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It was supposed to be an easy mission. Get in, eliminate the target, get out. Nothing unroutine, nothing… wrong.
Of course, nothing ever comes easy for Strike Team Delta. From making a different call on site to that messy first mission to Budapest to New York, the two-man team consisting of Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye, the best sharpshooter known to man, and Natasha Romanoff, a.k.a. Black Widow, ex-Russian assassin, has never had it easy.
Flying over the Colorado forest, Natasha quickly spotted the outpost where they were headed for the rendezvous. She nudged Clint’s arm. “There!” she yelled over the helicopter rotors, pointing to the outpost coming up on their left. Clint nodded and angled the helicopter over in that direction, his eyes scanning the ground for a place to land. As they neared the landing site, Natasha felt rather than heard the grinding sound of their rotors breaking and reflexively clutched at the edge of her seat as her mind comprehended what her body had already instinctively realized.
They were going down.
“Nat! Hold on!” Clint yelled as he struggled to control their descent.
Not the trees, anything but the trees, Natasha silently begged, but she wasn’t to get her wish. The helicopter careened into the trees, branches and greenery flying everywhere. Natasha lifted one arm to shield her face from the branches that were already scratching at her skin. Dimly she saw Clint doing the same from the corner of her eye.
Then it was over. There was an eerie silence as Natasha struggled to get her breath. “Clint…” she said, rolling on to her side and trying to see where he was.
“Nat,” he answered, reaching her first. “Are you okay?” His hand closed on her wrist.
“Yeah,” Nat said, sitting up. “What happened?”
“We were shot down,” Clint said grimly. He stood up and slowly went to pick up his bow and quiver.
Natasha began swearing in Russian. Then she stopped. They weren’t alone. “Clint, get down!” she yelled, ducking as a large rocket blasted from the trees directly toward them.
Years of working with Natasha had trained Clint to follow her orders immediately, so he got down. However, ducking isn’t much protection against a rocket blast, and Clint was closer to the blast than she was. The blast subsided, and Natasha didn’t waste a moment in hurrying toward her partner. “Clint!” she yelled, trying to pick her way through the debris. She found him on his knees, coughing and trying to breathe.
“I’m fine,” he said as she neared him. “I just need to catch my breath.”
“We might not have time for that,” Natasha said, watching movement in the trees surrounding them. She held out her hand, and he took it, standing up. She knew that he saw the same movement she did.
“Let’s go,” Clint said, and they picked their way through the wreckage into the green of the trees, both scanning the foliage surrounding them for anyone - or thing - that might be following them.
Then out of the corner of her eye Natasha saw a familiar glint - metal against sunlight. She quickly shot at the person and was rewarded with a grunt and a falling body. Then she heard the footsteps.
“Run,” she told Clint. “They’re after us.”
“Of course they are,” he muttered, and together they ran through the forest, dodging and weaving, using all the tricks they had been trained to use to try and put off their pursuers.
After what felt like hours of running, and maybe the hundredth time they crossed a stream to try and throw off anyone tracking them, Clint leaned against a tree. “Nat,” he said.
“What?” Natasha replied. “This better be something important if you’re requiring me to use up my breath to talk to you.”
“Shelter,” Clint said. “We need to start thinking about shelter.” He looked up. “The sun’s going to set soon, and we don’t want to be in these mountains without something between us and the weather.”
Natasha nodded. “Have you seen any cabins? There’s dozens of them dotting these woods.”
Clint shook his head. “Have you?”
“If I had, I wouldn’t be asking you, now would I?” Natasha asked.
Clint flashed a quick grin at her. “I suppose not.” He glanced at the tree he was leaning on. “Keep watch. I’m going to see if I can find one.” He smoothly drew an arrow from his quiver, nocked it, and shot, aiming at a tree branch high above him. The arrow, which was a grappling arrow, quickly lifted him into the tree, where he could then scan the surrounding area for any shelter they could take.
“Find anything?” Natasha called up to him.
“Yeah,” Clint called down. “Two miles northwest.” He came down from his perch. “It didn’t look like anyone was there.”
Natasha nodded. “I think we’ve found where we’re going to spend the night then.”
