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He was a lot quieter than she expected, especially for someone of his size and stature. She found herself wondering briefly why he didn't use the bow before she whipped around and smacked him in the side of the head. He stumbled backwards, apparently unaware that she had spotted him before he attacked.
"You'll have to do better than that," she hissed, before vaulting of the balcony and dropping down to the second floor. She heard him curse and scramble to find his copying to race after her but she didn't let that phase her. She moved with the same swift purpose as before, and made get way back into the ballroom where it would be harder for him to get her. She wondered briefly if he was with S.H.I.E.L.D., but then decided that she didn't care either way. No one else had been successful in bringing her in, so what made him any different? Nothing. He was just as human as everyone else, and he would fail all the same.
It was amazing how quickly they had learned how to match each others styles, how easily they could fight in sync without so much as an exchanged glance. She had even started to learn to sign, to better communicate with him when he was without his aide. There was much talk of them in the agency, people who approved, people who didn't. They didn't seem to take much notice of the naysayers. In fact, they didn't pay much attention to anyone else. They only had eyes for their targets, and each other.
She disappeared from his line of sight in the time it took him to get from the balcony and down into the ballroom. It was obvious that she knew what she was doing, and that thought both excited and terrified him. If he could take her out, he'd be the guy who defeated a legend, who took out someone who'd been bugging them for years. He'd basically be a hero in the agency.
He slipped into the crowd, trying to keep his head down while also keeping an eye out for her. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he spun around, suddenly aware that his aide was no longer on. He did so much field work with the thing turned off that he hardly remembered when he needed to have it on. She must have managed to turn it off when she smacked him earlier, and that just pissed him off more. He stepped quietly away from the gentleman who'd giving up on having a conversation with him and tried to lay eyes on his target again. He searched the room as inconspicuously as possible, came up empty, and grabbed a glass of champagne as he stormed off to find a new vantage point.
He insisted they have an extraction plan. She insisted that they didn't need one, that they were capable of handling whatever came at them. This caused many arguments, but we eventually she won him over. For the most part she was right, and any field work they did passed without incident, without any need for any sort of extraction plan. But the one time they did need it, they lost someone. He still mutters the lost name in the night, and she feels bad. Now she always keeps an extraction plan handy, even though no one knows. It's her business to keep her partner, and the people he loves, safe. And she'll do anything to make sure that happens. Even sacrifice her pride.
She found herself wondering how he managed to get the bow and other possible weapons into such a secure building. She herself had even found it difficult; she'd taken out two guards before she even made it to the main security checkpoint. Either there was someone else inside helping him, or he was just really good. And while she wanted to believe it was the former, the thought of him having someone else on the inside was worrisome. If she was alone and he had help to take her down, she might be in trouble. The press of her knife against her inner thigh brought some comfort, but not enough to make her feel safe. She needed to do her job and get the hell out of there.
The first time they found themselves in bed together, it was an accident. Too much alcohol, not enough to do. It was a mistake, but not one either party was ashamed of. The second time was her idea, because what better way to stay warm? The third time their bodies fell together naturally, their sweaty limbs moving together as one. She lost count eventually, though she pretended she had all the receipts and lorded that over his head as a half hearted threat. It became a ritual for them, but neither would admit it was anything more than "something to pass the time ."
He still had not found her in the large crowd of people that only seemed to be growing. He managed to locate her target though, and he was sure that she was nowhere close by. He wondered if she could see him; the thought was unnerving. Wherever she was though, she was sure to be on high alert. She'd seen him, figured out what he was there for, and she knew that a blow to the head was enough to disorient him for long enough to get away. That all made her more dangerous, and probably more eager to get the job over and done with. He was running out of time fast.
The first time "I love you" falls from his lips it's in a joking matter after she takes a guard out with a single blow to the back. She brushes it off but he can't stop thinking about it, and what the hell it meant. He won't let himself believe he actually means it; he doesn't get that attached to anyone, not anymore. And if he were to let himself get into that again, it certainly wouldn't be with his partner. She pretends to forget, but the moment is tucked away into the back of her mind, a happy memory amongst a lifetime of bad ones. When she finally decides to say it back, she whispers it into his ear in the midst of their passion, and she is unsure if he is even aware. But he guesses what that breath against he eat means, and he remembers.
She is panicking now. Too much time has passed and the guests are starting to dissipate. If she does not act soon she will will either be caught in the act or unable to complete it. She cannot go back if he remains alive. She will die in his place. She had to act now, to secure her own survival.
Rings sparkle in the morning sun and he finds himself unable to walk by them yet again. A week earlier he spotted one that he knew she would like and he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it, about her. They spent all their time together now, it wouldn't be much different. The door swung open and he started to take a step forward when the gunshots started.
He can see that her steps are sloppy, that she's panicking. She wants to leave, but her mark is still breathing. The tiny knife glints in her left hand and he lives her up in his cross hairs. He barely blinks, afraid that she will disappear too quickly. The target converses with a young man in a wheelchair, who starts crying and murmurs "thank you" over and over. She stops, watching the exchange. The look on her face and the way her hand shakes tells him she did not know about this side of her target. He realises something, and when she lunges forward, his arrow does not go through her head. It lodges in her side and she cries out as she falls. He is down beside her in seconds, and though she is in pain she can still manage a laugh.
"Are you here to kill me, Agent Arrow?"
"It's Barton," he says as he hoists her into his arm. "And I'm not going to hurt you anymore, Natalia."
She dies in his arms, her blood warm and sticky on his hands as he cries and curses.