The Beginning
Johannesburg, August 2005
Clint Barton was a hard man. He had never had it easy, and it had shaped him into a human being of almost inhuman toughness. At 32, he had no idea how many people he had killed. He had lost count, and figured that it no longer mattered. Most were guilty, but there were a lot of collateral, innocent deaths, too. It had been many years since Clint cried over them. He was hard. Tough. He got the job done, killed the mark, and got the hell out. It wasn’t his job to care. It was his job to eliminate threats to national security for S.H.I.E.L.D. He took his job seriously, and he took a lot of people out or in. Neatly, efficiently, and without feeling. Clint wondered sometimes if he was even capable of feeling anymore.
Coulson had assigned him to eliminate one such threat, a female spy and assassin who went by the code name “Black Widow”. Clint was good at what he did, damned good, and he found her within 48 hours of arriving in South Africa. He had seen photographs of her, the kinds of grainy shots you get off of surveillance cameras or when you’re doing a stakeout from a distance. Clint’s eyesight was almost superhuman, but he couldn’t do anything with pixels and grains and a woman in disguise, so he had only a rudimentary idea of what she looked like. He knew she was excellent at disguising herself, but he was excellent at picking out deceit. He knew she was on an assignment from a private citizen to kill a diamond dealer in Johannesburg. He had tracked the dealer to a club downtown converted from an old warehouse. He figured, correctly, that she would be wherever the mark was, and Clint now sat perched in the rafters watching her every move, undetected. Clint had picked her out of the crowd on the second sweep. The Widow’s eyes gave her away. They were hardened, like his. Entirely too hard to be so damn young.
He noted that she was incredibly beautiful. It didn’t matter, he would do the job, but he didn’t mind looking at her for the moment. Her hair was dark red, gently curled and fell just below her shoulders. She wore a white dress, sleeveless and short. Clint's lip curled a little at the irony of the Black Widow wearing a little white dress, and he wondered if that had been deliberate. Only a pair of diamond studs for jewelry. Minimal makeup. He caught himself thinking that any more than that would be gilding the lily, then scowled. She smiled, as if she had just read his thought, but the smile did not reach her eyes. She leaned over to whisper in her mark’s ear, and he recognized the signs of a master seductress. The light brushing of skin, crossing long, shapely legs that ended in stilettos, the batting of long lashes, the low, throaty laugh…all effective tools to turn almost every man into a quivering, pleading mess. The dealer was wealthy and surely had no shortage of women, but the Black Widow was poisoning him with seduction. Clint watched from above silently, waiting for his moment. It would come.
The couple finished dinner and got up to leave, escorted by two bodyguards. The Widow hesitated when the bodyguards came up to them and she asked her mark something out of Clint’s earshot. The diamond dealer put his arm on her shoulder and answered reassuringly, she seemed mollified. Clint’s sharp eyes and years of training saw the truth in her, though. She knew.
The mark placed his hand on the Widow’s back and held his hand in front of her, guiding the way. She tensed and hesitated, glancing over at him, but obeyed silently. He recognized the act she was putting on, but wondered if David or the bodyguards did. They didn't look to be exceptionally well trained. Someone didn’t have to be well-rained to pose a threat, however. The bodyguards followed the diamond dealer and the Widow out a side door of the restaurant and Clint silently sprang into action, dashing down through the rafters in that direction.
~*~
This wasn't what she expected, but she wasn’t alarmed. She had sized up the bodyguards and assessed their threat potential as soon as they had come around the corner as she did all of the people who entered her vicinity. Both were about a head taller than her and broad across the shoulder. Each of them had guns in their waistbands. Easy access for her. They would be a worthy fight, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
As soon as they got her out of the door and out of earshot, her mark - David - removed his hand from her back and the bodyguards each grabbed a bicep. She gave a token struggle, but went along. If they thought her weak and unable to fight, the element of surprise later would be to her benefit. They led her out of the building, across a short alley and into the adjoining building. As they entered, the Widow caught a tiny flash of movement from the rooftop of the building she had just left to the one she was entering. She registered it, but no one else seemed to. It was probably the man who had been watching from above at dinner. The Widow missed very little in her surroundings.
The bodyguards got rougher as they pushed her down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, a metal door with a small chicken wired window stood locked. David pressed a code into the keypad then opened the door, standing aside for the bodyguards to shove her inside. The sound that greeted them gave the Widow her first tingle of alarm.
Children were crying, pleading for help in multiple languages. She recognized almost all of the tongues she heard, and the disgust and pity on her face was genuine as she looked around. Wooden boxes and crates were stacked on metal shelving like most warehouses, but set back amongst the boxes were at least two cages like you would transfer large animals in. There were children in there, and she allowed herself to show horror when she looked at the young pleading faces. She realized with a start that they were all girls, and dread filled her. They were younger than her, but not by much. Her eyes hardened, as did her face. It was time.
~*~
“You are the Black Widow.”
Clint heard the mark’s accusation as he hastily but quietly chose his spot. The children were still crying softly, so silence wasn’t a necessity, but stealth was and he was being incredibly careful not to be seen. Not until it was time to leave the room with the job done.