It only took slightly less than an hour for the two agents to hike their way to the cabin. As they approached the clearing, they both got out their weapons.
“I’ll go in first,” Natasha said. “Cover me.” Although the cabin appeared to be empty, after getting shot down, there wasn’t going to be any harm in being extra careful with everything in these woods.
There was going to be a lot of harm if they weren’t careful.
As it turned out, the cabin was indeed empty, so they went inside and settled down. Natasha sighed with relief as she sat down on one of the couches in the main room. Clint sat beside her.
“Seems like we left them behind,” Clint said. “I haven’t seen any signs of being followed for a while yet.”
“Mmmhmm,” Natasha mumbled, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Clint reached over and gently ran his fingers along her arms, where scratches from the crash and hike abounded.
“We should get these cleaned,” he said, frowning.
“Be my guest,” Natasha replied, not moving. After a moment she gave in to Clint’s gentle nudges and they both headed toward the kitchen. Natasha slowly peeled off her shirt, wincing as the fabric ran over her many cuts. Clint wet a rag he found hanging on a hook nearby and gently washed out her cuts, moving carefully from her hands and wrists to her forehead. Natasha would never have admitted it out loud, but having Clint clean her wounds was soothing, even if they were only minor scratches.
Finally he finished. Natasha put her shirt back on, and, noticing how he started walking back to the couch, called to him.
“Where do you think you’re going? It’s your turn now.”
Clint sighed and came back. He took off his own shirt, and Natasha noticed a nasty gash on his shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier, Clint?” she scolded.
“There wasn’t much we could do about it running through a bunch of trees,” Clint pointed out. He winced as Natasha dabbed at it with the rag. “It’s fine, Nat.”
“No, it’s not. Stay there, I’m going to see if I can find some medicine for it.” She left the kitchen and went down the hallway, opening doors to see if there was anything she could use. “Don’t move!”
When she came back after finding some antibacterial cream in the bathroom, she found Clint rummaging through some cupboards. “I thought I told you to not move.”
“Nat, I didn’t go anywhere,” Clint said. “Did you know this place has loads of food? For once we managed to pick a good place for shelter.” He grunted as Natasha began putting the cream on his shoulder, her cool fingers soothing against his broken skin. The medicine, not quite as soothing.
“There,” Natasha said softly, washing her hands.
“Thank you,” Clint said, his tone matching hers.
Natasha gave him a tilted smile. “Put your shirt back on.”
The sun wasted no time in setting, but the cabin was well-stocked with not just food and medicine, but a decent supply of firewood as well. Natasha fretted over the fact that the smoke would give away their location, but Clint just said, “If anything, they’ll think that we’re just campers living out here and renting the cabin. It’s not unusual, and nobody followed us here. Besides, I don’t think you’ve ever had a chance to eat my s’mores.” Then he grinned that stupid grin of his at her, and Natasha gave in.
“If we get caught because of this stupid idea, you owe me,” Natasha threatened as Clint built up the fire in the fireplace.
“Owe you what, exactly?” Clint said. “Remember that last time I lost a bet, you almost bent me into an entirely new shape. I’m not as flexible as you are.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Natasha said pertly.
Clint turned out to be a decent fire-builder, so soon they had a fire going, and Natasha brought out some food she’d found in the kitchen. After eating, Natasha sat on the couch while Clint finished preparing the s’mores he’d made.
“Here,” Clint said, sitting beside her. “Eat it.”
Natasha looked at the roasted marshmallow, covered in rapidly melting chocolate and sandwiched between what might better be described as two small pieces of cardboard, and ate it.
“How do you like it?” Clint asked, eating his own.
“I’ve never understood why anyone willingly eats graham crackers,” Natasha said. “But when it’s covered with marshmallow and chocolate it makes it slightly easier to keep down.”
Clint grinned.
After the s’mores, they sat quietly together and just watched the fire die down. Natasha curled her legs up to her chest, leaning on Clint’s arm which was wrapped around her shoulders. Slowly she let the exhaustion and pain of today leech away, and her eyes slowly began to flutter closed.
“Sleepy?” Clint’s voice murmured in her ear, waking her up.
