(continued from part one)

A Gift From: WhiskyInMind
Type Of Gift: Fic & Accompanying Soundtrack
Title: Make The World Brand New
A Gift For: anuna_81
Rating: 15
Warnings: Red Room experimentation, talk of eugenics, under age enforced pregnancy
Summary/Prompt Used: Five different Christmases (I tried to touch on as many of the prompts as possible!)
Author's Note: tarts a little angstier than I intended, but please stick with it - there is a happy ending! Also, I am so sorry but real life butted in and I ran out of time so technically this is only 3 of the 5 Christmases. The other two will be posted once reveals are done. In the meantime, I hope the soundtrack will tide you over!



Chapter 2

Bahrain, December 1999

"You're late, Barton." Coulson didn't even look up as Clint sauntered through the door. "Again."
"Wouldn't wanna shock you into early retirement by showing up early, now would I?" he grinned. "Seems to me like you've got enough stress going on already."
Coulson's hand predictably went to his hairline which Clint had been telling him for months was noticeably receding. "Sit down, Barton," he snapped a little more sharply than usual and that, along with the frown lines furrowing the senior agent's brow, clued him in to the gravity of the mission. He spun his chair round and straddled it, resting his arms along the back while he threw a wink across the table to May who was shaking her head and trying (and failing) to hide her smirk. She was clearly trying to set a good example to the baby agents who were joining them for this mission - seemed like someone higher up the chain thought Coulson, May and him might have something to teach them. Of course, Clint was pretty sure the three of them were being used as a textbook example of "how not to do it", but every time he mentioned his theory to the other two Coulson would point out the number of successful missions they'd pulled off while Melinda said nothing (probably because she was waiting for the itching powder in his shorts to make its presence felt... the woman could be seriously juvenile with the practical jokes, and yet somehow he always fell for them....)
"Now that Agent Barton has graced us with his presence, we can continue. Intel has pinpointed the target to Qatar and believes she is heading to Bahrain to carry out her latest contract."
"Do we know what that contract entails?" May asked a second before one of the newbies piped up with "Who's paying her?"
Clint cocked his head to the side and looked over at Coulson, wondering just how annoyed the senior agent was - if he was bluffing he'd just blank the baby agent and answer Melinda. If he had a bug up his ass then the poor baby agent was about to be dragged over the coals.
"We think her target is a member of the royal household - the exact target is unclear, although any of the household would be enough to throw the kingdom into turmoil and endanger the trade talks that are due to begin next month."
Bluffing then, he knew it. Clint winked again, this time at Coulson who glared back at him for a heartbeat before turning to the newbie. "Whoever is bank-rolling this contract is irrelevant, Agent Anderson. It has nothing to do with your mission, and so is information you don't need at this time."
Okay, maybe he was a little pissed off after all.
"We project that the Black Widow will enter the palace using the prince's birthday celebrations as a distraction, which gives us twenty-three hours to get into position before she can. Agent May, you and Agents Anderson, Kelly and Young have been added to the household staff for the duration of the mission - be aware that no one in the household has been made aware of the potential threat and we would rather that situation does not change. Is that understood, Agent Anderson?" Clint was kinda glad someone else was the focus of Coulson's ire for once, but he did feel bad for getting the kid into trouble given that he should have been the real target. Coulson glared at the newbie and Clint caught Melinda's eye and gave a minute questioning tilt of his head. She shook her head slightly in reply. Okay, so it really wasn't about Clint then. Anderson had earned the wrath of Coulson all on his own. Someone to keep an eye on during the mission, and Clint was more than a little glad the kid had been assigned to May's team.
Coulson continued with the briefing and Clint noted without surprise that his role was again that of sniper. He had a proven aptitude for it, and for the last few years he'd even been allowed to use his bow - always his weapon of choice, since it could be used as a non-lethal alternative to a bullet. They had no clear pictures of their target, she'd been popping up on SHIELD's radar more frequently in the past three or four years and the theory was that she was some kind of hang-over from the old Red Room program the Soviet's had run, which if true meant she was well trained and potentially ruthless. It seemed like since the fall of the USSR she'd gone freelance and was now one of the most sought-after assassins-for-hire on the market. Which in itself wouldn't bring her to their attention, but two of her recent targets had close links with members of the World Security Council which meant that with those two contracts she'd signed her own death warrant.
"Any questions?" Coulson asked, again glaring at Agent Anderson and Clint again felt bad for the guy. "No? Right, communications black-out is now in effect, wheels up in ten. Dismissed."
The baby agents all sprang to their feet and actually saluted, although Anderson looked a little cowed. Clint stifled his laughter and let them file out before standing to leave.
"What'd the kid do? Kick a puppy or something?"
"He was worried he would be late for the briefing and apparently wasn't too careful with how close he parked to the next bay..."
"No!" Clint was torn between being shocked and wildly amused.
Melinda nodded in confirmation. "Yup," she smirked. "He scratched Lola."

