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: With the Hounds of Hell Coming After You

Author's Note: I am back from a week of sunny fun and can now post another chapter! This is where the action part really comes in, so I hope you will enjoy. And perhaps leave a little review when you're done reading? That would really make my day!

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

Clint felt the bones break underneath his tight grip as he broke the neck of his assailant. He released the limp body from his headlock and let it fall to the asphalt in the alley where it landed with a heavy thump. He quickly wiped the sweat from his brow.

They had come swiftly by the time he and Romanoff discovered they had been compromised. Say what you want, the Red Room didn't hesitate or take chances. Several Russian agents had assaulted them in the hall and they had fought with tooth and nail to break through the constant wave of black-clad attackers. Clint had watched in some fascination as the Widow took down half of the group in record time with fluent catlike movements. He truly began to understand why she had grown so fearsome as she killed relentlessly and spared none that came within her grasp. She seemed to take no respite as she flowed from one attacker to the next. She landed a hit to one guy's face, sailed over to kick another's shins and continued to pounce on top of the next in line, all of it without mercy. She was a force to be reckoned with and Clint would lie if he said he wasn't impressed.

He was able to hold his own as they made their way down and into the dark alleyway where more was waiting for them. There weren't many of them and Romanoff was on them before Clint could even blink and a second later he joined the fight. They dispatched of those quickly enough. The ground was littered with black bodies, some chests still moving and others still for the rest of eternity.

While they stood there for a minute, breathing heavily and regaining their bearings, Romanoff said what Clint had already suspected. "More will come."

"Yeah, we need to move."

"We need to avoid the streets. They have eyes everywhere," Romanoff said.

That meant the roofs were off limits too. Clint swore under his breath and weighted their options. There weren't many to choose from. They wouldn't make it to the SHIELD safe house; not until it was too late anyway. It was too far and through too many streets. It would take them the rest of the night to get there if they tried and even that was too big of a risk to take. He eyed the sewer and almost shuddered at the thought. Underground it was then.

"How well is your sense of smell?" Clint asked out loud.

Romanoff glared at him with a frown until she followed his line of sight. Her face turned sour. At least she was going to enjoy this just as little as he was. He put his hands on the rusty bars of the grating and pulled it open with a great heave. He could feel the moist algae, slick, between his fingers. He held it open and gestured for Romanoff to enter.

"Ladies first," he said sweetly.

He almost openly winced at the glare he received. Romanoff took a big gulp of air before she plunged into the sewers below. Clint quickly followed, closing the grating behind them.

The smell had been far worse than Clint could have possibly imagined.

They had waded through the murky, stinky water for hours until none of them was quite certain where exactly in Moscow they were. It was a unanimous decision to go above ground. Neither Clint nor Romanoff had wished to stay down there for more time than was absolutely necessary. The battle to resist throwing up had been a constant one and Clint was certain the stink would continue to linger in his skin and his hair until the day he died. It was haunt his nightmares forever. It wasn't the first sewer he had to cower in, but it was by far his worst. He vowed to himself the minute they were back onto the pavement that it would also be his last. Never again. He would rather fight a hundred Russian agents than go through that again. The only joy he got out of it was the slight green color Romanoff's pale skin had gained. She had given him a sharp look when she spotted him smirking.

He had sought out the first rundown payphone he had spotted after that. He dialed the number to Phil's phone and after giving his agent pass code, he waited for it to get picked up. It rung several times and Clint knew the more time they wasted, the higher the chances were of getting spotted and then their little stink-run had been for nothing. He eyed the empty street warily, the same way Romanoff did beside him. It was weird how he trusted her to have his back.

He sighed in relief when Phil's voice finally came over the line.

"Coulson."

"Phil, it's me," Clint said.

"Clint, what's wrong? Where are you calling from?"

"A payphone," Clint quickly explained. "Listen, we have a problem."

"Talk to me." One thing he liked about Phil was there was no beating around the bush.

"We're not going to make it to the airport by morning."

"Where are you? We can arrange for an extraction."

"Unless it happens within the next 2 minutes that isn't going to work. I don't know where we are exactly and that's kinda the point. Hold the plane ready. We'll get there as soon as we can."

"Clint …"

"I'm fine. We're fine. Just … a little trouble. We need to go dark," Clint assured, knowing full well it did nothing to lessen the worry he heard on the other end.

Silence was the only sound for a few seconds. Then: "Be careful."

