Disclaimer: I do not break Hawkeyes or rules with the Avengers or Harry Potter.

Rule Number Four

Natasha hates waking up alone. This is probably a consequence of waking up in one too many cold empty shacks in the middle of Russian winters. She hates the feel of an empty room, cold without body heat even in the hottest deserts. It's not a fact she shares with people, just a result of how she grew up.

However, if there is one thing that Natasha hates more than waking up alone, it is waking up in a room with a stranger.

She knows the room she's in even with her eyes closed. Her senses tell her that she is lying on a double bed in some hotel room. The smell of the place and the feel of the sheets alone is enough to guess that. She knows how an empty room feels, knows it better than most. After all, she just spent what feels like the last month waking up alone in a cold concrete cell. She realizes that is probably hasn't been a month, but considering that she had been tortured she's allowed to exaggerate.

So, she knows what an empty room feels like, what it sounds like, what it smells like.

The hotel room that she wakes up in isn't empty. She knows the hotel room by the smell of the room and the feel of the sheets - she knows it's not empty by the soft sounds of breathing and the male sweat smell that is wafting from one corner of the room. She doesn't even have to consider the fact that it might be Harry there. She knows Harry better than she knew her own mother. She knows the sounds that he makes, what he smells like even covered in blood, knows the pressure that his presence in a room could cause, hell she even knows what he tastes like, which was a completely accidental licking no matter what Harry said. This man sitting in the corner of the hotel room is not Harry.

She hates waking up in a room with a stranger.

She doesn't tense her muscles or open her eyes, you don't give away the advantage of surprise when you have it. She catalogs what she can from her position on the bed. Takes estimates of how large the room is, how far away the man is, and what she has on her person that could be used as a weapon - not much. She then waits patiently and listens. There will be a second when the man will be distracted, vulnerable, it might happen if he receives a phone call or goes to the restroom. All she has to do is wait for it.

The problem is the man in the room with her seems to be even better waiting than she is. His breaths are soft and steady, but too quick for him to be asleep. He doesn't move, as far as she can tell though. He shifted once in his chair, only once - the quiet sound of fabric moving against fabric was like a blow horn to her ears.

Twenty minutes pass in similar silence and growing impatience.

Natasha has spent way too long in a cell as far as she's concerned. She has filled her allotment of cell time for the year, which means she will do just about anything to make sure she doesn't go there again.

She wonders if he is watching her. A good guard would watch even a sleeping prisoner, but most would get bored quickly and turn away. From the amount of time he has spent silent and not moving Natasha guesses that he is probably a professional. That makes her worry for a second before she pushes the feeling away.

Another five minutes pass before she promises herself that if she hears so much as squeak from the chair she's going to make her move.

Natasha wonders quietly to herself if she was always this impatient. It doesn't seem like a good trait to have. Her mind flashes back to a time on a train in Spain when Harry had admonished her for impatience. that was two years ago though, surely she would have learned better by now. After a minute of quiet contemplation she decides to blame it on the torture.

The professional part of her almost yells that see can't just blame everything on the torture, but the whiny little girl in her tells Black Widow to shut up and impale herself on a spear. Even her inner child has a fixation killing people. Long ago, when Black Widow, the professional, was still being made Natasha wondered if having a bunch of different versions of herself in her head made her crazy. The Widow ignored those nervous worries and informed the rest of her that it just made her better at her job. Black Widow didn't care for much beyond the job. Nattie, her inner child, often held this against her.

Natasha started to wonder if having different parts of yourself argue with each other makes her crazy when something stopped her contemplation.

The chair does squeak and, luckily enough, this time it seems like he is even getting up. Natasha spared a millisecond to be grateful, thinking for too long was a dangerous prospect for her. After that millisecond was up, she moved.

There is a certain finesse necessary to go from a completely relaxed state to a tensed and alert state. Never let it be said that Natasha didn't have finesse.

The time that it took for her to get out of the bed and onto floor was within a second. The eyes that snapped open took everything as fast as possible. She disregarded the information she already knew or didn't care about. They were in a hotel, two double beds, a Marriott by the sheets, there was a window to her right, at least five stories off the ground, no possible escape without injury, there were three bags on the floor next to the bed, one on the table that the man was just sitting at, a bow was on the table, the man in front of her had brown hair and surprised eyes - perfect.

Natasha moved quickly, a jump over the bed and there she was in front of the man - it was a small room. She settled herself and punched, despite how surprised he was not even a second ago, the man caught her wrist twisting a little. Not enough to stop Natasha, Harry had taught her how to get out of that hold three years ago. A twist and a knee up, a shift to the side saved the man's jewels, but caught him in the thigh, he grimaced, opened his mouth to say something. Natasha didn't let him, a slap to the side of the face to disorient and did those eyes look familiar? No time to figure it out the man grabbed her waist, trying to get rid of her leverage, she let him.