* * *

As far as Clint knew, castles were supposed to have been built mostly for defense. In his experience, however, most castles, palaces and stately homes were the worst possible defensible buildings ever. Which of course made his job that much easier. He settled into the gap between two massive banners hanging from the rafters which of course needed permanent gantries so that the staff could get to them to... clean them, or change them, or whatever it was these people did with massive banners - seriously, why would people hang crap like this all over the place? All it did was give people like him a place from which to watch - and shoot - them.
The first thing he had done after identifying his ideal position was to check that neither it nor any of the alternatives he could see were already occupied. From what he knew of the Black Widow she preferred to do her killing up close and personal but he would be a fool to discount the possibility that she would make use of the perfect snipers' nests this place offered. They were all clear, but knowing they were there changed his mind as to his chosen location. Instead of the one with the unimpeded view of the ballroom below, he chose the second best option which meant a pillar would be blocking about ten percent of his view down to the main floor, but which gave him the opportunity to maintain surveillance on any other potential snipers. Plus, if his first choice was such an ideal one then chances are she would expect that to be where he was. Never be predictable. It had been a mantra for him for as long as he could remember, and so far it had kept him alive.
He checked his equipment one final time and then settled back to wait. The staff below were making their last minute adjustments to the decor and the buffet table, servers poised ready for the first guests to appear and Clint spotted Melinda, silver tray of drinks in her hand, apparently muttering to herself. Clint flicked his comm over to their private frequency. "May?"
Her step faltered almost imperceptibly, if he hadn't been watching for it he would never have noticed. "What is it, Clint?"
"What'd he do now?" Somehow he knew that whatever the problem was, it was Anderson. He figured this was the guys first - and last - mission. Whether he was destined for an analyst position or the unemployment line was still up in the air.
"Not your problem, Barton. I'm dealing with it. Are you in position?" He frowned a little, Melinda wasn't usually this tense on a mission and that worried him, but if she said she had it under control he trusted her to deal with it. She wasn't as stubborn as he was - if she wanted (or needed) his help she'd ask.
"Moved to secondary site," he said. "Can you compensate?"
"No problem, I'll switch up Anderson and place him at the southern pillar. Should cover the blind spot."
"Acknowledged. Wanna let the boss man know?"
"The 'boss man' already knows, Agents." Coulson had apparently found their supposedly private channel after all.
"Good job you weren't listening in five minutes ago, Sir. Could've been a little confusing unless you actually watched some of those movies I loaned you?"
Coulson blanked him, as usual, instead going straight to the crux of the problem. "Is Anderson going to be a problem? Would it be better to pull him now before any guests arrive?"
Clint said nothing, even though everything in him wanted to say yes. It wasn't his call, this was all down to May - Anderson was under her command, she'd picked him from the rookie class she was teaching; this was all on her so it was down to her what to do about it.
She was silent for a long moment before saying, "No, we're good. I got this."
The ornate double doors opened as the first of the guests arrived and amongst them Clint saw a red haired girl who looked vaguely familiar; which was of course just about the time the while mission went to hell.

* * *

This whole situation is wrong. She has no compunction about killing the target, fulfilling the contract. She's a killer, born and bred. It's what she does. But somehow... this is wrong.
She waits in the palace gardens, draped over the arm of some no-name functionary who apparently can't believe his luck that she would accompany him to this farce of a celebration - so many members of the royal family, so many birthdays to celebrate... - and tries to work out what has her spooked. No one seems to be paying them any particular attention - apart from the occasional jealous glances her erstwhile partner is attracting of course - there are no faces she recognizes from the various dossiers and agency files she's been privy to over the years. No overt danger to her or her mission; which she knows only means that the danger must be covert.
The doors to the ostentatious ballroom open and she allows her date to lead her forwards. She hides the frown as she scans the room - too many hanging banners, too many potential hiding places for snipers. She wishes she'd had time to check out the location beforehand but the palace security have been ridiculously difficult to infiltrate. That should make her feel better - if she can't get in, then how can anyone else? - but somehow it doesn't.
"Shall we, my dear?" her date asks and she turns to smile fawningly at him and sees him.
Mikhail... something. The shock fogs her memory a little but right now names don't matter. All that counts is that somehow the Red Room have managed to place one of their agents into the serving staff. Natalia doesn't spend time wondering who his target is, she noted the way his eyes narrowed as soon as he identified her and she turns and drops to the ground; uses her date as temporary cover while she scopes out the rest of the room trying to identify other agents. She feels rather than hears the gasp as the knife that had been aimed at her throat finds its mark in her partner's chest instead and for a heartbeat there's nothing but silence until it's shattered by a scream of shock from one of the other guests.
She's on the move instantly, straight for Mikhail's position, all the while scanning for his back-up and cursing the cocktail dress she's wearing that didn't let her wear her bracelets. With no Widow's Bite she's armed only with ceramic knives and the poison-tipped ruby ring she'd planned to use for the assassination itself. Not ideal weapons against an unknown number of opponents, especially when it would be useful to keep at least one alive so that she can identify and address their information routes.
Natasha identifies three agents moving towards Mikhail and she assumes they're his back-up right up to the moment he spins and chops the side of his hand across the nearest one's throat, crushing her larynx and taking her out of action in a heartbeat. More screams and the woman's partner throws himself at Mikhail while Natalia fights her way through the panicking crowd of party-goers to get near him. The two men are on the ground wrestling for the upper-hand as an Asian woman in wait-staff uniform bowls her over from behind. This woman's good, Nat hadn't been aware of her approach and for a heartbeat she wonders if this entire thing is an elaborate ploy to eliminate her; but these people aren't Red Room, she can tell by the way she's being pinned. These are SHIELD agents.
Nat knows about ten ways she can get out of the choke-hold being used to hold her, but she uses none of them for now. Evaluate, then act. It's a mantra that's been drummed into her for as long as she can remember. No matter what the situation, don't act without knowing what's happening. And right now it seems like she's not the only one in the dark.
"Barton?" the woman pinning her calls out, probably through some kind of comms device. "What the hell happened?"
Natalia can't hear an answer but from the way the woman tenses she knows whoever 'Barton' is (and why does that name sound so familiar?) he or she is as out of the loop as those in the heart of the action.
A curse from nearby and she manages to turn her head to see Mikhail throw off his opponent. The man seems to hang in the air for a long moment before crumpling to the ground in a broken limbed way that indicates he'll be extremely lucky to ever walk again - if he lives. The woman pinning her hesitates as Mikhail lunges for them and Natalia thinks that maybe the choke-hold has actually knocked her out because suddenly he falters, shock on his face, he takes one more step... another... then falls forward landing on his face and... that can't be an arrow sticking out of his back can it?
The woman holding her gasps and relaxes her grip - which Nat's grateful for since it means she can get free without hurting her, but before she can join the fleeing crowd and escape in the chaos her route is blocked. She looks straight into the point of an arrow and follows it along the shaft straight into the unwavering and incredibly familiar eyes of the archer who'd just rappelled from one of the sniper nests she'd identified when she walked into the room - could that really only have been a minute or so ago? She sees a flicker of recognition in his eyes and wonders if that's a good sign for her or not.

