A Gift From: i_llbedammned
Type Of Gift: Fic
Title: Danger Is My Middle Name
A Gift For: alphaflyer
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary/Prompt Used: Their lives were far apart, yet oddly similar: Clint in the circus, Natasha in the Red Room -- both were made to perform at other people's behest, and for other people's profit. When they discovered choice, they chose ...


banner by ohmydarlingdear

Clint and Natasha never really talked about their past. Natasha would never bring up the past for obvious reasons. The scars on her back would always ward off any questions that Clint would have and the few times that she did try and share she always seemed confused and muddled. It was like she didn't even know her own past, and eventually Clint stopped asking. Clint on the other hand loved to tell stories, just never about how he was brought up. He would tell about the people he knew then or the roar of the crowds, but rarely about what he did there. Natasha always assumed that there was something dark there and didn't want to pry. Everyone had their demons and charismatic archers were no exception or so it seemed.

But even given that mutual respect for the darkness they had been through there were still some nights where they thought about the past. Neither would talk to the other, but their imaginations would run wild with the possibilities of what could have been. They both knew that such trains of thought were dangerous, but neither one of them were ever the type of people to run from danger.
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It was late and Natasha was thirteen years old. She knew that she shouldn't be up this late and that the events of the day should have tired her out, but her mind wouldn't allow her to sleep. Images of blood stained walls and screaming filled her mind every time that she closed her eyes. She couldn't move for fear that the guards would catch her being up when she was supposed to be sleeping, but her eyes watched the stars above her bed. You could barely see them through the narrow crack that passed for a window in her cell, but even the small glimmers that she caught made her smile. It was good to know that there was an outside world there, that one day there was the promise of a life that was more than just jumping whenever they told her two or shooting the people that Petrovich wanted.
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Somewhere across the globe Clint Barton's eyes also watched the stars, at age twenty. His view was a bit different than hers, rather than small glimmers through a crack he could see the whole expanse scattered across the field that the circus had set up camp in. It had been a long day of performing, shooting trick shots and barely missing his brother each time. Days like these, the pulse of the crowd was all that kept him going and their energy had been very high today. He felt the jitters still in his system from the performance. This type of life would almost be enjoyable if it wasn't for some of the other performers. He hated the cruel way that they behaved, but he would not turn his back on the only family that he had known. So instead on confronting them and getting into yet another fist fight he watched the stars. He searched them for answers and hoped that one day he would find them.
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Sometimes the universe works in mysterious ways and the stars align just right to let information come through. It was late one night and Natasha couldn't sleep. Even without the guards watching her she still made sure to move as silently as possible when she left the bed to go stare at the stars. Though the cold made her shiver she still stood outside in her nightgown, sitting on the cold stone.

"Hey Nat," Clint asked, coming up behind her, "Mind if I take this seat?"

She shook her head, red curls cascading over her shoulders. "You are welcome to. Just don't expect me to be great company."

He took the seat anyway, heedless of her warning. His eyes looked over at her for a moment and he raised an eyebrow, "Aren't you cold?"

She shook her head, "Russians don't get cold."

He laughed, "Yeah, well tell the goose bumps on your arms that they are wrong then."

She laughed weakly, "Damn body, still so undisciplined."

They lapsed into silence and her face was kept turned towards the stars. Clint turned his gaze upwards as well. Their thoughts shifted around, formless and pregnant until Clint broke the silence. "Do you ever worry about the kind of person you would have been if it wasn't for the Red Room?"

Natasha showed shock on her face, but only for the briefest of moments before it was covered up. "That's a dangerous question to ask." she said opaquely.

"Danger is my middle name." Clint said with a grin.

Her face turned away from the stars and she gave him a long, hard look. "No, I never wonder what I would be like. Without the Red Room there is no Natasha Romanoff."

"Kind of harsh, don't you think?"

"Harsh, but accurate." She said matter-of-factly, "I was barely a baby when they took me in."

Clint's gaze now also turned to face her, looking a bit shocked. "You can remember that far back?"

She said dryly, "I have spent years trying to rebuild the story. That is my best guess." There was another moment of silence, this time broken by Natasha, "What about you, Clint Danger Barton? Do you ever wonder what type of person you would be without the circus?"

He laughed, "Yeah, I'd probably be boring."

"I have a hard time picturing you as being boring."

"That's because of the circus. It taught me everything I knew, from how to shoot a bow to how to take a punch. Without that kind of life I would probably just be another guy without powers in this world." He smiled at her, "I guess we are both bound by our pasts a bit."

"I hear tell that Daddy-issues are the healthy foundation upon which heroes are built." Natasha said with a laugh, "Just ask Stark."

Clint held up his hands in surrender, "No. Not touching that one. The rest of the team can keep those issues to themselves."

"Do you ever think that we will be more than what our pasts are?" Natasha asked, calmly, but Clint knew from the intensity of her gaze that she was eagerly awaiting his response.

He smiled, "I believe we already are. I mean we cleaned our acts up. Got nice jobs with the government, cut our hair, saved New York. Why we could be model citizens if no one knew any better. The only difference is that this time we chose our fates."

"Are you sure about that?"

He nodded, "Damn straight I am. No one would have planned us working together. We even threw a wrench in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s plans when that ended up happened. They didn't see us breaking the mold, but we did. After that, it's all in our control."

"There just always seems to be someone else controlling the strings."

"There always will be and we'll give them a good show. But as long as we keep doing what we want I'm okay with them thinking they are in control. They can think that all they want because we know the truth. We know the mold can be broken and you will be fine."

Natasha looked at the stars again, "There are worse things in the world than being a model citizen I suppose. Just as long as we don't become boring."

Clint leaned in close to her, putting an arm around her. She put her weight onto him, glad for his additional warmth. She breathed in deeply, taking in the moment fully and taking pleasure in his presence.

Clint's cell began to ring and he picked it up. "Hello?" He asked, his voice stern. "Yeah. Understood." He hung up the phone and began to rise. "Come on. Director Hill has a job for us. Some H.Y.D.R.A. spies broke into Stark Tower and we need to find out what they took and eliminate the targets."

She took his hand up, "So much for being model citizens."

"Hey. You're the one who didn't want to be boring."