Title: The High Road Is Hard to Find
Summary: He had been sent to kill the Black Widow. But as he sighted down the arrow something shifted and he suddenly found himself making a different call.
Chapter title: The Whole Wide World Coming After You
Author's Note: And we are on to chapter 2! Not a whole lot of action in this one but definitely some excitement! Everybody please enjoy. And if you were to be so kind as to leave a review regarding your thoughts at the end it would be much appreciated!
Disclaimer: This is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit will be made and no copyright infringement intended.
The dark clouds above Clint's head had gathered tightly together in the past few hours and formed a thick grey layer, efficiently blocking the sun from shining its meek light on Moscow's colorful buildings, and the archer raised his head to see if perhaps they would soon release the water they held.
Barton quickly concluded that the sky would remain dry but grey. He only felt the chill of the light wind that ran across his skin and through his short hair. With it, it carried only the harsh smells of an industrial city and not the distinct fresh one that usually followed before a downpour. He was glad. The archer was used to working under tough weather conditions, but not having to worry about slipping on a rooftop or loss of visibility was always a blessing. He turned his attention back towards the street far down below him for any sign of a certain redhead in the crowd.
He wouldn't admit it to anyone, not even Phil, but he was anxious. Ever since he joined SHIELD he suspected a call like this might pop up sooner or later. Natasha Romanoff, or the Black Widow as she commonly known, was the most notorious assassin in modern time and almost everyone in the criminal underworld was wary of her to say the least. He might have been joking before in the plane, but it wasn't entirely untrue. She was a deadly legend and there weren't many who could claim an encounter with the Widow that lived to tell the frightening tale afterwards. She was dangerous and deep down Clint didn't know how on earth he could possibly take her down. Like most missions, he decided to go with the flow and take it from there. With the Widow, you couldn't simply make up a plan. With her, Clint could only rely on Murphy's Law: Anything that could go wrong, would go wrong.
He and Phil had arrived in Moscow only days ago and after quickly setting up in their small safe house, Clint had taken to the streets. He started scouting every location known to Vladimir Angeloff and followed the politician everywhere. He figured it was the easiest way to track down the Widow. If she was truly after Angeloff then she would be tracking his movements too and eventually she would pop up on Clint's radar. It was only a matter of time.
And true enough, two days after their arrival Clint spotted the tell-tale sign of her fiery red hair in the crowd mingling about in the street. He didn't need binoculars to confirm it was her. He could spot her easily from his high vantage point on one of the rooftops.
"Coulson. I got visual," he muttered silently into the comm. unit placed in his ear. His eyes never left the Widow's red crown.
"You actually found her?" Phil's voice betrayed his surprise. His handler, just like the archer himself, didn't hold any high hopes of actually spotting the Black Widow, especially not out in the open like that. It was peculiar at best and foolish at worst. Clint didn't know what to think, which was why he didn't even bother to reach for an arrow in his quiver. Not yet. He wondered what her game was, and was determined to figure out what exactly she was doing.
So when Phil's voice came in his ear: "Can you take her out?" he already had an answer ready.
"Not yet. The street's too crowded and she knows it."
It was partially true. There were a lot of people out today and the streets were teeming with Russians going to and from. He wasn't scared that he would hit somebody; he could hit her from here if he had to, but it wouldn't exactly be subtle with so many witnesses. But mostly, he wanted to know what the Widow was doing.
So he hooked his bow onto his back with his quiver and moved away from the roof ledge, so nobody would spot the bow-carrying assassin running on rooftops. And he followed the Black Widow through the city of Moscow.
The more Clint saw, the more confused he got. The more days that passed, the more Phil got suspicious that the archer was staling for something.
At first, it had looked as a simple operative stalking her next target. But Clint began to easily spot her weaving through the crowds and could even follow her partially home to her safe house until he had eventually lost sight of her trail. That didn't really matter though. He had already narrowed down the neighborhood where she was staying. What did matter however, was that it quickly escalated to an operative making herself just as easily followed as her target. Clint could feel the frustrating bubbling within him because for reasons he could not even begin to phantom, the Widow was making herself obvious and clear as day. It was like she wanted to be followed. She was practically inviting him to stalk her every move. And it bothered him to no end that he couldn't figure out why.
He tried to figure out her angle and came up empty with every single turn. He knew there had to be some kind of strategy involved in this play and she was openly mocking his stupidity and laughing in his face for not being able to see it. It had to be something he missed, some end game he hadn't thought of yet. So he kept following her, hoping she might slip and show her hand, so he knew.
For one thing was for certain: He wasn't about to fall into her trap.
