsciously shifting her body so no part of it was unguarded. But Phil most importantly watched Clint wondering how he'll handle this situation. Clint was patiently watching and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Then Natasha lunged, clipping Clint's arms, preventing him from using his greatest asset. Clint wrenched his arms from Natasha's grasp and rolled, carrying Natasha's weight and slamming her into the ground. Natasha flipped up and kicked out at Clint's legs, sending him tumbling down again. He rolled to his feet and pulled back.
The two circled each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. The Hawk's eyes narrowed. This time it was different. This time the Widow wasn't holding back. This was so different from sparring with Phil, so different from sparring with anyone else. A shot of adrenaline rushed through him as it slowly sank in. This time, he wasn't holding back. He flew forward first, against everything Phil had taught him, and wrapped his arms around her neck. The Widow's eyes widened and her face broke out in a feral grin. She rolled forward, dislodging the Hawk's grasp and hit him in the jaw. He scowled. That was his move! But he couldn't help but feel impressed, the Widow learned fast. He grinned to match hers, and leapt forward again.
Phil's eyes narrowed. Something had changed. Something was very different. He mentally went through the battle again, rewinding. There. Something changed. The second time they circled each other. He recalled Clint's expression during the second portion of the fight. He didn't look…..human. His eyes gleamed darkly and his moves were so much more deadlier, more reckless. He was grinning. Something was wrong. They were trying to kill each other. Not out of hatred, but out of…...nature?
Phil panicked. He blew his whistle shrilly, but the two predators seemed deaf. He tried again, and again. Finally, the whistle wasn't enough. Clint was scaring him. No, there was no Clint. Only Hawkeye.
"CLINT!" Phil screamed out of desperation. "STOP!"
Hawkeye stalked forward, aiming to draw blood. He would win. He had to. Or he would die. Survival for the fittest. Eliminate the threat. Fight to kill. One more move. One more step.
"CLINT! STOP!"
Hawkeye froze. Clint. That's not his name. Who's Clint? Clint is weak. Phil. Wait. Who? Phil. He knew that name. Phil. Calm. Collected. Steady. Phil shouldn't sound like that. Phil shouldn't scream. Phil was never scared. Why was Phil scared? Was it his fault? Phil was desperate. Why? CLINT! STOP!
Clint froze. He was lost. He was back. Then Natasha launched herself at him. Wait. That wasn't Natasha. Her arms wrapped around his neck, cutting off his air. Black spots swam in his vision. Everything was blurry. Natasha. That's not Natasha. Black Widow.
"Natalia, please. Stop," He choked out.
She was winning. She won. Again. Winning was getting boring. She wanted something more. What? No. Nothing was better than winning. She had to win, or else. Pain. She would die. Kill or be killed. Nothing was better than winning. Because winning meant life. Better than family. Better than friends. Better than…..
"Natalia, please. Stop,"
She whimpered. Natalia. It's been so long since she heard that. Natalia. What does that mean? Natalia. No. Stop. It's a trick. Comfort is a trap. Natalia. Black Widow. Natalia. Natalia. That voice. She heard it before. Natalia. "What's your name, Black Widow? Are you the Black Widow, or are you Natasha Romanoff?" She wasn't any of those things. Natalia.
She gasped. Her arms hurt. She quickly relaxed them and scrambled away. Someone was coughing on the ground. Clint. Oh. She felt furious. She lost herself. Not Black Widow. Not Black Widow. Not Black Widow. She rocked against the wall, arms curled protectively around her knees.
Phil was frozen. What he had seen terrified him. And he had seen a lot of things. Clint slowly raised his head, his face pale and eyes wide. He was trembling. Phil looked at him. You okay? Clint looked away.
"I, I need to use the bathroom," He said shakily as he rose. Then he was gone. Phil sighed and looked around for Natasha. She too was gone. No surprise there. The training room was empty and Phil realized he was shaking too.