“Mmmmmm,” was all she said. As tired as she was, she really didn’t want to leave the warmth of Clint’s arms.
“Come on,” Clint said, his voice thick with sleep. “Let’s go to bed.” He took Natasha’s hand in his and helped her off the couch. Still holding her hand, he led her to the singular bedroom in the cabin, with the singular bed.
They both undressed in the dim light of the lamp (Clint had turned it on when they came in) and crawled slowly into bed, facing each other. Clint’s eyes were very blue and very sleepy, Natasha noticed. She turned off the lamp and wrapped her arms around him, planting a small kiss on his neck.
“Goodnight, Clint.”
Clint replied with a long, slow kiss that seemed to take an eternity. One hand resting on her waist, he pulled away and smiled.
“Goodnight, Natasha.”
~
“Clint, wake up, I’ve heard something.” Natasha’s hoarse whisper startled Clint out of his sleep, and he was awake immediately. His hand automatically reached for the bow beside the bed, his fingers curving around the smooth limbs.
“How many?” he asked, trying to be as quiet as possible.
“I don’t know.” Natasha replied, smoothly getting out of bed, quiet and seamless as a shadow. Even in nearly complete darkness, Clint still knew her presence like the back of his hand. Better, actually. “You owe me, you know.”
“I don’t think that should be our priority right now,” Clint said, getting out of bed himself and quickly pulling on his clothes.
“It’s not. I’m just reminding you so you won’t forget,” Natasha said as he slung his quiver over his shoulder. Clint could hear it now, the sound of several armed men trying to sneak up on the cabin- badly. They moved stealthily through the hallway, up a ladder to the attic. Natasha peered between the wooden slats, a frown growing on her face. “Clint…” she said, her voice worried.
“Nat, what-” Clint was cut off by an explosion rocking the back of the house, sending them falling through the floor. “Nat!” There was a sharp crack that seemed to explode in his ears, and what small vision he had in the darkness blurred and went black.
“Clint!”
If Clint Barton had a nickel for every time Natasha called his name, there’s a good chance his wealth would rival Tony Stark’s.
“Clint!”
Clint blinked his eyes open, and felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. He put his fingertips where it hurt. Blood.
“Clint!”
Natasha was hurt. Something was wrong. Her voice had notes in it that Clint rarely heard, and Clint felt the beginnings of panic stir in his throat. He tried to move, pain slowing him more than the few wood pieces that were on top of his prone body. He blinked, looking for her, and seeing only piles of shattered, destroyed cabin.
“Nat!” Clint tried to swallow his fear. She had been calling to him, right? “Nat, where are you?”
“Clint. Help.”
There- under that- oh god.
The roof had collapsed on top of her, pinning her down and almost blocking her from his view entirely.
“Natasha!” He hurried to her side, moving as fast as his head would allow. “Are you hurt?”
“I just hit my head,” Natasha said. “But I can’t move my foot out from under this beam.”
“Hold on,” Clint said, and he walked around till he saw the beam that pinned Natasha’s foot down. “Okay, I found it.” He looked at her carefully. “I’m going to try and lift it up. You have to get out as soon as I do that. There’s no telling whether more of this roof will collapse on you or not.”
“Okay,” Natasha said.
“Ready?” Clint asked.
Dimly, Clint saw her tense. “Do it.”
Clint lifted the beam, raising it a few inches. “Go!” he said, and Natasha rushed out of the wreckage, collapsing on the ground once she was free of the rubble. Clint dropped the beam and went to her. Her face was dirty and tear-streaked, and she was breathing hard.
“We did it,” she managed to get out, letting out a shaky sigh. Clint knelt beside her, pulling her into his arms. He noticed that her ankle was swollen and bloody, a result of being trapped underneath the beam.
“You’re hurt,” they both said at the same time. Clint paused, surprised, and Natasha pressed her fingers to the back of his head. “Clint.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “But your ankle…”
“I’ll be fine, Clint,” Natasha said, regaining her composure quickly. She gave him a small smile. “I’ve had worse.”
Clint nodded, then immediately regretted it as his head began to throb. “We need to get out of here,” he said. “These guys keep getting too close to us for comfort.”
“The rendezvous point is miles away, Clint,” Natasha pointed out.
