Avengers (2012): "Shot in the Dark" (5/6) (Clint/Natasha)
Title: Shot in the Dark (5/6)
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: 2,743
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
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
New York, New York, U.S.A.
"Sir, I have Barton on the phone." Coulson's voice was, as always, calm and even through the intercom system, but Fury had learned to read the few tells the man had - physical and vocal - years ago. He didn't sound like it was good news. Barton was on the phone, so he wasn't dead, but that still left a whole host of other possibilities.
"Come in," he barked and punched the button to deactivate the locks on the door and Coulson stepped inside. His cell phone was braced between his ear and his shoulder and he was thumbing through a stack of files.
"Hold, please," Coulson said, and thumbed the phone on mute. He straightened, and presented Fury with the topmost file. "Barton is in Paris."
"Is she dead yet?"
"Not... exactly, sir."
Fury arched his eyebrow and stared unblinking at the younger man. "What exactly is she, then, Agent?"
"Barton would like to bring her in, sir. As an asset."
The other brow winged up to join the first. "Excuse me?"
Coulson took a breath, the only outward sign of concern. "Agent Barton engaged the target and made a... judgment call. He feels that she would be an asset to the agency both because of her extensive knowledge of the operatives and organization working in the Eastern Bloc and because of her rather unique skill set."
"She wants to defect? After she blew up one of our goddamn facilities, and killed over two dozen of our people in the last year and a half, she wants to defect?"
It was a microscopic twitch, right at the corner of Coulson's mouth. "I believe he talked her into it. Sir."
"If I didn't know who I was talking to, I would say this was some sort of elaborate prank. Since I know who you're talking to, I still haven't ruled it out. You're telling me the goddamn fucking Black Widow wants to come in?"
"Yes, sir. And I don't believe Barton is playing a prank, sir."
"Tell him to cool his heels and keep an eye on her. This'll have to go above me. Goddamn stupid-ass cowboy agent - tell him to keep an eye on her for a couple days, see if she hangs in. If she leaves his sight, tries to bolt, or anything else, he shoots her - you tell him that. Get out of my office, Coulson," he finished on a near-snarl. Coulson obeyed and only once he was out the door, did Fury allowed himself to sigh deeply.
Personally, he didn't want that woman anywhere besides a pine box, but this wasn't the kind of call he was authorized to make all on his own, never mind that Barton seemed to think it was his purview to do so. He'd never liked the "deal" Coulson had struck with the former soldier, didn't like not having complete authority over his people. He had a very good guess what was swaying the man's thoughts in this instance, and that would be something he'd deal with when they got him back - if they got him back. Never should've sent him on this mission in the first place, Fury thought angrily as he sent a message to prep a secured communications room to address the Council. He hated having to do that, but Romanov was too big a player not to bring them in on the decision.
*****
"Director Fury," the woman said in a voice as impatiently bored as ever. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Shadow faces, he thought to himself, no identifying information for any of them except the secure code to bring him to their attention.
"We've been tracking the Black Widow."
"Yes, we're aware." Lefty, this time - so named because he always showed up on the far left screen.
"She's approached one of our agents and asked to be brought in."
There was a long pause. They were only silhouettes, he couldn't even see the micro-expressions he was so adept at reading. There was nothing to give them away. Just the ticking of the clock in his head as long moments passed.
"She wants to defect?"
"Seems to. He's still got tabs on her, we can still eliminate her."
"No." The Woman again. "If she is willing to defect, to share what she knows about her former organization and her more recent... business partners, then that's information we could use. She's a valuable weapon, Director Fury. If she decides that she wants to be useful, will you be able to control her?"
Fury ran through scenarios in his head lightning fast. He knew next to nothing about her, her motivations or her weaknesses. If she fucking had any, and he wasn't convinced she did. He did not have enough data to know the best way to handle her, but he was a confident man and ultimately, people were people. He'd be able to find those hooks and levers, figure out how to manipulate and shape her actions just like he did with all of his people. The situation frankly sucked, but he could work with it if he had to.
"If I have to, yes."
