Oh dear, it has been waaaaay too long since I've updated this fic. Worst part is, I think, that I've mapped out the ending. Now I just need to finish the four-ish chapters left. Hopefully I'll be able to update before next month ^^"

Thank you for the reviews and follows, and I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!

Unbeta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine.

STRAYS

*Chapter 11*

The flight was mostly spent in silence. Both Clint and Natasha were busy looking into their target's background, even though they had reviewed his profile half a dozen times. Name: Alfonso Laurence, an arms dealer wanted alive for questioning. A chance to approach him was at the charity ball held in some fancy place in Miami.

Romanoff was a specialist in infiltration; she just needed to get inside, isolate him, pull out any kind of information from him and get out smoothly. Although the mission seemed easy enough, their target had hired a massive pack of bodyguards, mostly experienced mercenaries, and his natural paranoia made him hard to approach. A larger team of SHIELD specialists could have done the job, but they were running short on time and sending Natasha was the fastest and most secure way to get to him.

Barton's role was rather simple; be the redhead's eyes from the rooftop. He would become a crucial necessity however, if things turned sour. They had planned at least three exit roads and spotted the basement where all remotes and controllers were stacked in case they needed a blackout.

Of course, they had to share a hotel room. Thankfully there were twin beds, but close enough Barton knew he'd hear her breathe in the depth of the night. He wasn't intending to return to their old relationship (at least, he didn't think she was interested) but it sure would be distracting. He turned around to pick up his suitcase and…froze.

"Uh...what are you doing?"

Natasha had her bag opened on the bed, clothes spread all over the covers and was unbuttoning her top. She glanced at him and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Changing for the reception. It'll take an hour to get ready" When he shot her a 'no, really?' kind of look, she sighed and added: "It's nothing you haven't seen before Barton. And don't tell me you never had to change with a woman in the room on a mission."

He wanted to point out that what he'd last seen was nine years ago when she was still young and not in her prime yet, and most importantly she wasn't any woman but held back the comment, feeling he'd lose something precious if he dared. Instead, he grumbled something about using the bathroom and cowardly hid there fifteen minutes before gathering the courage to walk out. Thankfully, Natasha had slipped on a shirt and small pair of shorts. She shot him an amused look when he showed up –Barton held his head high, pretending to ignore her silent mocking. In turn, he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it hurriedly on his bed.

He searched through his stuff to dig out his own costume, iron-cleaned in spite of the narrow space in his bag. From the corner of the eye, he saw her reflection in the mirror checking him out. And the expression on her face, he had to admit, flattered his ego.

"See something you like?" he asked cockily, standing straight and turning around to face her. Natasha didn't answer; instead let her eyes ran over his shoulders and chest.

"Nice workout for an old man." She replied after a while.

"I'm not old." He protested. She chuckled and the tension that had slowly lifted. It felt odd to be reunited with Natasha, especially for a job. He had nine years to assimilate that she was a hardcore spy, but actually watching her in motion would be a new experience. Barton had no doubt things would get complicated very fast if he didn't get a grip over his impulses. Even though he'd deny it, she still stirred feelings he thought he'd buried away with time. He pushed away these thoughts for the time being, they had a mission to go through first, he could always ponder over them later.

STRAYS

When Natasha arrived, half of the people at the front door turned around to watch. The time she had crossed the ballroom a first time, Clint was in position and his bow ready. The target hadn't arrived yet, so he spared a few minutes to analyze Jeremy's odd remarks earlier. Was he trying to make him jealous when he mentioned another potential suitor for Natasha? Not that it had worked –a little voice in the back of his mind chanted 'liar' –but if was to happen…

He decided to get done with it and called on Romanoff's earpiece. The woman was already scanning the crowd, sipping a glass. She wouldn't be alone for very long, Barton figured. Beautiful women like her never were. In the meantime, he could keep her company.

"Hey Widow? Am I imagining things or is Jeremy trying to set us up?"

He heard a soft chuckle on the other end of his communicator. From his point of view, Natasha raised her glass to cover her lips and hide her speaking.

"You're not. I think Jeremy had planned to bring us together since you've come back in his life. He's very determined, especially since he likes you."

"Why, he hasn't tried before?"

"I didn't date much, you know. The only stable relationship I had lasted about seven months. I dumped the guy."

"Wow, you were about to beat our score" he couldn't help but retort. They had been together eight months, three weeks and six days. Not that he had been counting.

"That's why I dumped him." She replied flatly. At the time, she couldn't handle being with someone longer than she had been with Clint. That would have meant she had moved on, and even years after her escape, she hadn't wanted to move on yet. Barton seemed to catch her meaning but was saved from talking when she spoke again. "Target in sight. Keep an eye open; I'm going in."

