Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.

Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"

To ArabianForest: you are psychic or something :) Every time you put in a review that you'd like to see something specific about Natasha it is coming up in the next chapter or so. Rest assured that this story is about more than just Clint, it's about Natasha too and we will learn her story as well as she tells it to Clint. :) But keep in mind this is a blending of movie and comic-verse so it's not going to be exactly like her comic book background just like it wasn't with Clint. You're exactly on my wave length and I'm loving it! What you're waiting for is coming next chapter!

To StatueOfLiberty: I'm so sorry this was a source of confusion for you. I'll try and clear it up without giving too much away. In this story, Natasha is 22 and Clint is 24. When Natasha said she was an assassin for 'a little more than a year' she was stating that relative to Clint's single year as an assassin, her tenure was much longer. Not that she was an assassin for only a little over a year. I don't want to ruin what is going to be explained in the next chapter, so suffice it to say, that Natasha (in THIS universe) had her first kill at 14, but was in training for years before that and continued to work for years after that. She met Clint when she was 19 at which point he flipped her to join SHIELD. All that will be illustrated in the future story "What No One Else Sees". I hope that cleared it up :)

Just a quick side note: for everybody that's like 'awe, Phil doesn't approve of them together' remember that it's a process :) If you remember in "Trust" Clint had a flashback to the original Fourie mission which takes place three months after Vietnam and he hadn't even told Phil about him and Tasha yet. Phil wasn't exactly thrilled, but mostly because he still doesn't entirely trust Natasha's motives when it comes to Clint, who he is (as you can tell) wildly protective of. He'll come around :) Promise

Thanks to all who reviewed! :D Those of you who I know have been waiting for the arrival of some wump...it's on its way

Last Time:

They walked for three hours, circling deeply inland to try and avoid whatever men Carter had sent after them. They sat down to rest next to a large, wide tree. They took turns keeping watch while the other napped. Then they kept walking until dusk fell and they camped out next to an old tree, taking turns keeping watch through the night. They sat shoulder to shoulder, against their tree, and when Natasha's head dipped onto his shoulder while she slept, Clint didn't move her. And when he curled on his side on the ground when it was his turn to sleep, Natasha wordlessly moved his head to her thigh so he would have a pillow.

Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect. It means that you've decided to look beyond the imperfections. -Unknown

They'd stopped to rest. Clint had noticed something bothering his partner for the past hour or so. She'd grown almost twitchy. Which was something he'd never thought he'd associate with the Black Widow. Something was bothering her enough that it was making her agitated.

Clint watched curiously as she checked the magazine on her gun for the second time since the explosion, found it empty for the second time since the explosion, and promptly threw it at a nearby tree.

"Wanna talk about it?" Clint offered carefully from where he was crouched next to the stream they'd found, scooping water into his mouth.

She huffed, looking away with her hand going to cover her mouth briefly.

"Romanoff?"

"No." She snapped.

"Really? Back to the snapping at me thing? You really are a one step forward two steps back kind of gal."

She glared. He smirked. It was weak, but it was all he had. Her glare softened.

They were trusting now. Right.

"I'm just frustrated." She sighed.

"Understandably." He allowed.

"No, not in the way you think." She came to crouch next to him. He waited. "I'm the Black Widow." She stated firmly, "Nothing is supposed to faze me. I have the reputation I have because nothing ever fazes me. But now…" She shrugged helplessly, raking a hand through her tangled hair.

"It's fazing you." He deduced.

"God, they were just kids." She shook her head in horror. "They shot them down like animals. And we couldn't stop it. I just want to not feel anything. I want this pain to go away."

Clint was silent for a long moment before he responded.

"Sometimes I wish that too." He admitted, "But then I remember something."

"What?" She asked, watching him closely. He sighed, looking out across the forest, eyes always scanning, always looking for a threat.

"That feeling is the only thing that separates us from the kind of people that shoot kids. That sometimes emotion is the only way you can tell if you're doing the right thing. And that pain is what reminds us that we're the good guys."

"The good guys." She mused.

"Weird right?" He joked weakly. "There was a time I used to think I would never be a good guy again."

"There was a time I used to think I would never be a good guy ever."

"Looks like we both proved ourselves wrong." He nudged her shoulder with a smile. She couldn't help it, she smiled back.

"Looks like."

"Come on, let's keep going." He stood and offered her a hand up. She took it.

They walked for hours, circling back towards the compound, thanking whoever was watching over them that they hadn't run into any pursuing mercenaries.

"Is that a house?" Clint asked suddenly.

Natasha shifted to see what he was looking at. Maybe a hundred yards away, barely visible through the trees was a building. Maybe a house. She couldn't tell. She could barely tell there was anything to see at all. She shot her partner a glance wondering if he realized how superior his eye sight was.

