Alright! Who's excited? :) don't forget to review; you know how much I love it! You guys are the best!
A figure slipped though the darkness, creeping from shadow to shadow, she easily got the drop on one of the guards. Removing him from play, she set about cracking the code to the door, pulling off the cover and stripping wires. The door opened with a hiss, and she peered inside with a triumphant smile.
I don't think so.
Clint lined her up in the crosshairs and took the shot. The force of the bullet took her to the ground and red spread across her dark suit. The paint was bright and almost glowed in the darkness. His victim let out a huff and slammed her fist on the ground in frustration.
It was too easy, like taking candy from a baby. A handful of agents-to-be apparently hadn't considered the possibility of a sniper; either that or they were foolish to think the darkness could hide them from his sharp eyes.
He picked off a pair that tried to make a break for the open door that would lead them to the red team's flag.
Denied.
He could do this all night.
Idly he wondered what Natasha was up to. He had yet to catch a glimpse of her. It made him slightly uneasy. No doubt she was up to something clever…that is, if her team decided to play nice with her. There were still some reservations on base concerning her presence.
A week after she regained consciousness, medical finally cleared her. Not a moment too soon either. Clint was convinced that if they had made her stay any longer, she was going to kill somebody. And that somebody probably would have been him. Stir-crazy Natasha was terrifying.
Coming off of whatever kind of shit the red room had her on had wiped her out pretty good. Four months later and she was finally getting back into peak shape.
She had tried to do too much too fast and almost landed herself back in medical. Weiss had sat her down and lectured her for an hour like she was a small child. Considering it was usually him in the hot seat, all Clint could do was sit by and try not to snigger though the whole thing. An unfortunate snort escaped him and the look Natasha shot him promised hell for him later.
He picked off another and briefly sat up to reload his weapon. He loved seeing the look of surprise on their face when they suddenly found themselves "dead."
A call went up as he chambered a round. They'd finally figure out where he was, and were organizing to take him out. This was going to be fun. Grinning, he quickly abandoned his perch, slipping noiselessly to the ground to take up a new one about 20 meters away. They were still a ways away; he'd pick them off when they came for him.
There's something the air that shifts when you are being followed. He dropped to the ground just as a paintball whizzed past. He rolled and came up with a handgun at the ready. Not hesitating he fired off in the direction of the shooter and hit nothing. There were shouts and guns went off the in distance, but the immediate area was eerily quiet.
He took cover behind a wooden barricade and carefully peered around the edge. Nothing. No signs of movement.
Two guesses who.
His mouth quirked up into a smile; this was going to be interesting.
She came at him from above, dropping down on top of him from an overhead tree branch. He landed on his back with her knee in his stomach. Winded, he barely had time to catch her fist as it flew at his face. He grunted as she dug her knee in harder, and retaliated by twisting her arm.
She growled at him and bared her teeth; he'd examine what that did to him later. Spies learned to use whatever means necessary to win a fight, pride be damned. Natasha tended to lean down and whisper dirty things in his ear. The first time she did it, he'd had her pinned to his chest. Somehow she managed to turn her head and deliver a rather scandalous invitation that only he could hear.
Shocked, his grip slipped and he found himself flat on his back with her standing over him, gloating. She arched her eyebrow in a most irritating fashion, her eyes laughing at his foolishness.
Before she could manage to pull some dirty trick, he managed to toss her off of him. She rolled into a crouch, gun out and aimed, and gave him a challenging smile. She stood up slowly, daring him to try something, so he did. Instead of have some dramatic stare down, Clint launched himself at her feet just as she fired.
He toppled her over and knocked her weapon away. Breathless, it took her a second to recover; using the brief moment, he took off running. Distance would be his greatest advantage.
He ran hard and fast, dodging trees and changing direction randomly. When he was close to his team's base, he dropped low to the ground to take in his surroundings. He was certain she followed him, but she was nowhere in sight, and he heard nothing.
What the hell?
He strained his ears. Silence. Complete silence. Even the distant sounds of shouts and gunfire that usually went on during a spy version of capture the flag had died away completely, but the signal for the end of the game hadn't gone off.