It neared almost a full week before apparently the higher-ups decided enough was enough. Phil's voice crackled over the comm. unit in his ear; weary, tired and tense as it had been for almost the entire operation. "Hawkeye. We got word from upstairs. End it now."
"This still doesn't make sense, you know," Clint argued, while his eyes followed the Widow down the street like he had for quite a few number of days now.
"I know it doesn't. But we won't have a better chance to end it." Phil's words might have been stern and professional, but his tone was compassionate. He too had found it odd for Romanoff to surface like this and therefore had allowed Clint to continue stalking his prey instead of simply taking her out like he was really supposed to. But it couldn't go on forever.
"I don't like it, Phil," Clint quietly stated. He didn't care that he used his handler's name right now.
He heard Phil sigh heavily on the other end. "It's not up to you. Or me. Not this time."
Clint hung his head. He hated losing, because that was what it felt like. Finishing up without knowing all the facts just felt wrong somehow. "I know. 'Let you know when it's done." The archer clicked off his contact with his handler.
Sighing, he straightened up a little more on the rooftop, but still made sure he was out of sight for most of the citizens. He clutched his bow tighter in his hand and let its cold surface and its familiar feel calm his nerves. He often sought its solace and never did it fail to soothe him. This time was no different. He tried to look at it in another light. Hawkeye would be the one to finally take down the Black Widow. A feat many had tried and failed to do over the years.
It's something, I guess.
He took an arrow from the quiver and placed it on the string. He drew it back easily to his chin and sighted the redhead down. Draw, breath, release.
Just when he was about to let it fly, the Widow turned. And she stared right at him.
Clint hesitated.
It wasn't because she managed to figure out where he was crouching or when he decided to do what he came to do.
It wasn't because she was going to be staring him in the eyes when he put an arrow through her skull.
No, it was because as he looked at her and she looked at him, he recognized something in her green eyes. She reminded him of someone he had seen before. And at first he couldn't figure out who it could possibly be.
That was until it slowly dawned upon him who it was.
She reminded him of him.
Five years ago he had carried himself in the exact same way. He had worn the same look. That same pained look had been plastered onto his face and the same hard eyes had stared hauntingly back at him in the mirror. It was the look of desperation. It was one that had seen way too much and caused way too much destruction and death and carried around too heavy a burden for one person to lift. It was the look of someone crumbling. Of someone who just wanted it all to end. One way or another.
It stayed his hand.
He realized instantly he couldn't kill her.
There was too much of himself in her eyes that it would feel like putting an arrow into his own heart. Despite his personal hellish demons and nightmares he could never kill himself. He had always thought it too cowardly and Clint Barton was anything but a coward. Which was why, he couldn't release the arrow from the string. And he never could. It would be pure suicide and even though he would be reckless with little regard for his own life, he could never intentionally take his own life.
And so he couldn't take hers.
No matter how hard the rational part of his mind screamed at his muscles to relax and simply release the arrow, his fingers refused to move. They stubbornly stayed curled and held the string tight.
The math was done easily and the decision followed swiftly after.
She seemed to realize that he couldn't take the shot too and with a devastating look of disappointment she turned and disappeared in the crowd.
Clint angrily relieved the tensed bow-string and relieved his tightened muscles. He threw the arrow across the roof so hard it landed on the other side and broke in two.
"Dammit!" he exclaimed to the sky. He didn't give one damn about who heard him.
For awhile he just vented his rage and frustration at not being able to complete his task. He was foolish. It was so monumentally stupid that everything else he had ever done and said just couldn't compare. He had failed in his mission. The first time the amazing Hawkeye hadn't been able to hit his target. He was a failure. He didn't even have an idea how he could explain this. How could he explain that he let the Black Widow go? What would he say?
He contemplated whether or not he should return. He could just unplug the comm. unit in his ear and throw it to hell and simply take off. He could disappear in Moscow and never be seen again. He quickly shook of the thought. As tempting as it seemed it was a life he swore to both himself and Phil he would never return to. It would utterly destroy what was left of his soul. And SHIELD found him once. No doubt, they would eventually catch up with him again.
But he could offer no words as to his decision. No matter what, he couldn't kill the woman who had stared back at him. He simply couldn't. It was impossible.
He began to ponder what the hell he should do. And how on earth he could explain away this mishap. Fury wasn't exactly understanding and the Council even less so. He was screwed. But he knew what he had seen. The problem was he couldn't sweep it under the carpet with that explanation. Not unless they had been right next to him and saw what he had seen. Only then would they understand …
And that was when it hit him.
The idea started to form in his head. It was crazy; borderline insane in fact.
But he saw no alternative. And if his hunch was right, it could work. It would work.
Man, if Fury doesn't get to me first … Phil's gonna kill me.
TBC