hope you enjoy, and tell me what you think! it's a bit longer than normal, so yay! :D
~Chapter 11
They had suited up prior to leaving the tower, and everyone stared at Beckett as she walked out, flaunting black leather and high platform boots, two long jagged daggers hanging on each hip. Her hair, which had been down to her elbows before, had been cut short and pinned back to keep it out of her away. To the rest of the team, she looked like a completely different person. To Clint she looked like the Rebecca Beckett he knew. The Phantom that he had worked with.
"So, you think Fury knows where Tasha is?" Clint asks. The two, now with bags in the back of the car for the flight to Russia, took a quick detour, heading toward SHIELD headquaters.
"I know that he knows." Becky swerves to avoid side swiping a van as she passes. It's like she's playing Mariokart, racing ahead of everyone. Clint was just waiting for her to throw banana peels out the window.
"Why are you driving?" He asks. "I hate it when you drive."
"Yeah, yeah, shut up Obi-wan. At least I don't drive like an old lady." She twists the steering wheel sharply to the left, narrowly avoiding a biker.
"Well, Anakin," He hisses, catching the reference. "At least I don't nearly run over every person on the road. Why the hurry anyways?"
"When I was on the phone with Fury the other day, he said Natasha was planning something. Something big."
"Natasha isn't the type for flashy projects, Beck." He says, dredging up the old nickname he hadn't used in ages. "She's a trained spy. That isn't her style."
"No, but that seems to be the Avenger way of doing things, and Fury made it sound like before this thing ended all of the team would be involved."
"You think that might be why he sent you specifically?" He asks. Becky is their handler, yes, but she had just as much training as Clint. She could defend herself in a fight. As she put it, she had skills that shouldn't be ignored and besides—every other major city had a hero. Pittsburgh was in need of her talent.
She was good when SHIELD picked her up. They brought her skill to a whole new level.
Beckett was partnered with Clint for a year before she was badly wounded—both mentally and physically—during a mission. She benched herself, and became a specialized handler, supposedly hanging up her daggers for good.
"I don't know." Becky replies, pulling him from his thoughts. "Fury wanted me with the Avengers Initiative originally. I didn't accept the offer."
"Then why did you become our handler?" Clint asks, baffled. He had no idea Fury wanted Beckett to be an Avenger; that Fury regarded her so highly after she sidelined herself.
"Because. I missed it okay?" She grinds out.
"Missed what?"
"I missed being out in the field, all right!" Beckett half yells, slamming to a stop as they arrived at their location. She turns to face him, eyes burning. "I missed being able to help when my friends were in danger."
Suddenly Clint understands. "You feel guilty." He says, knowing it's true as the words escape him. "Becky, what happened to Phil wasn't your fault. You couldn't have helped him… I couldn't…"
"Let's go." She says shortly, turning away and out of the car before Clint can say another word.
He follows after Becky, letting the subject of Phil Coulson drop for the moment.
"We need to see Fury." Becky tells the lady at the front desk.
The girl was obviously new, judging from the way she eyed the two with slight disgust. "Do you have an appointment?" She asks, feigning politeness.
"Yeah." Beckett says. "Rebecca Beckett. My appointment is at three o' right freaking now." She hisses.
This is when Clint thinks she's scary.
"Tell him Phantom and Hawkeye are here." She demands.
The girl hurriedly picks up the phone with shaking hands, just now seeming to notice the bow across Clint's back and multiple daggers that Beckett had in plain sight.
Becky smiles, and says kindly, "Thank you."
*(*)*
"Beckett." Fury seems more than surprised when he sees her in her suit, and even more surprised that she had gone by Phantom at the front desk. "And Hawkeye. What brings you here? And more importantly, why does it look like you've readmitted yourself back into the field?" He asks, eyeing the silver blades at her hips.
"Because I have."
"You two are going after Romanoff?" Fury says, his eye widening. "Beckett, out of everyone on the team, you decided that you would be the one to accompany him." His voice is approving yet disapproving at the same time.
"I don't know, Nick. Is that the best choice? Because I don't have all the details." She sets her hands on his desk and leans forward, staring Fury in the eye.
"She went to Russia. Looking for the rest of the Black Widow program."
Clint swears. "Fury, do you even know who left? Was she Natasha, or Natalia? If you let Natalia go, she's going to slaughter every last one of them, and you know it."
"Barton, back off. I know exactly who I sent and who she is and is not going to kill." Fury assures him. "Natasha didn't want you involved in this, Clint. She didn't want any of you involved."
"Yeah, well she's my damn partner, so she stuck with me whether she likes it or not!" Clint shouts. He was mad now. Mad at Natasha for not trusting him, for trying to protect him now when it didn't really seem like she gave a shit before.
He drops into a chair and holds his head in his hands, once again trying to regain his composure for the second time that day. Never had he gotten so upset over Natasha and her tricky antics. He was beyond worried for the Black Widow now. He was terrified, thinking he might never get to see her again unless he got there in time to haul her ass back to the tower and handcuff her to himself so she would never get out of his sight again.
"Where is she?" Clint asks quietly.
"Noble Ball, held at the Chekhov residence, south of Kiev. She's been going by the name of Sonya Aristov."