* * *

14 hours later and Clint still doesn't know what the hell went wrong. Coulson and May are being questioned - that's the polite word for it anyway. Interrogated with extreme prejudice is closer to the truth. An enemy agent somehow managed to not only infiltrate SHIELD but made it onto a mission.
A mission which resulted in multiple civilian casualties, two SHIELD agents killed in action, one dead double-agent and... the original target locked in a holding cell while the boss tried to figure out what the hell to do with her.
Clint knew it was only the fact that he'd somehow managed to bring in the Black Widow alive for questioning that was keeping him out of an interrogation room himself. Even if it did mean that he'd disobeyed the original mission orders - Clint figured what with the rest of the mission going straight to hell, the original parameters were something he could justifiably ignore. Again.
Coulson was probably going to be okay - the man had been a mainstay of the agency for over a decade now and, although he'd been the strike team's handler on this one, it had been May's mission.
Which meant that every single decision his partner had made since she'd started was being called into question. It wasn't fair, anyone who knew her knew there had been no way she could have prevented this. She'd done everything right. Clint watched through the one-way glass as Melinda sat staring at the table in front of her with no expression he could see. This had to be killing her; two agents under her command were dead at the hands of someone she herself had picked to join the team.
Anderson - no, Andropov, that was his name - was a sleeper agent. The Red Room had had him in place for eight years apparently. If anyone was to blame for this whole thing it was the original background checkers who'd screwed up when they let him be approached to join SHIELD. And yet, even if - no, not if, when - Melinda was cleared of this, Clint knew that the guilt would weigh heavily on her. Things were going to change, and probably not for the better.
And then there was the other problem. He turned to look into the holding cell behind him. Unlike the room May was being held in, this was definitely a cell. Walls padded with soundproofing (and other things - there were a couple of psychokinetics on the watch list that would find that place pretty uncomfortable apparently) and a tiled floor with a tiny, so-discrete-as-to-be-blatant drain in the center. The only furniture in the room was a single metal chair bolted to the floor, and cuffed to the chair was the woman known as the Black Widow.
He stepped closer to the glass and the girl inside turned in his direction, aware she was being watched but unable to see who it was. He hoped. It was her, the girl from his first mission. The girl who'd entrusted her child to him. But how could it be? She looked to be about sixteen, maybe he could peg her at eighteen at a push, but definitely no older. That first mission had been over a decade previously.
Clint had heard the rumors about the Red Room: eugenics, genetic manipulation, and that old favorite the super soldier serum. He'd always questioned their claims of success, but now he was looking at incontrovertible proof that something had happened to this kid. No wonder she'd been so desperate back then. If it hadn't been for the shock of recognition on her face when she stared up at him from the wrong end of one of his arrows he would have said it couldn't be her. That it was some kind of trick. But no one could fake that initial reaction, no matter how good they were - or what chemicals they had pumping through their bloodstream.
He narrowed his eyes and watched her as she stared at her reflection in the one-way mirror. What was it about this girl that kept bringing her into his orbit? What was it that had stayed his hand when he had her in his sights? What was it about her that made him... care? It couldn't be the child, she was safely buried in the system now and he doubted if even the Black Widow could find her under all the layers of security and redacted paperwork. No, it was something in this girl, this Natalia's eyes.
She looked tired.
"Why'd you do it, Barton? Why didn't you follow orders?"
He didn't jump, he was too well trained for that, but he would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised to hear Coulson at his back. Looked as though his handler had been cleared after all.
"Wasn't the right call," he said looking straight ahead. "Look at her, no matter what she's done, she's a kid."
Clint could feel the other man sigh and knew what was coming. "She's a killer, Barton. A highly skilled assassin who has been responsible for who knows how many political messes. Our - your - orders were clear."
"She never had a chance, Sir."
"She never deserved one. It's damn sure she never gave her targets any."
"That's Director Fury talking, not you." He could tell Coulson was fidgeting beneath that calm exterior he projected.
"This is SHIELD talking, Agent." There was a hint of steel in Coulson's voice now, but Clint wasn't about to cave.
"Thought we were supposed to be the good guys. Sir." He finally looked around at the other man and took in the furrowed brow. "Do you remember my first mission in Siberia?"
Coulson actually snorted a laugh at that. "You mean the last time you brought back an unexpected Christmas present?"
Clint nodded and turned back to look at the girl behind the glass without saying anything more. His handler was a smart guy; he'd get it in the end.
Sure enough, Coulson drew a sharp breath and took a step forward to stand beside him.
"The child... hers?" he asked in wonder.
"Seemed that way."
"But she's...."
"Just a kid."
"And that was eleven years ago..."
"Yup."
Clint knew his handler pretty well by now and could almost track the possible explanations flickering through his mind on his usually blank face. Eventually Coulson shook his head slightly and said, "Well, it seems the Red Room has more secrets than we thought."

