The Second Meeting
He'd been tailing her for two days. She had arrived at the central airport and then checked into a hotel downtown. A cheap hotel, alarmingly cheap, in a neighborhood where Clint would have worried about her being out after dark if he hadn’t known about her special skills. He wondered about the hotel, surely she earned more than enough money to afford any place, why choose this hole?
She was on her guard but he was almost sure that she didn’t know about him, if she guessed, it was probably intuition.
She had been to the same house twice, her target’s house, checking the perimeter thoroughly and professionally. Tonight she’d go for the kill.
Clint changed his position slightly. He hadn’t had a shot yet, and after a quick background check on the target Fury had told him to let her finish her mission. The man she was going after was on S.H.I.E.L.D’s list as well.
“If you get a shot on her, you shoot,” he’d said. “But no need to jump in to save the guy.”
He didn’t get a shot on her. He watched her getting in, flirtatiously, luring the guy into a web, but he didn’t feel sorry for him, instead, he noticed all too clearly how dainty she looked in comparison, the patronizing and frankly disgusting advances that she endured for the mission's sake and he had to remind himself that she was the one in control and this guy was playing her game, not the other way around. He found himself on the edge of his seat when she let the guy go further and further.
Finally, a skillfully placed arm, a quick movement, a crack that Clint couldn’t hear.
“Good job, spidergirl,” he murmured, pushing aside the fact that he felt like his football team had won. Having common enemies meant nothing, she had killed this guy because she got a lot of money for it, not because he was an asshole.
Fortunately for her, she decided to take a window on the back of the house where Clint couldn’t fire, otherwise her ride would have been over at that point.
Like a shadow, the archer followed her to a nearby office on the ground floor of a building. Quickly, she started searching the drawers for god knew what. Clint realized the building as belonging to the target. Apparently, the mission was both the guy and the intel…
He crossed his fingers for her to stay there for a few minutes and entered the building one floor above through a window. Thankfully, the building’s ceilings were open and offered all sorts of open vents, grilles, and rods. In short, the perfect place for Hawkeye.
He slid through the vent, not making a sound. He’d get her, finally. A pity that he wouldn’t find out why she hadn’t killed him. Probably just a whim, maybe a memory of someone who had looked similar… Still, he would have liked to know.
Leaving the vent, he landed right under the ceiling of the room below.
He could see her silhouette under him, just stacking something in her suit, a black catsuit she had put on before leaving her target.
Clint narrowed his eyes, calculating the shot. It was possible to hit her without moving from here. Good, less of a chance for her to hear him.
Silently, almost holding his breath, he pulled an arrow from his quiver. He’d done this before, this was no different than usual just because she had bested him before. In shooting, she’d be no match for him.
She pressed a few keys on a computer, then shut it down.
Clint positioned the arrow, gently pulling back the string.
She sighed, the sound echoing slightly in the empty office. For a moment, she buried her head, massaging her temples.
Clint shouldn’t have hesitated at that point, he was angry at himself for waiting for that second because it was unprofessional; his targets were always human and showed human behavior, having a headache or something didn’t make them sympathetic and he had read this woman’s file, she was no one to sympathize with.
He pulled the string back further to his cheek, breathing in, then let it loose.
The arrow pierced through the air but wasn’t followed by a cry or gasp. Almost too fast to see, the Black Widow had ducked, rolling over the floor and taking cover behind a nearby desk before Clint could fire a second time. The arrow embedded itself into the wood.
How the actual-
“Look at that,” her voice came from behind the desk, not sounding particularly surprised. “You’re the one that’s been tailing me since yesterday… Well, I guess the reason is pretty obvious now.”
Clint didn’t show it, but dang, she had noticed him after all… And here he thought he was inconspicuous…
“Well, it got kinda boring real quick,” he replied.
He heard her scoff. “Sorry for that.”
Clint managed to take cover behind a steel column before the first bullets hit.
“How much do you get?” she asked rather casually when it was his turn to shoot at the table again. She didn’t seem to feel in mortal danger.
“What?”
She waited through her next round of fire.
“How much money is my death worth? I’m just curious.”
He scoffed.
“Yeah, money is all you care about, right?”
She didn’t try to shoot again, realizing it was useless until he tried to move. He had expected a snarky remark, but her voice sounded a little softer.
“Somehow that’s simultaneously the furthest and the closest to the truth. Impressive. I can’t decide if it’s better or worse than being considered a psychopath.”