It was a statement, not a question. She was shoved down into a chair and despite the near violence of her placement in the chair, she sat as regally as a queen. Her eyes narrowed and she looked at David with ball-shrivelling, deadly intent. Had Clint been a civilian, that look would have terrified him. As an expert in hand-to-hand combat, it aroused him. He respected that kind of courage.
“I was warned today of who you are. I want to know why you were sent for me. More than that, I want to know who sent you.”
The Widow smirked, sat back in her seat and slowly crossed her legs.
“Thanks for dinner.” Her English was accented, but precise. Her tone was clear.
Clint’s lip quirked in spite of himself.
“You can tell me, or you can suffer until you tell me. I would rather not harm you, you will bring a high price from a wealthy customer who wants a pretty plaything. I’m sure you’ve gathered by now that I don’t only deal in jewels. Talk, or Abrahem and Malik will make you talk. Your choice,” David said.
The Widow’s smirk grew even more sinister. Clint watched her carefully and could see her eyes darting around, absorbing her surroundings, looking for weapons, planning her attack. He silently drew his bow and thought about what a fucking fool this David was to leave her unrestrained. He would be dead within moments.
“You can go fuck yourself, or you can suck a bag of dicks. Either way, you’re getting fuck-all out of me, asshole.”
Damn, Clint thought. She’s got a set.
The larger of the two bodyguards stepped up and backhanded her with a resounding smack. The Widow barely reacted, merely pulling her head back into position, locking eyes with the bodyguard. “For that, you are going to hurt before you die.”
Clint didn’t doubt for a moment that she meant it. He was watching this girl, mesmerized.
“You won't have time,” David said. He waved his hand dismissively and turned to go. “Dispose of her.”
Clint drew an arrow like lightning, but before he could line up the shot the Widow had disabled Malik, taken his pistol and shot David in the temple. She turned as Abrahem drew his weapon and shot him in the kneecap. Clint lowered his bow, watching carefully. The bodyguard howled and dropped his gun, and the Widow kicked it out of his reach. She turned and shot Malik in the head, ending his howling and struggle. She turned back to Abrahem, face like stone, and shot his other kneecap. He wailed, and she watched him for a moment, betraying no emotion. After a few beats, she raised her gun, shot him in the forehead, and he made no more sound.
Clint didn’t raise his bow.
~*~
The Widow heard the muffled sobbing of the terrified, unloved children, and knew they must have been even more traumatized than before by what they had just seen. She schooled her face to look reassuring and kind then dropped the gun. No need to terrify the children further. She went hurriedly to where they were being kept and started to pick the locks. “Its okay,” she said. “I’m going to let you go.” She repeated this in several languages, hoping to soothe them as she worked on the locks. She hadn’t counted on this, but the objective had been accomplished, her mark was dead. She intended to set fire to the building, and she drew the line at the murder of innocent children. She never wanted any child to go through what she had.
The Widow kept saying soothing things to them in the languages she recognized, and giving instructions to the older girls on how to get the younger girls to safety. There were about twenty girls in all, and when the last one was out of her cage, the Widow turned to see that they had all crowded behind her, hesitant to approach the spot where the dead men lay. “You must go! Run away!” she ordered loudly. “You are no longer under my protection. Leave!” The girls scurried away, crying loudly, and the Widow walked over to the nearest bodyguard to fetch a gun. Before she was able to bend, however, she heard him.
“That was a kind thing you did, having the reputation you do.”
~*~
She raised her hands and turned slowly to face him. Clint watched her carefully, but she gave nothing away. He sensed that she had forgotten he was there: a rookie mistake, and the Widow was no rookie. She smiled slowly at him, and his fingers tightened on his bow involuntarily.
“You hear that I am a monster, yes?”
“Something like that.”
“What else do you hear of me?”
“That you’re very, very good at what you do.”
“And what is it that you think I do?” She took a couple steps towards him, hands still raised, and he noticed that the sway of her hips was more pronounced.
Oh no. Oh hell no. We’re not playing that game.
“What you’re going to do is come with me,” he said.
Her eyes widened in mock surprise, and her smile turned predatory. “Come with you?” She chuckled almost imperceptibly. “What for?”
“Call it a rescue.”
She laughed outright now, and Clint saw his opportunity. He let the arrow fly and was momentarily surprised when she dodged it and dove at him. He ducked her and spun around to sweep her leg as he was nocking another arrow and she rolled to a crouch. The Widow jumped over his sweep with the grace of a professional ballet dancer, hitting the bow out of his hands and kicking him to the ground. She landed on a long-forgotten screw lying on the ground, teetered a bit on her high heels and, sensing his advantage, Clint hooked the bottom of her stiletto while scrambling to his feet and sent her to the ground. He dove on top of her, pinning her, grabbed her by the hair, and banged her head into the ground with enough force to knock her out. She struggled a bit and he did it again. She went still.
Clint checked her pulse and breathing, watched her a moment to determine if she was faking it, decided she was not, and made the call.
“Coulson. I’m done. I’m bringing home a souvenir.”