Avengers (2012): "Shot in the Dark" (2/6) (Clint/Natasha)
Title: Shot in the Dark (2/6)
Author/Artist: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there'd already be a Black Widow/Hawkeye movie.
Pairing: Pre- Clint/Natasha (UST)
Rating: R (mostly for violent themes and language)
Warnings: language and some violence
Spoilers: None
Type: Completed
Word Count: 1,768
Summary: In her life there comes a moment. A moment when survival is no longer enough. A moment to say "I choose to live. A moment that changes everything.
Author's Notes: See Chapter 1 for Notes.
Chapter 1
March, 2000 ~ New York City, New York, U.S.A.
“Coulson! My office!” Nick Fury stormed through the bullpen (the other Agents weren’t sure he moved any other way) without actually looking at the handler in question.
Coulson took it in stride, of course, and followed him, making sure the door caught behind him as they entered the office. He didn’t attempt to take a seat, and Fury didn’t offer him one. “You’ve heard about Belgrade,” Fury stated flatly. It wasn't a question. Everyone in SHIELD had heard about Belgrade at that point.
“Yes, sir.” Coulson replied evenly.
“I lost three fucking men in that mess, Agent Coulson. Three more added on to the four we’ve sent out after her in the last six months, on top of the fire that started this whole thing.”
“Sir.”
Fury arched an eyebrow at Coulson’s calm. “I need someone who can find her, draw a bead on her, and take her the fuck out.”
“Are you asking for my opinion, sir?”
“Who would you send, if you were running this mission, Agent?”
Coulson thought about it for all of five seconds before giving his answer, which made Fury suspicious as to what he was basing his opinions on. “Barton, sir.”
“Barton. The ex-carnie who fucked up the op in Georgia, and got all those kids killed?” Fury’d seen his file, he knew why SHIELD had offered him a job and a second chance, but that didn’t mean he had to like it, and he'd been annoyed by the 'deal' Coulson had cut with the man when he'd been recruited - particularly the part where he hadn't been consulted first.
“Sir, if I may?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Coulson, I asked. What?”
“I have some… unofficial intel that indicates Barton took the shot on that particular operation against his own recommendation to his commanding officer, and had intel from the bomb specialist that the shot would be safe to take. General Ross needed a scapegoat, sir, and hung Barton out to dry. That said, regardless, he has the precise skill set I believe you need for this mission.”
“His psych evals are borderline.”
“But they do indicate that he’s not a sociopath.”
“We hire people who are.”
“That’s true." Then, "he doesn’t miss, sir. He’s the best shot we, or any other branch of the military, has access to. And this target is a one-shot, single opportunity. He’s also fluent in at least six Eastern European languages, including Russian and Ukrainian, conversant in another five, and has the patience of Job.”
“He hasn’t been cleared for solo operations.”
“I believe he would excel at it, sir. He has the appropriate training and motivation."
Fury looked skeptical, but finally closed the file and handed it across the desk. “You’re in charge of him, Agent. Don’t screw it up.”
*****
April, 2000 ~ New York, New York, U.S.A.
It had been the first time Clint had ever seen Coulson look hesitant about giving him an order, and it made him wonder what the hell was really going on.
He'd gotten the scuttlebutt about how Belgrade had gone down, and it hadn't been pretty. Three dead SHIELD agents among the eight total fatalities in the government building was nothing to sneeze at, and they were only the most recent. He'd wondered about some of the rumors coming out of the former Eastern Bloc, about how someone was systematically taking them out over there, someone good. Better than good, maybe.
He'd heard the code name: Black Widow. At first it was said with almost a smug sense of amusement - just one more enemy that would fall under the well-oiled protective machine of SHIELD, with more than a subtle jab at the choice of code name. But tones changed. What had started out as a kind of joke had shifted into the sort of voice people used to mention the proverbial monster under the bed. Then the rumors had really gotten started. It wasn't one woman, it was several: a unit of shadow assassins, ex-KGB perhaps. Or it was one woman, but she was changed, altered somehow like the experiments the Germans carried out in World War II. Or hell, SHIELD had seen some odd things, and there were those who didn't discount the idea of magic and myth out of hand. Or. Or. Or.
