Sorry this took so long, school kind of snuck up and bit me in the ass. Fortunately for you I only have two more days and then I'm done.
So here in the third chapter in this silly story. SLIGHT WARNING for mild blood mention. Only a bloody nose, don't worry.
Clint sprinted through the dark corridors of the SHIELD base, looking for any sign of the missing redhead. He could barely hear the sound of his own breathing over the alarms and the ruckus of the agents rushing to their red alert stations. A broad shouldered man shouted something to him as he sprinted past, but Clint couldn't understand a word he uttered. He was just starting to regret pulling the lever when the wailing stopped. The red lights ceased flashing and the normal overheads came back on. There was a crackling before a voice spoke through his ear piece.
"You're welcome Barton."
"Coulson, you're a life saver." Clint breathed.
The Agent responded promptly, his tone conveying slight annoyance and a dose of self-satisfaction.
"Well I wasn't listening to that for however long it takes you to find her."
"It shouldn't take that long." Clint admonished.
"Now that she's heard the alarm, Romanoff's going to hide. I doubt you'll find her within the hour."
He halted his advance, stopping just before he turned a corner to think about what Coulson had just said.
"Huh… that alarm really wasn't a good idea."
"No, not really," the agent replied. "We could have sealed the doors from the control room."
The archer shrugged his shoulders and continued. Every hallway he traversed down was empty now, no doubt due to an order issued by one of the three men in the conference room. The only sounds he heard were from his own footsteps on the concrete floor and the dull droning of the ventilation system. Occasionally there would be a thud from something or other, or the whir of a computer fan, but there were no other organic noises. It was really, really creepy. He silenced his own footsteps, hoping to lessen the tension of the moment. His decision did little to improve his situation.
He continued to slip down the halls, taking the turns he knew the redhead would have taken to escape. Finally he reached the elevator Howard had instructed her to use. He didn't waste time searching the area around it. Near the gleaming metal doors were a few potted plants, positioned in a futile attempt to make the military base seem less formidable. Unless she was inside one of them, there was nowhere else to hide.
"Then again…" he mumbled to himself.
He immediately backtracked, and checked the plants anyways. She was a Russian spy after all. Just as he had predicted, they were empty. He moved to the elevator once he was sure they were vacant. To the right of the directional buttons was a small access panel, covered in by a metal hatch. He opened it effortlessly, revealing the keypad that lay underneath. Its only purpose was to dial the override code needed to use the elevator on lockdown.
"Do you need the code?"
Clint jumped, startled by the break in the silence.
"Jesus Coulson! How do you even know where I am?"
"The Director sent me to the security room to watch over the camera feed."
Clint looked to his right. Sure enough placed at the seam between the ceiling and the wall was a security camera. He waved, turning back to the keypad with a smile.
"Thanks for the offer, but I know Stark's general override code."
"Why would he give you, of all people, such dangerous knowledge?"
Coulson actually sounded slightly worried, which only made the archer smile more.
"Howard decided that he had too many numbers to remember, so he delegated some to me. The code was one set."
"One set? What else did he tell you to memorize?"
"Uhm…"
Clint searched his memory while he tapped the seven digit code into the access panel.
"The date of his wedding anniversary, his son's birthday, the first half of his social security number, a few nuclear launch codes-"
"You're kidding right?"
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not."
The elevators slid open and Clint stepped in.
"For the sake of the world, I'm going to have to find Howard a personal secretary. You clearly should be spending far less time around him."
"Aww is someone worried I might replace them with another father figure?"
Coulson snorted.
"Please by all means leave me alone."
"Well don't you worry, there shouldn't be too much of a conflict. You're more like a mom anyways."
"Thank you Barton, now get to work."
The elevator dinged as the doors slid open.
"Will do."