He didn't seem to. But Clint never seemed to realize he was superior in anything. It wasn't exactly modesty, more like insecurity.

"Maybe." She finally answered.

"Should do the trick for the night."

"Yeah."

"I think I hear another stream, let's go get some water and then we can go check it out."

Natasha nodded and followed him towards whatever stream he heard that her ears didn't pick up. She wasn't surprised when they eventually came upon a small trail of running water. His hearing was nearly as perfect as his eyesight. As they sat and drank, Natasha stared at her partner thoughtfully.

"How did you know?"

"You're going to have to be more specific. I know a lot of things." He smirked.

"How did you know about Malik's strength? You spoke like it was from personal experience."

For several moments it didn't seem like he was going to answer.

"I know because I was one of those kids that had to learn to survive."

"Wanna talk about it?" She asked quietly.

"I guess we are supposed to be trusting now." He smiled weakly.

"You don't have to tell me." She assured sincerely.

"No, you deserve to know." He sighed deeply. "It's just not a story I like to tell."

He hadn't talked about his past in six years, not since he was on the flight home with Coulson after the clusterfuck in the Andes. He'd never thought he'd meet anyone else that he wanted to tell after that. He glanced at Natasha. Her green eyes were open and sincere. She was trying to know him. He'd asked her to trust him. How could he not do the same?

"My parents died when I was six. A drunk driver ran a red light. My brother and I…" He paused suddenly, "Did I ever tell you I had a brother?"

She shook her head.

"His name is Barney. He's six years older than me. Anyway, he's got his own part in this story, so I'll leave it at that for now."

She wasn't sure she wanted to know what that meant because there was pain in his eyes as he said it.

"We were put in an orphanage. I got these," he turned, pulling up the back of his shirt to show her the scars she already knew where there, "and a few others from the bastard that ran the place. That was why we ran away."

"Both you and Barney?" She asked.

He nodded.

"We joined the circus."

Her eyes widened comically.

"You thought I was kidding all those times, didn't you." He surmised.

"I didn't think anybody really ran off to join the circus." She admitted. Amazed that even when she hadn't realized it, he'd trusted her with information about his past.

"Where do you think I learned to shoot a bow?" He grinned. But there was sadness his eyes, she realized. Sadness mixed with pain. It hurt him to remember this story. She found that it hurt her too, to know that. "I had a mentor, a man who taught me all about knives, arrows, and guns. He taught me how to be deadly with all of them."

"How old were you?"

"We ran away when I was ten. We were with the circus for over five years before everything went wrong."

"What happened?"

"I got famous, at least in the small world that is the traveling circus. The Amazing Hawkeye, World's Greatest Marksman. I got famous and Barney got bitter. Something made him stop loving me like he should have and start hating me. I still don't know exactly why." He sighed. She watched his hand drift absently to rub across the top right side of his chest. She knew a knife scar rested there.

"You said everything went wrong?" She prodded when he was silent for longer than was necessary.

"I caught him and my mentor, Swordsman, stealing. I tried to stop them." He shrugged, "I never thought he'd hurt me." His eyes grew distant, the hand still touching the hidden scar. "He stabbed me in the chest." He breathed. She wanted to end the pain in his eyes, the still raw wound that would probably always haunt him.

"But you survived."

"Yes." He nodded, his eyes refocusing. "Survived to run away again. Joined the Army at sixteen."

"How?"

"False papers. They held up under the initial inspection, but when I got put under the microscope on a tip a year later, it all fell apart. I was arrested and put in military prison."

"Let me guess," She smirked, "You broke out using air vents."

"You do know me." He laughed lightly. "You're right. That was my first foray into the air ducts I love so much now. I escaped and ran away again, this time to a different country. And I survived in the only way I could think of at the time."

"As a contract assassin."

He nodded.

"I got in too deep, too fast and then I couldn't run away anymore even if I'd wanted to. So I just did it until a day in Vienna that changed my whole future."

"You were a child who learned to survive." Natasha mused when he finished, feeling a swell of admiration for her partner. Perhaps they weren't so different after all. She too was a child who had learned to survive.

"And that, Natasha Romanoff, is why I knew how Malik got his strength." Clint smiled sadly.

"Thank you for telling me." She smiled back.

"You deserve to know."

"And so do you." She sighed. "I was…" She stopped abruptly and both of them turned to their right, staring into the trees. "Did you hear that?"

"Boots, several of them." Clint deduced, reaching for his bow. "I'll go up."

"Shoot straight, Hawk." She squeezed his forearm meaningfully.

"And you be safe, okay?" He instructed firmly.

She nodded and he moved into the trees.