Clint gritted his teeth. He shouldn’t be so interested, she was obviously toying with him, but gosh would he like to get a few answers from her.
“I’m not sure. Worse, maybe, because it’s so cold. A psychopath might be passionate, for the wrong reasons, but it’s better than not having anything apart from greed.”
“That’s what I thought.” Her voice was thoughtful. “You seem personally offended, though, about the money I earn. Should I know you?”
Clint smiled grimly.
“Now I am personally offended because you don’t. I certainly remember you, you gave me quite a concussion last time we met.”
For a while, the silence was deafening. Clint assumed that the Black Widow was mentally going through her missions to find out who he was. Maybe she was also stalling, or making up a plan, what did he know.
“You’re the bodyguard,” she said suddenly. Okay, she had been trying to remember. And she was correct, too, assuming there weren’t more bodyguards in her recent mission history.
Clint groaned. “Oh nice, that’s the impression I made on you?”
“You’re welcome to righten that impression or introduce yourself,” she returned snarkily.
He shot again, but she stayed in cover behind the desk.
“I figured out who you are, too. Aren’t you a bit young to be a widow already?”
She scoffed. “I’ve killed men whom I’ve slept with, don’t worry, I qualify for the title.”
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
For a moment she was silent. Clint held his breath. This detail he wanted to know.
“Stupidity, obviously,” she snarled. “I mean, if I had you wouldn’t be here to kill me now, would you?”
Well, she was not wrong.
Clint was still contemplating his next move, or at least his next remark when loud sounds startled him. He heard the Black Widow curse softly.
“What is that?” he demanded.
“My target’s gang of loyal sheep,” she replied with a scoff. “If you give me a chance to come out I could get this done and then we can go back to our business with one another. You’re welcome to come down and help. Or you deal with them alone, of course.”
Before Clint could reply the door was lifted off its hinges and flew through the room. 20 or so men entered the building, no, Clint reassessed as more and more swarmed in, much more than 20. He could just stay up here and wait till they finished her off…
“Let’s kill this hoe and set the place on fire,” one of the men grunted.
Okay, maybe it was in his best interest to help her with these guys… How was this always happening to him?
He killed five in his first badge before he had to move. The Black Widow opened fire, too, he had to find something to call her in his mind, something that didn’t sound absolutely stupid…
He jumped down, landing not far away from her. She was standing with her back against a shelf and fired her gun constantly.
“Let me guess,” she shouted towards him. “The fire made up your mind?”
“Correct,” he shouted back and for a moment, he thought he heard her chuckle through the shots.
For a while, nothing but the deafening sound of gunfire colored the scene. Clint certainly preferred the spidergirl on his side for this one, it was nice to have a second pair of hands. And you couldn’t deny she was good, not only alone, she seemed to adapt to teamwork flawlessly, somehow.
“Having fun?” she called.
“How many did you invite to the party?” he shouted back.
“Uhm, I think some brought their friends, and those brought theirs and now this is a little out of control.”
“Say that again, they just keep coming.”
“I could-“
“What did you say?” he asked as she broke off.
“Nothing,” she shouted, but something in her face had changed. They had been bickering before, but now she seemed serious and a little sad.
“Any plans?” he asked.
“If I knew how many are coming, maybe.”
Clint thought for a moment.
“I’ll go back up in the rafters to look, you’ll have to cover me.”
“Heard you loud and clear.”
Clint realized that he wasn’t scared when a bullet flew right past his head. The girl was holding her ground, and he trusted her to watch his six, if only for her own survival.
“Around 20 more, but no new ones coming!” he called down to her.
“Should be okay,” came the reply, followed by a loud call “Duck!”
Clint did as he was asked, hearing a bullet tear through the wood above his head.
Better get back down.
He landed softly as he heard a loud groan from his fighting partner.
Clint spun around, seeing a massive guy pressing a knife to her throat. She had to have been distracted from the bullet directed at him. Clint paid her back with an arrow straight through the guy’s head, from the side so she had enough time to react as he fell. A few drops of blood ran down her neck, but she was mostly unharmed.
Clint disarmed and took out two more, finding five lying on the ground on her account when he turned around.
“Are you trying to show off?” he asked.
“Keep shooting,” she replied simply.
Clint released another arrow when he was knocked over. He gasped, pain running through his body from his arm. As his hand flew there, it was wet with blood. Bullet wound. Shit.
A hand grabbed his other arm and pulled him out of the line of fire.
“Move!” he heard her voice. “Come on, move!”
