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.

Warning! This chapter has some very intense and tragic content including harming of children.

Chapter 4: What About Today

Last Time:

"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."

"I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together." -Lisa Kleypas

Natasha reached to rub her eyes, wishing they would focus. She was exhausted though. She and Clint hadn't slept. They'd gotten back from their horrifying surveillance run a few hours before dawn. They'd spent the rest of the night and most of the day trying to figure out a plan that they both didn't think would end up getting them and all the kids killed. It was almost four in the afternoon now and they'd finally agreed upon a course of action.

She glanced at Clint.

He was staring at the drawing of the compound they'd created, but he wasn't seeing it. His storm colored gaze was distant and troubled. Exhaustion lined his features and she had to resist the urge to rub away a bit of the black paint he'd missed on his temple when he'd washed up.

"Barton," she called out, watching him blink and his gaze slowly focus. He looked up at her with question in his eyes. "We need to get some sleep or we'll risk exhaustion making us sloppy."

He nodded, standing and moving over to his pack. He dropped down onto the dirt floor and stretched out, his head pillowed on the pack.

"You won't be rested sleeping on the floor," Natasha pointed out, moving over to the bed. "We can share the bed."

"It's barely big enough for one person to lay on it and breathe too deeply," Clint pointed out.

"We'll be fine if we sleep back to back," sShe insisted. "We can't afford to make any mistakes tonight, Barton. Just get in the bed."

Clint sighed and pushed himself up off the floor. He dusted himself off and moved to the bed. He stretched out next to the red haired assassin, curling his arm under his head, and putting his back to her. She stretched out as well, mirroring his position so their bodies were flush to each other from back to hip.

Clint clenched his jaw, breathing out deeply and forcing himself to ignore the heat of her body at his back. He was suddenly thrilled that he was so exhausted because it wasn't long until he drifted to sleep, his last thoughts on trying not to think about the beautiful woman sleeping next to him.

Natasha listened to Clint's breathing even out and felt his body relax behind her. She closed her eyes, calming her own breathing and focusing on anything other than the man sleeping behind her.

Natasha woke slowly, unusual for her. She usually woke suddenly and snapped into awareness almost instantly. But her mind was moving sluggishly. It probably had something to do with the warmth that surrounded her, the security of the strong arm around her.

Her eyes flashed open.

She glanced down, careful to keep her body relaxed and not to change her breathing. A tanned, lithely muscled arm was wrapped around her upper body, its hand curled loosely around her wrist. She felt soft breaths ghosting across the back of her neck through her hair.

Her mind raced. She didn't know what to do. If she moved, he would wake up and then they'd both have to deal with the awkwardness of the situation. He wouldn't sleep much longer, she was sure, he had a scarily accurate internal clock that was almost as good as hers. So she bit her lip and waited.

She felt him stir a few minutes later and she quickly closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

Clint stirred into awareness, instinctively tightening his arm around the warm mass against his chest. He tensed, eyes snapping open. His vision was filled with red.

He drew his head back, recognizing Natasha's fiery hair. His gaze traveled down the curve of her neck, over her shoulder, and to his arm that was wrapped around her. He closed his eyes and cursed in his head. She would kill him. She would literally take his life if she woke up and he was still laying here. Slowly, he pulled his arm back and rolled carefully away. He sat up, putting his back to her. She still slept on unaware.

He glanced over his shoulder at her, watching the gentle rise and fall of her ribs as she breathed. Her hair was fanned out across the thin, barely soft enough to be considered cushion at all, mattress. He inhaled deeply, remembering suddenly the smell of that hair. Vanilla mixed with sweat and gunpowder. It was so Natasha and he resisted the urge to inhale the scent again.

He snapped his eyes open, not realizing he'd closed them.

Not a good road, Clint.

He stood abruptly and moved away from the bed. Where were cold showers when you needed them. He needed to move, to run, or to climb. He needed to get out of this little house. He was at the door in four strides.

Natasha sat up slowly after the door closed behind him, rubbing her arms slightly. She'd felt the loss of warmth the moment Clint had rolled away from her. She shook herself and told herself to stop being ridiculous. Her body had simply acclimated to the heat of his body and when he'd moved it hadn't been prepared for the loss of physical warmth. That was all it was.

He returned twenty minutes later, dripping with sweat, but looking relaxed.

"It's almost midnight," Natasha stated as a greeting. "We should get going."

He nodded, reaching for his bow and quiver.

