A Gift From: CharmingAlias or charmingalias4
Type Of Gift: Fic
Title: Because I Can
A Gift For: findthesea
Rating: PG13
Warnings: NA
Summary/Prompt Used:
1) Budapest (what really happened)
2) "Agent Barton was sent to kill me - he made a different call"
and a little start of
3) Pre-Avengers - Clint/Natasha on a mission, learning how to trust one another
Author's Note: Thanks to alphaflyer for the great beta work.



“Right come on, who’s next?” Tony asks as he downs another shot of the sixty-six year old, $460,000 Macallan whisky like it was nothing. He gives a drunken smile as he looks around the table situated in the rubble of what was once the living room of Stark Tower.

“I think that would be Thor,” Natasha answers, downing her own drink with a smirk. Only Tony Stark would drink the world’s most expensive Scottish whisky like it was cheap shots from a dive bar. On days like this she is secretly glad of her Russian heritage; she knows she can handle her liquor and drink any of these guys under the table -- maybe with the exception of Thor, who is more a god than a guy.

“Alright, Thor,” Tony gives the man sitting opposite him a sly grin. “Truth or Dare?”

“I still do not understand the point of this game,” Thor answers, taking another drink of his beer.

“It’s simple,” replies Tony. “S.H.I.E.L.D. wants us to ‘get to know’ each other, and asking each other questions over a few drinks is a good way of doing that.”

“Questions yes, but where I come from, making people do stupid tasks when they have consumed too much mead is for merriment, not to ‘get to know’them.”

“It works that way here as well Thor,” Steve interjects. “I think Tony just wants to have a little fun at our expense while we ‘get to know’ each other.”

“I’m not denying it’s fun, but we can also test each other’s limits. There is something about making an idiot out of yourself in front of each other that can bond people together.”

“You’d know, wouldn’t you Tony?” Clint grins at him.

“I’ll have you know I never make an idiot of myself.” Tony sits up straight and tries to pretend to be serious, which is impossible since he’s about twenty fingers deep into the whisky bottle, “I just have gravitas. I’m a spectacle people can’t wait to be around.”

“Yeah, or people can’t wait to get around you and run away,” Natasha laughs as she shakes her head, remembering the first time she met the genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. All she had wanted to do was to get the hell away from him as soon as possible.

“I second that statement,” Bruce pipes up from the seat next to Tony, who tries to give him a death glare. But since a drunk Tony isn’t an intimidating Tony, the look just causes everyone to laugh.

“Anyway,” Tony shouts over the laughter, “Thor, it’s your turn, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Okay, hmm, let me think.” Tony taps his fingers on his chin as he ponders a question for the god-like man sitting before him. “I got it,” he smirks, watching Steve and Bruce out the corner of his eye. He waits until Steve takes a drink of his beer then continues, “can I rouse your hammer?”

Clint and Natasha share a small smile while Bruce shakes his head, but Thor turns from Tony to Steve with a look of confusion as Steve’s beer promptly gets sprayed all over the table.

“Are you alright my friend?” he questions Steve, who just shakes his head and looks at Tony.

“Yeah, Thor, I’m fine.”

“Alright, then I will answer the question. No Tony, you cannot stroke my hammer, I alone am allowed to wield it.”

The previously sly smiles from the others around the table now turn into full blown laughter. Thor just looks at his team mates quizzically, asking what was so amusing, but this just makes them laugh harder.

Thor shakes his head with a sigh. “I assume the amusement is in reference to the question, and my answer. However, I do not understand what is funny about the weapon I wield.”

This does nothing to stop the laughter from Clint, Natasha and Tony, while Bruce continues to shake his head and Steve tries to look anywhere but at the rest of the team.

“May we resume?” Thor asks, “I believe Captain Rogers is up next.”

“Fine, you ask while I get another bottle of whisky,” Tony replies as he gets up from the table, “I think I have an eighty-something year old Macallan around here somewhere.” Clint and Natasha finally stop laughing, but studiously avoid each other’s eyes so as not to start it all over again.

“Captain, what do you like most about this new world?”

Everyone watches Steve closely as his expression changes from thoughtful to confused, and eventually to sad. Natasha’s heart goes out to him, knowing just how much he lost while frozen in time.

“Cappuccino,” he finally answers before turning to quickly look at the next victim. “Clint, you’re up.”

“Great. Shoot,” Clint replies not trying to hide the sarcasm in his voice. Under the table Natasha reaches over and squeezes his knee, knowing how much he hates talking about himself and his past. He had been betrayed by almost everyone he ever trusted and she was well aware that right now he was struggling with his own betrayal. Even though he had been under Loki’s control he would not use that as an excuse for the actions he took or the lives lost because him. That was just who he was.