Soundlessly, he pulled himself up into a tree. He needed to be up high where he could see better.
He pulled his scope off his rifle to look around and saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. Where the hell did everybody go? Better yet, what the hell happened to Natasha? She had to be around here somewhere.
Tentatively, he let out a long whistle, the signal his team had agreed to use to call for help. A bird call sounded off to the left, but it wasn't any kind of signal from his team and there were no birds in this arena. Natasha maybe?
He unslung his rifle and found a dark figure perched in a tree. He fired off a shot and hit his mark. The bird call sounded again, closer this time. What the hell. Looking through his scope he found nothing, the person had already moved on.
Unexpectedly, a blue paintball exploded on the branch by his head, surprised, he lost his balance and tumbled off his perch. He caught himself before he hit the ground and hung upside down for a moment before dropping to his feet.
Natasha was waiting for him with a wicked grin and a gun trained on him.
Shit.
She gave him a look as if you say you lose and pulled the trigger. He squeeze his eyes shut and waited for the blow.
Click
Clint opened one of his eyes in surprise. She was out of ammo. He was one lucky son of a bitch when it came to his fights with her. Grinning, Clint swung his rifle up and fired, nailing her dead in the chest.
"I win." He said smugly. She gave him a sweet smile that set off all kinds of warning bells.
"Oh no yastreb, you lose."
Before he could respond, three figures materialized from the shadows and pelted him mercilessly with paintballs. When the onslaught let up, one of the trainees let out a long call. A couple minutes later a long tone when off signally the victory of the blue team and the end of the game.
Clint stood there with his mouth hanging open in shock as dozens of trainees came out of the woodwork to see Clint covered in blue paint. They'd planned the whole fucking thing.
Well…this is embarrassing. Taken down by baby agents.
He looked over to find, wonder of wonders, Natasha Romanoff, the formidable Black Widow, doubled over in laughter. Thankfully, some of the spectators found the fact that she was giggling far more shocking that Hawkeye's demise. It was only the second time he'd ever heard her giggle, and the sound of it almost made it worth being covered in smelly blue paint.
A flash went off.
Almost.
He turned to find Coulson holding a camera and fighting back a smirk, "oh how the mighty have fallen"
"et tu Brute?" he said, dramatically clenching his fist over his heart. Off to his side he heard a renewed fit of giggles. "ha. ha. ha. very funny. I hate you, both of you."
"No you don't" Natasha replied between giggles.
"You set me up!" The two of them shared a look of amusement. It was like they had suddenly bonded over tormenting him. Next thing you know they'd be teaming up against him for April Fool's. He complained loudly all the way to the showers.
There was a definite change in atmosphere since the all base capture the flag, where the former Russian assassin was concerned. Instead of cool indifference, she actually started to receive smiles. One guy even tried to give her a high-five. After she had stared blankly at him for an awkward moment he ran his hand through his hair nervously and mumbled a "great job last night" and walked away to join his giggling friends
Apparently helping them take down the infamous Hawkeye, who had never lost a game since joining SHIELD, earned one quite a bit of respect.
"No, it's definitely because they all saw you dissolve into a fit of giggles." Clint informed her. "You're just not as terrifying anymore. You know what they say about reputations. Lifetime to build, seconds of uncontrollable giggling destroy."
"Or a couple of well-aimed paintballs." That wiped that obnoxious self-important smile off of his face. He made a face and stuck out his tongue. "You are such a child."
He just laughed good naturedly.
"Here we are," Natasha looked out the window and up at the towering modern skyscraper that seemed out of place amongst the older structures. Gathering her purse, she turned to find Clint making a weird face.
"What?"
"Nothing, it's just…" he wiped away imaginary tears, "My baby's all grown up and going on her first mission."
She rolled her eyes, "this is hardly my first mission." She climbed out of the car, closing the door on his laughter, and strode confidently into the building.
It was a cake walk really. She was the distraction, the pretty face touring the facility that kept men thinking of anything but the work they were supposed to be doing. She kept the head engineer busy, accidently set off an alarm at just the right moment, embarrassed and blushing at her own clumsiness, while Clint slipped in unseen. Clint got the information from the computer, and she wiped the drive with a powerful magnet in the bottom of her purse. Set it on the computer tower, turn it on. Easy.