"Sleep alright?" he asked. Something flashed across her emerald eyes, but it was gone before he could identify it.

"Slept fine," she replied. Better than I have in a long time. "You?"

"Fine." He nodded. I haven't slept that well since I was six years old. "Ready?"

She nodded once and they left the hut together. The trek to the compound was made in silence. Both of them were focused on reviewing their parts in the plan. They couldn't afford to make a mistake. More than their lives depended on it.

They crouched together behind a tree; Clint raised his binoculars, watching the guards change shifts. He waited for the relieved guards to return to the compound.

"Okay. Are you ready?"

"I'm ready," Natasha assured, pulling her hair out of its tie and running her hands through it so it fell in long curls. She reached for the zipper at the front of her uniform and pulled it down so her cleavage was prominent enough that she knew it would draw attention.

"Alright. Be…" Clint turned back to look at her and had to swallow suddenly and clear his throat before continuing. "Be careful."

Natasha arched a delicate eyebrow.

"I was doing this before you even picked up a bow, Barton."

Clint smirked the kind of smirk he usually reserved for their enemies when he knew something they didn't.

"Whatever you say, Romanoff."

She narrowed her eyes at him and then stood, striding towards the compound.

Clint watched her walk, knew she was putting extra sway in her hips for the benefit of the ruse.

Those four guards don't stand a chance.

Scott Jackson raised his gun when he saw movement in the trees and nudged his partner Matt.

"What the hell?" Scott breathed, watching what might have been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen move out of the trees and towards their position.

"Who the hell is that?" Matt asked in the same breathless tone.

The red haired beauty stopped on the other side of the gate and then casually looked straight at them, then at the two guards at the opposite corner of the compound, Jacob and Miles.

"Don't move," Scott ordered as he and Matt approached with guns raised. Jacob and Miles mirrored them and the four of them reached the gate at the same time.

The woman smirked, raising her hands in a show of surrender.

"Calm down, boys, I'm not looking for any trouble," she purred, meeting each of their eyes individually.

"This is private property," Matt pointed out, even though he'd already lowered his gun. The other three men's guns were already loose at their sides.

"Oh is it? I didn't know." She smiled seductively. "Maybe one of you boys could show me the way back."

"I'll escort you back to the edge of the property," Scott volunteered, pushing a key into the gate lock.

"Scott," Matt hissed. Jacob and Miles both raised their guns.

"I can't just let her wander around in the woods by herself. She could get hurt."

Natasha watched the gate swing open and smirked.

"On second thought, I think I think I'm in the right place after all," she purred.

Scott was half a step through the gate when it slammed back against his forehead. Natasha pulled the gate back and took two running steps at Matt. She jumped wrapping her legs around his neck. Then she threw her body backwards, putting her hands on the ground and forcefully pulling Matt up and over her with her legs. Hit hit hard and lay unmoving.

Natasha was already up and moving at Jacob. She knocked away the gun he'd raised, pulled his shooting arm straight and slammed her palm into the back of his elbow, bending the joint inward. She wrapped her hand around his mouth, quelling the scream of pain and put her other hand on the crown of his head. She twisted sharply, moving at Miles even as Jacob fell. His mouth was gaping and his gun had dropped minutely. Natasha kicked it out of his hand and twisted into a reverse spin kick, slamming her heel into his temple. He staggered and she advanced driving her fist into his exposed throat and then kicking his legs out from under him so he lay gasping for air, but unable to draw it in.

She turned back to Scott. He was pushing himself to his knees. She ran at him, sliding down like a baseball player sliding into home and slammed her boot into his crotch. He gasped and she twisted her legs up and around his neck and then twisted her body around. The contraction and movement of her legs broke his neck.

She kicked the body away and rose gracefully to her feet as Clint sprinted towards her from the trees. He immediately wrapped a hand in the collars of two of them and started dragging them towards the compound. Natasha closed the gate, careful to leave the lock open, and did the same. They rested the four bodies against the wall next to the door. Clint slid her gun holsters off his shoulder and held them out to her.

"Nicely done," he complimented as she quickly and efficiently strapped them back into place. She raised her sharp green eyes up to his and smirked.

"Didn't even break a sweat."

Clint laughed quietly.

"We have a little less than two hours. Let's move," Clint whispered, leading the way to the nearest door. He pressed his body against the wall next to it and nodded at Natasha as he snapped his bow out to full form and drew an arrow. She nodded back and pulled the door open. Clint raised his drawn arrow and led the way inside.