“First another round for everyone,” Tony interrupts passing the new bottle of whisky around the table. Everyone fills their glasses, knowing there was little point in refusing him.

“Alright Clint,” Steve picks up the ball again, “Just what did happen in Budapest?”

Clint almost chocks on his drink as the words leave Steve’s mouth.

“You forgot to ask Truth or Dare,” Natasha said stoically.

“Oh sorry, Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” Clint replied.

“Okay,” Steve looks down at the table, deep in thought for a few seconds before smiling at Clint and Natasha and laying down the dare, “I dare you to tell us what happened in Budapest.”

“No,” is all Clint says as he gets up and leaves the table.

“Where did you hear about Budapest?” Natasha asks.

“I heard you say something to him when we were fighting.”

“You were like three blocks away. How did you hear that?”

“Erm, you were wearing comms?”

“Oh, well it was nothing. Just another mission,” Natasha replied boldly. She didn’t want to talk about it but she knew getting defensive would make them more curious, so she smiled and pretended like it wasn’t the mission that changed the course of her life forever.

“Another mission Clint doesn’t seem to want to talk about,” Tony answered.

“It was just a tough mission. I had fun there, well for the most part and the fight in New York reminded me of Budapest, but Clint and I have always differed in our opinions of that mission.”

“Oh just tell us,” Tony is practically shouting, “we’re all drunk so there is a fair chance we won’t remember tomorrow.”

“And I thought you weren’t allowed to turn down a dare,” Thor adds.

“That’s right,” Tony gloats, “rules are rules after all.”

“Like you ever follow them!” Natasha replies downing another drink and trying to figure out how to get out of this one.

“Look, some of the mission was classified so we can’t tell you,” Clint says as he comes back to the table. “But I guess some of the basics are okay?” he finishes, looking at Natasha with a question in his eyes, ‘is this okay?’ She gives him a small nod before downing her drink.

The mission had been used to train Level 3 field agents in spotting and bringing in potential assets but he just doesn’t want to tell them the whole story.

“It was five years ago,” Clint says, looking only at Natasha and remembering those few days as if they were yesterday.

5 Years Ago – Budapest, Hungary

Clint shivered as he crouched into his hiding space, still surveying his mark. She’d been locked inside the safe house for almost a full day and he was getting tired of waiting. He groaned as he felt the rain begin to fall again, wondering if it would ever let up enough for him to dry off. At home the weather would be starting to turn, the first signs of spring in the air. That was his favourite time of year. He could remember so clearly setting up the carnival in each new city and every year. Spring seemed to feel like a fresh start. The world was coming out of hibernation; the harsh and cruel winter was a memory and everything was crisp and new. It was the time to put the past behind him, forget his problems and jump headfirst what lay before him. In the end his fresh start didn’t come, not until he was betrayed by the people he loved most, beaten and left for dead. Although he still loved the springtime. It would always remind him of the possibilities of rebirth and redemption. Right now though, he was sick of the rain, sick of the city but most of all he was sick of his mark.

The mission had been simple. An undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had set a meeting with the infamous Black Widow to offer her a job. He was going to pay her well to take out an up and coming criminal by the name of Damien Moreau. Clint’s task was to follow her, let her do her job then kill her. They couldn’t risk the undercover agent’s identity being compromised so the plan was to knock her out, then go in and shoot her at close range, just like Moreau’s people would do.

The more Clint followed her the more he realised he might have a problem. Her file had been missing certain details; details you only got when you followed someone around for three days, watching their every move.

From his perch on the rooftop he’d watched her run surveillance on her mark. Moreau seemed to have a weakness for beautiful women, so it was no struggle for her to get close to him.

The problem wasn’t watching her work; the problem was when she wasn’t working. He followed as she’d wandered through the Great Market hall. He was annoyed at having to be level with her, there was no perch he could climb to and view her from a distance. At first she seemed like a typical woman, checking out the jewellery and handbags, trying on the scarves and handling decorative items. With what he knew about her he wasn’t in the least bit surprised when she started lifting items from the stalls without the owners even noticing. However, the thing that made his jaw hit the floor was when she ‘accidentally’ dropped something, only give a loaf of bread to a child she must have spotted hiding under the stall. The market was swarming with children, seemingly starving and begging for scraps, only to be turned away by the workers, denied some food or a cheap knick knack that could be sold to feed them for a week. But she didn’t ignore them. No, everything she lifted as she wandered the market was given to one of the children, to people just fighting to survive.