Clint stepped out into the nearly vacated lobby. The ground floor of the facility was as lush as the underground floors were barren, filled with comfy seats and decorated walls. A few agents and Clarice the lobby secretary were still lingering. Clarice was one of SHIELD's more interesting agents. The women in her family had been serving in the organization that later became SHIELD since the 40's, guarding top secret facilities and experiments like the original Super Soldier project. She was about thirty years older than the average recruit, but he knew for a fact she could still kick all of their asses and her aim was one of the deadliest he had ever encountered. She was a raging ball of badassery wrapped up in a grandmotherly package.
Once they saw him, the agents nodded to the blond and left the area. Clarice stood from her post at her desk, stopping next to Clint as she walked towards the elevator.
"Do you need any help Clinton?"
The fifty something year old woman leaned to whisper in his ear. She placed and encouraging hand on his left shoulder.
"I can lend you one of my Ka-bars. I've got about seven on me right now."
The scariest part was she wasn't kidding about the knives. It was one of the many reasons Clint absolutely loved her.
"No thank you Clarice. My friend and I are just having a bit of a misunderstanding. I think I can calm her down without stabbing her."
"But you're covered right?"
Clint smiled at the elderly woman's concerned look. He wiggled his left leg in a hokey-pokey like fashion, showing her where he kept his blade strapped.
"Yes ma'am," he all but chirped.
"Good," she patted his shoulder before lowering her hand back to her side. "I locked the lobby down before the general alarm went off. I didn't remember a redhead coming in, so I wasn't letting one out."
"SHIELD would be in ruins without you."
"Damn right it would," she declared as she left Clint.
She walked towards the elevator without a word, typing in her own code and stepping in. Before the twin doors closed she casually called out to Clint.
"She doesn't know I know, but your friend is over by the bathrooms. Play nice Clinton."
He gave her a small salute before she disappeared behind the metal panels.
"Thank you kindly Clarice."
Clint turned from the descending woman and walked further into the room.
"How come you aren't that polite to me?" Coulson questioned over the comm.
"Because you don't bake me cookies once a week. Plus you said my proposed codename was stupid."
As he chattered, Clint navigated through the lobby. He skirted around the large reception desk covered in brochures – which begged the question, why does a secret agency have brochures? – and took a left down a side hallway. The corridor was empty and dead silent, save for Clint's footsteps on the marble floor.
"You know exactly why I refuse to use your codename, Barton."
"I don't care what you say," the archer lowered his voice one he neared the first restroom door. "Hawkeye is a fucking sweet name."
He tentatively opened the door of the women's room.
"Hello? Anyone in here?"
There was no response, obviously. No one hiding from a person would answer their pursuer. He checked each of the stalls, finding them as empty as the previous silence had suggested. He left the room and moved down the hall.
He found the door to the men's room slightly ajar, which put him on high alert. He opened the door far slower than the first, creeping into the room without making a sound. He skipped the shout out and dropped to the floor. Army crawling across the tile, he checked for any feet under the stalls. Seeing none, he stood back up. Placing his hand on the door he opened the stall closest to the door. There was nothing in it besides the toilet, the same went for the next two in line. By the time he reached the fifth stall, Clint was bored with the lack of results.
"You're not even in here are you?" he lamented as he swung the sixth door open.
A pair of bare feet came rushing at his face, all too eager to prove him wrong. The force of the kick had him lying on his back, clutching his now bloodied nose.
"Fuck! I think you broke it!"
The redhead jumped from her perch on the back of the toilet. She landed on Clint, effectively pinning him to the ground with her body weight. She raised her fists, preparing to strike Clint again if she needed to.
"Barton what happened!" Coulson shouted through the comm.
"She fricken kicked me in the face and I'm pretty sure my nose is broken again. It sure hurts like a son of a-"
Coulson cut the archer off mid rant.
"Is she still attacking you?"
"No she's just sitting on me."
Clint lifted his head off the floor. His blue-gray eyes met the emerald ones of his assailant. Their deadly gleam seemed brighter now that the drugged haze was absent from their depths.
"She won't stop staring at me. It's creepy, like when you're trying to decide which doughnut you want."
"Your humor knows no bounds," Coulson blandly stated. "Do you need me to come up there?"