“Then we get there before they find us.” He looked around. “It looks like they cleared out after the explosion.”
“They were probably hoping that it would kill us,” Natasha said, stretching her leg and wincing.
“They have to have some method of transportation,” Clint said, thinking out loud. “You don’t send men to wander these woods on foot.”
“If we could find their base, we could probably easily steal some transport from them,” Natasha finished the thought.
“Tracking them in the dark isn’t going to be easy,” Clint said.
“Come on Clint,” Natasha smiled her half-crooked smile at him. “Since when have we ever done easy?”
The sun was coming up, and Clint had no idea whether or not they were getting close to their base. Or who, exactly, “they” were. At the moment, “they” were pretty determined in eliminating himself and Natasha, so “they” were probably agents (ex-agents now) of the target they’d eliminated only so many hours ago.
“Still with me, Barton?” Natasha called back.
“I’m right behind you, Nat, you know that,” Clint replied, tugging at the knot on the makeshift bandage around his head. He had no idea how she was standing with her injured ankle, much less trekking through woods while tracking mercenaries.
“Good.”
She really was the most amazing person he ever knew.
After several more hours trekking through the heat, Natasha stopped. Barton moved up to join her. “What did --oh,” Clint said, looking at the clearing in front of them.
It was a decent sized clearing, with men walking around in guard duty with machine guns, and right in front of the building was a helicopter.
Clint wanted that helicopter.
“I want that helicopter,” Clint told Natasha.
“And there’s about thirty men who don’t want you to have it,” Natasha said.
Clint looked at her thoughtfully. “Think we can handle it?”
“We’ll have to start carefully. Pick as many of them off from a distance as possible. Then we’ll rush the ‘copter.”
Clint nodded. He drew an arrow and laid it against his bowstring. “Whenever you’re ready, Nat.” She nodded and moved a few paces away, her own guns in her hands. Clint took a deep breath. He raised the bow and drew his arrow back, almost brushing his cheek. Aim.
Breathe in.
Nat was in his peripheral vision, ready to charge as soon as he let loose. She gave a small nod.
Breathe out.
Shoot.
With a twang, the arrow let loose and buried itself deep in the chest of one of the mercenaries. Clint didn’t stop to see if it made contact before setting and aiming another arrow. He knew he’d hit it as soon as it left his fingers. Off to the side, Natasha leapt into action, adding to the confusion.
After a few more arrows, Clint began making his way down the clearing to the helicopter. He fought off some men who were guarding it and got inside. “Nat!” he called, turning it on. Natasha’s head turned, her hair flying in a circle around her, and rushed toward the helicopter. “Get in!” Clint yelled, fighting off another man who tried to pull him out of the seat. Natasha shook off the men who were fighting her and clambered in, yelling at him to take off.
“Go already, go!”
Clint took off, ducking as the men began shooting at the helicopter, trying to take it down, but soon they were out of range and back on their way to the rendezvous point.
“We did it,” Natasha said, her voice exhausted and her face pale. She groaned in pain and she tried to take her weight off her foot.
“Just hold on,” Clint said, trying not to let his voice show how tired he was. “We’re almost there.”
Natasha nodded, leaning back in the seat. “Are you sure you should be flying with a head wound?” she asked teasingly.
“As sure as I am you should have been hiking with a broken ankle,” Clint replied smoothly. He smiled at her, and she gave him a small smile back.
They reached the rendezvous point with no more excitement and were greeted by several fussy S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, determined on getting them immediate medical care and why didn’t they check in earlier, what happened, and then on sending out a squad to eliminate what was left of the mercenary group. Strike Team Delta sat through all of this with practiced patience, and then they were finally released, Clint’s head properly bandaged and Natasha with a splint on her ankle and crutches that she put up with only because she needed to be able to walk, and her only other option was a wheelchair. Together they climbed up into a S.H.I.E.L.D. plane, their escort back home. As they flew, Clint fell asleep, putting his head on Natasha’s shoulder as she watched the sky outside their window. Eventually she fell asleep too, her hand still interlaced with Clint’s where she had been absently stroking his thumb. They both stayed asleep until they landed, finally home.