"Bring her in. Debrief her, evaluate her, retrain her if you like. She'd be quite a feather to have in your cap, Director."
A deadly feather, he thought to himself, but outwardly he made a show of agreement.
*****
Paris, France
He'd seen better accommodations since signing on with SHIELD, but the apartment Phil directed him to certainly wasn't the worst by any stretch of the imagination. It was a single room, which was just as well and made it easier to keep an eye on her.
"I'm supposed to cuff you," he said bluntly. "It's a cliche, but the radiator might work out."
"SHIELD policy?"
"Apparently. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure if you were going to run, or try and kill me, you'd have done it already."
"Probably."
He gave her a long considering look, and while he supposed it could be taken as sexual, he was actually weighing his options. She'd had numerous opportunities to kill him since they'd started the day. It might be less messy now that they were here alone, but it would've been easier to have left him in the busy side streets of the city at some point during the day.
She'd said she wanted SHIELD. His gut told him to believe her. His brain even told him to believe her, given the evidence he had.
"We won't be needing the cuffs," he decided.
"I'm so relieved," she said dryly.
He went over to the small table and rifled through the bag of provisions they'd amassed on their way - some bread and cheese along with a bottle of wine he'd chosen that she'd arched an eyebrow at. He'd just shrugged and said something about "when in Paris".
Clint heard her approach, and was aware of it when she stepped into his personal space to peer over his shoulder. She was warm pressed up against his back, one of her hands just under his shoulder blade. "It's not much of a meal," she commented.
He resisted the urge to lean into her. "You were getting a little too paranoid to go out to eat." He pointed out that he'd noticed mostly to see if he could unbalance her. He had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to unbalance him.
"Was I, now?" There was a soft, dark quality to her voice that made both alarm bells and his hormones go off. He looked over his shoulder at her and was glad he hadn't taken his sunglasses off yet.
"What exactly are you doing, Natasha?"
The hand at his back slid up to his shoulder, then down over his arm and the leather of his jacket. She pressed firmly to turn him around and gave him just enough of a push that it was natural for him to sit down in the chair behind him. Quickly, gracefully, she slid into his lap. Her fingers brushed across his face, over his lips, while her other hand was taking away his sunglasses and setting them to the side. He spread his legs slightly to give her a better area to balance against, and prided himself on not jumping when she pressed herself right up against his rapidly forming erection.
"We have some time to kill. I know you're interested," she whispered in his ear, and hell yes, he was interested. "So we might as well amuse ourselves."
She had her hand against his neck, curving back to pulling him towards her as she leaned in for a kiss.
Just before their lips brushed, he shifted, and then he had one hand around her wrist and the other on her arm and tugged just enough to dump her rather unceremoniously onto the floor as he stood back up.
"I'm interested, but not stupid. And you don't get to play me," he said flatly. The expression on her face was briefly murderous, but as he watched she smoothed it away.
Clint gave himself thirty seconds to get everything under control before he held out a hand. It took another long pause before she reluctantly reached up and took it, and let him help her to her feet.
"Now," he said. "How about dinner?"
*****
By unspoken agreement, they ended up on the floor, facing one another, with the bottle of wine and two glasses between them. He leaned back against the foot of the bed while Natasha sat against the wall just below the window. They weren't quite touching, but they could still pass the bottle of wine back and forth. There was only the one, not enough to get either of them drunk, but they were downing it like shots, as if by pretending they could make it something harder. It had become their own twisted version of two truths and a lie, only there weren't really any rules, just an open ended challenge. So far, he'd claimed everything he'd told her was the truth, except for a ridiculous anecdote about basic training. The thing was... she couldn't tell. And she'd never had trouble spotting a liar before. For her own part, she'd been mixing it up, at least insofar as she could say anything about her past was true or not.
When it came to her, he was remarkably, frighteningly accurate at deciphering what she was saying.
"I was raised in the circus, I have an older brother, and I was 19 the first time I killed a man."
