Title: In from the Cold (3/3)
Rating/Warnings: M - some swearing and mature situations.
Wordcount: ~14500 (total all three parts)
Summary: Hawkeye is given the order to kill the Black Widow, but he makes a different call.


*~*

Clint walked down the street slightly behind Natasha, trying to ignore the nerves playing havoc with his stomach. It wasn't like he hadn't been on ops before – he'd been with SHIELD long enough – but he'd never gone in solo, and certainly not with not much more than a loose plan on convincing her to leave her rogue assassin life behind and joining them.

It certainly didn't help that he now found himself incredibly attracted to this woman. When he'd read her file, he could be detached. Even when he'd been up on that roof preparing to kill her, he had a certain amount of detachment. But now that he was in her presence and had the opportunity to witness her charms up close, he could understand how she was able to draw in her prey so easily.

But despite the distraction of her seductiveness, he felt he was going to be able to do this. If he didn't, she'd kill him as soon as she found out who he really was.

They made their way into a motel and she nodded at the clerk behind the desk who barely glanced up from his magazine. She led Clint up several flights of stairs to the third floor, stopping at a door part way down the corridor. She pulled out a key from her jacket pocket, opening the door and pushing it in. She walked into the room, glancing back at him with what could only be described as a "come hither" look. He blew out the breath he didn't realize he was holding and followed
her into the room.

[Stay focused, Barton, you're here to bring her in; this is just the carrot to get her guard down,] he chastised himself.

He thought he was a goner the second he was in the room as Natasha kicked the door closed and grabbed him, shoving him up against the wall. He dropped his backpack and readied himself to fight back, placing his hands at her abdomen to push her off, but then was thrown off when she put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him hard. He couldn't deny that he'd been imagining for the last twenty minutes they'd been in the bar what her luscious, full lips would feel like on his, but he had to admit that his imagination was sorely lacking. The reality of her was so much better.

He allowed himself a moment of indulgence and let his eyelids flutter shut as he kissed her back, opening his mouth to invite her tongue in; it was an invitation she took. She tasted of vodka and mint; not a combination he expected, but the tartness and sweetness seemed to suit her.

He slid his hands out of their defensive posture around to her ass, cupping and squeezing it as he held her close to him. He was loving the feel of her body grinding against him while her tongue toyed with his, and he responded in kind, his hips gently thrusting in counterpoint. He felt her smile against his lips, obviously quite pleased with the response she was getting from him.

An involuntary moan escaped into the air; he wasn't sure if it was his or hers, but either way it created a visceral reaction and he felt himself hardening. It would be so easy to forget about why he was here and just give into the moment, and he was sorely tempted to do just that, but he knew that if he left himself so vulnerable to her, he would be dead the second she found out who he really was. This was assuming she didn't already know and this wasn't all just a ploy to get his guard down so she could kill him.

That sobering thought got him mentally back on task. He needed to get her immobilized somehow so he could talk to her. The only way he could think of was to get her on the bed, with him on top.

Decision made, he opened his eyes and almost reluctantly brought his hands to her arms, managing to push her back from him. She gave him a confused look through the haze of desire that filled her expression.

"Bed," he stated a little breathlessly, nodding toward it.

Showing her agreement, she tugged him by his leather jacket toward the bed with her, pulling him around and then pushing him down on it. She climbed on top of him, leaning into him to start kissing him again, but he surprised her by grabbing her by the waist and rolling them, leaving him on top and straddling her. When she tried to roll them again, he swiftly adjusted the way he sat, pinning her legs under one of his and held her arms above her head while he put as much of his weight on her without crushing her.

This move made her expression go from surprise to anger, with a hint of fear. Clint had a feeling she was getting the wrong impression, considering the situation, so he decided it was time to clarify why he really was here.

"This is not what you think," he stated.

Natasha bucked under him, trying to throw him off, and nearly succeeded, but he just put a bit more weight onto her.

She snorted in a rather unladylike manner. "Oh really," she answered, her accent becoming not as pronounced.

"I'm not here for sex, rough or otherwise," he told her.