* * *

Three days of near-constant questions - and answers, Natalia's surprised to find she's been willing to give them - and they finally leave her alone. They had tried all kinds of interrogation techniques on her and she knew she had surprised them with her openness. There was no point in keeping anything from them; well, anything they wanted to know anyway. Some things were sacrosanct, like a winter eleven years ago during which she made the choice that had haunted her ever since, but they didn't ask so she wasn't going to tell them.
After all their exhaustive tests - mental, physical, psychological and gods alone knew what else - they left her alone for a few hours. Possibly another interrogation technique but if they thought they would get anything more from her they were mistaken. Natalia was no stranger to solitude and mostly she welcomed it. She went through various meditation techniques and quieted her breathing down to the point where she could hear the air move gently around the room.
When the door opened again she sighed a little and opened her eyes expecting to see another barrage of medical technicians or perhaps one of their be-suited interrogators. She was surprised, however, to see the man who had brought her down - and brought her in - leaning casually against the open door. He was dressed in what she assumed was how field agents dressed in their downtime here: canvas combat pants and a tee-shirt faded from too much wear and too many washings. He was smiling at her, a crooked smile that carried up into his eyes. She found herself smiling back automatically and forced it down, replacing it with an appropriately quizzical expression.
"You gotta teach me how to do that," he said stepping in with his arms held loosely at his side - international soldier's body language for 'look, I'm unarmed'. She was under no illusions that lack of armament rendered him harmless however.
"Teach you how to do what?" she asked in a carefully neutral tone.
"That eyebrow thing. How'd you manage to lift just one? If I tried that I'd end up looking like a bulldog chewing a wasp."
She laughed, she couldn't help it; there was something endearingly charming about him. He grinned and crouched close - but not too close - in front of her. "Hello again, Natalia."
"Agent Barton."
He smiled again. "You remember me then?"
"You're not someone I'm likely to forget," she said. "After all, you did have an arrow pointed at my throat."
Barton nodded. "And before that?"
The Black Widow narrowed her eyes. "Before?" she said non-commitedly.
There was a brief nod of acknowledgment before he said "No one's monitoring the surveillance feed, if you're interested." He stood and walked over to the mirror dominating one wall of her cell. Leaning against it he crossed his arms over his chest and she couldn't help but note the way the movement pulled the thin cotton shirt tight over his arms and looked straight into her eyes. She waited in silence for him to continue, to ask her the questions to which she'd long buried the answers, but he only stood there watching her. There was no pity in his eyes, no hatred, no... contempt. He just looked intrigued and she found herself becoming intrigued in turn by him and his apparent disregard both for his orders and his superiors. He hadn't killed her when he could have done so easily. And although he clearly remembered her and what she had been forced to do a decade ago, he hadn't used that against her.
"What do you want?" she asked.
He shrugged slightly, "Good coffee, good pizza, some place dry to sleep. Something worth waking up for in the morning. Y'know, the usual."
"From me. What do you want from me?" she persisted.
"Nothing," he said and something about the way he said it made her believe he was telling the truth. "Although if you know of a good coffee shop..."
She frowned. "I don't understand."
"It's simple, only coffee I can get here comes from a vending machine and tastes like colored water. If you know someplace I can get some caffeinated goodness then I'm all ears." He was grinning now and for a brief second she wondered if she was the butt of some kind of joke, but there was no guile in his eyes, only sincerity.
"Why are you doing this for me? You know who I am. What I've done."
He shrugged again and held his hand out to help her to her feet. "A few years back someone helped me remember there are some things worth living for. He did me a huge favor - and probably saved my life. I'm just... kinda paying it forward."
She took his proffered hand and rose to stand beside him. "Thank you," she said simply, hoping that he could read the myriad meanings behind what she was saying. He nodded and pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels he said "I was serious about the coffee thing by the way."
"Agent Barton, I'm not even sure where in the world we are, how could I know where to find coffee worth drinking? Tea, on the other hand, that I can always find."
He grinned again and she could happily get used to seeing him do that. He was almost out of the door when he seemed to realize she wasn't following. "Coming?" he asked and she quirked an eyebrow at him in silent question. "Oh, that's right. No one's told you. You are free to go, Miss Natalia Romanova. The Director of SHIELD has declared you once again a free agent but wants to remind you that you're being watched." She smirked at that and noted that he did as well. "Not that we don't both know you could slip any surveillance quicker than a wink. Thing is though, you have a choice now. You can go back to... who you were before or you could start again. Maybe even remember what it's like to have something to wake up for."
Her heart stopped for a beat, he was right, she could leave here and never look back, and part of her wanted to do just that. But she knew that some time in the not-too-distant future she would again find herself in his sights. And she also knew that next time he wouldn't hesitate. And, there was something else. Eleven years ago she had surrendered the most important thing she would ever have to these people because of a simple belief that it was the right thing to do. That it was the only thing to do. That time was gone, there was no getting it back; but maybe, just maybe this was her chance to do the right thing.
She took a breath and walked towards him and the open door.
"Natalia Romanova was the product of a corrupt organization. I'm not her any more." He made a decent attempt at lifting one eyebrow but he was right, he did look like an animal in pain. "Please, call me Natasha. Natasha Romanoff."
He held his hand out to shake hers. "Good to meet you, 'Tasha." She rolled her eyes, apparently he had no regard for formalities either and she knew somehow she was going to be stuck with a nickname no matter what. "Care for a cup of lukewarm colored water?"
She grinned and followed him out towards the elevators at the end of the corridor when a thought struck her and she tilted her head. "Could I... would I be able to find a candle?"
"A candle? Sure, I guess. What for?"
Natasha's smile turned a little sad. "To help me remember the dawn."




