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: How Did Your Debts Get Paid

Author's Note: Just wanted to take a quick minute to say a great big thank you out to all of you who has reviewed and supported this story so far! It means a lot! :D

Now onward! Things are about to heat up!

Disclaimer: This is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit will be made and no copyright infringement intended.

Natasha Romanoff stared down at the man under her.

She had noticed him following her the past few days and knew what he was there for. Admittedly, she had to hand it to the man. He was one of the better ones they had sent yet. That she hadn't even noticed this archer tracking her for two days was a feat not everyone, if any, could claim. She was no fool. She knew who was following her: Hawkeye. But what had bugged her most was that he simply continued to follow her movements instead of doing what they both knew he came for. Perhaps whoever had hired him, didn't want her dead. But out of everyone calling for her head, she couldn't imagine why any of them would want her alive. At least not for more than a few hours. She had ached for him to finally pull his shit together and just put a bullet - or in his case, an arrow - through her head. She was living on borrowed time already.

But when she could finally feel that her time was up and that this was the end, she couldn't simply take it lying down. That went against her very nature and everything she had been taught. Natasha Romanoff wished to die with at least some dignity and always with the last word. If she was to be put down like a dog, she wanted to look her killer in the eye. She wanted to clearly see the one to do it. And she had. And that damn bastard didn't pull the trigger to her freedom.

She didn't know why she hadn't seen the arrow sail towards her but when it didn't, disappoint was all she could feel. She had ventured back to her apartment, feeling the archer's presence. If he didn't have the guts to kill her, she would end the coward herself.

But now everything had been turned upside down. She didn't know what to make of any of it and she searched his face for any sign of deception. Usually she saw straight through anyone and she was exceptionally good at seeing when they were lying to her or trying to manipulate her. But this agent before her showed her nothing but his honesty. His eyes had seemed to change, as if by his own will, to show the warmth he had hidden before. It was a warmth so bright and clear it was astonishing how he could lock it away and it was one no other assassin she had ever seen held. He wanted her to see all of it. It caused her to back down.

Removing the knife from his throat, she quickly stood up and backed away, allowing the archer to pick himself off of the floor. While he did that, Natasha went over to where her gun had fallen from her hand and picked it up; relishing the reassurance it gave her. She didn't aim it at Hawkeye, who now stood, watching her warily. But she kept it visible and held it tightly enough to still carry over the threat.

"Talk," she ordered. She made sure none of the ridiculous hope that was starting to flare inside of her showed in her voice or face.

"You know of SHIELD?" he started out.

She shrugged. She knew it had stopped several operations from the Red Room along with those from various terrorist groups and drug cartels from the criminal world. She knew about as much of it as the rest of the criminals did.

"An US intelligence agency specializing in covert ops around the globe," Hawkeye quickly explained. His voice then became gentler and persuasive as he began his next sentence. "It's a way out of this mess and for you to start over. A chance to do good in this world."

"Who would have known the great Hawkeye could work for the good guys?" Natasha wryly smiled. It seemed a little comical that one of the deadliest assassins out there now played for those who sought to do good. And he wanted her to come and join. It seemed so outrageous it was laughable.

"You know my name; I'm flattered," Hawkeye gave a wide smirk of his own. Perhaps he saw the irony of it all too. "But it's agent Clint Barton now."

"Natasha Romanoff," she answered before she could stop herself. Looked like she had already committed herself to this foolish job offer. She took a deep breath. The kind of breath you took before a high plunge into the cold ocean. "What do I have to do?"

"For now? Just follow me."

They quickly ran through Moscow towards one of Clint's own apartments where they could lay low for a few hours until he decided what their next move was.

He knew he had to call Phil; let him know what he had done. While they jumped, swung and rolled across the rooftops, Clint let his mind drift to how he could explain this to his handler. Truth was, he hadn't really thought this far. He had focused all his energy on how to convince the Black Widow to join their side that he hadn't even wondered on how to convince Phil Coulson to let her in. What if all the man had seen in the archer wasn't what he saw when he looked at the Widow? What if Clint was the only one to see it?

