Title: Vietnam

Rating: T (Contains content not suitable for children, from fanfiction.net)

Characters: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Barton and Romanoff are partners, kind of friends, but mostly they're Hawkeye and Black Widow, SHIELD's most deadly duo. When tragedy strikes on a mission in Vientam, they're cut off from SHIELD and on the run. In order to survive, the two assassins must face everything they've been denying and must decide if they can really, truly, trust each other. Pre-Avengers, origin of BlackHawk

Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them

Author's note: This is one of several stories in a universe I've created on fanfiction.net. I'm going to be adding those stories here as I find the time.

Chapter Three: What About Now

Last Time:

From the cot across the room, Coulson listened. He'd woken to find them both gone. Unconcerned, because honestly, they were highly trained assassins, he'd waited for them to return. He hadn't expected them to return together. He hadn't expected them to have left together. He frowned slightly and hoped this wasn't heading where he thought it was heading. There were rules and protocols for that sort of thing.

Of course he knew exactly what Clint thought of rules and protocols.

There comes a point in your life when you realize who really matters, who never did, and who always will. –Unknown

"Clint?"

The archer looked up from where he was stretching, standing closer to the edge of the roof than anyone else ever would. Coulson came to stand next to him.

"What's up?"

"We need to talk," Coulson started.

"Okay." Clint straightened, granting him a confused look. "What's wrong?"

"Why does something have to be wrong?" Coulson frowned.

"You've got your 'something's wrong' face."

Coulson chose not to respond to that comment. Instead he said what he'd come to say.

"I want you to be careful."

Clint looked even more confused.

"I thought that went without saying these days, Phil."

"I meant with Romanoff."

Clint's expression suddenly closed off, which was more telling for Coulson than any words would be.

"What are you talking about?"

"I think you know." Coulson stared at him meaningfully.

Clint stared back, refusing to acknowledge any truth in Coulson's words.

"It's not a good idea."

Clint crossed his arms over his chest.

"You've got it wrong, Phil."

"Do I?" Coulson challenged, a hint of sarcasm sliding into his tone. "Don't play games with me Clint. I've seen the way you watch her."

Clint's jaw twitched and he shifted his gaze away from Coulson's. That was all the confession Phil needed. He sighed, not enjoying this any more than Clint.

"Just keep it professional, okay?"

Clint nodded, still not meeting his eyes, his arms still crossed defensively. Coulson tried, unsuccessfully to get him to look at him.

"Clint…"

"I get it, Phil," Clint snapped. "I get it," he repeated more calmly. Then he strode past him back towards the door.

"Clint!" Phil called after him, partly exasperated partly concerned.

"It's getting late, we need to get going," Clint tossed over his shoulder.

Coulson sighed in frustration. That had gone about as well as he'd hoped it would.

Clint was pulling his quiver into place when Coulson came back into the room. Natasha already had her pack in place on her back and her guns strapped to her thighs. She was eyeing Clint cautiously, his hard expression not having escaped her attention.

Clint swung his pack over his shoulder and moved towards the door.

"Let's go, we're wasting daylight."

Coulson caught his arm as he tried to pass.

"He'll meet you out there." He gave Natasha a meaningful look.

She nodded and slipped past them onto the roof.

"Clint…" Coulson started.

"I'm not an eighteen year old kid anymore, Phil," Clint interrupted.

Coulson drew back, surprised.

"I know that."

"I don't just do things without thinking about it first. And right now, the only thing I'm thinking about is the mission, okay?"

Coulson narrowed his eyes, studying Clint closely.

"I swear, Phil," Clint promised. "Whatever's in my head about her is on the way back burner, okay?"

The handler nodded and released Clint's arm.

"We'll check in when we get to the house."

Coulson nodded again and stepped to the side so Clint had a clean lane to the door.

"See you in a few days, Phil."

"Be safe," Phil demanded. "Both of you."

"Always." Clint smirked, clapping Coulson on the shoulder before striding out of the room.