Chapter 3

Vienna, 2008

It had taken a few years and a few trial solo milk run missions before SHIELD was happy to let her out into the field on a live mission with other lives on the line, despite reassurances from Coulson and Melinda (who'd refused to go back into the field after Bahrain and seemed to be trying to cut out all reminders of her past. Sometimes Clint thinks that maybe she sees Nat as her natural successor, and he will admit that his unlikely partnership with the ex-Red Room agent has been as successful as that he had with May but he still misses her.). No one For what it's worth he's given his own opinion of Nat's commitment to her new life and her employers, but the disdain that flickered over Fury's face when he spoke up said more than words. Clint delighted in winding up the Director, but he wouldn't be the one to screw this chance up for Nat so after the first time he left well enough alone and allowed the more... respected (and respectable) agents to take the lead in arguing her case.

He'd been pleasantly surprised when she'd been assigned to the same team as him for the first few missions - since May was now determined to be a desk jockey, he'd been forced into working with teams rather than a single partner and the change chafed. He was a sniper; he was used to working solo or with a single spotter. Being part of a team had more drawbacks than benefits - or at least that had been the case before Nat turned up for duty with a duffel in her hand and wearing a shiny new SHIELD jumpsuit (although he did notice the decidedly non-regulation wristlets and that red hourglass buckle must have raised a few eyebrows when she was being checked out for duty).

The team had been wary and he'd tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. Tried to believe that they would react this way to any newcomer to what they saw as a well-oiled machine, but he knew in his heart that it was more than that. After that first mission - a simple enough information extraction from a barely-guarded 'stronghold' - the rest of the team had dispersed without a word to Nat and barely a nod to him. That hadn't been like them; normally they'd have met at the commissary then maybe hit a bar downtown if the timing of the debrief and next scheduled mission allowed for it.

Nat had given no sign that she noticed anything out of the ordinary. In fact she'd been quiet through the whole mission, only seeming to come to life when she was playing the temptress to distract the guards from their patrol so that Hawkins could finish breaking into the safe and retrieving the disks. As soon as they were back on the jet she'd curled into herself again, her eyes downcast, her face blank. Clint had frowned as he watched the rest of them glance at her and look away quickly as if frightened. Technically he was the senior agent on this op, but he knew the whole thing was being monitored at a much higher level so he filed his report and threw himself into the seat beside her, trying to get her to engage with him at least.

He'd managed to get a few wry smiles from her and some mono-syllabic responses, but nothing like the girl who two years ago had filled his kitchen cabinets with a million different brands of tea in a futile attempt to wean him of his coffee habit. She wasn't even like the scared but defiant kid who'd clocked him with a pistol in a frozen Siberian forest before entrusting him with the thing most precious to her. It was like the agency had taken everything that was vital about her and squashed it down into the shell of a woman.

The minute they were back at The Hub and the rest of the team had disappeared, Clint made his way straight to Fury's office. Technically he knew that he should go through channels but he really wasn't surprised when the assistant raised an eyebrow (seriously, he was going to have to learn how to do that sometime) and waved him through to the inner office. He was a little surprised to see Coulson sitting there, apparently waiting for him, but in retrospect he really shouldn't have been.
"This isn't gonna work," he blurted out not caring what he was interrupting.
"Agent Barton, concise and erudite as ever," Fury leaned back in his chair and waved his hand toward the empty chair next to Coulson. "Take a seat."

He really didn't want to sit down, he wanted to keep moving until this mess was resolved, but he recognized the order for what it was and dropped into the seat.

Director Fury steepled his hands under his chin and glared across at Clint. "Coulson and I were just discussing what to do with the Romanoff problem. Sit. Down." The last part was aimed at Clint as he automatically springing to his feet to defend Natasha. He sat back down, glowering and determined not to let her chance at something like redemption be screwed up by small minded idiots barely out of the academy. "It's pretty damned clear that any existing strike team just is not going to work out. And she clearly can't work solo missions." Clint scowled and opened his mouth to speak only to be stopped by Fury's raised hand. "So I think you'll agree, there's only one option left to us."
"Sir," Clint said through gritted teeth. "You can't fire her, she's done everything you've asked her to do and just because those idiots have some pathetic hang-ups she gets kicked to the curb? You can't do it." The other two men were just looking at him blankly so he pulled what he thought was the only card he had left. "If she goes, so do I."

Fury smirked and held a hand out to Coulson who, Clint was confused to see, was handing over a ten dollar bill. Somehow the fact they were betting on his reaction only served to stoke his anger. He clenched his jaw and forced himself not to do something stupid, he honestly didn't care if he got canned for insubordination but it wasn't just his neck on the line this time. He had to think about Nat as well.

Coulson was watching him and Clint knew that his sometime-handler could read everything he wasn't saying writ large in his expression.
"Relax, Agent," Coulson said which served to calm him down a little. Coulson only called him that when he felt Clint needed reminded there was a bigger picture - and yeah, so he'd gotten there before Coulson but he still appreciated it. "No one's going anywhere."
"Not true. Barton, new mission. You're going to Austria. Coulson has the details." Fury turned to his computer as if everything was resolved and Clint just sat there in silence waiting for the Director to fill in the blanks. But Fury could outstare a statue and Clint found himself giving in after only a minute and asking "What about 'Tasha? I mean Agent Romanoff?"
"Coulson has the details." Fury was an enigmatic as ever and Clint knew he wasn't going to get any more answers from his boss. He pushed to his feet and was silently pleased when the chair he'd been seated in rolled back and knocked into the shelves behind him. It was just a shame the shelves were empty.