The Black Widow he’d heard about, the one he’d read about and was sure he knew, was a ruthless killer. She thought of no-one but herself and did whatever it took to get the job done. The woman strolling through the market, helping and feeding starving children was a far cry from the person in the file.

Clint wasn’t someone who normally questioned his orders. S.H.I.E.L.D. had picked him up and helped put him back together after being abandoned by his so called family. He had become a good soldier and he was well known for being able to get the job done. But she was making him question his mission and he knew that wasn’t right, it never led to anything but pain. She was making him remember the past he’d worked so hard to walk away from; remember asking questions and putting his nose where it didn’t belong, only to be stabbed in the back and left for dead. He knew he needed to stop and focus on the task at hand, but he couldn’t stop his mind from drifting and wondering if she really was as deadly as they had been led to believe. He couldn’t help but compare what he witnessed Natasha Romanov, the infamous and deadly Black Widow, doing to help children she didn’t even know. He tried to imagine what her story was and if she was just someone who was lost and needing a helping hand, like he had once been.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when she finally left the building. Dressed up to the nines in a little black dress she looked more like the Black Widow he’d been expecting: sexy, but deadly. He followed along on the rooftops as she made her way to the hotel where Moreau was staying.

“Finally,” he whispered to himself, thankful she was making a move so he could do his job and get out of that damn city.

He took his position on the roof of a building across from the hotel, with a perfect view of Moreau’s suite. This man was used to travelling in style, so Clint was not surprised that he was staying in the best hotel in the city and in the penthouse suite no less. Clint couldn’t help but wonder what he needed all that space for?

As an archer he had learned to control his breathing and relax into the shot but as she sauntered into his line of sight, with her curly red hair flowing down over her bare shoulders and a smile that seemed to light up the room, he found his concentration a little lax. He shook his head, trying to clear it of the confusing thoughts and focused back on his mark.

She was playing the dominatrix and he smiled slightly as she threw Moreau down on the bed. She was playful as she crawled up his body, trailing her fingers over his clothing as she moved. She briefly placed a kiss on his lips, and then in the blink of an eye her thighs were around his throat, strangling the life from him. Clint couldn’t help but smile as he watched her work. She was just as ruthless and deadly as he’d been told, but, he thought; if you had to die, he’d happily go out that way. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d had in the market, that underneath the Black Widow mask she was just Natasha, a young woman who was lost and looking for a home.

He knew he had to put those feelings aside and just get the job done. He watched and waited, the arrow trained on her back as Moreau put up a fight. He reached up and grabbed her foot, twisting it this way and that, bending it in ways that it was not designed to go. It had the desired effect as her thigh hold loosened slightly and he got out a call for help. From all the information S.H.I.E.L.D had on Moreau, he travelled with a pack of bodyguards, but when he was alone in a room there were never more than two outside. Clint had assumed this was why she had chosen the hotel room for the takedown, so he was surprised when the door was flung open and four burly men came barrelling in.

Moreau seemed to have succumbed to the lack of oxygen, he was still on the bed and Clint couldn’t tell if he was dead or just unconscious. He watched as his mark quickly unwrapped herself from Moreau, fall onto her back and swing her legs to the head of the nearest attacker, hitting in with each foot and probably breaking his nose as she knocked him out. The next one came in for an attack. He hesitated for a second, possibly wondering whether he should really hit a girl, but that second’s hesitation was his undoing. She quickly jumped from the bed, wrapped her thighs around his head and twisted.

She was off the bed now and in a fist fight with one of the two remaining guards, but Clint could see her deftly keeping an eye on the last one who was circling around behind her, checking on his boss. Although she was tiny compared to her opponent she seemed to have the upper hand. She took a right hook to her face but it didn’t seem to faze her as she disabling him with a swift kick in the groin.

Pulling a gun from a hidden thigh holster she turned to face the last guard standing beside the bed. Holding the gun steady she shooed him away and moved back towards her mark. Clint marvelled that even with the surprise and setback of the guards’ attack, she still planned to finish the job. She reached to check for a pulse, all the while keeping her eyes and her gun trained on the remaining guard. She never quite reached Moreau’s neck, thought, before a new set of arms grabbed her from behind.

The man had entered so quickly it had taken Clint by surprise. The newcomer pinned her arms to her sides and tried to stay out of the way of her legs as she attempted to kick him and get back some control. More guards were piling into the room, standing guard by their boss as one of their own seemed to squeeze the life out of her. Clint knew her chances of escape were getting slimmer every second.