Coulson watched him go, hoping that would be the end of whatever was brewing between the Hawk and the Widow.

Something told him it wasn't the end, though. Not even close.

"Everything okay?" Natasha asked as Clint joined her on the roof.

"Yeah. Phil can just be overprotective sometimes," he replied, leading the way to the edge of the roof.

"Overprotective? About what?" she wondered.

Clint shot her a sideways look.

"Nothing,"h replied. "Doesn't matter."

She dropped the subject and followed when he leapt to the next building. The continued in silence all the way out of the small coastal town and into the forest beyond it.

They'd been moving along in silence for several minutes before Clint spoke.

"So, you been to Vietnam before?" he asked.

He was honestly curious. Even after two years of partnership, he and Natasha didn't really talk. They communicated. They bantered. They teased. They asked questions and gave evasive answers. Sometimes. But they had never talked about anything personal. Not since those days in France three years ago when he'd decided not to kill her.

She glanced at him curiously.

"No," she admitted simply. She hesitated a moment before posing her own question. "How do you have a favorite place to eat everywhere we go?"

"I've traveled a lot," he responded evasively.

She rolled her eyes.

"And I really like food."

She grinned at that, hearing the smirk in his tone without seeing it.

"Where did you learn to cook?"

"Madrid," he answered, holding a branch out of the way for her.

A knowing gleam swept into her eyes and Clint cocked his head curiously.

"You've been?"

"Several times."

"Ever eat at La Toscana?"

He saw the memory light her eyes and knew she had. Her single nod of confirmation made it certain.

"That's my favorite," he continued with a wistful smile. Natasha couldn't help but quirk her lips at his expression. They continued in silence for a ways.

She glanced at him, watching him vault easily over a mess of fallen trees. She followed with the same ease. She wasn't surprised when he never pulled out their map, never fished the compass out of his pack, just moved without hesitation through the trees. He'd made this journey once before already, and that trip would have been when he used the navigation tools. He'd done it once now, so he just remembered.

He had the most uncanny sense of direction.

She reflected, as they walked, that it hadn't been unpleasant, talking about the countries they'd been to. The little restaurants Clint remembered and loved. It ignited a curiosity in her, a desire to know what places he liked in the other countries she'd visited. It had given her a little thrill to have him mention her favorite restaurant in Madrid.

It was something they had in common other than an innate ability to kill.

"Have you ever been to Moscow?" she asked without giving herself a chance to talk herself out of it. If he was surprised that she'd posed a question of her own, instigated the continuation of their conversation, he didn't show it. Though Clint's expression rarely showed anything, except when he was around Coulson.

"A few times," he smiled a little.

"There was this little place next to the river," she revealed, glancing at him to see if any sort of recognition lit his expression. His blue-grey eyes brightened and a smile curved his lips. She could only smile when he stated the name of the place she was remembering unerringly.

"Next time we're in Tokyo, I'm taking you there." Clint smiled as he led the way into the small clearing that housed the small cottage that was going to be their base of operations. "Here we are," he announced.

"Shall we?" She granted him a grin, an expression that had become easier over the last three hours as they hiked and talked about the many places they'd traveled and the different restaurants Clint loved and hated. The conversation had been almost comfortable.

Clint pulled the door open and gallantly held it back for her.

"After you."

He followed her through the doorway, pulling it closed firmly behind him.

It wasn't much. There was a back window that backed up almost directly to the trees. There was exactly one bed, big enough to hold them both if they didn't mind sleeping back to back with no room to move.

There were two windows in the front, both with no glass, no curtains, and no shutters. The kitchen consisted of a table. He'd seen a well outside and that would have to serve as their water source. No bathroom.

Clint watched Natasha walk around and inspect their new accommodations. If she was bothered by any of it, it didn't show. She started unpacking her weapons from her pack on the table, undoubtedly to clean them. Clint would do the same after he checked in.