Clint met her at the door, pulling open the car for her, and flashing a slight smirk. Doesn't he know, no matter how small the job, one should never break character. It was bad form. She gave him a perfectly cheery smile, one that little miss rich girl gave out like candy, and thanked him kindly.
In and out, they were long gone before anyone even realized something was wrong.
When they were a ways away, she pulled off the uncomfortable black wig, and ran her fingers through her long locks. When she mentioned she was going to cut and dye it, Clint had opposed the idea fiercely.
"it's just a simple job, why go through so much trouble"
What was it with men and red hair?
The drive back would take a little while, so she cracked the window and let the fresh air blow around her hair a little bit as she watched the city pass by. It was pleasant to be above ground, to feel the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze. She hadn't realized how much she missed it.
It amazed her that she was still alive. No one ever survived the withdrawal; at least no one she knew about. Perhaps there were others that had managed to get away. Hopefully, her handlers thought she was dead after being so long without their "life preserving" drug.
For the first time in her life, she felt like she could do anything. She was free of the Red Room, they had lost all control over her. She vowed to never give it back.
This mission had been a test run to see if she could be trusted out in the world. No doubt Barton had orders to take her out for good if she tried anything.
She wondered if he would be able to do it. What would he do if she tried to run away? He let his emotions rule his decisions far too much in her opinion. He would be easy to manipulate.
The car slowed unexpectedly and she looked around confused.
"What are you doing?"
"Thought we'd grab some lunch before we had to head back to the land of spies. You know, real food, not that shit they serve in the cafeteria." He explained cheerfully, smiling at her in the rearview mirror.
Stupid and reckless. You don't hang around town after pulling a job. He parked and opened the door for her. She just sat there, staring up at him like he was crazy.
"Oh, come on Tasha! Don't be so serious all the time. We're fine. Clean get away, no one is chasing us, and they're not going to be expecting us to be sitting in a nice restaurant having lunch." He grabbed her hand and gave it a tug to encourage her. Begrudgingly, she stood and allowed herself to be dragged into the restaurant. He put her arm though his and walked with a little bounce in his step, whistling a happy tune. He was so cheerful it was annoying.
"Gotta make up for all your crankiness." He explained when she remarked on it. "Equal and opposite reaction, Newton's third law…or was it the second?"
"Failed Physics in school did you?"
"Only the first three or four times." He gave her a wink and she rolled her eyes.
They were seated by a window with a lovely view. Clint ordered the most expensive thing on the menu and then complained loudly when he didn't like it. The waiter, a nervous fellow, quickly brought him another entre, free of charge. He gave her a smirk trying to contain his laughter, and there was that urge to roll her eyes again. Sometimes she wondered how on earth did this man, no, correction: overgrown child become one of SHIELD's top agents?
She sipped her excellent cup of coffee and gazed out the window, enjoying the detour despite her training that was creaming in the back of her mind. Clint was unusually silent, she had expected him to chat idly, and he liked to share stories from his days in the circus. Some were incredibly funny, and she rather enjoyed hearing them. Not that she'd ever tell him.
Every once in while he'd let a painful memory slip. His abusive father, his brother, he kept giving her little pieces of himself, entrusting her with these things. She didn't know what to do with that. she'd never had anyone trust her like that. He was the first person in a long while who knew who she was and what she was capable of, that didn't look at her with distrust, expecting her to turn on them. Even her previous handlers had been wary around her.
She turned back to the table as the waiter returned with the check and caught Clint staring at her pensively. He cleared his throat awkwardly and busied himself with inspecting the check.
Natasha splashed some kind of nasty alcohol over the gaping wound in his leg and he hissed in pain. Where the hell did she even get it from?
"Shit!"
"Hush."
She tied a tourniquet around his leg and pulled it tight causing him to groan. He sank forward into her, exhausted and breathing heavily.