"No not yet. I have this sneaking suspicion she doesn't like dudes in suits with guns."
Clint was still maintaining eye contact with the girl. Neither had moved in the last few minutes. Clint figured he would have to make the first attempt at lowering the tension. He relaxed his body, letting his muscles unwind like a coiled spring let loose. Her eyes narrowed slightly as he moved, but she made no movement herself. He could hear his adrenaline-fueled pulse beating rapidly behind his ears, so he tried to lower his heart rate. The few deep breaths he took proved futile as they brought in more of the blood gushing from his nose than they did air.
"Hey could you?"
He coughed and sputtered a few times as he waved his hands towards the wall mounted paper towel rack. The girl stared at him a moment before extending her arm towards the roll. She had to stretch her entire torso, but she managed to rip off a wad of towels without lifting her body from his chest.
"Thank you."
He graciously accepted the towels and immediately pressed them to his nose. Pain seared through his body and he leaned into the papers.
"Yep, you definitely broke my nose," he muttered under his breath.
"Why are you not attacking me?"
Clint's eyes shot upward in shock. It was the first time he had heard her say anything besides the feral growling in the alleyway. Her voice was deep, seductive without even trying. Her tone calm, as if she wasn't straddling a profusely bleeding man on the floor of a public bathroom.
"Wow, so you do speak English. I was worried I was going to have to nab one of the annoying translators down in Linguistics."
"Why are you not attacking me?" she repeated in a stern manner.
Her gaze clearly communicated her displeasure with Clint's blank stares. He took a moment more to get over his shock and collect himself.
"Mostly because you're wearing one of my favorite shirts and I don't want to get blood on it."
She looked down at the shirt and rolled her eyes.
"That is not what I meant idiot."
Her gaze sharpened. It had to be one of the most terrifying glares he had ever seen.
"You were supposed to kill me, yes? Yet you did not shoot me on the roof when you had the chance. Then you took me here when I passed out, gave me medical treatment, and your own clothes!" She looked truly astonished. "And now you are relaxing on the floor. Why?"
"Well I had to give you my clothes because I stopped asking the female agents for their clothes after the third slap to the face. As for not killing you, I probably have the same reasons you do."
Clint looked directly into the green orbs boring into his face. They flickered ever so slightly with his statement, a brief flash of worry flying across their surfaces before disappearing.
"It's pretty standard to assassinate an assassin once you know they're coming for you, yet I'm still alive," he continued.
He could tell she was not pleased with his answer. Her expression defied all odds and hardened even further. He was glad there wasn't a gun anywhere in the vicinity, if there was she would most assuredly have it pointed at his face.
"Why?" she growled through clenched teeth.
"Because you were being chased," he blurted.
Clint was just as surprised as the redhead when his words slipped out.
"Someone wants you dead, besides, you know, most government agencies. Judging by how well you knew the alley thugs, I would wager it's your own people who want you gone."
Every muscle in her body froze suddenly; she didn't even seem to be breathing. Clint had hit the nail right on the head.
"You've been disavowed haven't you," he whispered.
She didn't answer as per usual.
"Well I'm no stranger to that." He sat up a little more off the floor. "Fortunately for you, I might just have a solution. How would you like a legitimate job? SHIELD is pretty good at taking in agents and protecting them, if I'm anything to go by."
His monologue was interrupted by a loud stomach growl. He looked to the offending digestive system, smiling up at its redheaded owner.
"We also have a top notch kitchen. I mean I can only use the toaster, but I assure you I never burn my toast."
She stared down at him blankly, deftly handing him more paper towels when she noticed the originals were soaked. He pressed the clean sheets to his nose, glad to see the bleeding had slowed.
"I assure you it's not just the blood loss induced hysteria talking."
A jet of air puffed from her nostrils in a sort of exasperated half laugh. She bowed her head, shaking it back and forth.
"I don't really have much of a choice do I?"
"Not at all," Clint beamed.
Thank you so much for your continued reading. There should be more soon now that I have abundance of free time.