She let go, leaving it to him to take cover which he did underneath a table. It wasn’t a dangerous wound… but he couldn’t shoot his bow this way… not until the bullet was out and this was at least marginally treated. And he had two threats in this building, though as he counted the shots it sounded like one was about to be eliminated.
He groaned quietly, pressing a hand to his arm to staunch the bleeding.
A face appeared under the table.
“All done.” Her hair was wild but her eyes were still and calculating as they checked his injury. “You did have to get yourself shot, right? Come on.”
She waved for him, raising an eyebrow as he just stared at her.
“Do you really want to stay here? You’re bleeding. Come on.”
Confused, not even sure why he was doing it, he followed her, picking up his bow and slinging it across his shoulder. She had him in her power anyway, he couldn’t shoot or fight her right now and even if her gun was empty she would be able to kill him.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Patching that up,” she replied absent-mindedly, leading the way.
Clint took two longer strides to keep up with her.
“Why?” he asked, genuinely confused.
Her eyes flashed to him briefly but she didn’t properly look at him.
“None of your business. Come on before someone sees you.”
“How do I know if I should trust you?” he challenged, expecting the classic ‘You shouldn’t’ that everyone always said in every movie.
“If I wanted to kill you, I would certainly do it in the pile of dead bodies over there, wouldn’t I?” she snapped. “Stop talking before my sanity catches up with me and reminds me that I shouldn’t be doing this.”
Her hotel wasn’t far off and even if they had encountered anyone, the halls were too dark to notice the blood on his arm or the other signs of the fight. She opened a door and shoved him in.
"This isn't the classic definition of a safehouse," he commented.
“It’s not bugged though,” she replied matter-of-factly. “And nobody should find out about this if it’s up to me.”
“Why?” he asked, in a mocking tone that he didn’t fully intend. “Bad for the Black Widow’s good reputation?”
She scoffed. “Bad for the Black Widow’s health.” She imitated the tone, but her eyes were dead serious. “Get down, I’ll get supplies.”
Obediently, Clint sat down on the bed, leaning against the frame after getting rid of the bow and quiver. Say what you will, that hotel room was a disgrace.
“What made you choose this charming place?” he called over.
“The good view, what did you think?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. She came from the bathroom, her uniform changed for a simple black top and pants. She looked smaller like that, hard to believe that she was as strong as she was. She was carrying a small bag with medical supplies.
Clint was surprisingly calm when she sat down next to him and switched on the light next to the bed to see better.
“Have you done this before?” he asked, more interested than worried.
“What? Patched up someone who’s here to kill me? No, but I can sew my own wounds so I’ll sew yours just fine.”
Clint bit his lip. “You know that I can’t kill you after this. We’re on ceasefire for now.”
She looked up briefly.
“I can’t kill you either,” she replied simply. “I spared you once, it would be all for nothing if I killed you now.”
“That is a really strange way to put it. It cost you nothing to spare me.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s what you think.”
She disinfected the tweezers. “I’ll take out the bullet now.”
Clint frowned. “Didn’t you forget asking nicely about a painkiller?”
“You’ll have to do without, I don’t have any. Don’t scream, even in this hotel people would notice that.”
Clint braced himself, but he had to stifle a scream with his hand as she removed the bullet. Panting, he arched his back.
“Sorry.” She sounded genuine. “But it’s out, no shrapnel, no bones broken. I’ll stitch it and then you should manage, you didn’t lose a lot of blood.”
“You’re good at this,” he panted. She shrugged, preparing the needle.
“What did you mean when you said that only I thought it didn’t cost you anything to spare me?”
She was silent and he smiled lopsidedly. "Come on, I'm in pain, you have to distract me.”
“I meant that it did cost me something,” she replied shortly. “I’ll start stitching now.”
Clint watched her face as she worked, focusing on it to distract himself. She looked even younger than last time, and her cheekbones cast shadows on her face.
He hissed with pain.
“Do you at least have alcohol around?” he asked.
She shook her head, scoffing.
“A lawful man like you, you wouldn’t want me to break the US law of purchasing alcohol, would you?”
Clint was taken aback. He had kind of assumed her to be in her early twenties, after all, she kind of had to be, she had been active for a few years and she had to have received quite a bit of training beforehand, but now he realized that she was 20 years max.
“How old are you, kid?” he asked quietly, but seriously.
She scoffed.
“Are you surprised now? How old did you think I was?”
“Not that young. Are you allowed to drive?”
She shrugged.