He clicked on his ear piece as he watched her unpack weapons like the space in her pack was never ending. He had to give it to her. The woman knew her weapons. Clint knew his bow. He knew his sniper rifle. He knew how to operate handguns with his normal deadly accuracy and he liked to always have a knife on him. But Natasha, he reflected as she removed an unholy number of hidden knives from her person, knew how to use almost any weapon with a deadly subtlety. His subtlety stemmed from his distance from his targets. Natasha, conversely, could get close to anyone and kill them with almost any weapon. She could charm, seduce, and lie her way into any situation. Then kill whoever her target was and be gone before anyone even knew something was amiss. Nobody ever knew how dangerous she was until she delivered her deadly bite.

"We're at the secondary location," he announced over the comm line.

"A bit later than I expected," Coulson replied immediately.

"We took our time," Clint replied easily, dropping his pack on the floor and moving to look out the front window.

"What's your plan?"

"Rest up and make preparations for now. Do another round of surveillance tonight. Put together a plan and make our move in the morning."

Natasha came to stand with him.

"Keep me updated."

"You got it."

He clicked off the ear piece.

"Food first?" Natasha offered, holding out a MRE.

Clint took it with a slight grimace.

"It's all we have," She shrugged, moving back to the table and ripping into her own meal. Clint followed her, snagging his pack from the ground and moving to sit on the floor against the bed. He tore open his meal and took a bite, chewing as he spread his weapons out across the floor.

They both cleaned their diverse array of weapons in silence.

"That's a beautiful knife," Natasha stated suddenly.

Clint looked up, his eyes taking a moment to focus on her. She wondered idly what he'd been thinking about. He looked down at the knife he'd been polishing.

"Phil gave it to me last year to commemorate 5 years of being at SHIELD," he explained with a small, genuine smile. "Never leave home without it."

Natasha felt her own lips quirk in a similar smile. That was sweet in the way only a deadly assassin could be. She watched Clint admire the weapon for a moment before sliding it back into its sheath. She wondered what it would be like, to have someone so important to you that a simple knife became a treasured possession.

"How did you meet Agent Coulson?" she asked suddenly, unsure why she'd blurted the question that had been floating through her mind.

"Well, he cornered me in an alley in Vienna and proceeded to kick my ass. Then he invited me to join SHIELD."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. That sounded like a painfully simplified version of what was probably a very interesting story. She supposed she shouldn't have expected any different. She would have answered with the same simplicity had the questioning been reversed.

Maybe one day she'd get the whole story and finally start to understand the brotherhood between her partner and their handler. She wasn't holding her breath, though. Clint was as cagey about his past as she was. It was too personal of a thing to tell just anyone. Like first names. She knew his to be Clint, but she'd never addressed him as such. He was Barton or Hawkeye. They were partners, trusted enough not to kill each other in their sleep and to prevent anyone else from doing so, but not truly trusted. Not the real, deep trust that ran so think between the Hawk and Coulson.

That kind of trust was formed in fire.

"We'd have to take out two teams of guards if we want to get in," Clint sighed, lowering his binoculars. "There's no way around it."

"Then we have the issue of them being missed," Natasha pointed out, lowering her binoculars and looking over at him.

Clint sighed.

"Yeah."

"We've infiltrated more heavily guarded compounds."

He tilted his head in agreement.

They'd been watching the compound for three hours now. They'd made the trek as night was falling so they were protected by the darkness as they watched. They were laid out side by side on their stomachs at the very edge of the tree line. Their vantage point was risky, because the guards kept their eyes on the tree line almost incessantly. They'd had to wait for forty five minutes for the guards to change before they could get into position during the 30 second window when the two new guards were approaching and the two old guards had turned to walk away.

Needless to say, they couldn't move much now that they were in position. Natasha's fire colored hair was pulled back in a messy, low bun at the base of her neck and a black beanie covered the rest of it. Clint had a black baseball hat turned backwards to cover his sandy blonde hair. They both had black paint smeared on their faces, black fingerless gloves, long sleeved black shirts and black pants. Unless someone was already looking for them, they wouldn't be seen in the darkness of the night unless they drew attention to themselves by moving around too much.