The file was pretty straightforward, although there was a lot of black ink, more than he was used to seeing. He wondered how he was supposed to track down and kill someone when he couldn't even read half their file. It outlined a theoretical history made up of scarce documentation that said she worked for the USSR until it fell apart and she became a "free agent" - he translated that to "loose cannon, watch your step." They didn't have any information on who might've hired her to try and take out SHIELD targets, but the rehab facility in Frankfurt had gone up in an impressive pyrotechnics display that had left 20 agents dead and another 30 wounded. It had been the closest thing to a soft target SHIELD had, and they were out for blood.
He hadn't expected to get the assignment.
In the two years he'd been with the organization, he'd spent the first learning the ropes and going on soft missions as back-up while they gauged his effectiveness and loyalty. The second had been partnered missions that played to his most obvious strengths as an observer and a sniper. That's what they'd hired him for, after all. He'd killed three people in those two years, and each one of them had certainly deserved to die. Each kill was as textbook as possible, because each mission had been straight-up to start with.
This mission was different, and he knew it, just like he knew that he was being given the job because they figured he was expendable. Maybe they were even playing him, sending him out as bait so that while she was slitting his throat or putting a bullet through his head another agent could come along behind her and catch her while her guard was down. Who knew?
They could try. He doubted someone with her jacket would fall for something that simplistic. Also? The idea of being dead didn't really work for him just yet.
With the precious little information he had to go on, he started reviewing what mission reports they had of the previous agents. He spent weeks listening, watching, and reading until he knew each and every move SHIELD had made, backwards and forwards. When the words started to run together for him, he took his bow down to the archery range and laid arrow after arrow dead center into the targets and let all the data mill around in the back of his mind until it started to make more sense.
After a particularly long practice session, he packed everything up and took it home, then carried the thick manila folders he'd accumulated into his kitchen and spread it all out across his table.
Frankfurt. Bern. Sofia. Tallin. Kiev. Belgrade.
The photos were grainy, out of focus, never of her standing still. Most of the photos weren't even of her at all, but the results of her work, deliberate, bloody, thorough.
The SHIELD agents were more precise, he realized. With them, she'd simply taken them down as quickly and cleanly as she could. Some of the other jobs looked as though she'd been hired to make them into examples, and maybe she had. One or two didn't fit either mold - they were messy, wild, and he wondered who'd called those in. Or, warned a little voice in the back of his mind, if anyone else had called those marks, at all?
The file was lean on personal data, and god knew they didn't have any psych profiles. The only reports of her in person were third hand and not enough to build a working model off of. They also were contradictory and incomplete. Her kills weren't signature, they were all over the map, and it was making their behavioral psych guys nuts. Which was really amusing to watch.
It just didn't tell him anything useful... unless it did. How did you track someone who was everyone? How would you anticipate the movements of someone who wasn't anyone?
He laid his forehead on the table, restraining the urge to actually beat his head against the cheap pressboard and linoleum. He knew he could track her if he could get the trail, find her just that one time to start him off, but their informants in Europe had been silent for weeks. He was convinced she wasn't even in Europe anymore.
Groaning, he pushed away from the table and headed for his shower, stripping off his workout clothes as he went. The closest thing to a clean towel in the apartment was the one he'd been using for two days and it was still damp from the shower he'd taken that morning, but he grabbed it anyway. If the shower didn't clear his head, he'd have to give up for the night and hope for some kind of a lead in the morning.
He ended up spending another three hours with mission reports before finally turning in, and when he dreamed it was about a red headed woman in a blood red gown.
*****
Mid-May, 2000 ~ Marrakech, Morocco
A lucky break led him to Marrakech and with a little advanced recon he narrowed down the part of the city she was holed up in.
In the end, he didn't have to. The screams that erupted from the marketplace started like a wave, moving from person to person as more of them realized what was going on and saw the bright sprays of blood against the canvas walls. She was a figure in motion just like he'd expected her to be, the gun in her hand placing bullets expertly through skulls, but without any obvious rhyme or reason.
When the clip was empty, just seconds later, she went tearing down the alley, and there was no way he could make that shot as fast as the people around her were moving. The roofs were close enough that he was able to trail her for a little while, but he lost her as she headed under a wall into another part of the city.