Without thinking about what he was doing or the consequences of his actions, he let a tranquilizer arrow fly, hitting the guy holding Natasha square in the back. He watched as the man’s arms went limp, dropping her as he fell to the ground. Everyone looked in his direction, confusion rife on all of their faces, even on Natasha’s. He took a second to wonder when she’d stopped being his mark or the Black Widow and become Natasha. It was such a small thing, to call her by name-- there was a reason you never humanised your prey, it made it harder to kill them when you knew them.

The confusion in the hotel room didn’t last long, and the fighting resumed. She knocked over a table and took shelter behind it. She grabbed another gun, from where Clint couldn’t even imagine and began letting round after round fly, knocking the guards off one by one and successfully ducking their shots. It seemed as though as soon as she took out one guard he was replaced by another, a never ending stream of men all lining up to die for their boss. But what neither Clint nor Natasha could know was they had a secret weapon.

She entered the room with a confident swagger to her hips. For the second time in about ten minutes Clint was once again breathless as he recognised the black hair and leather clad figure of his onetime friend, Faith Lehane. A woman who was apparently as well trained and deadly as Natasha herself. Clint was now sure there was no way she was going to make it out of there alive. He watched as the guards fell back against the wall, smirking and watching as Natasha attempted to shoot the woman bearing down on her, only for her gun to click uselessly. Clint swore as he realised Natasha’s gun was empty. She didn’t have time to reload as a right hook seemed to come out of nowhere and caused her to stumble backwards. It was quickly followed by a left and a roundhouse kick that Natasha only just managed to block. Without any hesitation Clint aimed a grappling arrow above the window he’d broken earlier and descended into the fray.

He grabbed the stunned looking Natasha and dragged her back towards the relative safety of the table. Using it for cover he nocked another arrow letting it fly at the guards who were once again surging forward. Natasha seemed to recover from the shock of Faith’s hits. Grabbing her guns she reloaded and started to let rip, aiming one at Faith and another at the guards who were advancing on them, their own guns raised.

With a shake of her head Faith dodged the bullets Natasha was sending her way and with an unnatural skill she wove her way across the room, dodging the bodies of the guards as they fell all around her. She reached her still unconscious boss and heaved him onto her shoulders. Clint grabbed Natasha’s arm as she moved to follow, but quickly let her go when she turned her venomous look on him.

“She’ll kill you,” he said quietly, firing another arrow, taking out the last guard, the only two left alive were now the unconscious one on the floor and Faith.

“Yeah and that’s your job, right?” she replied, pointing one of her guns at him and the other at Faith.

“Faith, go.” Clint directed, without taking his eyes off of Natasha.

“She’s not taking Moreau with her,” Natasha added, holding Clint’s gaze.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Clint replied, “but she can and will kill you so let her go.”

“Your job here was to kill me,” she almost spat at him; the hatred lacing her voice wasn’t missed by him, nor was the look in her eyes or the cock of her gun as she prepared to fire at him.

“I was sent to kill you,” he replied quietly, putting down his bow. He knew he was taking one hell of a chance, disobeying his orders, but he couldn’t get past the feeling that she was just like he had once been, lost and alone, waiting for a friend to reach out and help him. “But I’d rather not do that if I can avoid it.”

“Fine,” she said, her eyes going from hatred to confusion as she took him in. “You go your way, I’ll kill my mark and go mine, and maybe we’ll see each other again someday.”

“You try to kill him and I’ll kill you.” Faith threatened, propping her boss over her shoulder and pulling a knife from her jacket pocket.

“Bullets are faster than knives.” Natasha answered with a smile.

“Not the way I throw it.”

“No one is that fast!”

“She is,” Clint cut in, putting a gentle hand on Natasha’s shoulder. “Just let her go.”

“No,” she shrugged off his hand, “I have a job to do and this guy is a scumbag, he deserves to die. Why else do you think I agreed to take S.H.I.E.L.D.’s mission?”

“Yeah he does,” Clint replied still holding her gaze, wondering just how she knew this had been a set up, and why she came anyway, “but if you kill him, she’ll kill you. Are you ready to die to complete the mission, or would you rather live and maybe do some good with your life?”

“Good?” she snorted, the disbelief written all over her face, “I wasn’t made for good, I was made for one thing. Now, let me do my job.”