Back to business, he thought. Business, he could deal with. He had sworn to Fury and Hill he could work with Natasha in spite of their history. He would hold on to that word. Through his viewfinder, he watched her approach M. Evil Guy of the Month and shift into the skin of Lilas Martins. And he had to admit on a professional scale, he was impressed. Whatever was left of Natasha Romanoff was replaced by the rich heiress, bashful smiles and giggles. Nothing like the woman he was slowly getting reacquainted with.

"Good evening M. Laurence!" she greeted on a cheerful albeit shy tone. Barton listened to her talk; coax her prey into some place more private. He stood there, amazed at her ability to make him give up information without him realizing. He also admired the way she stood him up after he gave her what she wanted. No wonder why he had fallen so deep in her web, he thought more amused than he expected, Natasha was good, and at the time not even in her prime yet. Her exit went smoothly but when he joined her back at the meeting point, she looked sour.

"He suspected something." The woman muttered unhappily. "I suppose he let me go because he assumed I had back-up."

Barton winced.

"Not good eh?" Natasha nodded.

"Laurence is extremely paranoid." She said, recalling the file they had read on the man beforehand. "If he is suspicious he will make a move soon. Probably after the reception. I'll call Hill and tell her to prepare the agents on his case; Laurence is just the tip of the iceberg. Even STRAYS couldn't do this alone; we're just a strike or clean-up team."

"Then we just need to wait until they show up." Barton concluded, sighing deeply. "Guess our first mission is already done."

She threw him a questioning side glance.

"What do you mean, done? We still have work to do."

"Work?" Barton repeated, surprised, and even stunned when she pulled a small USB device out of nowhere.

"We do have a laptop in the car, right? I snatched this when he wasn't looking."

Barton was actually impressed.

"Are you going to keep talking dirty to me?" he asked with a cocky grin. She smirked back.

"I managed to slip a mike while we were dancing. They'll go through scanners without a hitch, but we need to set the frequency now or they'll be useless." She said before walking away with an extra swing to her hips.

Clint sighed inwardly. Ah, screw it, he was a goner, plain and simple.

STRAYS

It turned out the device Natasha had snatched away contained everything they needed to know; the list of clients Laurence had been selling to, his contacts across the world, the complete inventory of his weapons…A call to their handler later informed them that the arrest was made smoothly and with the information they send via secure email, the case would be wrapped in no time. In celebration of the fastest issue he had ever solved, Barton had ordered a bottle of vodka through room service. Natasha had played along –she had rarely finished a mission so fast too –and both had cheered till the bottle was empty.

The alcohol had an unexpected effect on Clint. He looked more relax and pensive, and she remembered that expression was one she always feared back then. He was thinking about something serious, something regarding them. Natasha hated that she couldn't read him as well anymore.

"Remember what I told you, about Jeremy playing matchmaker?" The words surprised her, but she kept her features imperturbable. "I wouldn't be against…trying again."

His mask was slipping, slowly revealing what he had in mind. Her breath getting caught in her throat when she caught the yearning and…something else she didn't want to dwell upon. A rush of desire ran down her spine and by the way his eyes darkened, he felt it too.

She had to set her mind straight before something they would both regret happened.

"I'm turning in," she blurted, standing from the couch and hurrying into the bathroom.

She shut the door and crossed her eyes in the mirror. She looked uneasy and frightened and hated that she conveyed those emotions at all. This wasn't her Clint, she reminded herself. This was a man who had loved her, but didn't know her anymore. It would be so easy to fall in his arms again and pretend those nine years hadn't happened, but she knew things weren't so simple. She had betrayed him and she had hidden his child from him. She had her own reasons she doubted he'd understand. He couldn't have forgiven her so quickly. Natasha shut her lids, breathed in slowly. Why did Maria think it was a good idea to send them together alone and book only one room already? It didn't help that she had Jeremy's green light. If only the kid had disliked Clint, things would have been so easier.

She changed into her nightdress, briefly wondering why she had packed one of her nicest, and returned to the bedroom. Clint hadn't changed into his nightclothes and was now standing dangerously close.

"Natasha." His soft, grave voice had an unexpected reaction on her mind. Shivers ran down her spine and when he brushed her arm, she tensed. "Natasha, look at me."

Through the mirror on the wall, his eyes were gentle and reflected exactly what she felt inside. Large, warm hands held her shoulders and she felt his breath against her neck. He kissed the inch of skin right below her ear, the one spot that always made her toes curl, and she shut her eyes tightly and gasped. His body was a solid presence behind her. Her heart was beating so hard it hurt. When she shrugged him off and turned around, she couldn't believe the raw feelings in his eyes.