He'd gotten a look at her face this time.
*****
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Author/Artist: Koren M. (cybermathwitch)
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, there'd already be a Black Widow/Hawkeye movie.
Pairing: Pre- Clint/Natasha (UST)
Rating: R (mostly for violent themes and language)
Warnings: language and some violence
Spoilers: None
Type: Completed
Word Count: 1,768
Summary: In her life there comes a moment. A moment when survival is no longer enough. A moment to say "I choose to live. A moment that changes everything.
Author's Notes: See Chapter 1 for Notes.
Chapter 1
March, 2000 ~ New York City, New York, U.S.A.
“Coulson! My office!” Nick Fury stormed through the bullpen (the other Agents weren’t sure he moved any other way) without actually looking at the handler in question.
Coulson took it in stride, of course, and followed him, making sure the door caught behind him as they entered the office. He didn’t attempt to take a seat, and Fury didn’t offer him one. “You’ve heard about Belgrade,” Fury stated flatly. It wasn't a question. Everyone in SHIELD had heard about Belgrade at that point.
“Yes, sir.” Coulson replied evenly.
“I lost three fucking men in that mess, Agent Coulson. Three more added on to the four we’ve sent out after her in the last six months, on top of the fire that started this whole thing.”
“Sir.”
Fury arched an eyebrow at Coulson’s calm. “I need someone who can find her, draw a bead on her, and take her the fuck out.”
“Are you asking for my opinion, sir?”
“Who would you send, if you were running this mission, Agent?”
Coulson thought about it for all of five seconds before giving his answer, which made Fury suspicious as to what he was basing his opinions on. “Barton, sir.”
“Barton. The ex-carnie who fucked up the op in Georgia, and got all those kids killed?” Fury’d seen his file, he knew why SHIELD had offered him a job and a second chance, but that didn’t mean he had to like it, and he'd been annoyed by the 'deal' Coulson had cut with the man when he'd been recruited - particularly the part where he hadn't been consulted first.
“Sir, if I may?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Coulson, I asked. What?”
“I have some… unofficial intel that indicates Barton took the shot on that particular operation against his own recommendation to his commanding officer, and had intel from the bomb specialist that the shot would be safe to take. General Ross needed a scapegoat, sir, and hung Barton out to dry. That said, regardless, he has the precise skill set I believe you need for this mission.”
“His psych evals are borderline.”
“But they do indicate that he’s not a sociopath.”
“We hire people who are.”
“That’s true." Then, "he doesn’t miss, sir. He’s the best shot we, or any other branch of the military, has access to. And this target is a one-shot, single opportunity. He’s also fluent in at least six Eastern European languages, including Russian and Ukrainian, conversant in another five, and has the patience of Job.”
“He hasn’t been cleared for solo operations.”
“I believe he would excel at it, sir. He has the appropriate training and motivation."
Fury looked skeptical, but finally closed the file and handed it across the desk. “You’re in charge of him, Agent. Don’t screw it up.”
*****
April, 2000 ~ New York, New York, U.S.A.
It had been the first time Clint had ever seen Coulson look hesitant about giving him an order, and it made him wonder what the hell was really going on.
He'd gotten the scuttlebutt about how Belgrade had gone down, and it hadn't been pretty. Three dead SHIELD agents among the eight total fatalities in the government building was nothing to sneeze at, and they were only the most recent. He'd wondered about some of the rumors coming out of the former Eastern Bloc, about how someone was systematically taking them out over there, someone good. Better than good, maybe.
He'd heard the code name: Black Widow. At first it was said with almost a smug sense of amusement - just one more enemy that would fall under the well-oiled protective machine of SHIELD, with more than a subtle jab at the choice of code name. But tones changed. What had started out as a kind of joke had shifted into the sort of voice people used to mention the proverbial monster under the bed. Then the rumors had really gotten started. It wasn't one woman, it was several: a unit of shadow assassins, ex-KGB perhaps. Or it was one woman, but she was changed, altered somehow like the experiments the Germans carried out in World War II. Or hell, SHIELD had seen some odd things, and there were those who didn't discount the idea of magic and myth out of hand. Or. Or. Or.