He realized now that perhaps the toughest challenge wasn't Natasha Romanoff. It was SHIELD. He needed to take one step at a time. First he would talk to Phil. Then they would handle SHIELD together.

Now that he had picked up his bow and held it in his hand again, he felt its cool comfort and it gave him strength.

Clint spotted the rangy apartment and felt the trepidation rising in his chest. Judgment time was almost upon them. It was a one-room apartment that had been standing in Moscow almost since the city had been built and not much had changed since then other than the reinforced locks Barton had placed himself. The floor was cracked and dirty and the walls were only grey plaster with a few holes here and there. But it had easy roof access and cheap rent with no questions asked. A perfect hide-out should he ever need it.

Romanoff looked around skeptically and after the quick survey of the place, her green eyes landed upon Clint and she raised a delicate eyebrow. The archer swore he saw amusement in there somewhere.

"Judge all you want, Romanoff."

"I'm not saying anything," she answered coldly and without much emotion. Clint still took it as a win that she was even willing to speak to him at all. It showed her devotion to this.

"Oh, you made your point; loud and clear. Make yourself at home. I need to make a call."

Romanoff placed herself by the window in the corner. She leaned up against the wall and gazed out on the city streets, while she swirled the small knife between her fingers. A nervous habit, he suspected. When he was certain, she wouldn't kill him or run as soon as he turned his back, he walked to the other end of the room and turned on his comm. unit again. It started to buzz quietly like it always did when it was on.

"Coulson. This is Hawkeye, come in."

A second passed. Then Phil's voice echoed out. "Finally. I was about to sent a search party out for you." Though the words were light-hearted, Clint could trace the underlying worry. He felt kinda bad for staying radio silent this long. Phil must have been pacing the floor for the past hours, judging by his voice now.

"Just cancel that. I'm fine."

"Is it done?"

"Uh … that is a bit more complicated. How fast can you get to my location?"

"What's going on, Barton?" Phil's voice was a mixture of suspicion and concern, a rather impressive feat to make.

"Kinda hard to explain," Clint said as his eyes drifted to the redheaded assassin whose attention had drifted to his conversation. "Uh, just get here, alright?"

There was only silence on the other end and archer feared their connection had been lost. Then he heard the exasperated sigh escape Phil's lips. "Give me an hour."

After he had briefly explained to the Widow that his handler would arrive, Clint spent the hour physically preparing and steeling himself for the shitstorm that was undoubtedly about to hit him.

Romanoff spent hers watching the archer wiggle nervously under the pressure. She probably enjoyed this. Perhaps Clint would have too had it not been for the fact that he was too worried about receiving another breathing hole in his body.

And even that punishment wouldn't be hard enough for what he had done.

He stopped his thoughts instantly. Was he backing out of this? Was he scared? No. That had to end this instant. He was no coward. That, he had always known. He made a decision. He made the right decision. Now he just had to stand by it and make other people see it too.

A gentle knock on the door pulled him back to the apartment. His handler's voice resonated through the thin wooden slab. "Barton?"

"Yeah it's me," Clint called back and the handle rotated with the confirmation.

Phil walked through the doorway but he only made it about five steps before he stopped completely dead in his tracks. His eyes had been fixated upon the archer when he first entered but upon seeing he was unharmed they had landed on the person by the corner window. His mouth fell agape and his whole body stood frozen in time.

Any other day and any other situation, Clint would have found it amazingly funny. But the tension was so thick it stole the breath from anyone present in the room. There was nothing to laugh about now.

To his credit, though, Phil didn't yell or try to shoot Romanoff. He stared at her with apprehension and suspicion and anger, like he physically had to contain himself from throwing his body at her. While he might not go after her, Clint wasn't completely safe from that action.

"Leave this room," Phil ordered in a low voice. He was restraining himself.

Romanoff shifted her piercing gaze from one agent to the other. Then she tore herself free from the wall and entered the bathroom with the cracked white tiles and closed the door behind her. Without a fuss or a struggle, much to the archer's surprise and disappointment.

She left Clint alone with his fuming handler and a devastating silence.

TBC