"Barton," she hissed, nodding up at the large vent cover a few feet down the dark hallway, positioned high on the wall.

"Go," he instructed, leading the way. He slid his arrow back into the quiver and returned his bow to its hiding place. Then he interlocked his fingers and nodded to her. She put her boot in his hands and he lifted her easily, guiding her second boot to his shoulder.

She had the vent cover off in seconds and slid it into the vent. He gave her an extra push so she was able to climb into the large duct. Clint watched her boots disappear. He glanced around, waiting. A moment later her head appeared out of the duct and she reached an arm down. He took a deep breath and jumped, digging his boot into the wall. She caught his elbow and guided his hand to the edge of the vent. Then she shimmied backwards as he hooked his other arm over the edge and grunted as he levered himself into the vent. She had to admire his upper body strength. But she supposed he was an expert at crawling in and out of vents. He replaced the vent cover and nodded to her. Silently, they moved.

Malik sniffled, looking around at the other children locked in the large cage with him. They were all huddled somewhere or with someone. There were only eighteen of them now. The bad man had taken away the rest of the kids last night. He felt his throat tighten and bit his lip as a single tear leaked out of his eyes. He didn't want the mad man to take him away too or any of the other kids.

One of the other children whispered something suddenly, staring intently at the single guard playing cards in the room with them.

Malik craned his neck and realized the little girl wasn't looking at the guard; she was looking at the air vent on the wall behind the guard. He watched with wide eyes as the vent silently pushed out and then disappeared back into the vent. His jaw dropped in awe as a blonde man leaned out of the vent, bending at the waist with his hands locked around the edge of the vent. Slowly and silently, his body flipped, his legs sliding out of the vent and his feet angling towards the ground. He released the vent and completed the flip, dropping soundlessly to the ground.

The guard flipped a playing card over and cursed, shaking his head in disappoint meant.

"Don't you know, you shouldn't swear in front of children?"

The mysterious man in black hissed at the guard's ear. Before guard could turn around the man had snapped his neck. He moved towards them quickly even as another mysterious figure slid silently out of the vent. Malik's eyes widened. He had never seen hair so red.

The red headed woman moved swiftly to the cage, kneeling in front of the lock and pushing two small metal objects into it. The man stood next to her, looking at them all carefully. He said something suddenly and it took Malik a moment to process the words.

"Does anyone speak English?"

Malik and several other children slowly raised their hands. The man's piercing blue and grey eyes locked on him, though.

"What's your name?"

Malik licked his lips and responded, cursing the tremor in his voice.

"Malik."

"Malik, we're here to help you." The lock suddenly sprang open and then the man was inside the cage. The children retreated to the corner of the area, but Malik held his ground, watching with wide eyes as the man approached him.

"Help us?" Malik repeated in shock.

"Yes. I need you to do me a favor, can you do that?"

Malik nodded slowly.

"I need you to help us get these kids out of here. Can you do that? Help us keep them calm and moving?"

Malik nodded again, more enthusiastically this time. Realizing he was talking to his savior.

"Okay, good, because we need to move quickly."

"Some are small," Malik pointed out. "And will not be able to move quickly."

The man nodded.

"We need the bigger kids to help them."

Malik nodded and then moved to the group of children.

"They are here to help us," Malik told them. "We must go quickly and they will protect us."

The children nodded excitedly.

"Come." Malik motioned them to follow. "Older boys help the smaller children. We must move quickly."

Clint motioned everyone to a stop at the end of the hallway. He shifted the terrifyingly thin little boy on his hip and looked carefully around the corner. It was clear. The door was in sight. He'd taken the lead as they'd moved through the compound and Natasha had brought up there rear. She'd had to take out three men already and he'd had to deal with two. It had been a trick with a little boy clinging to him in terror.

"Let's go." Clint led the way, he heard Malik whisper to the group to hurry and follow. The little boy couldn't have been more than twelve. But he was strong. He was a protector by nature and the rest of the children seemed to look up to him.

Clint stopped at the door and motioned Malik forward.

"Take him. I need both my hands," he whispered.

Malik nodded and obeyed immediately, pulling the small boy into his arms. Clint slid out of his combat vest and slid it around the little boy's shoulders. Malik helped the child's arms through it. The Kevlar plates would hopefully keep the child safe if anything went wrong.

"Who are you?" Malik asked quickly as Clint pulled his bow from behind his back and snapped it out into full form. He tossed Malik a quick grin.

