So today, we are going into the origins of Clint and Natasha. I'm also going to shamelessly self promote a oneshot I wrote called the Art of Being A Chill Bystander. I think it's funny. Anyway, enjoy!

He wished she would have told him she was leaving.

Actually no, that was a lie. Clint just wanted Natasha to come home, already. She belonged as a member of his family. Both he and Laura had no extended family, and both worried about how that would affect the children but Natasha fell into the role of "Aunt Nat" and their fears, oddly enough, were alleviated. It hadn't been easy for her. If it had been, Clint would have assumed that she was just assuming another cover. She genuinely wanted to be Aunt Nat, and it worked.

He hated down time; he hated having nothing to do other than hang out on top of a person's roof in the snow in freaking Russia, watching an old man tell his companions a story. It was always best to show all the guns, in case there's need for a sniper in the works. That's where he came in, sitting and watching. Sitting and waiting was what he did best, but God, he almost missed the excitement of the world nearly being ended by technology that was meant to protect it. After that, watching an old man through the window was boring.

It didn't help that his usual companion wasn't there with him, not even being a comforting voice in the chaos. Natasha had never been a runner. He had a bad feeling about her disappearance. Then again, she had been odd, recently. In fact, she hadn't been all right (as all right as she could be, all things considered) since Wanda reached inside her mind. Bruce's little stunt did nothing to help it along. He thought Natasha was finally starting to get something resembling happiness. She never told him exactly what happened between her and Bruce, but he gathered that she had no choice but to induce his transformation. Superficially, he saw exactly why, pragmatically speaking, she did it. They needed all the manpower they could get to stop a robot invasion. Clint also could see it as self-sabotage.

Maybe in her own bizarre way, Natasha thought she was protecting Bruce by chasing him away as much as Bruce thought he was protecting her by running away. He would have to run this theory by Laura when he got home. Natasha always thought of others first. His hand instinctively went to a pocket where a pill was hidden.

He would also have to ask her to make him hot cocoa because RUSSIA IS FUCKING COLD.

Natasha needed to come home and become Aunt Nat and his closest friend again.

Things weren't making sense again.

She was getting sick.

A bit of hair fell into the sink after she combed her hair.

It was getting worse.

The day before she decided to leave the Avengers, Natasha threw up three times. When she took a knife and drew a line across the top of her thigh, she found that her blood had taken a sickly color. She didn't know if the Red Room still existed. She would have no choice but to find out. A part of her hoped it was still there but another part of her hoped that everything about the Black Widow Ops had been buried with the Cold War, even if it meant she had to die for it. There was a part of Natasha that never wanted to roll over and die though. That's what made her an excellent Black Widow.

Bruce was also in Russia. If she happened to find him in the process, she could easily cite her mission as the reason. It would be nice to get to see him again.

Before.

Clint received his orders with dignity, although secretly he was squirming a little. It wasn't every day that an archer was assigned to take a Black Widow Ops assassin. Finding her wasn't difficult. He wondered briefly if she was leaving breadcrumbs for him for some reason. They were in Peru, standing and staring at each other for a moment before he drew his bow and she took a long cord and ripped it from his hands. From there, the fight was a blur. She was deadly, more like a mercenary than an assassin in the way that she could easily traverse the rugged landscape.

He threw her up against the wall, and there was a moment, a strange little moment where something different glinted in her eyes. She spotted something behind him and before he could react, she pushed him to the side. A bullet ripped through her thigh, and she shot into the night once before slumping against the cliff side, her hand going to her wound.

Instinctively, Clint dropped to her side, "What were you—?"

"You were—" She gasped, clutching at her wound, "Going to kill me anyway. Might as well not let you get shot. Don't—ah—want someone who killed me dying so—pathetically. Principle really."

"Really?"

"Nah—" She giggled suddenly, "You just don't seem all that bad. And—I'm tired."

At that point, Clint realized that there was some shred of humanity in the Black Widow. She wouldn't be easily persuaded, but he figured it'd worth a try or two. He immediately got to work, fashioning a quick tourniquet with the handle of a knife.

"You've done this before." She commented dryly, her head tipped up towards the sky. "Why bother?"

"It would help if you had something else to focus on." Clint ignored her question.

"Hmmm—how about a question?"

"Like what?"

"Do you have a family?"

It sounded innocent enough, "Yeah." He had just gotten married to Laura at the time, and she already had a baby on the way.

"That's nice. Families are nice." She shifted uncomfortably as he tightened it, wrapping her wound, "I'll need stitches."

"How about your family?"

"Drunkards. Blown to bits anyway. If I were you and I had a family, I wouldn't be here, my friend. This is darkness."

"What's your name?"

"Natasha."

"Mine's Clint, Clint Barton. And I'm allowed to have a family if I so wish."

"Keep them off everything." Natasha smiled, "Not even your most trusted handler should know much."

"Great advice, coming from a killer."

"If I were trying to get to you, I'd take your family first." Natasha tried to shrug, but winced instead. "It's logical. Protect them."

"You're different than I expected."

"Before, I'd been asleep." Natasha finally lost consciousness.

Clint took a lot of heat for taking Natasha to the extraction point, but he didn't care. After receiving proper medical treatment and hours upon hours of interrogation, Natasha was sent to him to be trained. Everyone was under the assumption that he would fail, but if there was anything Natasha was good at, it was adapting to a new situation. She didn't meet Laura for two years and that was only to prove how easy it was to find them. They moved and the only people that knew the new location were Fury and Natasha.

At first, the sight of Natasha on the floor with a toddler was a strange and foreign one. "Get your own." He said jokingly.

"I can't." She replied simply, "I can't ever have this."

Natasha and Yelena sat across from each other. From the outside, they were just two people, perhaps a mother and daughter meeting for dinner. Internally though, they silently fought over who got to have their back to the wall, but Natasha won through seniority. It was the safest seat in the house, giving her a good view out the window. The waitress walked up to them, completely oblivious to the tense air that surrounded them. Yelena rushed to order, obviously truly excited by the prospect. Natasha remembered that. Every time she operated alone, she could eat whatever she wanted for once. Food wasn't measured out or with held from her as much as it was at the academy. Natasha ordered as well.

"Oh! How nice! Mother daughter lunch dinner! You're both so pretty!" The waitress giggled.

Yelena's hand immediately reached up to touch her reddish hair, "Yes—Mama, can I get dessert?" Her eyes widened a little too dramatically. Natasha would have to work on the girl's acting.

"Only if you promise to study hard tonight." Yelena cocked her head at the words, trying to decipher a double meaning. Natasha settled back in her seat as the waitress walked away, "If you want to be like me, then you're going to have to be far more dedicated to your acting. It's not all about physical weak spots. The mental ones are the most vulnerable. There are points of improvement in your technique. I'll try to teach you before we get to the school."

Yelena nodded thoughtfully, "If—if I do this—I can leave—I don't go back?"

Natasha smirked, "Yes. Now figure out if I'm lying or not."

Oooooh weeeee ooooohhhh. I don't know when this became more about Natasha, but I'm loving it. Maybe I should change the summary. Do review! They make me happy!