Chapter 4
“Alia, huh?” Clint blurted out at the same time Natasha said, “Bart?”
“Gotta fit in with the rest of them somehow,” Clint shrugged, nudging Natasha’s shoulder with his own.
“That was my thinking, too.”
“Anything on Broz or the new stuff?”
“Actually,” Natasha shoved a hand into her back pocket and pulled out five small bags of off-white pills. “Got some from Jude in exchange for my exquisite falcon skills. We have about five days to wrap up this op, that should be enough, right?”
Clint hummed in contemplation; Natasha had already dealt with half of the mission objectives, meaning the less enjoyable half was left: Andrew Broz. He had to tell her and Phil the truth at some point, before Natasha figured everything out. And considering she’d already gotten in a day of being Jude’s falcon, it wasn’t a safe bet for Clint to assume that Natasha’s efforts were fruitless.
“Clint? Hello? Earth to Clint?”
Clint rapidly blinked as wisps of fiery red hair escaping from Natasha’s scarf came into focus in his vision. Right, Broz and the truth.
“Sorry. Look, I need you to hear me out on something.” The fresh stinging of his own nails digging into his palms kept Clint’s voice steady, despite his hammering heart.
“Anything. Always.”
“Remember how Phil said I’ve been to Egypt before? Well, I came here to k—”
“Alia, Bart, I need you two to drop into south corridor perimeters, head boss is on his way.”
Jude’s voice cut between the growing anticipation, and Clint barely managed to stop himself from physically jumping in surprise as he straightened out into a familiar military stance to meet Jude, who was jogging towards them.
“South corridor, sir?” Clint cocked his head, feigning confusion. In reality, he knew the layout of the base from top to bottom, having memorized it back on the Helicarrier.
“You heard me. Alia will show you the way, let me know immediately if you notice anything suspicious. Boss likes full security at all times,” Jude’s eyes flashed with a sense of rage that Clint could easily interpret as Jude’s loyalty to Broz; whatever he’d done to get to his rank in the cartel, Jude was clearly resonating with Broz’s pain. It was a shame, really, considering had Jude not been a Broz apologist, Clint would’ve liked to turn him into being on their side.
“Understood. Let’s go, Bart,” Natasha mocked a halfhearted salute, to which Jude just rolled his eyes, before walking away. “So, what were you saying?”
Clint grimaced. Jude’s interruption had killed any courage or willingness in him to tell Natasha the truth, and with them now being stationed to watch out for Broz’s arrival, Clint wasn’t sure if his relation to the case was relevant anymore. He was going to tell her, he really was. But that wasn’t going to be right at this moment.
“Nah, just that I knew a former contact in Egypt back when I was, you know, not SHIELD agent Clint Barton," He shrugged, easily raising a mask of innocence. Understanding dawned on Natasha’s features, and Clint unclenched a fist he didn’t even know he’d made.
“Right, and I thought you were going to tell me you killed someone here or something,” Natasha huffed a breath of laughter.
Despite feeling as if all the air in his lungs had been knocked out, Clint shook his head, matching Natasha’s laughter. “If it paid well, I might as well have,” He chuckled, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. That earned him a light slap on the arm, though, which confirmed Natasha’s obliviousness to his quickly faltering façade,
“I can’t believe we have such little intel on Broz,” Natasha sighed. “I mean, all I’ve gotten so far is that he became the head of this cartel when he was just a teenager.”
“That’s more than what I got from the files, though.”
“You’re right, those files didn’t have much, either. Honestly, I can’t imagine having to build up an empire of drugs when I’m not even an adult, so props to Broz, I guess.”
“Yeah, kudos to him,” Clint muttered. “South corridor, looks like we’re here.” Quickly changing the subject, Clint easily hoisted himself and helped Natasha up into a sad looking watchtower, scanning their surroundings. Damn military habits, he was sure he’d never grow out of them.
“For an “underground base,” this place sure is big,” Natasha whistled, mirroring Clint’s actions and scanning the perimeter.
The dry Cairo wind bit at Clint’s face as he settled into the rickety watchtower, eyes scanning the horizon. Years of training kept his focus sharp, but his thoughts… well, those were harder to control.
Natasha’s words echoed in his head. Right, and I thought you were going to tell me you killed someone here or something. The bitter irony gnawed at him. She wasn’t wrong, not entirely. The truth dangled just out of reach, so close he could taste it, but now wasn’t the time. Maybe there never would be a time.
Natasha adjusted the scope of her binoculars beside him, her presence grounding him more than he’d ever admit. “See anything?”
“Not yet,” Clint replied, forcing himself back into the moment. He tightened his grip on the binoculars, eyes narrowing as he scanned the dusty stretch of road leading to the base. Nothing but sand, sun, and the occasional glint of metal in the distance. A mirage, maybe. Or trouble.
