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It's not often that Jason is surprised anymore. Disgusted, yes; exasperated, too many times; bewildered, often around Dick. Surprised though? He can't rightly remember when that happened last. But when he wakes up to a bleeding woman falling through his impenetrable safe house's window, he's shocked.
Which only increases when the woman unarms him and holds his own knife to his throat within two seconds after entering.
"Who are you?" It's obvious it's taking everything she's got to keep upright, and that she even is upright is a miracle in itself.
This can only be one person; one who deserves the utmost respect. Plus Clint will be very upset if he doesn't help her.
Jason holds up his hands. "I'm Jason. Clint let me stay. Let me help." Neutral facts, plainly stated. It's enough for the Widow to nod once, and then she sags against Jason like her strings have been cut. She weighs almost nothing, and he scoops her into a bridal carry to patch her up.
She has a bad stab wound in her side, next to various smaller wounds and what appear to be burns from some kind of energy weapon. He would've called Leslie, but he doesn't know if Romanov would appreciate a third party. So he staunches the bleeding and stitches her up as best he can.
It still takes her longer to come back to consciousness than he would've liked. And of course it happens when he's out.
When he comes back from a supply run, the apartment is empty.
A few months later, she drops in again. This time Clint is in the shower, and she comes in through the door. She doesn't even blink at the twin set of Sigs aimed at her head. Instead she throws a package at Jason that he barely catches.
"To say thank you."
He opens it to find it's a first edition of Huxley's Brave New World. When he looks up to thank her, she's gone again.
The first time she stays is when Clint is hurt. Hurt in a way that he can't easily walk off, that is, not his run of the mill kind of hurt. She actually rings the doorbell and even waits for Jason to open it, before pushing a pastry box into Jason's hands and slipping past him into the apartment and into the bedroom.
He finds her in his bed, curled completely around a sleeping Clint, singing a Russian lullaby while carding her fingers through the part of Clint's hair that isn't covered by bandages. She looks small like this, almost fragile. The most human he has seen her thus far.
For a second she looks unsure, perhaps waiting for him to kick her out, before her perfect poise returns. He knows it's all an act, that manipulation is her second nature. He doesn't begrudge her. She's as much a product of her past as he is.
He shows the mug of tea he brought her, and puts it on the nightstand to cool.
She doesn't move away when he bends down to press a kiss to Clint's cheek, and for a moment Jason can imagine what it'll feel like to move a little forward and kiss hers too. He doesn't of course, but it doesn't seem so far out of reach either.
He straightens, and with a small nod her way, he leaves the room. There's no one he'd trust more to guard Clint.