Natasha stood and waited for them to come.

Clint moved silently through the branches, keeping one eye on his fiery spider and the other searching for any sign of the men they'd heard. He froze, pulling his bow when he spotted them. It was a group of a dozen men. They'd spotted Natasha and like most men, they only saw a beautiful, seemingly harmless woman. They didn't see the deadly assassin underneath. She would lure them in and then she would treat them with her own version of a lethal bite.

Clint drew back his bow string and waited until she gave him a signal.

Natasha raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Oh no." She smirked, "Looks like you got me."

"On your knees, hands behind your head." One of the men ordered.

Natasha slowly knelt to the ground, her eyes searching the trees above them. She saw him only because he moved so she could. She nodded almost imperceptibly as she moved her hands behind her head. The man who had barked the order stepped closer, lowering his gun.

A black arrow sprouted from his back an instant later. Natasha moved in almost the same moment. She sprung up from the ground, flipping over the fallen man and slamming her boot into the nearest mercenary's jaw. Another arrow took down the man to her left and she pulled her knife from her hip, swinging it in a deadly arc, killing the man she'd just kicked.

She saw the men at the back turn to fire at Clint.

"Barton!" She warned and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him moving. Her attention was drawn back to the fight when the butt of a rifle slammed into her temple. Her vision wavered ominously and a boot slammed into her stomach sending her stumbling back.

She raised her eyes in time to see her attacker fall with an arrow in his throat. She looked through the thinning mass of men to see Clint moving towards her. He forced his way to her side, using his bow like a staff, until he was next to her.

"Thought you liked to keep your distance." She teased.

"Why practice all that hand to hand if I don't get to use it." He smirked, turning so his back was to hers and slamming the bottom curve of his bow into a man's face before drawing an arrow and firing into the man's chest. It tore straight through him at that range. Natasha lashed out at the man in front of her, stabbing her knife into the side of his neck.

There were six left.

Clint growled when his bow was kicked out of his hand. He crouched, doubling over and then Natasha was rolling over his back to knock the man's teeth in with her boot. Once she was clear of him, Clint dropped to sweep the feet of the man she'd been previously fighting. The man jumped over Clint's swinging leg and without missing a beat, Clint spun again as he rose, bringing his boot into the man's jaw. The man's neck snapped sideways under the force of the blow. He drew the knife Coulson had given him and threw it the distance to the next man. He stalked forward, pulling the knife free from the dead man's throat even as he fell. He ran at the next man jumping in a way Natasha had taught him, to wrap his thighs around the man's neck, then he spun his body around the man's head and threw his weight backwards behind the man's back. He heard the man's neck snap even as he landed on his hands and flipped the body up and over with his legs.

He flipped to his feet, looking to Natasha. She was delivering the killing blow on the last man. Clint looked around as he moved to her side, counting the bodies. He was paranoid like that. It was that paranoia that gave him the second of warning he needed to save Natasha's life. He'd originally counted twelve. There were only eleven bodies.

He heard the gun discharge even as he was spinning to cover her body with his and driving them both to the ground. Hot lead tore into his back, bounced off a rib and tore back out the front of his left side. Natasha took his knife from where he still grasped it in his hand and he rolled away. She rose, throwing the knife with nearly the same deadly accuracy he would have. The final man fell with a gasp of pain.

Natasha spun back to Clint, who was already pushing himself up to his hands and knees, his left hand pressed against his side.

"Are you hit?" She demanded, feeling an unfamiliar shot of panic when she saw the blood seeping through his fingers.

"It's not that bad." He insisted, but his voice was tight with pain. She helped him stand and he noticed for the first time the deep cut on her temple, slashing over the original cut from the explosion. "What happened?" He questioned.

"Guy got friendly with a rifle butt." She shrugged. "I'll be okay."

She pulled his hand away from the hole in his side and then leaned around him to see the matching one on his back.

"Looks like a rib bounced it back out. You got lucky."

"Still hurts like a son of a bitch." He grunted. He was still standing though, and that was something.

"We need to get you to that house so I can clean it and bandage it." She muttered.

"With what? Happy thoughts? We're in a forest in Vietnam, unless the house has a water supply…" Clint trailed off with a shake of his head.

"We'll figure something out." She grabbed his elbow and pulled him back in that direction. She paused next to the final man she'd killed and pulled Clint's knife free. She slid it back into its sheath on his back and he smiled gratefully.

It was slow going, Clint's progress grew more labored as the minutes wore on and he leaned more heavily on her as they walked. Finally the small house came into sight and beyond it an old house.

"Think it's abandoned?" Clint gasped, staring at the old house through pain filled eyes.