Her response was a raised eyebrow. He sighed, realizing how silly that sounded since they certainly had seemed to be heading that way.

"Okay, fine, it looks like it, but it's not. I wanted to be able to talk to you alone, Natasha, and picking you up seemed to be the only way to do it," he said.

When he said her actual name rather than the alias she’d given him in the bar, her eyes narrowed and her mouth set into a line. He knew there was no going back now; he had to push on through with his sales pitch.

"Yes, I know who you really are. I work for SHIELD," Clint stated.

He didn't think it possible, but he actually felt her body tense more at the mention of the secret organization. He expected her to try to fight him off again, but she surprisingly stayed calmed.

"I was sent here to kill you, originally," he added when he saw a flicker of fear again in her eyes, "but I believe that while you've done a lot of damage in the past, that maybe, just maybe, there's more to you than being a killing machine. That you can be so much more if you come to work for SHIELD."

Natasha snorted out a laugh. "You're more of a fool than I pegged you for. Why the hell do you think I would want to be under the yoke of yet another organization? I'm doing just fine on my own," she spat out.

"I saw you at the hospital. I saw the look on your face; the sadness when the fire started and even more so when you saw the injured children; the indecision and frustration of not being able to do anything but save your own hide," he shot back.

"You're imagining things, you idealistic idiot," she retorted.

"I know what I saw."

"Don't pretend to know my mind, because you know nothing at all. And your assumptions will be your death," she stated.

Before he could respond or react, she suddenly forced his right hand up, releasing her left hand. She shoved that hand into his Adam's apple, managing to briefly cut off his air flow as she pushed harder until she'd finally thrust him off her and to the floor.

Clint tried to catch his breath while he rolled over and got himself standing again. Natasha seemed to explode off the bed into a standing position as well, poised for a fight.

She gave him little time to prepare as she began her assault, coming at him with a left to his chin, which he managed to just barely move back from, feeling the air move as her fist slid by. Seconds later she hit him hard in the left shoulder with her right open palm, throwing him slightly off balance for a moment before he regained his footing and moved back from her.

Not wanting to get backed into a corner, Clint went on the attack and threw a left hook at her chin. Natasha moved fast, ducking below his punch and jabbing him in his mid-section.

He let out a small gasp of air at the contact and shifted his body away from her and into the desk chair, stumbling a bit. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a banker's lamp on the desk behind him and made a snap decision, grabbing it and pulling the plug out of the wall as he hurled it at her. She moved away from the flying object, but not fast enough as it hit her in the leg, causing her to grunt in pain. The lamp fell to the floor and the glass shade broke. He didn't miss the glance she threw in the direction of the glass shards on the floor, so he quickly moved in front of the debris, forcing her to move away. He kicked what he could out of the way without taking his eyes off her, not wanting to give her the opportunity to use any of the glass as a weapon.

For the next several minutes they danced around each other, throwing punches and blocking blows from hands, feet, legs, and arms. Clint was keeping up fairly well, but no matter how hard he fought her, it was becoming quickly obvious that she was the far superior fighter in close quarters combat.

[Something else for him to work on if he got out of this alive,] he thought.

He was surprised when she ducked one of his punches and went down to the floor, thinking she'd slipped and that now this fight was finally turning in his favour. That moment of confidence disappeared like smoke when she hit the floor and kicked out to the side of his left leg, hitting him hard in the knee with her heavy boots. He held back a scream as he buckled in pain and she then easily kicked upwards into his belly, knocking the wind out of him. This sent him to his knees, and before he could try to move out of her way, she'd manoeuvred herself into some sort of yoga/acrobatic position that allowed her to grab him by the neck with her thighs. She yanked him down toward the floor, as if to get him on his back, and he fought against the pull. As she adjusted her grip, he actually managed to break out of her hold. He moved to get up, but the light-headedness he felt from the choke hold threw him off balance and he fell in the direction of the dresser. He went to move out of her way when she attempted to regain her hold, and ended up hitting his head hard against the edge of the dresser. Within seconds he tumbled into unconsciousness.