"Do you see that?" Clint squinted out at the water. Natasha turned her green gaze to try and see what he was asking about.

"Is that a boat?"

"It's coming into their dock." Clint frowned. He brought his binoculars back up and Natasha did the same. "Jesus, those are cages."

"Empty," Natasha noticed.

"Must be a pick up." Clint sighed. "I fuckin' hate slave traders."

"Look," She nodded towards the compound, "I think that's our main man."

Clint turned his binoculars to watch the man that was striding across the yard towards the dock. He'd studied Alan Carter's picture enough to know it was him.

"Oh that's the ass hat alright," Clint agreed. They watched him shake hands with the man that stepped off the newly docked boat. They talked with familiarity for several minutes.

"What are they saying?" Natasha asked, knowing her partner would be tracking the conversation to the best of his lip reading ability.

"Pleasantries," he replied, binoculars trained on the two men. "Carter's asking about the trip. The other is asking about the weather. Could these two be anymore fake? Even I can tell they can barely stand each other. Okay, the new player is asking about the shipment." Clint scowled. "Shipment? Grow a pair shit head and call it what it is."

"Shit Head and Ass Hat. What a pair." Natasha smirked.

"They deserve each other," Clint agreed. "Okay, Ass Hat is asking for the payment. That bag looks heavy." They watched Carter have one of his men check the duffle full of money. "Shit Head is demanding the product."

Carter raised a radio to his mouth, blocking Clint's view.

"Door is opening," Natasha announced. Her breath caught sharply a moment later. "Barton."

"What is it?" he asked sharply, hearing horror and anger in her tone. He shifted to see what she was seeing. "Shit."

"Barton, those are children."

Clint watched in horrified silence as a group of twenty children of varied races were marched across the yard and herded into the cages on the boat. Natasha was equally affected. They didn't speak again until the boat had pulled away from the dock and was sailing away.

"There are probably more children inside," Natasha pointed out with forced calm.

"Yeah," Clint agreed, glaring at Carter through his binoculars as the man returned to the building and disappeared inside.

"This mission is to destroy the base. Captives are a secondary priority."

"Uh-huh," Clint grunted, turning his gaze to the guards nearest them. They would change shifts in just a few minutes.

"What do we do?" she asked, because there was no way they were sticking with the mission parameters.

Clint lowered his binoculars, but continued to watch the compound with a dark glare.

"We change our priorities."

Natasha blinked at the heat in his tone. It wasn't often that Barton let emotions cloud his judgment. He was the most patient and collect person she knew, besides Coulson. But there was emotion in every part of his expression now. She knew her own expression was similar.

Children were a weakness for both of them apparently.

"We're going to get whatever kids are left in there out and to safety. And then we're going to come back and burn that place to the ground," he decided. "The guards are changing, let's go."

Natasha moved with him and waited until they were a distance away before speaking.

"I wish we could do something now," she stated angrily.

"You're not alone in that," Clint assured. "But if I learned one thing over the last six years with SHIELD, it's that acting rashly only gets you into deep shit."

"And turning this into a rescue mission isn't rash?" she shot back.

"It's a calculated risk, worth the possible result," he replied.

She didn't disagree.

"If we do this, Fury is going to be pissed," she pointed out.

"Wouldn't be the first time I pissed the man off." Clint managed a smirk, giving her a meaningful look. "It was worth it last time."

Natasha was grateful he turned to face forward again and didn't see the flush that rose on her cheeks at the compliment. She knew all too well what Clint had risked the night he decided to bring her in instead of kill her. He had risked his career, his life, and perhaps most importantly to him, his relationship with his handler. Coulson had been just as furious with him as Fury. At first. But it was no secret that the handler had a soft spot for SHIELD's resident archer. It had turned out alright in the end, but she knew it hadn't been a decision Clint had made lightly.