"Come on, "She commanded firmly, pulling his arm around her shoulders. "Get up, I am not carrying you, get up!" he grunted as she hauled him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her as they moved slowly, picking their way through the warehouse and hopefully in the direction of their backup.
Gunfire rang out around them. This thing had gone south fast. Their mark had known they were coming and had a nasty surprise prepared. Natasha's reflexes and quick thinking had saved their lives. He'd have to remember to thank her later.
She seemed to be able to make explosives out of chewing gum and bailing wire.
"That's impossible Clint," apparently she hadn't understood the MacGyver reference.
A loud crack sounded behind them and he heard her cry out in surprise and pain. Growling, she swung around, pulling him with her, and nailed the guy between the eyes.
"That's my girl," he mumbled, managing to grin at her though his own pain. She gave him an annoyed look and pulled him roughly along.
She managed to get them both out in one piece. Their back up had arrived and quickly cordoned off the area. She shoved him none too gently into the nearest vehicle and climbed in behind him. She ordered the guy in the front seat to drive. He said something in protest that Clint didn't really hear, his vision was swimming and he was pretty sure he was about to pass out. No doubt she silenced the guy with a look that easily persuaded the guy to do as she ordered or risk finding out what its like to sleep with the fishies. She did that sort of thing. She'd make a fine General.
The world grew dimmer, blood loss was a bitch. He could have imagined it, but he felt her slide her fingers gently through his hair. She leaned in close and sweetly whispered something in Russian. Imagined or not, he liked it.
People didn't realize how sweet she really was; maybe she didn't even realize it herself.
"Barton, you're going to be fine," he heard her say. There was a stupid smile on his face as he slipped into unconsciousness.
He woke up hours later in a hospital bed. Natasha was asleep in the chair next to him, a bandage in her arm, stitches along her collar bone, and various other cuts and bruises. She was fucking beautiful.
She could feel his eyes on her as she danced around the room. She'd long since been freed of a personal escort and was free to move about the base, excepting the more sensitive areas she did not yet have clearance for. She discovered a small, little used gym that had floor to ceiling mirrors that that you might find in a dance studio.
She liked to come here late at night, away from prying eyes, to dance. She had not done ballet in a very long time. Until recently the memory of it had been far too painful. Now, no longer enslaved, she found herself gliding through the familiar movements. It was like being reacquainted with an old friend. Her feet ached, a nuisance during physical training in the morning, but the pain was worth it. If there was one thing she would ever admit having a passion for, it was dancing.
He found her here a few days after it had become a routine for her; no doubt sent to investigate what she was up to. He'd show up every once in a while to stand in the doorway and silently watch her. After a few minutes, he would leave, never saying anything, presumably respecting her space.
Tonight he lingered, shifting from foot to foot as if debating whether or not to disturb her. She halted her movements to give him the opportunity he was looking for, inviting him in in her own way. No longer having any reason to keep his distance, he shuffled in, like a shy little boy, hands in his pockets and avoiding her gaze.
"Barton." She greeted him evenly, wary of his uncharacteristic behavior.
"Hey Tasha, I uh-" he swallowed hard, searching for the words. "Well you see…I um…"
Natasha was not known for her patience. "Spit it out Barton."
"Well you're good at dancing."
"Thank you?" All this to give her a compliment? Normally he just said what was on his mind; compliments and insults alike came flying out of his mouth with ease.
"I've got this mission in like a week. I gotta go to this gala type thing and the guy I'm impersonating is supposedly some fantastic dancer..." he trailed off.
"and?"
"I do a decent waltz…but not much else." He rocked on the balls of his feet and apprehensively met her eyes.
"Are you asking me to give you dancing lessons?"
He blushed a little, actually blushed. It was kind of adorable. Not that the Black Widow found anything adorable, because she most certainly did not. "If you don't wanna, I understand. I'll just ask someone else." He turned to leave.
"Clint!" she said a bit too quickly. He turned back, surprised at the use of his first name. "I'll teach you." She said gently.
He stared at her in amazement, and she felt uncomfortable under his gaze. For some reason, Clint had a way of making her uncertain of herself. He was coming to her as a friend, asking for help. That's what friends did right? They helped each other out. Were they friends?