Natasha sighed beside him. “We’ll get this done,” She said softly, more to herself than to him. “Five days is more than enough.”
“Five days,” Clint echoed, the words like lead in his mouth. Five days to take down Broz, finish the mission, and — if he had the guts — tell Natasha the truth. That last part wasn’t technically in the mission brief, but hell, it felt just as crucial.
Because Andrew Broz wasn’t just another target. He was a loose end. A living, breathing reminder of who Clint used to be. And if Natasha found out — if Phil found out — that the man they were sent to eliminate was the younger brother of someone Clint had put six feet under, someone he was paid damn good to kill… well, Clint wasn’t sure what scared him more: facing his own truth or facing his team, his family’s response.
“Hey,” Natasha nudged him with her shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The I’m brooding and thinking about something I should probably share with my partner look.”
Clint chuckled under his breath, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe I’m just thinking about how long it’s been since I had a decent slice of pizza.”
“Uh-huh,” Natasha deadpanned, clearly unconvinced. But she let it go — for now. “Look alive, Barton. Jude’s down there.”
Clint followed her gaze, spotting Jude pacing near the base’s south gate. The man’s tension was palpable, even from this distance. Something was up.
“Bet you twenty bucks Broz shows up within the hour,” Natasha muttered.
“Not taking that bet,” Clint replied. “I’m not a gambling man.”
“Yeah? Tell that to all the risks you take in the field.”
He grinned, but his eyes stayed trained on Jude. “Calculated risks.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Clint’s smirk faded as Jude barked orders to a group of guards, sending them to reinforce the perimeter. Definitely preparing for Broz’s arrival, Clint thought. Which meant time was running out.
Natasha shifted beside him, her tone going serious. “You ever wonder how someone like Broz gets to the top? Especially that young?”
Clint swallowed hard. “Every day.” Because I helped put him there.
Natasha exhaled slowly. “You think we’re any different?”
Clint turned to her, caught off guard. “What?”
“I mean… we take lives too. Sure, it’s for SHIELD, for the greater good, but… sometimes I wonder if the line between us and them is thinner than we’d like to admit.”
Her words cut deeper than she could possibly know. Clint clenched his jaw, forcing himself to nod.
“Yeah,” He whispered. “I wonder that too.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of their choices pressing down on them.
Then, movement.
“Got a convoy,” Natasha whispered, adjusting her binoculars. “Black SUV, armored truck, and… another SUV. Heading this way.”
Clint’s pulse quickened. “That’s gotta be him.”
Natasha nodded. “We should call it in.”
“Wait,” Clint said, eyes narrowing. Something wasn’t right. The convoy was moving fast — too fast for a high-profile arrival. And the truck in the middle… its back doors were slightly ajar, fluttering in the wind. Clint’s instincts screamed at him.
“Something’s off,” He muttered. “That’s not a welcoming party. That’s an ambush.”
Natasha’s eyes widened. “You sure?”
“Positive. Get Jude on comms. I’m going down there.”
“Clint, wait—”
But he was already moving, heart pounding as he descended the tower. If Broz died now, before Clint could finish the mission — before Clint could make things right — it wouldn’t just be a failed op.
It would be unfinished business haunting him forever.
Natasha’s fingers pressed lightly against the hidden comm in her scarf. “Jude, you there?”
A crackle, then his curt reply: “What is it, Alia?”
“We’ve got incoming, three vehicles headed straight toward southwest corridors,” She said, voice calm but urgent. “You’ll want all hands on deck, and I can help.”
“I don’t need help from outsiders," Jude snapped.
“Your call,” Natasha replied coolly. “But if something goes down and you’re short on guns, it’s on you.”
Silence. Then, begrudgingly, “Fine. West gate. Now.”
Natasha smirked, cutting the connection. Jude didn’t trust her, but she didn’t need trust — just an opening.
The compound buzzed with anticipation as Natasha wove through the chaos to find him. She spotted Jude barking orders near the west gate. His dark eyes locked onto her the moment she approached.
“Alia,” He greeted with suspicion and irritation. “You got a death wish?”
“Thought you could use another set of hands,” Natasha replied smoothly. “Unless you’re worried I’ll outshine your boys.”
Jude’s lip curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. “This isn’t your fight.”
“Seems like it is if I want to pay off my debts,” She countered, arms crossed over her chest. “Unless you’d rather explain to Broz why us newbies couldn’t help protect his operation.”
Jude’s jaw tightened. He might not trust her, but he wasn’t foolish enough to turn away someone he’d allowed into the fold under Broz’s implicit authority.
“Fine,” He snapped. “But stay out of the way. This is cartel business.”