He followed Coulson down to the briefing room not bothering to hide the scowl on his face only to have it change to sheer confusion when they entered and the only other team member there was 'Tasha. Clint turned to the other man, "What's going on?" he demanded.
"Sit down, Barton," Coulson had an amused tone in his voice that only served to puzzle Clint further. He looked across at Nat and saw she had a similar look of confusion on her face - or at least, her right eyebrow was quirked and she was watching Coulson intently to see what he was going to say next.
"Agents, you both have very specific skill sets which, it has been noted, are not being utilized - or should I say, exploited - to the fullest at the moment. As you may be aware, Director Fury is set on making changes in how this agency operates." Clint gave a little snort of laughter at that, he'd seen Fury after some of his 'discussions' with the WSC who liked to believe they oversaw SHIELD operations and knew the changes were hard fought and even harder won. Coulson ignored the interruption (just like old times) and continued, "To that end, we are trialing a new type of unit. A two-man semi-autonomous strike force able to plan, execute and if needed contain their own operations."

Tasha's left eyebrow joined the right one and she sat back into her chair. "Sir, are you..." She stopped and seemed to pull herself together in a commendably short space of time. "Agent Barton and myself will make up this strike force?"
Coulson nodded and slid one of the files across to her and sent the other spinning to a halt in front of Clint, "You will be designated Strike Force Delta for the time being. Your first outing is Vienna. Wheels up at 0500."
With that he turned and left the two of them in stunned silence.

* * *

If there was thing Clint had learned about Tasha, it was that she had absolutely no patience. He was a sniper and could sit for hours at a time doing absolutely nothing. Natasha, on the other hand, had worn a path into the hotel carpet within minutes of hearing the mission was on hold for the time being. He stretched out with his back against the headboard watching her and shuffled through a pack of cards, keeping his mind active and his hands from cramping up (just in case). No one had told him Europe would be this cold. It was almost like being back in Siberia... no, okay, maybe not quite that cold. After her tenth impatient circuit of the not-especially-big room he finally cracked and tossed the cards to one side and rose in an easy movement. He stood directly in her path and gripped her shoulders gently.
"Stop," he said softly. "Just stop for a minute, will you?"

She shrugged him off and moved to the other side of the room, resting against the window frame and looking down to the busy street below. "This is a set up, right?" she said and he could only look on in puzzlement. "SHIELD's changed their mind now they've found their little defector doesn't exactly play well with others. What are you supposed to do? Get me to drop my guard and finish the job you started in Bahrain?"
"Huh?" He was genuinely confused. "You were at the briefing, you know as much as I do about this-"
"This would be the briefing to which you arrived with Coulson? Do you think I don't know you were with both him and Director Fury discussing me before you showed up? I'm not as young as I look, and I'm not stupid."

Clint stared at her in amazement. "I know that." He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. "Tasha, I get that maybe you don't trust SHIELD yet - and hell, the way some of those idiots treat you back at the Hub I can't exactly blame you. But I thought maybe you'd learned you could trust me. A little, anyway." She was still glaring at him and everything about her stance showed she was expecting an attack of some kind. "And do you really think they would spring for air fare to Vienna if this was some... what... some plan to take you out of the picture? Hell, they haven't even replaced the broken coffee machine-"
"Which you broke," she interrupted but he kept going, trying to get her to see how wrong her belief was.
"-they wouldn't have put you on a plane - with a return ticket, no less. You think there aren't any back alleys a body could be dumped in without any questions asked near the Hub?" He put a hand on her shoulder again and was relieved when she didn't shrug it off. She was still tensed for action, but it was progress. "Tasha, they aren't the Red Room. They're not trying to kill you. I promise you." He took a breath, wondering if he should carry on and decided to go for broke. "And if they ever do, they'll have to go through me first."
She blinked and he was gratified to see a flicker of hope in her eyes. Maybe she didn't completely believe him, but she had listened. And she'd stopped pacing.
"How about we hit the streets, see if we can't make a dent in the expense budget? I hear the Christmas market here is pretty damned impressive and we do happen to have a SHIELD Amex on hand..." he suggested, hoping to keep her distracted, to keep her from getting lost in that spiral of dark thoughts that seemed to be forever in her head.

Natasha titled her head to one side, apparently thinking about it. "Deal. But, you have to fill out the expense claim form when we get back.
Clint gulped, SHIELD forms were not something he liked to joke about, but then again, Coulson still couldn't read his handwriting and usually ended up filling them out for him, so it wouldn't be much of a hardship really. "You're on," he said, catching her hand and pulling her out of the door before she could change her mind.
"Hold it," she said and his heart sank a little. Two seconds was all it had taken for her to change her mind apparently. He turned back to her, wondering just what he could do or say to get her out of the room and out of this funk. "Vienna? December? We're going to need coats."

* * *

It was disconcerting, being out in a strange city without a specific target in mind. Nat was still wary, if there was one thing she had never given easily it was her trust but something in her made her believe this strange irreverent man who seemed destined to be part of her life. Perhaps it was the way he so readily agreed to wear the scarf she'd offered after seeing how woefully unprepared he was for the Austrian winter weather. It wasn't like it was a particularly pink pink after all. It was almost red, even. She again found her pre-programmed assumptions about how the 'American Male' would react to perceived questions of his masculinity badly shaken; and the worrying thing about that was that she wasn't surprised. The past few years had shown her that very nearly everything the Red Room had indoctrinated her with was wrong so of course this would be.