*~*

Natasha moved into a crouched position as Clint – if that was his real name – fell to the floor. She watched him to see if he came around, ready to continue the fight, but he lay there, not moving but still breathing. She noticed that he had a bit of blood trickling down from his right temple.

She pondered whether or not she should kill him. Normally it wouldn’t even be a question, but she had to admit she kind of liked fighting with him; he’d been surprisingly agile. And it seemed a shame to take the life of such a gorgeous man who inspired desire that had been sorely lacking in her life. If she left him alive there was always the possibility of continuing from where they left off, which she would very much enjoy.

She stood up and looked one last time at his still form before she turned to the small closet near the door to the room. She opened the door to the closet and took out her backpack, slinging it over her shoulders. She went to leave the room and was momentarily distracted by a buzzing coming from Clint’s bag that sat near the door. It had to be his cell. And she had a feeling that when he didn’t respond to it, his back up was going to be on its way. Definitely time for her to get out.

Natasha opened the door to the room and closed it quickly after her. She turned to go out the back way only to see a burly man dressed all in black coming through
the door. She recognized him as one of Bagrov’s goons from previous times she’d observed the old bastard when gathering intel. She turned in the opposite direction to go out the front entrance, only to be confronted with the appearance of another of Bagrov’s men. Obviously the son of a bitch still inspired loyalty after death.

She could stand her ground and fight them, but with one other possibility for escape behind her, she decided to take it. She headed back into the room and quickly shut the door, locking it. She quickly went over to the desk and dragged the chair under the door handle to provide some resistance. She then turned and walked over to the still unconscious Clint, kneeling next to him and began shaking him roughly.

“Wake up, you fool,” she growled at him.

When he didn’t react, she decided to add in a hard slap to his face. This got a groan of pain, which made her smile slightly.

[At least now he’s reacting,] she thought.

“Come on, lazy, wake up before the big, bad Russian men come to get you,” she taunted.

His eyes fluttered open and she let go of him, sitting back on her haunches. He let out a small moan and brought his hands up to his head, holding it. He reacted to the feel of the blood on his right hand and looked at it, frowning.

“You’ll live,” she told him.

He frowned at her. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

His question surprised her, and then she laughed. “You’d rather I had? I’m sure the thugs coming any second through that door will oblige you,” she mocked, nodding her head in the direction of the room’s door.

As if to punctuate her statement, someone tried the door, and then started pounding hard against it, causing it to shudder.

Clint sat up quickly, and then moaned very probably in regret, closing his eyes momentarily. He opened them again, looking at her.

“Escape route?”

“I had planned to go out the back way, but they kind of ruined that. It’s out the window for us,” Natasha stated, standing up.

She offered her left hand to him and he reluctantly took hold of it. She helped pull him to his feet and he leaned for a couple of seconds against the dresser once he was upright. He pushed himself off the dresser and walked over to pick up his backpack near the door. Bag in hand he walked over to the window, Natasha not far behind him. Once there, she pushed open the window and climbed out to the small balcony and he followed her, and then he closed it down again.

“No fire escape,” Clint commented as he looked around, appearing to size everything up.

“It wasn't a requirement for me when I got the room. We'll just have to jump balcony to balcony. Not afraid of heights, are you?” she teased.

He gave her an easy grin, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he slid on his backpack. “Try to keep up.”

He walked over the balcony railing, standing on the edge of the concrete portion while holding onto the metal railing. He crouched down until his hands nearly met his feet, and then one at a time took his feet off the concrete, letting them hang in mid-air. His arms flexing, he swung out as if on a trapeze and then he let go. As he fell through the air, he arched his body at just the right angle to allow him to land relatively gracefully on the balcony below.

Natasha couldn't hide her amazement at the moves she'd just witnessed, but she quickly got over her surprise when she heard the door to the room finally give way. She slipped on her pack and followed the same moves that Clint made, but when she let go, her angle of descent was a little off. Instead of getting her legs fully over the railing of the balcony below, she managed to only get as far as her knees, and she ended up upside down, hanging from the railing and slipping quickly. Before she could even try to pull herself up and attempt to grab onto the railing, she felt him leaning on her calves, his strong hands grasping her hips, digging into them as he pulled her up and over the railing to the safety of the balcony.

