AUTHOR'S NOTE: First and foremost, I wanted to say, thank you everyone for the wonderful feedback. I'm completely overwhelmed (in a good way) by the response to this story, and can only hope that you'll continue to enjoy it.

Now, for story stuff: Okay, so don't be mad, but this chapter goes on a little bit of a tangent. I promise I'll get to more movie stuff in the next chapter (there will be Loki!), but I thought there needed to be some exposition on the dynamic between Clint and Natasha first... and then I ended up going a little overboard. So, I apologize in advance, and if you don't like this chapter, hopefully you'll find what you're looking for in the next one.

Also, any events that take place in the past are completely made up by me, based (very loosely) on things I read about the histories of the comic book characters. So, they won't be true to any canon but my own.

Anyway, here it is, the next chapter. Thanks for reading!

CHAPTER 2

When it comes to virtues, assassins don't tend to have all that many. It's been said, though, that patience is a virtue, and patience was something Agent Clint Barton had in spades. No master archer worth his salt could afford to be anything but patient. After all, in a world full of moving targets, being able to wait until just the right moment to release an arrow was just as vital as one's aim.

But yet, knowing that his partner, his friend, his Natasha was in danger turned the world on its head. No longer was he the archer, the one in control, but now he was the arrow, yearning to be released, itching to find its target. S.H.I.E.L.D. now had him in its grasp, holding him in its bow until the time was right to release. Data needed to be gathered, camera feeds needed to be analyzed, the new members of the team needed to be briefed...

Like an arrow, helplessly waiting... waiting... WAITING to be released...

Clint wanted to scream.

Of course, he couldn't scream, not without being sent away for a Level 3 psych evaluation. So, instead, he sat in the bridge of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s airship, just... waiting.

"We got a hit," a voice said, and Clint's ears perked up immediately. "Sixty-seven percent match. Weight, cross-match, seventy-nine percent."

"Location?" Coulson asked, and Clint was suddenly grateful that his handler had never been one to beat around the bush.

"Stuttgart, Germany. 28, Konigstrasse. He's not exactly hiding," the agent reported. Clint nearly scoffed. Loki, that arrogant son-of-a-bitch. He'd be sure to put an arrow right between his eyes. That would make him feel better, he supposed.

"Captain, you're up," Fury ordered. "Barton, you're going with him."

And finally … released.

Clint's opponent released yet another arrow, and as he watched it sail by his nose, he wondered how everything had gotten so completely fucked up.

The mission had started out like any other. The objective had been clear enough: Find the target, kill the target.

When Clint had been told that the mark was a master archer, he merely smiled. "I guess we'll see which one of us is better, then," he'd said, looking forward to the encounter.

"Neither of you," Natasha responded, rolling her eyes. "I plan on getting the kill, and then you'll know that I'm better than the both of you," she'd challenged with a teasing smile. "Besides, archery is lame."

Yes, it had all been fun and games, just an amusing little battle between him and Natasha - that is, until everything went awry.

Somehow the target had taken notice of them, had found out that they were in town to kill him. The mark ended up getting the jump on him and Natasha, and after managing to avoid a hail of arrows, the two of them became engaged in a close-quarters battle with their opponent at an abandoned warehouse.

Still, the man was outnumbered, and while Natasha distracted the target from shooting more arrows with her deft hand-to-hand combat, Clint lined up his shot.

He was about to release his arrow, aiming to bury it right in the mark's throat, when Natasha inadvertently kicked off man's mask.

Clint would never forget the shock of that moment, not for as long as he lived.

"Bar... Barney?" Clint asked, staring in awe at the man in front of him. He relaxed his grip on his bow and lowered the weapon.

"Hawkeye?" Natasha questioned, flicking her eyes over at her partner for a quick second but leaving her attention focused on the mark. Clint was grateful that she trusted him enough to stop fighting, even though she had nothing to go on but his hesitation. Yet, cautious as always, she remained in her fighting stance, her eyes acutely trained on the potential threat.

"That's right, Hawkeye, it's me," the man sneered, his face contorted into a twisted grin. "But you can call me Trickshot. Did you miss me, little brother?"

Clint heard Natasha let out an audible breath. "But you... but, I thought you were dead," Clint said, sounding like a lost little boy as he battled the emotions that were warring within him. His brother had died years ago, sacrificing himself in an FBI mission to destroy a deadly ray-projector - or so, Clint had thought. Clint had been assigned by S.H.I.E.L.D. to help his brother. He'd been on the mission, and he had watched first-hand as the only family he had was killed and cruelly taken from him. And now, here was his brother, alive and in the flesh.

But, somewhere in the deep and long-forgotten recesses of his heart, Clint knew that this abomination in front of him wasn't his brother, not really. His brother had been a hero, and the man he was fighting now was a monster. He'd killed hundreds of innocent people, and if given the chance, would kill thousands more. Still, even though Clint could see in his eyes that he was beyond saving, he couldn't let himself give up on his brother just yet. He had to try to find out what happened and fix it ... he owed his brother that much.