The alarm would ring in half an hour, but Natalia couldn't go back to sleep. Today was the day. Today was the day she'd lose everything. Barton snorted in his sleep, his arm tightened around her waist to bring her closer to him. His face was now buried in her hair, his warm breath tickling her neck. She loved him, she loved that silly man, her assassin, her hawk. He had given her everything while she had kept lying and it had dawned on her that she just couldn't lie to him anymore.

The letter she had received the previous day from the hospital after her latest visit, as well as his ill-timed proposal had sealed her decision. She had to leave him, for his own sake.

Natalia snuggled out of his embrace, waking him up instantly.

"Nat?" he called in his sleepy daze. The redhead turned around and smiled.

"It's okay Clint, go back to sleep."

He grunted something like agreement and fell instantly back. Natalia smiled good-naturally and couldn't help brushing his hair. He loved resting his head on her knees and let her pet him. She would never forget the peacefulness on his features during those moments and how content she felt. Those times, she wished she had been Natalie Rushman, student in law and stubborn lover of his, soon to be wife.

Brushing those thoughts aside, she stood up, dressed up with his shirt and a pair of jeans and left the room. When she entered the living-room, they were already there. Six men from the Red Room -four soldiers and her two handlers -well armed and ready to strike. She had left the door unlocked and deactivated the alarm the previous night so their entrance would be unnoticed.

Giving her the security codes was just another sign that showed how much Barton trusted her.

"Is he ready?" one of her handlers asked. Natalia nodded and stepped aside. Instead of giving her report though...

"CLINT!" she screamed, ducking behind the couch for safety -thank God those had metal panels inside. "Watch out!"

Before the men could react, Barton was already up, his bow and arrows in hand, and had taken care of two of them. Natalia picked up her own knifes from under the nearest drawers and sent them flying in her handlers' throat. Expression of betrayal and anger reflected in their eyes, along with a last promise of revenge. The redhead didn't fear them and knew she could handle herself. But she knew Barton wouldn't be so accepting of her situation anymore.

When the last body hit the ground, Clint rushed towards her and crouched next to her. He cupped her face in his hands, as if careful not to scare her.

"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. Natalia nodded, taking advantage of the pause to feel his warmth one last time before he realized something was wrong. "They didn't hurt you?"

"I'm good Clint" she replied, although her voice was strained. "Are you..."

"Thank God" he whispered and kissed her forehead before pulling her into a hug. She didn't hesitate and held him tight. One last hug, she thought. "I'm so sorry sweetheart."

Her hand trailed down his back, where he usually tucked his guns. Even in a PJ pants, he always took one with him. Her fingers came in contact with the cold handle. Suddenly, she pulled back from his embrace, gun in hand and ready to fire. Clint widened his eyes in surprise.

"Nat, what are you..."

"I'm so sorry Clint."

She took a second to aim and pulled the trigger twice. The first bullet dug into his abdomen, the second in his shoulder. No vital points, but enough to cause a mess. Then she hit him hard in the head and watched him fall back. With the extra hit, she'd damage temporarily his senses, at least enough to make a run for the door. Her luggage was ready –just a go-bag she had stuffed under the couch. She'd exit by the back door after dialing a certain number. Hopefully SHIELD wouldn't take too long to arrive.

"Nat, why?"

Clint's voice was raspy, tired. When Natalia turned to look at him, he was already fighting to stand on his feet. She searched for a needle in a near drawer and threw it at him. As she expected, it hit his throat and the poison slowly got effective. The man stumbled back on the floor. Natalia knelt next to him, cupped his cheek and brushed his lips with her thumb gently. He fought the poison's effect a little while, tried to remain conscious, but in the end succumbed to its power. Natalia picked up his phone and searched for the name 'Hill' in his repertory. She pressed the call button, waited until it picked up.

"Clinton Barton! You have any idea what time-"

"Agent Barton will bleed out in exactly twenty minutes." Natalia cut, staring at his unconscious body. "Do him a favor and clean his carpet once he's gone."

She hung up as the woman on the line started asking questions. One last time, she ran her hand through his hair and smiled. Yes, she loved that man, and she would do anything to protect him. Even if it meant leaving him behind after halfway killing him.

"How can you still want me after what I did to you?" she asked quietly. Clint's hand cupped her cheek and his mouth dropped a warm kiss on her forehead. It was the alcohol, she thought, the alcohol must be to blame. But as he kept kissing her face, all protests died on her tongue. Could it be so easy? She wondered again, and when he pressed his lips against her mouth, she stopped thinking and kissed him back.