They sat in a crumpled heap, leaning on each other and breathing heavily.

“I guess I owe you one,” she admitted between deep breaths.

“Let's call it even since you didn't kill me in the first place,” he said, his tone light.

She glanced at him, and she couldn't help but laugh at the grin he was giving her, which only made him smile wider.

They went quiet at the sound of the two thugs coming out the window to the balcony above them. They moved back in unison toward the motel wall as silently as they could from their seated positions, attempting to hide themselves as much as possible even if the two men looked over the railing above. They both kept their eyes to the balcony above them, waiting to see what happened next. Natasha was tense, ready to fight or fly as was necessary, and due to Clint’s close proximity to her, she could feel the tension radiating off him as well.

The two men above talked loudly to each other, not seeming to care who heard them.

“See, told you she isn’t out here,” Thug #1 stated in annoyance.

“Yeah, well, she can’t have got far. She must have barely had enough time to get down to the ground. She must still be around the area. Let’s go out the back way and maybe we’ll be able to catch her,” Thug #2 responded.

“In, out, in, out; I really wish you’d make up your mind,” the first man grumbled, his voice fading near the end.

“You sound like my old woman,” the second man replied, laughing heartily.

The laughter went quiet and Natasha heard the sound of the window being closed. She glanced at Clint, giving him a questioning look, pointing first down and then up, silently asking whether they should go up or down. He shook his head in response, holding up his fist in what she recognized as a “hold” signal. She nodded in understanding, knowing he was right that they needed to wait out the two thugs before they made any moves. Just because it seemed like they were gone, didn’t mean they really were. And even if they had left the room, they could still be in the motel or nearby walking around outside.

They sat huddled there for about a half hour, saying nothing and listening as around half a dozen times voices passed by two stories below. Twice it sounded like the two men who'd been after her, but without looking down Natasha couldn't be sure. But after that half hour when there hadn't been any voices for nearly ten minutes, she turned to Clint again and elbowed him slightly in his side to get his attention. He frowned at her, but she ignored the mildly annoyed expression and pointed down, making their decision for them this time rather than asking his opinion. She figured why bother going up just to go down again. Yes, going up might throw off the two goons if they happened to be down there waiting on them, but part of her now just wanted to get this all over with, even if it meant a fight.

He nodded in agreement and they got up, walking to the railing. They looked around and saw that all was quiet below, no sign of anyone, let alone the two goons.

She let out a slow breath, feeling some of the tension that had built up in her body release.

“You good?” he asked, a touch of worry tingeing his tone.

Natasha glanced at him, giving him a wry smile. “I'll feel better once I'm out of this city,” she responded.

He gave her a small smile, and then turned to look down again. “It doesn't look to be that much further down to the ground; we could go down to the next balcony and then to the ground, but I think we can manage the drop from here.” He glanced at her, as if looking for her approval.

“Sure, I've jumped on worse,” she agreed with a shrug.

They walked over the railing and stood on the edge with their backs to it. Crouching and holding onto the metal slats they counted down from three together and then let go of the railing, jumping down to the ground. They landed a few feet apart, dropping and rolling in opposite directions.

Natasha got to her feet quickly, wincing slightly as she stood due to the funny way she'd gone over on her right foot in the landing. She didn't think anything was broken, just a minor strain, something she could easily handle.

She looked over to see Clint wiping off some dirt, but looking none the worse for wear. She felt a moment of annoyance toward him, but then pushed it aside. After all, she still had use for him, and being pissy with him wouldn't help her cause.

He turned his gaze to her and she gave him a smile, trying not to limp as she walked the couple of feet over to his side.

“So I guess this is goodbye?” he questioned, sounding just a little bit wistful.

Natasha couldn't help but smile internally, happy to know that he appeared to be just as much under her spell as when they were flirting in the bar. This was going to make this go a lot easier.