She wrapped her legs around his middle grabbed his shoulders with both hand and twisted, there wasn't much room to maneuver here, but she used what she had. Then suddenly, the man became unbalanced, his eyes widened a little as he fell backwards. The man tried to use the momentum to turn, put Natasha under him, she didn't let him.

They were on the ground, Natasha's hands moved to his neck and...wait...there was a bow on the table.

Natasha allowed her brain to catch up with her body. She knew this man, or at this knew of him. They had met once, briefly, he was enough to catch her interest. She made a file on him - what was his name again? - and she gave it to...

The door opened.

Harry opened the door to a strange sight, or maybe not, he did know Natasha well.

"If you guys need some alone time I can come back later." He laughs at his own joke because he knew nobody else would.

Natasha is on the ground kneeling about Hawkeye with her hands around his neck, it doesn't take much of an investigative leap for him to understand the circumstances of the situation, that doesn't mean he can't tease her about it.

Natasha's blank mask faces into place and she removes her hands from the man's neck. She stands up slowly, leaving the man on the ground. Hawkeye has apparently recovered enough of his sense to make a joke about it.

"Oh no, leaving so soon? Things were just starting to get fun." Harry bristles a little at that, but pushes that feeling away - it is more than a common occurrence. Nevertheless, his next statement probably came out a little cold because of it.

"Your services are no longer required. Thank you for your time." He holds out the bag he is carrying. It had the remainder of the money owned to Hawkeye in it. Hawkeye is a more than a little surprised at the abrupt dismissal, but he shakes it off quickly. He pops to his feet in a way that reminds Harry of a gymnast or a martial artist. The man is obviously skilled, and Harry feels a little bit of relief that he picked the right person even if he had to endure the man's comments.

Hawkeye grabs his bow off the table and bag off the floor. He nods to Harry as he heads to the door. Once there he stops for a second.

"Hey, I was just wondering, what happened to the rest of those people." Harry doesn't really know if he is taking about the employees or the prisoners of Ryder Industries, he doesn't care, the answer is the same for both.

"It's taken care of." Natasha stiffens behind him and Hawkeye nods. He opens the door, but before he can leave Natasha appears in front of him, Harry is only mildly surprised. There is a glint in her eyes that Harry thinks is familiar, but doesn't quite remember what it means.

Natasha looks Hawkeye straight in the eye and stares with that blank face of hers. After what seems like an hour of assessing she nods.

"Thank you." That is a surprise, Harry thinks, because he has never once heard her say it and actually mean it.

"Just doing my job, ma'am." He gives a poor mocking salute, money still in his hands. Natasha just nods because really there is nothing else to say. The door closes behind Hawkeye.

Harry casts a silencing ward around the room, what he knows will be said next is for their ears only. Despite his expectations the room falls into silence. Natasha turns around, but leans against the door staying away from Harry. Harry doesn't move, but to tuck his wand back into its sheath.

"I bought you a present." Harry breaks the silence awkwardly after a few minutes that seem to take a lifetime and dig the space between the two of them deeper. He hold out a box, Natasha doesn't move, but stares at it in shock. The silence between them deepens.

"Rule number four." Natasha says it softly while still looking at the box, somewhat similar to the way she looks at things she is about to kill. Harry grimaces a little he had forgotten about that for a second. He thinks about pulling it away, but doesn't.

"That's okay, rules are meant to be broken sometimes, on special occasions." Harry tells her. The rules had been great when they started three years ago, but were more than a little dated now.

"This is a special occasion?" Natasha asks.

"Isn't it?"

Natasha moves slowly across the room, like she would move towards a dangerous animal, still not sure if it would hurt her or not.

"I can take it back if you don't want it." Harry lies because whether Natasha wants it or not this present is going to be on her at all times if Harry has anything to say about it. He lies because he knows that will make Natasha want it more.

"No." Natasha says quickly, not a shout, but maybe a little frantic. She is in front of him then, closer than he thinks she really should be, not that he's complaining. She snatches the box from his hand with all of the grace of a half-starved man about to get some food.

"So this is a sorry-about-getting-you-tortured present?" Natasha asks Harry and backs away a reasonable distance, back to her usual emotionless state.

"More like a sorry-about-letting-you-get-captured present." Harry tells her with a grin even though he doesn't mean it. This is very much a I'm-very-glad-you-are-still-in-one-piece present. It is a present that was half forced by the old Harry, grateful that he didn't lose another friend under his watch. It is also a present forced by his paranoid side.