"We're still completing the mission," Natasha reasoned. "Just with a few modifications."

"Yeah. I'm sure if I tell Fury that, he won't be pissed at all."

She grinned at his sarcasm, glad he was finding something to lighten the situation. Because the truth was, they were breaking protocol in the worst fashion and they were doing it blatantly. Coulson had always backed their play, but she knew, and she knew Clint knew, that his protection could only go so far. He wouldn't be able to protect them from this. Just like he hadn't been able to protect Clint when he went against the entire agency to bring her in.

"Coulson will back you, Barton," she assured quietly.

Clint sighed deeply as he walked and his shoulders sagged.

"That's what I'm worried about."

Clint knew Phil would back him no matter what. And in doing so, put his own position at SHIELD at risk. He hated putting his friend in that position. But he couldn't just stand by and let kids get traded and killed. He had to do something.

He knew Phil would understand for better or worse.

He tapped his communicator as soon as they walked into the safe house.

"Phil."

"How'd it go?" His handler sounded unreasonably tense, as if he knew something terrible had happened.

"We've got a problem."

"What happened?"

"They're trafficking kids, Phil," Clint revealed quietly.

There was silence over the comm and Clint glanced at Natasha who had turned on her own earpiece and was standing next to him.

"Clint, I can't say what you want me to say. You know the mission."

"I know, but..."

"No buts, Clint. Captives are second priority. I'm sorry."

"Phil," Clint snapped, "stop toeing the line for a second and think about what you're telling me to do."

"Sometimes the job calls for making hard choices."

"We can't just sentence them to death," Natasha put in quietly.

"You'd be going against direct orders. Clint, you already have a strike against you. And Romanoff, the Council is just waiting for a reason to turn you from asset to threat."

"We have to do this, Phil," Clint stated resolutely.

"If you do and something goes wrong, I don't know if I can protect you Clint, either of you."

"I know and I won't ask you to, Phil."

"You've never had to ask me to." The affection in Phil's tone was obvious to both assassins. It made Clint feel worse for the position they were putting him in.

"I know," Clint responded quietly. Natasha quietly pulled her ear piece from her ear and showed it to Clint. He watched her slide it into her pocket. "I'm sorry for putting you in this position again," he said as he watched her move away to give him a measure of privacy.

"You just do what you have to do. Do you two have a plan?"

"Not yet."

"Will you tell me when you do?"

"Sorry," Clint denied. "But this way if Fury calls, you can honestly say you don't know what we're up to."

"You don't have to protect me."

"Maybe it's my turn to be the one looking out for you." Clint smiled sadly. "Phil..."

"Everything will be okay, Clint. You two are the best SHIELD has and you'll figure something out."

"I'm sorry. Looks like I'm falling into old habits."

"Don't ever apologize for being the best version of yourself. I'm proud of you, Clint."

Clint felt his eyes start stinging and turned towards the window so his back was to Natasha.

"You just look out for yourself and for your partner. And be careful."

"Always." He clicked off his ear piece, feeling like he was eighteen again and realizing that he had found someone he could trust for the first time in too long.

"Everything okay?" Natasha asked quietly.

Clint kept his back to her until he had his emotions back under control.

"He said to do what we had to do," He stated, finally turning back around.

"Then we need a hell of a plan."

End of Chapter 3

The next chapter is fairly intense and emotional for our two assassins, so be warned.

Comments are always welcome

Here's your preview. Please treat it as a warning for what is coming in the next chapter and prepare yourselves.

Clint felt his breath leave his body, his eyes prick, and his throat tighten painfully.

"T-thank you, Haw-Hawkeye." Malik's eyes tightened in pain and he gasped.

"Malik." Clint gripped his hand tighter, ignoring the bullets ripping into the earth around him. He watched the boy gasp and cough and then grow terrifyingly still. Clint gasped a horrified breath, staring at the blank gaze.