"I know."

Clint hung up.

They ran after that. As fast and as far as their legs could carry them, they ran for the nearest fire escape and made it to the roof, where they sailed across slippery tiles, wooden boards and flat cement.

The sky was beginning to lighten as the sun gently peeked out in the horizon. The clouds from yesterday, which never truly seemed to disappear in this country, were still lingering higher up and were colored a mixture of pink, orange and red from the sun's first rays. Dawn spread its warming light on the two assassins as they raced on the rooftops.

Clint's breathing was hitched and labored as his lungs burned and his legs ached. Sweat shined on his forehead and made his clothes stick to his skin uncomfortably. Harsh, cold wind tore across his face and played with his hair while it tore in the fabric of his dark shirt. The ground was hard underneath his body as he rolled after a jump and the steel of gratings and old flagpoles was cool in his hands when he grabbed them to swing himself forward or over an obstacle. His body demanded a break.

He almost smiled openly at the feeling. It allowed him to focus solely on the next jump or the next move and forget everything else that existed in the world. The Widow running next to him; the assassins that was probably tracking their movements; SHIELD. There was only his own personal obstacle course and nothing else.

For a moment he was free.

And then he glanced behind them to a sight that caused his racing heart to falter. Several Red Room agents in their black clothes trailing along after them on the rooftops. They had been found.

Romanoff had noticed it too and even though it seemed impossible, she picked up speed and Clint did the same. Before them rose the small brick wall that signaled the ending of the roof they were running on and the beginning of another. But the gap between the two was long. Clint estimated it to be around 17 feet. A difficult jump, but not impossible. The sound of gunfire echoed behind them and bullets started flying past their ears. They didn't have a choice.

Romanoff turned her body around to fire a few of her own shots, taking down two of the agents. Clint fired two arrows in rapid succession, killing two more. They fell with the black shafts sticking up from their heads. The rest kept going.

"Keep running!" he yelled as they neared the ledge. He accelerated even more.

When they were close enough, Clint adjusted his steps so they would fit and his last three strides were wide and landed hard down onto the roof. His foot landed on the wall and he used all the momentum he had gained to propel himself forwards. Then he was airborne. He was sailing through the air and saw the wide drop to the alley underneath. Then he landed.

The gravel dug through his clothes and clung to his skin as he rolled to a complete stop on the other side and he gasped at their sting. He quickly rose from the crouch he had landed in and looked up to see Romanoff make the jump. Like him, she soared across but came to the realization just as he did.

She wasn't going to make it.

At least not fully. Her body slammed into the bricks of the building and her hands frantically grasped the slim ledge. But it was smooth and cool and she quickly lost her grip.

Clint threw himself forward to catch her, but it was too late. She fell a few feet down before managing to grab onto a rusty pipe sticking out from the wall. It protested loudly, creaking as it held her weight. She gritted her teeth at the pressure on her shoulders.

"Give me your hand!" Clint yelled as he stretched his body over the ledge to reach her. He stretched out his own hand towards her. Romanoff didn't let go of the pipe. Instead she tried to pull herself up to safety, but the small metal pipe groaned and shook as it became looser when she tried to gain momentum. The assassin gripped it harder and tighter as if it could help stabilize it.

"Let me help you," Clint tried again and stretched his arm longer. He pointedly ignored the gunfire that was coming closer. He could see she was debating what to do. She couldn't simply put her trust on strangers, not even when her life was at stake.

"Natasha, you have to trust me," he softly tried.

She looked at him then and he could clearly see the doubt swirling within her. The pipe creaked again and then it gave out. Just as it did, though, Natasha let go and clasped her hands around Clint's arm. He grunted with the effort and the sudden weight that threatened to pull his shoulders out of their sockets. He prayed that they wouldn't get hit by one of the bullets that whizzed past his head, as he slowly began to pull the Russian assassin up.

She assisted as much as she could and soon Clint had her over the edge. They landed in a heap onto the gravel roof. For a second they just stared at each other, breathing heavily. A bullet flew by, passing Clint's head by a hairsbreadth. It pulled him back to their current situation.

Right. Russian ninjas.

Romanoff got up from the ground and as Clint watched her rise, something behind her caught his eye. He saw the barrel aimed at her back. He had no idea or plan on what to do. He didn't know why he did it. His body moved by itself. He only reacted.

He tore her away from the spot she was standing on.

Then his side exploded in pain.

TBC