If you have to look along the shaft of an arrow from the wrong end, if a man has you at his mercy, then hope like hell that man is an evil man....A good man will kill you with hardly a word.
There were no good men in her business. Natasha always had time to talk, seduce, fight, or squirm her way out from anyone who tried to kill her because all of them took at least the tiniest moment to relish that they had the Black Widow in their power.
Then Clint Barton shot an arrow through her shoulder, and the only reason she had time to say a word was because he chose to ask her if she wanted a deal.
"If I say no?" she asked, chin high.
He drew the arrow fractionally tauter, and she knew his answer plainly. Natasha wouldn't talk him out of this or seduce, fight, or squirm her way out of trouble. He stated the terms and she accepted or she refused.
Natasha Romanoff had a healthy sense of self-preservation. She accepted the deal.
Barton neatly switched his arrow out for another and shot her other shoulder. Tranq. "I might not be there when you wake up," he told her as the sedative took effect.
"And how can I trust you?" she slurred out thickly.
"Because if I wanted you dead," he said softly, "you would be."
And perhaps it was her imagination, but his touch seemed gentle as he picked her up before the world faded to black.
FIC: No Good Men (T, no warnings)
There were no good men in her business. Natasha always had time to talk, seduce, fight, or squirm her way out from anyone who tried to kill her because all of them took at least the tiniest moment to relish that they had the Black Widow in their power.
Then Clint Barton shot an arrow through her shoulder, and the only reason she had time to say a word was because he chose to ask her if she wanted a deal.
"If I say no?" she asked, chin high.
He drew the arrow fractionally tauter, and she knew his answer plainly. Natasha wouldn't talk him out of this or seduce, fight, or squirm her way out of trouble. He stated the terms and she accepted or she refused.
Natasha Romanoff had a healthy sense of self-preservation. She accepted the deal.
Barton neatly switched his arrow out for another and shot her other shoulder. Tranq. "I might not be there when you wake up," he told her as the sedative took effect.
"And how can I trust you?" she slurred out thickly.
"Because if I wanted you dead," he said softly, "you would be."
And perhaps it was her imagination, but his touch seemed gentle as he picked her up before the world faded to black.