Natasha’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Of course,” She replied, knowing full well that staying out of the way was never her style.
The distant hum of engines grew louder. Natasha’s sharp gaze flicked toward the horizon, catching the faint glint of metal through the swirling dust. Three vehicles. Fast. Organized. She didn’t need Clint’s warning to know trouble was coming.
Jude’s tension spiked evidently. He barked more orders, and the men scrambled into defensive positions. Natasha lingered near a stack of crates, eyes scanning, mind analyzing.
“What are you still doing here?” Jude hissed, stalking toward her.
“Watching,” Natasha replied with a lazy shrug. “Learning.”
“We don’t need you.”
“Maybe not,” She said, her smile never wavering. “But Broz probably does.”
Before Jude could retort, the first shot shattered the tense silence. One of the cartel members near the gate crumpled, and chaos erupted.
“Take them down!” Jude roared.
Natasha ducked behind cover, fingers brushing the concealed pistol at her hip. She wouldn’t blow her cover — not yet — but she could still be useful. Carefully, she peered around the corner, eyes tracking the attackers’ movements.
This wasn’t a sloppy raid. It was coordinated, efficient. Whoever they were, they weren’t amateurs.
A figure darted toward the side entrance, too fast for the scattered cartel men to react. Natasha’s muscles tensed. She glanced at Jude, who was too preoccupied to notice. Good. She couldn’t let the intruder compromise their position.
Moving swiftly, Natasha intercepted the intruder just as he reached the door. She didn’t draw her weapon — too risky — but her body was a weapon in itself. A quick feint, a sharp elbow to his jaw, and the man crumpled silently to the ground. Natasha tugged the rifle from his hands, checked the ammo, and stashed it behind a crate before anyone could see.
“Alia!” Jude’s voice crackled through her earpiece. “Get back here!”
“On my way,” Natasha replied evenly. She sprinted back, weaving through the hail of bullets with practiced ease. As she reached the main courtyard, she took cover beside Jude, breathing even despite the adrenaline pumping through her veins.
“Where the hell did you go?” Jude demanded, eyes narrowing.
“Secured the side entrance,” She replied, wiping a non-existent speck of dust from her jacket. “You’re welcome.”
His glare deepened, but Natasha caught the flicker of reluctant respect behind it.
“Just don’t get yourself killed,” He muttered, raising his weapon to fire another shot.
“I’ll try my best,” Natasha quipped.
The cartel men were faltering. Natasha’s eyes flicked between them, calculating. She couldn’t take the lead without raising suspicion, but she could guide them. Subtly.
“Cover the left flank,” She called to one group, as if it were an afterthought. “Unless you want them to breach the gates.”
The men hesitated, but Jude barked, “Do it!” And they obeyed.
Natasha smirked. Influence established.
She fired a few shots — not to kill, but to disarm and disorient. Her aim was precise, calculated. Jude noticed. She could feel his eyes on her, evaluating, questioning. Let him wonder.
As the gunfire died down, the attackers retreating, Natasha holstered her weapon. Jude’s men exchanged weary glances, some whispering about “the new girl” with unexpected respect.
Jude approached her, eyes hard. “You’re full of surprises.”
Natasha tilted her head. “And here I thought you liked surprises.”
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” He warned.
“Good,” Natasha replied, leaning in just slightly. “Trust would be boring.”
As she walked away, she felt Jude’s gaze lingering.
She’d made an impression. Now, she just had to keep the act together long enough for Clint to do what needed to be done.
Clint crouched low behind a crumbling wall, eyes scanning the chaotic scene below. The rapid crack of gunfire echoed through the compound, flashes of muzzle fire illuminating the dust-filled air. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, itching to help, but he knew better than to blow his cover. Natasha would handle it. She always did.
Through the scope of a stolen rifle, Clint tracked Natasha’s movements as she navigated the firefight with effortless grace. She had Jude’s men scrambling to keep up, her precision unmatched. A small, proud smirk tugged at the corner of Clint’s mouth. That was his Natasha, all right.
But the smirk didn’t last long.
The adrenaline of the moment couldn’t silence the nagging thought in the back of his mind—the thought that had been gnawing at him since the mission began. Every face in this cartel, every mention of Broz’s name, brought Clint back to that night years ago. The night when he wasn’t Clint Barton, SHIELD agent. He was just Hawkeye — a mercenary, a weapon for hire. And the target? Andrew Broz’s older brother, Daniel Broz.
Daniel Broz had been one of Clint’s first high-profile kills, the one that truly made his reputation as a lethal shot spread like wildfire through the underworld. It had been clean, quick — just another job. But now, “working” for Andrew Broz, walking through the same halls Daniel once commanded, Clint couldn’t escape it. Every order from Jude felt like a reminder. Every moment spent in the compound felt like a debt he could never repay. And even worse, Natasha didn’t know. She couldn’t know. Not yet.