“I spent years hurting people, some under orders, some just to survive but now, I help keep the world safe.” Clint didn’t know exactly why he felt the need to convince her. The idea that she could do some good with her life came out of his mouth without any real thought behind it. But the more he talked and remembered the kindness and sympathy she’d shown over the past few days made him think that maybe an asset to S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You’re a soldier, I’m a spy, and there is a big difference. Besides, what makes you think I need or want your help?”

“Maybe you don’t.”

“So why even bother to try and help me?”

“Because I can.”

A groan sounded from the floor beneath the broken glass of the window and instinctively Natasha turned her gun from Clint to body on the floor as Clint picked up his bow, nocked another arrow and also took aim.

“Eliot,” Faith yelled, “get your ass up and help me get the boss outta here.”

“No,” Natasha shouted moving out from behind the table, one gun still trained on Eliot, the other on Faith. With her attention on them Clint took another tranquillizer arrow and pressed it to her skin, triggering the injection mechanism. The effects of the drug were almost instantaneous as her arms went weak; she dropped her guns and fell to the floor.

“Great. Can we just kill her now?” Faith asked putting her boss back down on the bed.

“No!” Clint replied, “I’ll deal with her, you just get out of here.”

Eliot picked up Moreau and headed for the door, Faith following behind him.

Clint let them go with a sigh, two missions failed because he decided to get involved, he knew Fury was not going to be pleased.

“Let’s get you back to S.H.I.E.L.D. then,” he said turning to the unconscious Natasha, lying on the floor beside him, “and let’s hope I still have a job when I get back there.”
He radioed for his extraction, picked up his former target and headed for the roof, ready to get out of Budapest and back home, to where spring would be in the air.

Present Day – Avengers Tower, New York

“So, come one,” Tony prompts, “it was five years ago. What the hell happened?”

“I wasn’t with S.H.I.E.L.D. yet and had taken a job to kill someone called Moreau.” Natasha starts to explain.

“And I ended up saving her life.” Clint jumps in. “The end.”

“Hey,” Natasha says with an accusing look at Clint. “If memory serves, I had everything perfectly under control, until you smashed the damn window and decided I needed saving.”

“Oh please Nat, you had no idea what you were facing. She would have killed you.”

“Wait. So Moreau was a girl?” Tony asks with a concerned look. “Her name wasn’t Kate was it? Cause I knew a Kate Moreau once upon a time, lovely girl, had a thing for bad boys.”

“No Tony, Damien Moreau was the target. The girl, Faith, I think was her name,” Natasha looks to Clint for confirmation, “was one of his bodyguards.

“Hmm, a female bodyguard? Might need to look into that one,” Tony looks a little too pleased at the thought, “although if she’s anything like you when you were a ‘personal assistant’ I think I should pass.”

“You just can’t handle strong women Stark. Besides, I’m no one’s assistant!”

“Anyway,” Steve interjects, “That can’t be the whole story. Surely there is more to it than you saving her life?”

“Nope,” Clint answers, looking at Natasha for confirmation.

“Well, I say again he did not save my life. I was just fine, thank you very much, but yes, that is the story and our different recollections of it.”

“Oh come, that’s so not the story I wanted to hear,” Tony protests pouring himself another drink, “I was expecting sexy times -- the first time you two, you know…” he smiles while making gestures with his hands, “maybe with a little threesome action with that Faith chick or something.”

“Sorry Tony,” Clint laughs, “I knocked her out with a tranquilizer and brought her into S.H.I.E.L.D. That’s the whole story, other than the fact she didn’t speak to me for about a year. I’m sure she was pissed I got the best of her.”

“I was pissed you didn’t think I could handle myself.”

“Anyway,” Steve says, “how about we move on. Whose turn is it?”

“Clint to ask Bruce I believe,” Thor replies, turning to see the snoring form beside him, “although it seems he may have had too much of your mead and would prefer to sleep through this round, so I believe we are back to Natasha.”

“Ok Nat, truth or dare.”

“Dare!” she replies once again throwing him a heated glare that now only makes him laugh.

“I dare you to kiss Tony!”

“Fine,” she says with a smirk. Moving around the table she straddles Tony’s lap and begins to kiss him. Clint is grateful all he can see is her back because he quickly realises that this kiss is probably more painful and annoying for him than for her.

“Okay,” Natasha laughs as she pulls away and downs the drink Tony just poured for himself, “I believe you’re next Tony, so truth or dare.”

“Dare,” he answers, his hands still caressing Nat’s back much to Clint’s annoyance.

“Fine,” she says, a smile still gracing her lips as she rises from his lap, “I dare you to attempt to touch Thor’s hammer.”