Her eyes narrowed as she watched him speak, trying to discern the lie. "The circus would be too obvious... but really? You are a cliche, aren't you?" she continued before he could answer. "You didn't kill your first man at age 19." Something had twitched hear his eye when he'd said it, a tiny thing.
He raised his glass in a salute and downed the "shot" he was holding. Merlot just didn't have the same kick as bourbon. "No, I didn't.
"I was 17."
Her own glass froze halfway to her mouth and her eyes widened. His eyes had darkened, developed shadows when he'd admitted it and regret seemed to be an old acquaintance of his.
"I was... maybe 10. We didn't count birthdays the way you do." It felt like the right thing to do, giving him that piece of her puzzle. She didn't have a clear memory, and she might've been as young as 8 or as old as 12, but it was in that area of time.
She looked up at him in time to see horror writ across his features and it made her smile in a way that was a little bitter, a little amused, and in no small part resigned.
"That is one of the least horrific things I could tell you, Agent Barton. He was a thug and he deserved it."
The laugh he managed was a choked, almost animal sound. "Yeah," he said, finally nodding. "Yeah, mine was too."
"Did you enjoy it?" She didn't mean to ask that, it just came tumbling out and inside her mind she flinched. Outwardly she remained completely calm.
"I was glad he stopped what he was doing. That I could stop him before he hurt me. When I realized he was dead... it freaked my shit."
"So you didn't plan it."
"Did you?"
"It was an assignment. It was planned for me." Flashes of a yellow party dress, a cake knife tucked in between tulle and lace, then the shock on the man's face just before the blood.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I enjoyed doing my job well," she said flatly and then picked up the bottle and drank the rest in one long swallow.
Without the pretense of a drinking game, their conversation drifted, until there was more silence than words and she found herself dozing off sitting upright.
"When?" she managed in between the drifting. Maybe it was because she was sure he wasn't going to kill her tonight, maybe it was having another person keeping an eye out, but she felt the weight of months of exhaustion and running trying to drag her down.
"Tomorrow. We're supposed to meet the extraction team at 1000 hours. I'll have to cuff you before we leave," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"Alright," she agreed softly and dragged her fingers through her hair. "Floor or bed?"
"You take the bed, get some sleep. You'll probably need it."
Images of what she was expecting the morning to bring ran through her head and some of it must've showed on her face because his expression hardened. "I don't know what you're expecting from us, but... look. It won't be pleasant. It's not going to be a cakewalk - they're pissed at you and don't trust you, and they'll need to find out what you know and what you want from them. But... there are things SHIELD won't do. We don't do, alright?"
She wondered if he was picturing little girls in bloody party dresses, or if he had a completely different scale of horror - she rather suspected the later. Regardless, she'd made her decision and she did believe that SHIELD wouldn't do anything worse than what the Red Room had done. And certainly nothing as bad as what they would do, now. So she stood and walked over to the bed just behind him, then lay down fully clothed on top of the covers. She would take sleep where she could get it, would take protection where she could find it, whatever it took to survive - not just physically, but as herself.
And maybe eventually, she could even begin to make up for some of the things she'd done.
Surprisingly, instead of keeping her on guard, the sound of his breathing helped lull her to sleep.
*****
The next morning he let her guide him to the bank where she was keeping several disks worth of intel in a safe deposit box. He remembered her comment on the first day about someone wanting their property back, and wondered if that was what they'd been talking about. Somehow, the more he learned about her, the more he doubted it.
Coulson was waiting for them outside a Metro stop near the edge of the city. Clint found himself apologizing to her when he locked the wrist and ankle cuffs Coulson produced once they were in the car.
"It's fine," she said flatly, and he could see she was back in what he was coming to think of as "Black Widow" mode. Gone was the tired, unsure woman who'd given him a look into her background, now she was the consummate asset, calm, poised, and patiently waiting as if she wasn't the least bit worried about what was coming next.
Once they were on the private SHIELD jet, Coulson relieved him and took her to another part of the plane to secure her for the trip back to New York. He wanted to wave, or say goodbye, or something, but even if it was just Coulson watching he had the feeling it was important to have his game face on, so he gave her a brief nod before turning away.