Natasha looked around wide-eyed as he led her towards the crowded market square where laughter and delicious smells filled the air. She was being jostled on every side and for the first time in a very long time she felt a little... scared. Everything just felt so alien and she could feel the panic starting to build inside as she realized that this was a whole new world, one in which she had no place. After all what good was a genetically and chemically enhanced brainwashed assassin in a place where everyone was happy?
"Jeez," Clint said from her side, dragging her out of her thoughts. "Would you look at that? Man, I really wanted a giant pretzel as well... think you can maybe talk your way to the front of the line?" He rested a hand gently on the small of her back, a gesture that would normally have resulted in him flat out on the cobblestones with a broken wrist, and she felt herself relax as his touch grounded her. She smiled up at him gratefully; maybe there was a place for her after all.
"C'mon," she said, pulling him away from the food stalls. "Shop first, eat later."
"Is that a promise?" he asked with a grin. Americans, she thought. Always thinking with their stomachs.
"Only if you behave." She found herself grinning back at him, what was it about him that could get her to do that? It was so unlike her. Nat gave herself a little mental shake and walked away towards a stall selling handmade ornaments.

As she waited for him to tear himself away from the food stalls she looked over the typical tourist fare of snow globes containing miniaturized ski chalets when one in particular caught her eye. Inside the storm of fake snow was the tiny figure of an ice-skater caught in perpetual mid-pirouette. She picked it up and gazed at it for a long moment, she couldn't really explain it even to herself, but it sparked a feeling of... contentment.
"Hey, Tasha!" Clint called from the next stall over. "Whaddya think?" She turned and immediately started laughing at the sight of him. He was wearing one of the knitted hats, complete with ear flaps and bobble on top, patterned with what seemed to be every type of Christmas clichÈ the maker could fit on it - reindeer, holly, snowflakes, robins, and what could only be Christmas puddings - all in the loudest possible colors known to man.
"Perfect," she said, wondering if she would be able to take a picture of him wearing it without him noticing. This kind of thing would be blackmail fodder for years to come.
"I thought so too. So I got you one." He was holding an equally colorful creation out to her and her heart sank for a moment before she caught the glint in his eyes. It was like he'd known exactly how she would react. So okay, she would wear it, but she'd make sure there was absolutely no possibility of photographs at all. Ever. Nat took the ridiculous piece of knitwear and cheerfully pulled it on, noting that the bright orange base color clashed horribly with her hair but not really caring.
"Where to next?" he asked.
"I don't mind." She shrugged and linked her arm around his letting him take the lead and thinking that maybe she could get used to this.

* * *

Clint was a little surprised when she took the ridiculous hat but he did his best to hide it and figured he'd pretty much succeeded. But then she surprised him again by taking his arm and he couldn't hide the puzzled look that crossed his face at that one. Tasha had never been one for physical - or indeed any - contact, and he really hoped this was a sign that she was starting to trust him even a little. He couldn't forget the conversation that had prompted this outing; she had seemed so sure that he was only there to betray her - maybe even kill her. He hated the fact that she'd apparently lived with this kind of threat hanging over her head the whole time and he figured that was probably why she kept herself so secluded all the time.

He tried to shake off the gloomy thoughts before they could drag him down. The whole point of leaving the room had been to make her smile, getting himself caught up in that kind of negativity wasn't going to be good for either of them. He couldn't change her past; maybe he could help her see there could be a better future. Time for stage two.

Clint gently led her away from the crowds in the city center and tried to recall the shortest route to the Wilhelminenberg Palace. It took longer to get there than he remembered and he tried to put it down to the fact it had been a few years since he'd been in the city and was nothing to do with the fact he was enjoying just walking with her at his side. The gasp that escaped her lips as she saw the skaters seeming to float over the rooftops of the city was worth all the delays.

He paid what felt like the GDP of a small country for an hour's skate hire and locker rental and, after a moment to let her just watch the skaters, he led her out onto the ice.

And promptly fell on his ass.

She smirked at the sight of him sprawling at her feet before offering her hand to help him back to his feet. He wasn't a bad skater, even if it wasn't exactly something he would choose to do. It was all about balance, after all, and that was one skill he had down pat. But he was only human; having a beautiful woman holding onto his arm to 'help' him was pretty damn awesome, he had to admit. He let her guide him around and decided to ignore the sight of her eyes rolling. He could definitely get used to this.

Tasha took him round a couple of times and he let himself revel in the feeling of just being there with her for a while before he said "I think I got this. Wanna let me try it solo?" She did that eyebrow thing again and he could see something in her expression that told him he was totally busted, and probably had been right from the start. "Yeah, what is it they say?'Don't kid a kidder'?" He waved her away. "Go. Have fun."

She flashed him a grin that would make a lesser man weak at the knees (and Clint had to admit he was glad he was standing next to the barrier and had something to hang on to) and then she was gone. He leaned back and just watched as she moved into the center of the rink. It was exhilarating watching like this - so free and uninhibited. She took his breath away.

After a while he realized he was getting a few dirty looks for blocking the circuit and let himself go with the flow. It wasn't often he took time out like this and he realized that since joining SHIELD he hadn't really done anything that wasn't mission related. And he thought he could be the one to show Tasha there was something more to life? Who was he kidding? He faltered, almost missed the turn and came perilously close to losing his balance for real this time.

Suddenly she was there, linking her arm with his again and it was as if she radiated serenity.
"Wanna get out of here?" she asked, a little breathlessly.
"Only if you wanna," he said. "Honestly. I'm good doing this for a while. 'Sides, you look like you're having fun."
Tasha patted his arm and said "Thank you, but I'm okay. C'mon, I'll buy you one of those giant pretzels.
Clint grinned. "Now you're talking."

