Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, nor do I have anything to do with Marvel.
These will be short chapters of around 1000 words. This makes is easier for me to update.
I will write this to the best of my ability and apologise if it is not always of the same standard. I write this for fun!
The title for this story was given to me by my friend Krista, who also encouraged me to write and share this. Thank you, Widow-Sister!
Giving Natasha a project to focus on was probably the best idea Clint had ever had. Laura had tried not to hang around too much while the small renovation was going on. She was mortified when she came home to find Clint and Natasha ripping apart a wall to her kitchen. Still, Clint reasoned as he examined their handiwork, it was worth the short-term inconvenience.
"You know, I really like eating in here. We should do it more often." Laura said over breakfast, the first morning they sat at the table in the new space.
Aside from fulfilling a promise to his wife, Clint had gotten Natasha to work in a partnership, rather than on her own. Given her history, he had labeled this a huge success, going so far as to call it a triumph. It was intriguing to watch Natasha work - her brow furrowed and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth as she chewed absentmindedly on it. She had perfect balance, teetering on the very top of a stepladder as she patched up the ceiling.
Clint had questioned her about this, about how she was able to stand on the toes of one foot while the other just hung in the air to balance her out.
Natasha had told him matter-of-factly that part of her training was in classical ballet. She said it taught them discipline and focus - to ignore pain and become unbreakable.
The use of the word "unbreakable" had sent a shiver down his spine when he remembered the trainees were only children. Clint's mind lingered on this piece of information and he wondered what else had happened in the Red Room to make her into who she was, or at least into whom she was expected to be.
In the week leading up to the assessment at S.H.I.E.L.D., Clint tested Natasha's skills. There was little doubt in his mind that she was more than capable of the physical aspect of the tests, but he had some concerns about her trust in other people. That was something, he supposed, that would come with time.
Clint wasn't sure what he had expected when it came to training Natasha. He had observed her in Russia; he knew what she was capable of. Yet when she shot every target perfectly on the first go, he stood dumbfounded for several minutes before simply saying, "Shit, you're good."
Natasha's eyes sparkled a little as she smirked and tilted her head briefly, as though to say "Of course." He threw a few tin cans into the air that she shot easily, even yawning a little. In all his time in the field, Clint had never known anyone other than himself who never missed a shot. He hesitated, then announced that she didn't need any more target practice.
Clint had decided that they would spar at night in the barn so Laura would not witness it. His wife was afraid of very little but he tried to keep her as far away from his job as possible, and never liked her to see him fighting. When they were sparring, Natasha no longer pulled her punches. She hit him, kicked him, and concussed him twice – both times he had to bait her into fighting him again. The first time, he had been taken by surprise.
It was their first sparring session since before they had ripped down the kitchen wall and it was clear that any misgivings she had previously had about fighting him were now nonexistent. Her specialty was in close combat and as they fought, hand to hand, he almost had trouble keeping up with her. He thought he might have done alright if she hadn't managed to jump on him and almost choke him with her legs around his neck. She had slid off him and given him just enough time to gasp for air before she had kicked him square in the chest. Later, he wondered if she knew how hard she was kicking him or whether it was an accident that she had sent him sprawling backwards. His head had hit the ground and he tried unsuccessfully to stand up. The panic that crossed her face was not something he had missed, her wide green eyes staring unblinkingly at him as she ran forward to help him sit up.
"I'm sorry," she cried out, "Are you okay?" She pulled him up with his arm over her shoulder and he couldn't help but marvel at the sheer strength she must possess.
Clint's head throbbed but he shook it off, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He brushed the dirt off himself but noticed that she had not let him go "Hey, how'd you do that? Get behind me without me noticing?" It wasn't something that anyone had been able to do outside of battle in a long time.
Natasha shrugged, her eyes flicking downwards and the corner of her mouth twitching. "It's just a reflex. Once I start... we were never taught to stop," she stated, moving his arm from her shoulders and ensuring that he could stand on his own before taking a step back.
"You're going to have to learn. I'm not saying forget it completely because against an enemy, that's good – that's a really great move. That kick really, really works," he encouraged her before running his hand over the back of his head and adding, "Just maybe not so hard when we're sparring."
She took a few more steps back as she nodded. "Maybe that's enough for tonight," she commented, starting to walk away.
Clint frowned; this was not part of the plan. "Hey, don't give up. We're not done here! Natasha!" he yelled at her back and picked up a small stone from the ground, aiming and throwing it so it hit her on the shoulder. She stopped walking and Clint repeated himself, "I said we're not done. Get back here."
As she turned around, he saw a flicker of anger in her eyes and wondered if he'd pushed too far. In the dim light with shadows falling across her face, Clint saw her as the assassin she had been and it rattled him. Within moments she had him on the ground again - this time with a swift kick to the back of his knees.
"Excellent form, Ms Romanoff." Clint's eyes immediately shot to the direction the voice had come from. Nick Fury stepped out of the shadows.
Clint made to get up, but Natasha was still perched on top of him and her knee pressed harder against his chest. He looked at his boss from the ground and tried to maintain what was left of his dignity. "Director."
Fury smirked as he spoke, "Agent Barton. I see your skills have been challenged." He looked at Natasha who stared back at him with wary eyes. "We haven't been introduced. I'm Nick Fury, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D." He held his hand out to her and she ignored it, standing on her own and pulling Clint up with her.
"I know who you are," she said, coolly. The fact that Nicholas Fury had sent Agent Barton to kill her was not something she had forgotten.
Fury smiled at her and lowered his hand as he stated, "I think you'll make a fine addition to the program."
Clint questioned his boss, "You mean she's in?"
"Oh no, that's not up to me. Agent Hill will be doing the assessment. I just thought I'd check in. See you in a few days. Ms Romanoff," The Director nodded his head to Natasha, respectfully before he stepped into the shadows and was gone.
Director Fury's visit, albeit brief, had awakened Clint's dormant fears. What would happen to Natasha if Hill failed her? Couldn't Fury overrule that decision? He had to shake the fears out of his head – no, failing wasn't an option. She would have to succeed.
Clint sat, distracted as he tossed things for Natasha to shoot at. She was nervous about the assessment and this gave her mind something else to focus on without Clint having to be completely present. Absentmindedly, he flicked a playing card into the air and watched as she shot through it. As the card fell to ground, Clint looked down at it, suddenly very aware of what he was seeing. Natasha had shot straight the centre of the ace of spades. He picked it up and looked through the bullet hole. Smiling, Clint tucked the card into his back pocket. "Nat," he stated, "You're ready."