A sharp movement to the left caught his attention. One of the attackers was slipping through the perimeter, unnoticed in the chaos. Clint’s smirk faded for good.
Silent as a shadow, Clint made his way down from his vantage point, weaving smoothly through the maze of crates and debris. His mind raced as he moved, the familiar weight of his pistol grounding him. He remembered the layout of the compound perfectly — another habit he couldn’t shake. Every hallway, every blind spot, memorized like muscle memory. He had done the same with Daniel Broz’s compound back then. It was how he survived. But now, it was how he endured.
Daniel wasn’t innocent, Clint reminded himself. None of them were. But that didn’t change the fact that Andrew Broz had lost his brother because of Clint’s bullet. And now, Clint was here, pretending to serve the man whose life he had shattered. Every mission had its ghosts, but this one? This one haunted him in ways he never expected.
The intruder moved swiftly, but Clint was faster. As the man ducked behind a storage container, Clint closed the distance, pressing the barrel of his pistol against the back of his head.
“Move, and I’ll redecorate this place with your brains,” Clint whispered, voice calm but deadly.
The intruder froze, raising his hands slowly. “Hey, hey — no need for that, man.”
“Drop the weapon.”
The man complied, his rifle clattering to the ground.
“Good. Now turn around — slowly.”
The intruder obeyed, revealing a young face, barely out of his twenties, eyes wide with fear. Clint sighed internally. They just kept on getting younger.
There was a time when Clint wouldn’t have cared. A target was a target. But SHIELD had changed him. Natasha and Phil had changed him. Now, all he could see was a kid in over his head.
“Who sent you?” Clint demanded.
“I– I can’t–”
Clint’s eyes hardened. “You really want to test me?”
The man swallowed hard. “Broz… Broz sent us.”
Clint’s brows furrowed. Why would Broz send his own people to attack his base? “Why?”
The man hesitated. Clint pressed the gun harder against his forehead.
“Okay! Okay! It’s the new shipment — the pills,” He stammered. “Broz didn’t trust the new product. He wanted to test the security, see who could be bought.”
Clint’s grip tightened. The pills. What was in them? Broz had made a name for himself by pushing boundaries, but this was new territory altogether, daring to kill innocents.
“Stronger than anything on the market,” The man — he was practically a child, really — continued, his words rushing out. “But people are dying. It’s too potent, too dangerous.”
Clint’s jaw clenched. People dying meant collateral damage, and collateral damage meant SHIELD would start breathing down his neck even harder. He needed more information.
“Where’s the next shipment going?”
“Cairo docks. Three days.”
Three days. Their exfil — he said “exfil,” when it was more like Phil hauling their asses out of imminent death, as usual — was supposed to be in three days, Clint grimaced. Of course, it was never simple, his relationship with Cairo.
Blowing out a conflicted breath, Clint nodded. “Thanks for your help.”
The man barely had time to register the words before Clint’s fist connected with his temple, knocking him unconscious. Clint secured the man’s hands with a zip tie from his jacket and dragged him into a nearby supply shed, locking the door behind him. He’d deal with that later.
Clint made his way back to the courtyard, where the dust was settling. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and gunpowder. Jude stood amidst his men, barking orders for cleanup. Natasha caught Clint’s eye, a silent question in her gaze. He gave a barely perceptible nod. Got something.
But even as he approached Jude, the weight in his chest grew heavier. Jude didn’t know who Clint really was. Neither did Broz. But Clint knew — too well. Every interaction felt like walking a tightrope. One wrong move, one slip-up, and the truth would come crashing down around him. And Natasha… he didn’t even want to know how she’d react.
Jude noticed Clint approaching and scowled. “Where the hell were you?”
“Securing intel,” Clint replied nonchalantly. “You’re welcome.”
Jude’s eyes narrowed. “What intel?”
Clint leaned in, voice low. “Broz doesn’t trust the new product. He sent those guys to test your loyalty. Next shipment’s at the Cairo docks in three days.”
Jude’s scowl deepened, but Clint didn’t miss the flicker of surprise. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Looks like you’ll need us after all,” Natasha chimed in smoothly.
Jude’s gaze flicked between them, suspicion and grudging respect warring in his eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Clint quipped, a lazy grin on his face.
But as he and Natasha walked away, Clint felt the weight of what he’d learned settling on his shoulders. This mission had just gotten a lot messier.
He glanced at Natasha, her expression unreadable. She trusted him. She always had, even in the face of seemingly unavoidable danger or painful truths, as had Phil. But he couldn’t help but wonder, how much longer could he keep the truth from her and Phil? And more importantly, from himself?