* * *

By the time they made it back to the hotel Natasha was shivering. She'd been expecting the cold, but being caught in a sudden downpour after being on the ice had caught her unawares and now was caught in a dilemma. She really wanted a hot shower to heat up again but would her partner see it as an invitation if she stripped off? Nat hated that she was too naive to know how to read him. She wasn't a blushing virgin after all, but being in a room with a man she hadn't been tasked to seduce and/or kill? That kind of thing just wasn't in her comfort zone at all and she found herself wondering just what the hell she should do about it.

Of course he solved the problem by stripping off his own wet clothes before the door had even fully closed and asking to call heads or tails for the first shower. Natasha gave herself a brisk internal shake and told herself to pull it together. Go with the flow. It's what he did and it really didn't seem to have done him any harm.

She won the toss and surprised herself by stepping into the bathroom without a change of clothing for after her shower. It meant that she'd be dressed only in a towel in front of him - even if only for a minute - and as she stepped under the stream of hot water she tried to quell the shiver of excitement running through her at the thought.

Five minutes later she was out of the shower and regretting her choice to leave her clothing behind. What was she thinking? The exhilaration of skating again after so long had apparently robbed her of any kind of common sense. She wiped the steam from the mirror and stood staring at her reflection biting her lip. She couldn't stay in here forever.

"Hey, Tasha?" he called, as if on cue. "You need a shirt?"
She ducked her head wondering if there would ever come a time she could predict Clint's reaction and hoping that it would take a long time before that happened. "Yeah," she said. "Guess I forgot that."
"Figured. There's one on the outside handle."
She smiled and opened the door just far enough so she could snake a hand out to snag the shirt. It was one of his, she realized as she pulled it over her head. Washed too many times to retain its original color but softer than she ever knew cotton could be. There was something inherently comforting about it and she tried to shake that thought out of her head. She was the Black Widow. She needed no one.

Natasha opened the door and saw him take a breath, apparently a little overcome at the sight of her wearing his clothes. She allowed herself a little smile. Maybe she didn't need anyone, but he could be fun to have around.

* * *

He was only in the shower long enough to get warmed up and Nat smiled a little as she realized they were kindred spirits that way - operating under the military '90 second' shower routine whether they knew it or not. She was also glad to see that he came out of the bathroom dressed. Albeit in boxers and another worn t-shirt, but at least he wasn't nude. She was a little surprised when he dropped onto the bed she was already sitting on, but apart from raising an eyebrow (it was an automatic reaction, she could only control it when she was trying) she didn't react.

He stretched out and she couldn't help but notice how flat his stomach was as his shirt rode up. If she didn't know better she'd think he was trying to seduce her. The thought made her pause. Did she know better? Was that what this was? She found herself starting to spiral back into panic mode - she accepted that SHIELD hadn't tasked him with killing her - at least not this time - but was he supposed to seduce her? Get her into some compromising position and... what?
"Hey," he said, his voice quiet but somehow firm. She looked up and saw him watching her with a worried expression on his face. "It's okay, Tasha. It's okay."

She took a breath, closed her eyes and took another. It was okay. She knew it was. He had no ulterior motive, he was just... Clint. He was stuck here just as much as she was and it was about time she acknowledged that he had to be as irritated with SHIELD for cancelling their mission as she was.
"I'm okay," she said, opening her eyes again. "Thanks, by the way. For this evening, I needed to get out of my head a while I guess."
"Yeah, you were kinda spiralling a little there," he said.
She nodded. "Why skating?" she asked.
Clint shrugged and then flashed her a grin that sent a rush of warmth through her. "Saw you looking at that snow globe and figured it was something you'd be into. Turned out I was right." He looked a little uncertain for a moment and then jumped off the bed and headed for the bureau. "So... I kinda got you something. Happy Christmas, or... whatever."

Nat frowned and looked at the paper bag he was holding out to her. She took it carefully wondering why he'd bought her something, when he'd bought it and if she should have gotten something for him. Was this something SHIELD agents did for their partners or...? She gasped as she opened the package. Haphazardly wrapped in tissue paper was a coloured church candle. She looked up at his worried face.
"The colors are supposed to be like the sunrise, I guess? I remembered you saying you wanted to light a candle to remember the dawn, so..." He shrugged, looking a little helpless.

Her heart stopped. How could he know? He couldn't. Unless she told him.
"Do you have a light?" she asked quietly and took the proffered Zippo lighter. Carefully, reverentially, she lit the candle and watched the wick take the flame. Watched it flicker and catch and finally burn brightly. Finally, she turned to him. "Do you remember when we first met?" she asked. When he nodded silently she continued. "The Red Room did terrible things, I know that now. They used us horribly. That winter, four of us were singled out for a special program. Eugenics, they called it. None of the results were viable. Except..." She took a deep breath and held it for a five-count. When she let it out she tried to let the pain go with it. "Rassvet means dawn. The baby. She is my dawn. She is why I light the candles."

He held out his arms and she found herself encircled in them. She wasn't crying; she'd done enough of that to last a thousand lifetimes.

After what felt both like seconds and an eternity she felt him drop a kiss onto the top of her head.
"Don't worry," he said softly." I'm not asking anything from you. I don't want anything more than this."
She lifted her hand and placed it on his chest directly over his heart. "What if I do?" she said in a whisper. Nat held her breath as he tilted her chin to meet his eyes.

She held his gaze, noticing for the first time that his eyes were the color of a stormy sea but somehow she felt safe, as if she was in the calm at the heart of the storm. If so, this was exactly where she wanted to be.

The candle flickered and continued to burn.


...to be continued...<./i>