"Thank you." Becky says, breathing a sigh of relief. She drags Clint to his feet and the two are gone in a second.
Fury just shakes his head.
This job is going to dig him an early grave. A very early grave.
*(*)*
"Ah. Russia." Becky says, taking a deep breath. "Just as cold and dingy as I remember it."
"You might want to be careful of how loud you say that." Clint tells her out of the side of his mouth, noting several mean stares they were receiving from.
She waves him off, but doesn't say anything more concerning Russia's dinginess. "You got a hotel name, didn't you?"
"Tasha has her favorites. I was thinking she would stay at The Music Box. It's not a dump but it's not really all that notable."
The stand outside the airport, waving down the Russian equivalent to a taxi, lucky to have one stop. They get in and Becky says something short in Russian. The driver just nods and starts driving. Clint is glad Becky can speak Russian, because he sure as hell can't.
"What makes that her favorite then?"
"She likes the music. There are always musicians in the front lobby."
Becky frowns, thinking back. "I thought you said she didn't like music?"
Indeed, Clint had told everyone that, when Beckett had told him to go ask Natasha to come up and listen to her play. "I lied. She doesn't really like you much, Beck." Clint admits.
"Why?" Becky asks simply, confused. She hadn't done anything wrong to Black Widow, had she? Never was mean or said anything to offend her. "I haven't done anything wrong or offended her, have I?"
"She's jealous." Even as he says it, he knows it's true.
"Jealous of what? Babysitting a bunch of five year olds?" Becky rolls her eyes.
Clint doesn't want to say it out loud though. He's afraid he'll jinx it.
"Jealous of what?" Becky repeats.
"Jealous of you. Spending time with me." He blurts out after a second.
Becky just stares at him, then burst out laughing. "No way! She is not jealous! Seriously, The Black Widow, jealous of me for spending time with you?"
Clint crosses his arms. "Hmph. You make it sound like I'm not fun to be with."
"Ha. You are a cool guy, Clint. I just… I guess I can believe it."
"Can?" Clint asks, thinking he had heard her wrong.
Becky nods, looking out at the buildings that fly by as she talks. "You guys really are too perfect for each other." She tells him, completely serious. "She really does like you. She just…doesn't know how to deal with it."
"She says love is for children…" Clint mumbles. He couldn't deal with this whole like-love thing right now. He had thought about it earlier, hadn't he? They are partners, nothing more.
"Good thing you act like a five year old then."
*(*)*
When they arrive, they are greeted by soft classical music. As Clint had said, a string quartet played off to the side.
"Should've brought my cello." Beckett says to herself.
"No need." Clint says simply, pushing her toward the small group. "Go over, lead their cellist away, and come back as his replacement. I need eyes down here."
"Fine." Becky grumbles, sticking her hands in her pockets and going toward the string players, a plan already formulated in her mind.
Clint goes to the front desk, trying to recall what little Russian Natasha had tried to teach him.
"Is there a Sonya Aristov staying here?" He asks, stumbling a bit over his Russian.
The man at the desk types something into his computer, then looks back up. "Yes, there is. I believe she is here now. Would you like me to let her know you're here, Mister…?"
Clint blinks, barely comprehending what the man says. "Do you speak English?" He blurts out. "I'm sorry, but Russian isn't a great language for me."
"I do, yes." His accent is thick, but Clint can understand it better than the gibberish he'd been speaking "Would you like to let her know you are here?" He asks again.
"Ummm no. Could I have her room number though? I'd like to surprise her." The man looks wary, and he knows that he's not supposed to give out that kind of information.
Clint leans in, and lies with a grin, "I'm going to propose to her so…"
The man chuckles and nods, deciding it would do no harm to tell the kind american. "She is in room 414, sir. Good luck!"
Hawkeye smiles grimly. "Yeah. I'm gonna need it." He looks to his left and spots the staircase, and heads in that direction.
"You there, Phantom?" Clint whispers, hoping the com would pick up his voice. The commucation system was a simple earwig with a mic in it, nearly invisible to the blind eye that wasn't trained to find one.
Clint hears what sounds like someone being punched in the face and then Becky replies. "Yeah, I'm here Hawky. You got a room number?"
"Yeah. 414." He says, glancing from number to number. He had passed 400 already, so she was on this floor for certain.
"Think she'll be mad we followed her?" Becky asks.
"I would be surprised if she wasn't." He mutters, stopping in front of 414.
With that, he sets about picking the lock.
"Hawkeye…" He hears Becky start. "Ummm…"
"I'm trying to concentrate, Phantom." He says lowly. "Not now."
"Clint…I just-."
"Not now." Clint growls again, nearly breaking his pin.
"Clint!" Becky hisses. "I just saw her!"
"Saw who?" He asks impatiently.
"You could have let yourself in." Natasha says, her voice feathery. "It wasn't locked."
Shit. Clint straightens, standing to his full height before turning to face Natasha. "I can explain." He starts.
But he doesn't get to finish.
Natasha pulls him into a tight embrace and smashes her lips against his, effectively shorting out his mind.
"Then explain." She whispers when they break apart.
Clint makes a strange sound. He forgot how to make words.
"So. Did she stab your eyes out yet?"
guess my favorite food, and you'll get a snippet of the next chapter ;) (hint: it has cheese in it :D)