A bright smile lit up his face and he bounded over to her excitedly. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
She took a step back. "You're not going to hug me are you?" she asked; ready to bolt if he tried it.
He laughed, "No, I value my life, thank you very much."
"Show me what you got." He stared at her for a moment. She rolled her eyes at his hesitation and closed the distance between them. "I'm not going to bite Barton."
"My experience says otherwise." He gave her his trade mark smile and pulled her into arms. Any awkwardness between them dissipated as he led her though a simple waltz. Typically he liked to play up the clumsy oaf and uneducated carney that people usually took him for; in reality he was both intelligent and graceful…well…he could be graceful when he wanted to be.
She started him with the quickstep and foxtrot. He was a quick learner, but had a tendency to look down at his feet, which did more harm than good. He foot managed to collide rather painfully with her bare ones, and she let out a hiss of pain.
"Sorry."
Sighing, she put her hand under his chin and forced him to look up. "Stop looking at your feet, focus on your partner. They will follow where you go. Just lead confidently and you'll do fine. Even if you take a wrong step, as long as you do it with confidence, it won't matter. You draw more attention to your faults if stop to apologize." She slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him closer, gazing at him with hooded eyes. "Romance your partner. Dancing can be even more intimate than sex."
She gave him a heated look and softly ran her hand down his cheek, caressing his lips with her thumb and causing his breath to hitch. "Make them fall for you and the entire room will think you're a master dancer." She whispered softly in his ear.
His seemed to have lost the ability to breathe due to her proximity and he swallowed hard his look of wonder gave her pause. It would be easy and not altogether unpleasant. He was an attractive man and more than once she had caught him appreciating her assets.
She owed him so much, an insurmountable debt she couldn't ever hope to pay back. He'd saved her when he'd had every reason to kill her, and stuck by her side though everything. He was her friend when she sorely needed one; and she'd never had a friend before, not like him. Loyal to a fault.
She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes and stood up on her toes till their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. He sucked in a breath, and she could see the inward debate in his eyes. Last time, she forced herself on him as a distraction, now she gave him the choice.
He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He gave her a small, sad smile, then pulled back from her slightly but continued to lead her though a slow dance. She'd never been turned down before, but she found she respected him more because of it.
She wanted to do something for him, to give him something. Before she knew it, the words came tumbling out, things she had buried deep inside and kept hidden for so long.
"I used to dance like this with my father." She spoke softly, almost as if afraid someone else would hear of she said it any louder. She moved closer to him and stepped up onto his feet like a small child might do. She didn't dare look at his face lest she lose her nerve. "He wasn't actually my father, but he let me call him papa."
He held her tighter and continued to sway gently. "I was raised in the Red Room; it was all I ever knew. But when I was twelve, I got away…or at least I thought I had." She took a shaky breath, it was painful, she hadn't allowed herself to think about it in so long.
"He found me while he was on a hunting trip, staying in a cabin deep in Siberia. He took me to Moscow and treated me as if I were his own daughter. He had a son too, and for the first time that I could remember, I had a family."
She allowed herself to smile, the kind with intermingle joy and heartbreak. "He taught me to dance, and enrolled me in a ballet class. That ballet studio was my favorite place in the world." She leaned into him and he held her firmly against him. she may have found a new favorite place.
"What happened to them?"
She rested her head against his shoulder, "I thought he'd saved me." She felt so small, like she was once again a helpless child with no control.
"Tasha?" he pulled away and put a hand under her chin to make her look at him. He wiped his thumb across her cheek and she realized she was crying. She turned her back to him and swiped furiously at her eyes. How embarrassing.
"He uh…" she cleared her throat. Get a hold of yourself! "After two years he took me back, it was all a trick. A foolish fantasy. To control me they needed to break me, they gave me something wonderful and then took it away." There was an edge to her voice. The betrayal had cut deep, and the force of her rage was overwhelming. She shook with anger. "That man in Sao Paulo, Yuri, he used to be my "brother.""