"Call me Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye," Malik repeated reverently.

Clint gave him an encouraging wink and then nodded to Natasha. She nodded back. She was ready. Clint pushed the door open. And raised his bow, stringing an arrow as he moved. He kept it up and pulled back to his cheek until they reached the gate. Then he pulled the gate open and herded the children out. When Natasha was through, he pulled the gate closed and reached through to snap the lock back into place.

He jogged to catch up with her.

"Слишком просто," (That was too easy.) she whispered in Russian, not wanting to scare the children but knowing he'd understand.

"Знаю," (I know.) he agreed heavily. "Нужно уходить. Быстро." (We need to move fast.)

She nodded and he moved up to the front of the small group.

He was about to take the small boy back from Malik when he heard it. The alarm back at the compound. Time was up.

"Run!" he barked, urging all the children forward. He moved back to the rear of the group. "Romanoff, take point. I'll try and buy us some time," he announced as he pulled out his bow and strung an arrow. She nodded, sprinting ahead.

Clint loosed an arrow at the first man he saw through the trees. They'd obviously seen the unguarded gate and deduced which direction they'd fled. The man fell back with a cry of pain, but half a dozen more appeared behind him.

Clint pressed the button on his quiver to shift the arrow heads. He pulled it calmly, strung it, pulled back, and fired. Then he dropped to a crouch and curled his hands over his head. The explosion knocked him onto his back. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, watching a tree fall back, taking out another man as it fell. More men flooded the trees. There were too many.

He pushed himself to his feet, drew another explosive arrow and fired it. Eight more men fell dead with the explosion. Clint cursed, knowing he couldn't stop them all.

He and Natasha had made a grievous tactical error. They'd had no idea how many men Carter had in that compound so they'd hinged their plan on getting in and out before anyone noticed the kids were gone. They'd failed.

He fired one more explosive arrow and ran. He caught up to the group quickly, that was bad. Because that meant the small army of mercenaries chasing them would catch up too. The kids were undernourished, scared, and half of them were barely nine years old. They just weren't strong enough to move quickly enough to escape.

"Они догоняют," (They're gaining.) he announced over his comms with Natasha, sticking to Russian. The kids were scared enough.

"Сколько у нас времени?" (How much time do we have?) she asked.

"Пара минут. Может меньше." (Minutes. Maybe less.)

She cursed.

Clint heard a sound behind him, turned and loosed an arrow before the man could take another step. His sharp eyes caught sight of several of the mercenaries moving around to their right in the trees.

"Они окружают нас." (They're flanking us.)

"Ров совсем рядом, мы успеем." (The ditch is just ahead, we can make it.)Natasha replied sharply.

They'd spotted the ditch on their way to the compound. If they could get the kids into the ditch, they could protect them from gunfire. Hopefully long enough to take out the men chasing them. It had been their backup plan in case this happened. Clint had had a feeling when they'd set that backup plan in place, that they were going to need it.

They almost made it.

Natasha could see the dip in the ground ahead of her when the sound of automatic gunfire ripped through the air. She ducked instinctively, and drew her side arm. She fired at the first man she saw and spun behind a tree for cover. She reached out and grabbed a little girl's arm, pulling her towards her and to safety, but a bullet ripped through the child's chest before she could pull her behind the tree.

Natasha gasped in horror, her green eyes wide. Then she clenched her jaw, drew her second gun and slid from her cover, firing as she moved. She took refuge behind another tree, scanning the area for her partner. She saw him twenty feet to her left. He was standing, a small boy sheltered behind his legs, firing arrows more rapidly that should have been possible. He slowly backed up, using his legs to nudge the little boy backwards until he could duck behind a tree. She heard him instruct the boy to stay there over the comms. Then he was up and firing again.

It was then that she saw the children. They were running away, straight back from the gunfire. They weren't getting themselves out of the line of fire, just prolonging the length of time it took the bullet to reach them.

Her eyes darkened. She spun out from behind her tree and killed six different men with six different bullets before they even knew she'd moved.

"Malik!"

She ducked behind a tree, turning at Clint's voice to see him sprinting the short distance to the boy's side. He had fallen to his knees. His back turned as he tried to shield the little boy in his arms. There were two red stains spreading across his back. Natasha closed her eyes in grief, feeling a wave of desperate anger sweep through her. She spun from her cover, firing to cover Clint.