“Why? Would it make a difference if I were younger than you thought? I still killed all those people, and I am still your mission.”
“You didn’t answer the question,” he persisted.
“I can drive,” she replied simply. “it doesn’t make a difference that I’m not allowed to on paper. Which I am, by the way, I’m eighteen according to the passport in my pocket.”
“And your real passport?” he asked, noticing her weird phrasing.
She scoffed again.
“Do I look like I have one? I’m not the girl on that paper nor on any other I have. Nobody knows who I am. I’m non-existent. It’s rather weird if you think about it.”
She didn’t sound like she was particularly interested.
Clint sighed.
“How old do you think you are?” he made another attempt.
“What does it matter?” she fired at him. “It makes no difference.”
“It does if I was sent on a mission to kill a teenager.”
"Would that be unusual?" She asked genuinely like it was completely normal to assume that.
“Yes!” Clint replied indignantly. “I don’t kill children.”
“I’m not a child,” she returned, and somehow managed not to sound childish and bratty saying it. “And I’d kill me if I were you.”
Clint managed to break away from the sickening revelation of how young she was and focused on that statement.
“That doesn’t sound like you’re okay with what you’re doing. Or do you just not care that your job is pretty morally corrupt?”
Again, her eyes flashed to him.
“I don’t have a choice to be okay or not to be okay. I’m an assassin, trained to be and there’s no way out of it.”
She finished the suture, allowing Clint to breathe through a little. “I’ll put a bandage on top.”
Clint breathed in sharply as she turned around, back illuminated by the lamp. Black and blue bruises covered her shoulders and the backs of her arms, disappearing under the fabric of her top. Quickly remembering the fight, Clint was pretty sure that nobody had slammed her into a wall that hard. He wasn’t even sure if one time would be enough.
“You’re hurt,” he said, horrifyingly understating things.
She turned back to him.
“What?”
“Your back, and your arms…”
“Ah, that.” She nodded, seemingly remembering. As if one could forget these wounds, they had to hurt at the slightest touch. “Never mind.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin your reputation. Sometimes missions are tough.”
Her eyes met his again. “This wasn’t a mission. I wouldn’t let anyone get close enough for that on a mission.” She sounded indignant.
“So how did this happen?” he persisted.
She scoffed. “What do you think?”
Clint met her eyes, seriously.
“That I can’t think of anyone that would be strong enough to do this to you and that that’s worrying.”
She scoffed again. “Don’t worry, no super-soldier alert or anything like that. No hidden danger that would threaten your country.”
Clint shook his head. “I’m worried about you, kid.”
She paused again, hand resting on the bandage she was tying up.
“Why?”
Clint lifted himself up and she flinched a little at the movement.
"Because I get the impression that you aren't the stone-cold assassin everyone talks about. I'm stupid, but not that stupid. You're not a freelancer, there is someone behind you and you're afraid of that someone. It doesn't have to be like that."
She tilted her head, incredulously.
“So you are not respectful of the people behind you?”
“Respect is not the same thing as fear. I know that they’d never do anything like that to me, they would never hit me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then how do they assure your loyalty?”
Dammit, she hadn’t even tried to refute it. They were hitting her, whoever they were.
“They earned it,” he replied quietly. “They allow me to do good, they have my back, they treat me well. If I’m not okay with a mission, I don’t do it.”
She lifted herself up, eyes sparkling.
“I might just stop patching you up if you don’t stop lying to me!” she snapped.
“I’m not lying,” Clint protested with a groan. “Jesus, you’re out in the field, you must know how the world works.”
She looked at him, briefly, dangerously, then tied up the bandage a little tighter than necessary.
“Ow,” he complained.
“The world outside isn’t like the world inside, and you know that as well as I do.”
She rose, turning her back on him as she threw a few items into a backpack, put a jacket on, and walked to the door. Seemingly, she was leaving the hotel early.
“Did you call back-up already?” she asked simply, looking unfazed.
He narrowed his eyes.
“Why that?”
“If the building is surrounded, this’ll get dirty. If they’re waiting at the front door, I’d use the window if you please.”
Her voice was neutral, without emotion.
“You think I called in people to kill you, now that you’ve practically saved my life?”
She shrugged.
“This is still your mission. I understand if you want it finished.”
“Kid…”
“I’m sorry I can’t let you,” she interrupted, sounding weirdly genuine. “I hope they won’t punish you too badly for it.”
She opened the door.
“Hey, kid!” he called out. She turned. “Take care of yourself.”