*****
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: 2,743
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
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
New York, New York, U.S.A.
"Sir, I have Barton on the phone." Coulson's voice was, as always, calm and even through the intercom system, but Fury had learned to read the few tells the man had - physical and vocal - years ago. He didn't sound like it was good news. Barton was on the phone, so he wasn't dead, but that still left a whole host of other possibilities.
"Come in," he barked and punched the button to deactivate the locks on the door and Coulson stepped inside. His cell phone was braced between his ear and his shoulder and he was thumbing through a stack of files.
"Hold, please," Coulson said, and thumbed the phone on mute. He straightened, and presented Fury with the topmost file. "Barton is in Paris."
"Is she dead yet?"
"Not... exactly, sir."
Fury arched his eyebrow and stared unblinking at the younger man. "What exactly is she, then, Agent?"
"Barton would like to bring her in, sir. As an asset."
The other brow winged up to join the first. "Excuse me?"
Coulson took a breath, the only outward sign of concern. "Agent Barton engaged the target and made a... judgment call. He feels that she would be an asset to the agency both because of her extensive knowledge of the operatives and organization working in the Eastern Bloc and because of her rather unique skill set."
"She wants to defect? After she blew up one of our goddamn facilities, and killed over two dozen of our people in the last year and a half, she wants to defect?"
It was a microscopic twitch, right at the corner of Coulson's mouth. "I believe he talked her into it. Sir."
"If I didn't know who I was talking to, I would say this was some sort of elaborate prank. Since I know who you're talking to, I still haven't ruled it out. You're telling me the goddamn fucking Black Widow wants to come in?"
"Yes, sir. And I don't believe Barton is playing a prank, sir."
"Tell him to cool his heels and keep an eye on her. This'll have to go above me. Goddamn stupid-ass cowboy agent - tell him to keep an eye on her for a couple days, see if she hangs in. If she leaves his sight, tries to bolt, or anything else, he shoots her - you tell him that. Get out of my office, Coulson," he finished on a near-snarl. Coulson obeyed and only once he was out the door, did Fury allowed himself to sigh deeply.
Personally, he didn't want that woman anywhere besides a pine box, but this wasn't the kind of call he was authorized to make all on his own, never mind that Barton seemed to think it was his purview to do so. He'd never liked the "deal" Coulson had struck with the former soldier, didn't like not having complete authority over his people. He had a very good guess what was swaying the man's thoughts in this instance, and that would be something he'd deal with when they got him back - if they got him back. Never should've sent him on this mission in the first place, Fury thought angrily as he sent a message to prep a secured communications room to address the Council. He hated having to do that, but Romanov was too big a player not to bring them in on the decision.
*****
"Director Fury," the woman said in a voice as impatiently bored as ever. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Shadow faces, he thought to himself, no identifying information for any of them except the secure code to bring him to their attention.
"We've been tracking the Black Widow."
"Yes, we're aware." Lefty, this time - so named because he always showed up on the far left screen.
"She's approached one of our agents and asked to be brought in."
There was a long pause. They were only silhouettes, he couldn't even see the micro-expressions he was so adept at reading. There was nothing to give them away. Just the ticking of the clock in his head as long moments passed.
"She wants to defect?"
"Seems to. He's still got tabs on her, we can still eliminate her."
"No." The Woman again. "If she is willing to defect, to share what she knows about her former organization and her more recent... business partners, then that's information we could use. She's a valuable weapon, Director Fury. If she decides that she wants to be useful, will you be able to control her?"
Fury ran through scenarios in his head lightning fast. He knew next to nothing about her, her motivations or her weaknesses. If she fucking had any, and he wasn't convinced she did. He did not have enough data to know the best way to handle her, but he was a confident man and ultimately, people were people. He'd be able to find those hooks and levers, figure out how to manipulate and shape her actions just like he did with all of his people. The situation frankly sucked, but he could work with it if he had to.
"If I have to, yes."
"Bring her in. Debrief her, evaluate her, retrain her if you like. She'd be quite a feather to have in your cap, Director."