Clint slid to his knees next to Malik, catching the boy as he listed to the side and dragging him behind a tree, the tiny child still clutched in his arms.

"Malik!" Clint called, propping the boy against the tree.

His eyes widened when he pulled the tiny boy out of his arms. The bullets that had hit Malik in the back had passed straight through him and into the child and through him to lodge in the back of Clint's vest that had been draped over his shoulders.

"No!" Clint gasped, staring at the brave child gasping against the tree and then back at the too small little boy in his arms. A small dark skinned hand suddenly rested on Clint's. He raised his horrified eyes to Malik. The boy coughed, blood bubbling at his lips.

"It is okay, Hawkeye," the boy gasped.

"Malik." Clint didn't know what he was going to say. The boy was dying and Clint couldn't stop it. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Malik's eyes were confused.

"I didn't protect you. I didn't protect any of you." Clint gripped the boy's hand in his own, willing his own strength into the child. Malik's dark eyes were terribly old and serious as he stared back at him.

"Y-you saved me," he stuttered, coughing more blood onto his chin. "You s-saved us all."

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.

Hands were suddenly on his arm, pulling him back.

"Barton!" Natasha barked, pulling him away from Malik. "We have to go! It's too late!"

He raised horrified blue-grey eyes to hers.

"It's too late," she repeated, her tone broken. He let her pull him up and together they turned and ran, instinctively dodging behind trees to be protected from the gunfire that followed them. Neither of them could bring themselves to look at the small bodies that littered the ground they covered. They just kept running, until the gunfire faded and the bodies were gone and it was just them.

Just them running.

They didn't stop until exhaustion forced them to. Natasha slowed abruptly, her hands going to her knees. Clint, a step ahead of her, skidded to a sudden halt, leaning heavily against a tree. A moment later, he slid down the tree, his legs unable to hold him up.

Natasha sank to the ground in a similar fashion.

"What did we just do?" she gasped, forcing the moisture in her eyes away.

"We tried to save them, Romanoff. We tried," Clint forced out, closing his eyes and seeing Malik. Seeing him gasping for his last breath and thanking him. Thanking him even though he was dying. Clint's chest tightened.

Natasha nodded, drawing in a shuttering breath. She covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes clenched closed. She steeled herself and lowered the hand.

"We need to keep moving," she managed around shaky breathing. When Clint didn't respond, she glanced at him. He was staring at something on his shaking hands. She crawled towards him. His hands were covered in blood. Malik's blood.

Slowly, she reached out and covered his hands with her own.

"Barton," she called gently.

His eyes rose to hers and she swallowed. She expected her eyes were reflecting the emotion his held. Devastation.

"We have to go," she stated carefully.

Clint nodded, closing his eyes and forcing out a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he was locked down. No emotion. Natasha forced her expression to go blank as well. He pushed himself up and she rose with him. He leaned over to pick up his bow where he'd dropped it when he'd collapsed against the tree.

"Let's go." He started away from the tree. "Once we get back to the house, we can contact Phil. Until we're near the booster in your pack the signal won't be strong enough."

She nodded. She knew all of that. But she had a feeling Clint just needed to assert some sort of control over the situation. She understood all too well and followed him back in the direction of the safe house.

They were exhausted, both emotionally and physically, when they exited the trees into the small clearing that surrounded their little shack. Natasha couldn't believe they'd just been here a few hours ago. It seemed like a lifetime had passed.

Clint tapped his earpiece as soon as they were in the clearing and he knew the booster would be able to pick up the frequency of his comms.

"Phil."

"Clint? What's wrong?" Phil demanded, having heard Clint's tone.

"They're all dead," Clint stated bluntly. He felt emotion well in him again and he stopped walking. Needing to collect himself. Natasha stopped next to him, her eyes concerned.

"Who's all dead?"

"The ki-"

They were blown off their feet and slammed into the ground hard as the small shack they would have been standing in if they hadn't stopped walking, exploded.

End of Chapter 4

I know. I'm a horrible person. But did you really see them succeeding? There's a reason this mission changed everything between our two assassins. I'm sorry if I've upset anyone.

Here's your preview

"I believe trust is earned," she insisted, crossing her arms defensively.

"It is," he agreed with a slight inclination of his head, "at first. But there comes a point where trust becomes a choice. A point where you have to decide if it's worth it. Where you have to be all in, no matter what."

"Was it worth it? With Coulson?" She wished her voice wasn't so vulnerable.

"For every second of my life since, it's been worth it," he stated firmly.