Standing there amongst the bodies of her former comrades, if they could even be called that, she came to the realization that there was no going back. She'd unwittingly taken a step down a path she hadn't meant to travel.

The American had been entirely right when he accused her of orchestrating her death. She was tired and wanted out. Running was not worth the trouble, no one would take her in and a spy out in the cold didn't last long, they'd take her down. Death was the solution, but it had to be done right. She could not merely overdose, put a bullet in her head, or fuck up a job and let them kill her. She didn't want them to be able to "save" her.

She knew far more than they thought. She knew what they could do and it made her stomach turn. She didn't want to take the chance they would do it to her and she would lose what little control she still had.

So she laid down bread crumbs. SHIELD had been desperate to remove her from the field. She had caused irreparable damage sabotaging missions, stealing or destroying valuable intel, and turning or killing valuable assets. They would want to make certain she was gone, which meant collecting the body, verifying the ID, and destroying all evidence. She would be beyond the reach of the red room.

But nothing was going according to plan.

She was so damn close to her dead line when the idiot finally showed up in Sao Paulo. Any longer and she either would have had to get Liev out herself, or kill him. They wanted her to take him out before he could get his hands on some particularly damaging material. They gave her time to get close, assuming she'd be an overachiever as usual, and take out his source as well.

She was the source.

She assumed SHIELD would show up, take her out and take Liev into protective custody. But he just took so fucking long; and when he finally arrived he took his sweet time observing her. So she developed a routine and gave him plenty of chances, but he still wouldn't take the fucking shot. She decided to give him a little encouragement, and even that had failed miserably.

Fucking great time to be losing her touch.

She was furious when she woke up in that crappy motel. She wasn't supposed to wake up, he was supposed to kill her and go back to SHILD with all the glory that came with killing The Black Widow. Guess he didn't want the glory.

So she took out her frustration on him; she only wished she could've put enough force behind it to actually break his nose. What kind of idiot takes a mark prisoner when he was sent to kill her?

Hawkeye wasn't quite living up to his reputation.

Then they came for her and he protected her; shielding her with his own body and forcing her down a path she had been trying to avoid.

Well, if she was going to do this, she was going to make hell for them. So she took off to save Liev and the Hawk followed.

"An American spy and a Russian spy walk into a bar…there's got to be a joke in there somewhere."

She actually had to hold back a snort of laughter at that because…well…their situation was rather absurd. A civil rights activist, the assassin sent to kill him, and the assassin sent to kill the assassin, hiding in a bar from a crew of mercs. Somehow she didn't think they'd find the punch line very amusing.

It was early afternoon and there were only a few customers in the joint. They had spent the entire morning moving around; stopping only to get some new clothes and to raid one of several weapons caches she had hidden around the city. A healthy habit one tended to have in her line of work.

Hawkeye decided they should stop for a while to take stock and make a plan. Whatever. She already knew what she was going to do. It was fortunate Hawkeye had followed her, whatever the reason. Now she could leave Liev in his hands and trust he'd survive long enough to get that information where it needed to go. So she let him lead then into a seedy bar.

Liev went directly for the bar and was now nursing a glass of whiskey.

"Oliver Queen" she turned to find Hawkeye holding out his hand to her.

"fignya"

He gave her a confused look.

She clarified for him, "how do you say? ...bullshit" laying on the Russian accent.

He gave her a heart melting smile, but her heart is stone, not ice.

"Clint Barton" he gave her the truth this time, offering his hand again.

"So?"

"I give you my name, you give me yours. That's how this works, cause I sure as hell ain't gonna go around calling you The Black Widow."

Did he think they were partners now or something? That just because he didn't kill her and she saved the person she was supposed to kill that they were suddenly on friendly terms?

She folded her arms and scowled at him, and he simply grinned in response. "Come on, you gotta have a name, everyone has a name."

She elected to ignore him and directed her attention to scanning the room for any threats, but he persisted.

"You could make something up to give me. Otherwise I'll make something up and I get the feeling that that'll really irritate you."

What was irritating her was that he wouldn't shut up. She really didn't care of he chose some random name to call her; she used aliases all the time. Instead he was listing off names and deliberating which fit her best.

"Jessica? Courtney? Naw, too American. Olga is too ugly. Lara?...no. oh! How about Misha?...or better yet Nastia! That fits much better…" On and on it went. She was starting to get the urge to punch him. She'd never encountered anyone so irritating. Hadn't he wanted to stop so they could figure out what they were doing and make a plan or some shit like that?

It became too much. "it's Natasha! Now will you please just shut up!"

She scolded herself, since when does she blow up like that? He looked way too pleased himself, and the urge to punch him got stronger.

"Natasha" he repeated, trying it out as he looked her up and down, nodding his head in approval. She almost expected him to start spouting some nonsense about the meaning of the name and how it was perfect for her, how symbolized her life in some way.

"Alright, come on Nat. I'll buy you a drink." If she rolled her eyes every time she got the urge, they'd be spinning in her head around him. He took a seat at the bar and beckoned her over. He ordered a couple shots of vodka, buying into the Russian stereotype.

What the hell. She joined him at the bar and threw back the shot.

He gave her a smug smile. One more and she was going to give into her compulsion.

"So, Tasha wha-"

"Stop with the nicknames, we are not friends."

He raised his hands in surrender, giving her a sly smile. "Whatever you say babe."

That's it. She decked him.

The bar tender laughed loudly, teasing Clint in Portuguese and pouring her another shot. He stared up at her in shock. That'll teach him to lower his guard around her.

Her hand stung from the force of slugging him, but she welcomed it. It felt good to take out her frustrations on him. It would have been even better of her hadn't started laughing at her like he'd won. He got her name, and he got a reaction. Asshole.

She threw back the shot and scowled down at him; then made her way to the bathroom and never came back.

so the first part made sense in my head...but it's kinda light the twilight zone in there...

Reviews much appreciated