A deadly feather, he thought to himself, but outwardly he made a show of agreement.
*****
Paris, France
He'd seen better accommodations since signing on with SHIELD, but the apartment Phil directed him to certainly wasn't the worst by any stretch of the imagination. It was a single room, which was just as well and made it easier to keep an eye on her.
"I'm supposed to cuff you," he said bluntly. "It's a cliche, but the radiator might work out."
"SHIELD policy?"
"Apparently. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure if you were going to run, or try and kill me, you'd have done it already."
"Probably."
He gave her a long considering look, and while he supposed it could be taken as sexual, he was actually weighing his options. She'd had numerous opportunities to kill him since they'd started the day. It might be less messy now that they were here alone, but it would've been easier to have left him in the busy side streets of the city at some point during the day.
She'd said she wanted SHIELD. His gut told him to believe her. His brain even told him to believe her, given the evidence he had.
"We won't be needing the cuffs," he decided.
"I'm so relieved," she said dryly.
He went over to the small table and rifled through the bag of provisions they'd amassed on their way - some bread and cheese along with a bottle of wine he'd chosen that she'd arched an eyebrow at. He'd just shrugged and said something about "when in Paris".
Clint heard her approach, and was aware of it when she stepped into his personal space to peer over his shoulder. She was warm pressed up against his back, one of her hands just under his shoulder blade. "It's not much of a meal," she commented.
He resisted the urge to lean into her. "You were getting a little too paranoid to go out to eat." He pointed out that he'd noticed mostly to see if he could unbalance her. He had a sneaking suspicion she was trying to unbalance him.
"Was I, now?" There was a soft, dark quality to her voice that made both alarm bells and his hormones go off. He looked over his shoulder at her and was glad he hadn't taken his sunglasses off yet.
"What exactly are you doing, Natasha?"
The hand at his back slid up to his shoulder, then down over his arm and the leather of his jacket. She pressed firmly to turn him around and gave him just enough of a push that it was natural for him to sit down in the chair behind him. Quickly, gracefully, she slid into his lap. Her fingers brushed across his face, over his lips, while her other hand was taking away his sunglasses and setting them to the side. He spread his legs slightly to give her a better area to balance against, and prided himself on not jumping when she pressed herself right up against his rapidly forming erection.
"We have some time to kill. I know you're interested," she whispered in his ear, and hell yes, he was interested. "So we might as well amuse ourselves."
She had her hand against his neck, curving back to pulling him towards her as she leaned in for a kiss.
Just before their lips brushed, he shifted, and then he had one hand around her wrist and the other on her arm and tugged just enough to dump her rather unceremoniously onto the floor as he stood back up.
"I'm interested, but not stupid. And you don't get to play me," he said flatly. The expression on her face was briefly murderous, but as he watched she smoothed it away.
Clint gave himself thirty seconds to get everything under control before he held out a hand. It took another long pause before she reluctantly reached up and took it, and let him help her to her feet.
"Now," he said. "How about dinner?"
*****
By unspoken agreement, they ended up on the floor, facing one another, with the bottle of wine and two glasses between them. He leaned back against the foot of the bed while Natasha sat against the wall just below the window. They weren't quite touching, but they could still pass the bottle of wine back and forth. There was only the one, not enough to get either of them drunk, but they were downing it like shots, as if by pretending they could make it something harder. It had become their own twisted version of two truths and a lie, only there weren't really any rules, just an open ended challenge. So far, he'd claimed everything he'd told her was the truth, except for a ridiculous anecdote about basic training. The thing was... she couldn't tell. And she'd never had trouble spotting a liar before. For her own part, she'd been mixing it up, at least insofar as she could say anything about her past was true or not.
When it came to her, he was remarkably, frighteningly accurate at deciphering what she was saying.
"I was raised in the circus, I have an older brother, and I was 19 the first time I killed a man."
Her eyes narrowed as she watched him speak, trying to discern the lie. "The circus would be too obvious... but really? You are a cliche, aren't you?" she continued before he could answer. "You didn't kill your first man at age 19." Something had twitched hear his eye when he'd said it, a tiny thing.