"One way to find out." Natasha leaned him against a tree. "I'll be right back." She eyed him doubtfully, "Don't go anywhere."

"I was thinking of taking a run, but now that you said that…" Clint smirked, watching her roll her eyes and trot off towards the house. He pulled his hand away from where he was compressing the blood flow from at least one of the holes. He was really getting sick of getting shot. You'd think he'd be used to the pain by now. He quickly pressed the hand back, leaning his head against the rough bark of the tree Natasha had propped him against.

He lost time. He never closed his eyes, but he might as well have. He stared blankly at the little house without seeing it. He blinked, confused about how much time had passed as he watched her run back towards him.

"Abandoned. There's a pump in the back. It's old but it works. Plus, I found some old fabric in a closet we can use as bandages."

"Well that's good news." Clint smiled tiredly. "Won't help if an infection decides to make an appearance though."

"Don't think like that." She scolded. "Come on."

He let her pull his arm over her shoulder and leaned on her as they made their way slowly to the house.

Phil stared at the satellite footage of the compound, waiting for any sign of his agents. They hadn't come back. And the only explanation he would accept was that they had decided to complete the mission. So he watched and waited.

It was driving him crazy. He had to do something.

If they were, indeed, preparing to make a move on the compound, they were going to need an extraction. In order to have that in place, he had to make the call. He couldn't put it off any longer. With a deep sigh, he picked up his satellite phone and dialed.

"Code in."

"This is Agent Coulson, ID 2-3-5-9-8-Yankee-Tango. Confirm the line is secure."

"Line secure, go ahead Agent Coulson."

"Get me Fury."

"Hold while I connect you."

Coulson stood and paced across the safe house as he waited. He ran through different explanations in his head, trying to figure out how to get his agent's the extraction they needed without getting them fired. He thought he might have part of a plan when Fury came on the line.

"Coulson, report."

"I need a team in Vietnam."

There was a long silence as Fury undoubtedly processed what that request meant.

"What's going on, Phil?"

"Barton and Romanoff are going to need a fully equipped extraction."

"You still haven't told me why. These are my two best operatives and they rarely need a fully equipped extraction. What's the situation?"

"There was an incident, the humans being trafficked where children."

"Let me guess. Barton decided to start making up his own rules."

"He did what any operative is morally required to do."

"If he and Romanoff were successful, you wouldn't be calling." Fury sighed deeply. "Are they injured?"

"I don't know." Coulson admitted, though knowing his agent, Clint had probably managed to get himself shot, "But given the situation and the number of men I've been tracking in and out of the compound, it's a likely possibility."

"This is a serious breach of protocol, Coulson. Barton is making a nasty habit of it and the council won't be pleased. Hell, I'm not pleased."

"I understand, Director." Coulson allowed.

"However, I'm not about to let the personal whims of the Council lose me my two best operatives." Fury sighed again, sounding weighed by his decision, "I'll back their play, Phil. But you need to have a word with both of them about why we have mission parameters and protocols. Barton's toeing a fine line."

"Understood." Coulson tried not to let his relief color his tone. He'd known Fury would go one of two ways. He would throw the book at them and report them to the council, or he'd back them up. He'd hoped by leading off with the announcement about the children and throwing in that Clint had only done was morally required would sway his boss in the latter direction. By some mercy, it had worked.

"This puts me in a hell of a position, Coulson. As I'm sure it did you. You're damn lucky Barton and Romanoff are worth it."

"Yes, sir." Coulson agreed. They were damn worth it.

"I'll have a team in Vietnam by tomorrow and they'll be on standby for your call."

"Thank you, Director."

"Cut the formalities, Phil. It makes me feel old."

Coulson grinned at the phone as the line went dead.

End of Chapter 6

Thought you'd all be interested in a check in with Phil at this point :) He's not sitting on his hands.

So my DVR made it up to me! I got up yesterday morning, posted yesterday's chapter, went for my morning run, came home and checked to see what all I had to watch...it recorded Michael Phelps' races and the women's gymnastics final at like 2am and I ended up getting to watch it anyway! I don't know if it just didn't air when I though it did or if they aired it all again, but I don't care! I got to see it! :D Go Michael Phelps! Go USA Gymanstics Girls!

I also watched the end of White Collar online...thank God for the internet!

Reviews make me happy!

Here's your preview (things are gonna get a little steamy XD)

"Does this mean I get to call you Natasha?" He asked quietly.

She froze, drawing back slightly and consequently giving him an opening to raise his head and meet her eyes. She had never heard her name spoken with quite that tone before. There was respect mixed with something like reverence. But there was something else, something she couldn't identify. And it was all spoken with that soft, rumbling, intense tone of his.

Something made her meet his eyes and suddenly she wanted to hear him say her name again.