He stepped up behind her and wrapped her in an embrace. She relaxed instantly into him; his presence seemed to be enough to calm her. He dropped a kiss onto the crown of her head
"I'm sorry that happened to you." His voice was soft and comforting, and rough with emotion.
They kept meeting long after he returned successful from his mission. Sometimes they'd dance, sometimes they'd spar. Somewhere in between she came to the sudden realization that she trusted him completely. If he asked anything of her, she would do it, no questions asked. Loyal to a fault.
Their transfer came through. After several successful operations, Fury was biting at the bit to unleash the Black Widow on the worst of the worst. She'd been in their employ for almost a year now, and she had the skills and the instincts for deep cover missions and would be invaluable. He granted Natasha senior agent status and expedited a transfer paperwork that would reassign them to SHIELD headquarters in New York.
They were scheduled to leave at the end of the week and Clint couldn't wait to tell Natasha.
Unfortunately he had to meet with Coulson, Weiss, Director Parke, and other local big wigs to formally evaluate Agent Romanov before her promotion and security status could be officially official. The council wasn't terribly keen on it, but Fury tended to do as he pleased. So this meeting was really a really boring and unnecessary waste of time as far as Clint was concerned.
For the most part, Clint spent the majority of the meeting people watching though the large window that looked over the main control room, only speaking when asked a direct question. Weiss kicked him under the table every once in a while in an attempt to get Clint to focus and participate in the discussion. The guy loved to talk about his favorite student ("I don't have favorites Barton." "Bullshit"), he answered most of the questions and made a pretty solid argument for Natasha. Clint really didn't feel needed.
Below them, SHIELD personnel moved around like ants in hive; monitoring ongoing missions, pushing papers to and fro, chatting around the water cooler, and other officey things.
There was a particularly beautiful brunette chatting up some computer geek. The poor guy was all flustered and looked like he didn't know what to do. Clint had to hide a smile as the guy spilled his coffee all over himself; embarrassed, he excused himself to go clean up. The girl gave the poor guy an understanding smile, turning to give Clint a better look at her face.
Clint bolted straight up in his seat. He knew her. He knew he knew her. But from where? All kinds of alarm bells were going off in his head. He racked his brain, searching for the answer.
The girl nonchalantly pulled a flash drive from the guy's computer and pressed something to the bottom of the desk. Clint's stomach did a flip.
No fucking way.
He shot up from his chair, and everyone in the room turned to look at him.
"Bomb!" he threw over his shoulder and sprinted through the door and down the stairs, leaving a room of bewildered senior officers in his wake.
He hit the main floor just as the women exited though the door opposite him. "Bomb! Clear the room!" he shouted and took off after her, shoving people out of the way in his haste. People watched in shock as he ran across the room like a crazy person, a raving madman shouting warnings out of the blue.
An alarm went off as he reached the main corridor. Thank God! Coulson was probably the first to recover from his shock and the first to believe Clint's claim. Better to set off an unnecessary alarm and deal and call it a drill later; than to not set it off and risk hundreds of lives.
Ahead of him, the woman was walking calmly down the hall, unaffected by the blaring alarm and its resulting chaos.
"Make a hole!" he barked, impatiently pushing though the people who had flooded the halls. She turned and caught a glimpse of him, then bolted.
Fuck.
He chased her down a less crowded hall and broke into a full sprint. He drew his gun and took aim, just as she had the same idea. Whipping around, she fired erratically. Clint dodged into a doorway, pulling another agent with him out of harm's way while another dropped the floor in a pool of blood. Peeking cautiously around the corner, he found the woman already on the run again. Carefully taking aim, Clint fired twice, nailing her in the knee and shoulder.
She went down. Behind him, the charge she'd placed in the control room detonated. It was expected, there was only enough time to evacuate. What was unexpected, were the successive concussions that went off, shaking the building around him.
Unexpectedly, the woman pulled herself to her feet and got off a round that tore into his side. He leapt back to cover, stanching the wound with his hand and returning fire, but by that time she had already disappeared through the door that led to the R&D labs.
He moved to follow, but a wall of heat blasted him back and darkness swallowed him up.
go ahead, let me know what you think :) I love hearing from y'all