Natasha opens the box and looks confused. She pulls out the necklace like it is a cobra ready to bite her.

"Jewelry? You got me jewelry."

"Yes, and no." Harry reaches over an plucks it from her hands. He pushes the top of it and pulls a little. The blade that comes of the small locket looks like it shouldn't even have been able to fit inside it. It is one of the many magical parts of the gift. "It is decretive to be inconspicuous. It's got a little bit of a charm to make people look the other way, but the appearance helps. The blade is sharp and unbreakable. For emergencies."

Harry doesn't tell her that it also has small protection charms and healing charms. He also doesn't tell her that it is an emergency portkey to take her to him immediately if he wants it to. That stuff is only for his piece of mind and while Natasha is more okay with magic than most it is still not something she would be comfortable wearing around her neck. He also doesn't tell her because that would be admitting to someone else just how much he really cares that she doesn't die. Harry had given up on caring years ago and yet Natasha had wriggled her way in.

"It's...nice. Thank you." For the second time since he has know Natasha she means it.

"Good." Harry says sharply and moves. "Now that's settled. I got us a job in Mexico City." He turns his back on Natasha and picks up and bag. She just need to get changed and they can go.

"Harry." Her tone stops him. "What happened to Boris?" Harry tenses and then forces himself to relax.

"I took care of it." Harry tells her without turning around.

"Harry." The voice is angry slightly, maybe, he can't really tell.

He laughs a little because he can't help it, but stops because it sounds a little too much like a megalomaniac dark wizard that tried to kill him.

"I took care of it." He says again because he can't tell her what really happened. He can't tell her about the red vision and the cackling of a dead man that filled his head. He can't tell her about coming back to himself in a room covered in body parts, most of which didn't belong to the same people.

"That was my job - my privilege." She says definitely angry now. That though didn't even occur to Harry, but of course Natasha would want revenge.

Harry had become so used to getting revenge for dead people that he forgot the possibility that she would want retribution as well. There wasn't anything he could do about it now though, it had taken him all of his energy just to take back control and exit that building before the Aurors arrived.

"I'm sorry." And he is, more than she will probably ever know. He is sorry to have taken that satisfaction from her. "I can find someone to take some punishment though, if you need some stress relief."

"It's not the same." She growls at him and Harry turns around to look at her again.

"I know, but it's the best it can do." Harry hands her the bag with her clothes in it. "There is a hot shower waiting for you, but we should move soon."

"Did you take care of the others?" Natasha asks with that same growl in her voice.

"Yes, the other prisoners are taken care of. Better than the US government would have at least."

"What do you mean?"

"I apperated all around that building. Aurors were bound to notice. I barely got out before they arrived. They would have taken the prisoners to a magical hospital until they could figure out what to do with them, but Natasha you have to realize most of those prisoners were criminals."

"Like me." She states as the blank mask falls over her face again. Harry doesn't flinch, but a part of him feels like he should.

"Like me as well. It could have been either of us down there."

"No. It couldn't have." Natasha turns away from him then an heads for the bathroom. Harry doesn't reply because there is nothing to say. There's has always been a completely equal partnership, their skill sets just lay in different places.

Harry sits on the bed with a thump, still a little exhausted from the days that he just had and the days that he knows are about to come.

"Did you get them all?" The soft voice surprises him. Natasha is standing in front of the doorway to the bathroom, her back turned to him, but something seems different in her posture to the one he is familiar with.

Maybe she is asking because she still wants a piece for herself, or maybe she is asking because a part of her - the still hurt part - wants to make sure that they can't hurt her again.

"Yes." The answer is the same either way.

Natasha nods and enters the bathroom, a second later the water turns on. Harry falls against the bed and lets body rest. There is still much to do today. He has to make sure that she is completely healed by the potions that he had stuffed down her throat earlier and he has to figure out their escape plan from the country. He lets himself rest - there is still a lot to do today.

AN: Hello again, friend of a friend. This is shorter than my previous posts, but I hadn't updated in a while and I know I need to. I have gotten busy, very busy. My school started again and as a senior in college I am more than a little overwhelmed.

I also started playing Guild Wars 2 because I hate productivity. It's awesome, but bad for me.

If you liked the story you know what to do. Also, please point out any grammatical or spelling errors that you spot. Thank you.

~Rain

PS: I don't know when I will update next, but I haven't forgotten this story I still have lots of ideas.

PPS: I haven't read the comics, the Black Widow that I have created is my own interpretation of what the movie showed. I hope you don't hate it.