The file was pretty straightforward, although there was a lot of black ink, more than he was used to seeing. He wondered how he was supposed to track down and kill someone when he couldn't even read half their file. It outlined a theoretical history made up of scarce documentation that said she worked for the USSR until it fell apart and she became a "free agent" - he translated that to "loose cannon, watch your step." They didn't have any information on who might've hired her to try and take out SHIELD targets, but the rehab facility in Frankfurt had gone up in an impressive pyrotechnics display that had left 20 agents dead and another 30 wounded. It had been the closest thing to a soft target SHIELD had, and they were out for blood.
He hadn't expected to get the assignment.
In the two years he'd been with the organization, he'd spent the first learning the ropes and going on soft missions as back-up while they gauged his effectiveness and loyalty. The second had been partnered missions that played to his most obvious strengths as an observer and a sniper. That's what they'd hired him for, after all. He'd killed three people in those two years, and each one of them had certainly deserved to die. Each kill was as textbook as possible, because each mission had been straight-up to start with.
This mission was different, and he knew it, just like he knew that he was being given the job because they figured he was expendable. Maybe they were even playing him, sending him out as bait so that while she was slitting his throat or putting a bullet through his head another agent could come along behind her and catch her while her guard was down. Who knew?
They could try. He doubted someone with her jacket would fall for something that simplistic. Also? The idea of being dead didn't really work for him just yet.
With the precious little information he had to go on, he started reviewing what mission reports they had of the previous agents. He spent weeks listening, watching, and reading until he knew each and every move SHIELD had made, backwards and forwards. When the words started to run together for him, he took his bow down to the archery range and laid arrow after arrow dead center into the targets and let all the data mill around in the back of his mind until it started to make more sense.
After a particularly long practice session, he packed everything up and took it home, then carried the thick manila folders he'd accumulated into his kitchen and spread it all out across his table.
Frankfurt. Bern. Sofia. Tallin. Kiev. Belgrade.
The photos were grainy, out of focus, never of her standing still. Most of the photos weren't even of her at all, but the results of her work, deliberate, bloody, thorough.
The SHIELD agents were more precise, he realized. With them, she'd simply taken them down as quickly and cleanly as she could. Some of the other jobs looked as though she'd been hired to make them into examples, and maybe she had. One or two didn't fit either mold - they were messy, wild, and he wondered who'd called those in. Or, warned a little voice in the back of his mind, if anyone else had called those marks, at all?
The file was lean on personal data, and god knew they didn't have any psych profiles. The only reports of her in person were third hand and not enough to build a working model off of. They also were contradictory and incomplete. Her kills weren't signature, they were all over the map, and it was making their behavioral psych guys nuts. Which was really amusing to watch.
It just didn't tell him anything useful... unless it did. How did you track someone who was everyone? How would you anticipate the movements of someone who wasn't anyone?
He laid his forehead on the table, restraining the urge to actually beat his head against the cheap pressboard and linoleum. He knew he could track her if he could get the trail, find her just that one time to start him off, but their informants in Europe had been silent for weeks. He was convinced she wasn't even in Europe anymore.
Groaning, he pushed away from the table and headed for his shower, stripping off his workout clothes as he went. The closest thing to a clean towel in the apartment was the one he'd been using for two days and it was still damp from the shower he'd taken that morning, but he grabbed it anyway. If the shower didn't clear his head, he'd have to give up for the night and hope for some kind of a lead in the morning.
He ended up spending another three hours with mission reports before finally turning in, and when he dreamed it was about a red headed woman in a blood red gown.
*****
Mid-May, 2000 ~ Marrakech, Morocco
A lucky break led him to Marrakech and with a little advanced recon he narrowed down the part of the city she was holed up in.
In the end, he didn't have to. The screams that erupted from the marketplace started like a wave, moving from person to person as more of them realized what was going on and saw the bright sprays of blood against the canvas walls. She was a figure in motion just like he'd expected her to be, the gun in her hand placing bullets expertly through skulls, but without any obvious rhyme or reason.
When the clip was empty, just seconds later, she went tearing down the alley, and there was no way he could make that shot as fast as the people around her were moving. The roofs were close enough that he was able to trail her for a little while, but he lost her as she headed under a wall into another part of the city.
He'd gotten a look at her face this time.
*****
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6