He raised his glass in a salute and downed the "shot" he was holding. Merlot just didn't have the same kick as bourbon. "No, I didn't.
"I was 17."
Her own glass froze halfway to her mouth and her eyes widened. His eyes had darkened, developed shadows when he'd admitted it and regret seemed to be an old acquaintance of his.
"I was... maybe 10. We didn't count birthdays the way you do." It felt like the right thing to do, giving him that piece of her puzzle. She didn't have a clear memory, and she might've been as young as 8 or as old as 12, but it was in that area of time.
She looked up at him in time to see horror writ across his features and it made her smile in a way that was a little bitter, a little amused, and in no small part resigned.
"That is one of the least horrific things I could tell you, Agent Barton. He was a thug and he deserved it."
The laugh he managed was a choked, almost animal sound. "Yeah," he said, finally nodding. "Yeah, mine was too."
"Did you enjoy it?" She didn't mean to ask that, it just came tumbling out and inside her mind she flinched. Outwardly she remained completely calm.
"I was glad he stopped what he was doing. That I could stop him before he hurt me. When I realized he was dead... it freaked my shit."
"So you didn't plan it."
"Did you?"
"It was an assignment. It was planned for me." Flashes of a yellow party dress, a cake knife tucked in between tulle and lace, then the shock on the man's face just before the blood.
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I enjoyed doing my job well," she said flatly and then picked up the bottle and drank the rest in one long swallow.
Without the pretense of a drinking game, their conversation drifted, until there was more silence than words and she found herself dozing off sitting upright.
"When?" she managed in between the drifting. Maybe it was because she was sure he wasn't going to kill her tonight, maybe it was having another person keeping an eye out, but she felt the weight of months of exhaustion and running trying to drag her down.
"Tomorrow. We're supposed to meet the extraction team at 1000 hours. I'll have to cuff you before we leave," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"Alright," she agreed softly and dragged her fingers through her hair. "Floor or bed?"
"You take the bed, get some sleep. You'll probably need it."
Images of what she was expecting the morning to bring ran through her head and some of it must've showed on her face because his expression hardened. "I don't know what you're expecting from us, but... look. It won't be pleasant. It's not going to be a cakewalk - they're pissed at you and don't trust you, and they'll need to find out what you know and what you want from them. But... there are things SHIELD won't do. We don't do, alright?"
She wondered if he was picturing little girls in bloody party dresses, or if he had a completely different scale of horror - she rather suspected the later. Regardless, she'd made her decision and she did believe that SHIELD wouldn't do anything worse than what the Red Room had done. And certainly nothing as bad as what they would do, now. So she stood and walked over to the bed just behind him, then lay down fully clothed on top of the covers. She would take sleep where she could get it, would take protection where she could find it, whatever it took to survive - not just physically, but as herself.
And maybe eventually, she could even begin to make up for some of the things she'd done.
Surprisingly, instead of keeping her on guard, the sound of his breathing helped lull her to sleep.
*****
The next morning he let her guide him to the bank where she was keeping several disks worth of intel in a safe deposit box. He remembered her comment on the first day about someone wanting their property back, and wondered if that was what they'd been talking about. Somehow, the more he learned about her, the more he doubted it.
Coulson was waiting for them outside a Metro stop near the edge of the city. Clint found himself apologizing to her when he locked the wrist and ankle cuffs Coulson produced once they were in the car.
"It's fine," she said flatly, and he could see she was back in what he was coming to think of as "Black Widow" mode. Gone was the tired, unsure woman who'd given him a look into her background, now she was the consummate asset, calm, poised, and patiently waiting as if she wasn't the least bit worried about what was coming next.
Once they were on the private SHIELD jet, Coulson relieved him and took her to another part of the plane to secure her for the trip back to New York. He wanted to wave, or say goodbye, or something, but even if it was just Coulson watching he had the feeling it was important to have his game face on, so he gave her a brief nod before turning away.
*****
Chapter 6