A deliberate laugh shook him from his thoughts. "Of course you thought I was dead, little brother. After all, you were the one who left me to die, weren't you?" Barney's voice was laced with nothing but bitterness, and the tone was so acrid that Clint could almost feel it poisoning his heart.

"No... I didn't- I wouldn't-" Clint stuttered.

"Enough!" a voice snapped, but it wasn't his brother's. It was Natasha's. "Look- Barney, was it?" she said conversationally, relaxing her fighting stance. "Clearly you and Clint have some issues to work out. Why don't you come with us back to S.H.I.E.L.D., and the two of you can talk it through? It beats the hell out of having us all kill each other, doesn't it?" Natasha smiled prettily at his brother, and then held out her hand to him in a show of trust.

Seemingly mesmerized by the Black Widow, seduced by her charm and beauty like many a man before him, Barney reached out his hand, cautiously, and clasped hers. Clint breathed slowly, carefully, as if afraid of frightening away a timid animal. Could it be - would he manage avoid a bloody confrontation with his brother after all?

However, his hope was short-lived. After a few long seconds, Barney's face contorted again and he yanked Natasha toward him. Clint saw the dagger in his brother's left hand, and watch with dread as the blade was thrust toward his partner.

"Tasha, NO!" he yelled in horror, trying to warn her, trying to stop it. But there was no need - this was the Black Widow, and no man was her master. She dodged the blade at the last second, and slammed her elbow into the face of her attacker, breaking his nose.

Her target was stunned, incapacitated, and he would now be her prey. Yet, instead of delivering the killing blow, she hesitated.

That was uncharacteristic of her ... the Black Widow never hesitated. Anyone in the business of killing others, especially someone like Natasha Romanoff, understood that hesitation was often followed by a quick death.

Clint knew, though, that she did it for him. And when he sent an arrow into his brother's heart, killing him instantly, Natasha knew that he did it for her.

The two assassins stood in silence for a long moment over the dead body - it could have even been hours. Neither knew what to do, what to say, at a time like this.

"Clint," Natasha finally ventured, "I'm sor-"

"Tasha," he cut her off, "don't. Don't tell me that you're sorry, not when I almost got you killed. I was being foolish." As the words came out, the guilt poured over him, almost suffocating him. Guilt over executing his brother, guilt over almost getting Natasha killed... God, Natasha, what if he had lost her?

"It wasn't foolish," she said quietly, and he looked at her in surprise. "It wasn't foolish, and if it was, I'm grateful. After all, wasn't it the same foolishness that led you to spare my life all those years ago?"

"I suppose it was," he answered, but even as he said the words, he knew that they were wrong. Clint's best assets were his eyes, and as an archer unrivaled by any other, he could see things in ways that no one else in the world could. So, when he made the decision to spare Natasha - as he stared her down, arrow at the ready and poised for the kill - there was something he could see in her that he knew was worth saving.

But, he couldn't find the words to explain that to her, so he just let it be. "Tasha..." he said quietly, looking down at his brother's dead body. "S.H.I.E.L.D. … Fury... do you think they knew that the mark was my brother?"

Natasha considered the question seriously, hesitating in her response. "It's possible that they didn't," she finally said, "since Barney Barton was presumed dead."

"But?" he asked, shifting his gaze so that it locked with hers.

"But," she continued, "S.H.I.E.L.D. is an intelligence organization. They're in the business of knowing these kinds of things. So, if I had to guess? I'd say yes, they knew, or at least, suspected."

"I see," was Clint's only response, and he looked away from her again. His eyes roamed over the unmoving corpse of his brother, his own flesh and blood, and suddenly, he found it hard to breathe. He just killed the only family he'd ever known, and his employer, the same organization that he'd dedicated his life to, was using him as a pawn in its fucked-up games. Clint had never felt more alone than at that very moment.

After a pause he said, "Would you mind giving me a moment alone, Natasha?" He couldn't stand it, the feeling of her eyes piercing into his back, boring into his soul, and goddammit, all he wanted to do right now was break something.

"Actually, I mind," she told him. "I like this spot."

Clint bit back his frustration, wondering why she couldn't see how very close he was to exploding. Now was not the time for their fun little games, didn't she know that? Didn't she care about him at all? Or had he always just imagined that, too...

"Fine, then I'll go," he snarled. But, before he got very far, she grabbed his arm roughly, spinning him toward her.

"WHAT?" he screamed in her face, his gray eyes now stormy and filled with rage. But, she didn't so much as flinch. Instead, she wordlessly wrapped her arms around him and buried her head into his chest.

Clint was so shocked by her rare display of affection that his surprise soon displaced all of his anger. He stood there dumbly for a few moments until, as if by their own accord, his arms circled around her, holding her tightly to him.

"Tasha," he whispered softly, feeling her warmth melt away all of his loneliness and desperation.

And, that's when he finally realized - he wasn't alone, not anymore.

Not ever again, he vowed.

To be continued...

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