“Is that offer still on the table?” she inquired.

Clint looked at her quizzically. “Offer?”

“To come with you to SHIELD.”

His expression changed to surprise and then shifted to disbelief. “What happened to not wanting to – what was it you said? 'Not be under the yoke of another organization'?” he asked with a touch of mild sarcasm, cocking his head to the left.

She clenched her jaw; he was not going to make this as easy as she first thought. She hated to do it, but she figured that she should just go for honesty since he seemed to now be on guard. And even if they seemed safe at the moment, who knew when and where Bagrov's goons would resurface. At least hanging her shingle with SHIELD would give her some measure of protection until things settled down again.

“Look, I'm not going to lie to you; it's all a bit unsettled around here for me right now. As much as I'd like to think that those two men were the only two loyal to the man I...dealt with, I don't want to take that chance. So I need a ride out. And you made me an offer that has now become more attractive to
me. I want to take you up on it,” she stated plainly.

Natasha watched him while she spoke: his jaw clenched and his eyes hardened, his expression briefly shifting to disgust, and then reluctant acceptance.

He sighed and then said, “Fine. Let's get to the rendezvous point and I'll call it in.”

His words reminded her of the phone in his pack ringing earlier, and she told him, “Your phone went off while you were unconscious.”

“Shit,” Clint swore quietly. “About how long ago was that?”

Natasha pondered his question before answering. “Maybe close to 40 minutes by now.”

He shook his head, his expression tense again. “Come on, we may have less than twenty to catch them at the rendezvous point and hopefully avoid an international incident.” He began jogging quickly, and she matched his pace as they made their way through the downtown and then headed toward the water.

*~*

Clint and Natasha managed to get to the rendezvous point without too much trouble, and barely any speaking, neither seeming to be in a chatty mood. He barely had time to pull out his gear and the comm unit he’d hidden when he heard the chopper in the distance.

The chopper got down low enough for them to jump on from the beach without kicking up too much sand. Clint didn’t miss the surprise on the faces of the men seated in the back when he pulled Romanoff on board after he was up. He requested a plastic zip tie from the soldier nearest him, which the other man provided. He was surprised when he turned to her and she actually had turned her back to him with her hands behind her, offered for cuffing. He attached the tie – possibly a little tighter than necessary if her slight twitch was anything to go by – on her and then sat back, looking out the open door once she turned back around. He kept his gaze on the horizon as they flew off toward the base in Turkey where their plane back to the States waited for them, not wanting to look at her. She fortunately made no attempts to engage him further.

The flight back to the SHIELD base had been silent, which suited him just fine. He still wasn’t terribly impressed with either her or himself: her for using him, and he for allowing her to use him. Once they’d returned to the base she’d been immediately hustled off to a cell for interrogation and he’d been forced to go to the infirmary for checking and dressing his head wound before he was allowed to head to his bunk and crash for the rest of the night.

Of course he couldn’t get to sleep no matter how hard he tried. He lay on his back staring up at the ceiling tiles, his anger about what had gone down not easing in any way. It kept his mind racing as he ran through every moment of this mission.

He’d allowed himself to be sucked in by none other than the Black Widow. He’d allowed his body and emotions to dictate his decisions and he’d nearly got himself killed. And then he’d foolishly thought that because they’d shared a moment or two of life-or-death camaraderie that he had been right about her, that there was more to her than met the eye. But the second she told him why she wanted to come with him, that she needed the protection of SHIELD, he realized how much of an “idealistic idiot” (as she’d so accurately called him) he had been. He wouldn’t believe so easily again.

Clint closed his eyes, attempting to at least rest them even if he didn’t get any actual sleep. He managed to doze on and off for a few hours before he finally gave up around 6 a.m.

He dragged himself out of bed, grabbed a quick shower and changed into some standard issue sweats. It was a little relaxed for his meeting with Fury, but as he was on stand-down, so he didn't feel the need to be geared up. Once showered and changed, he then headed for the mess hall for breakfast.

After several extra cups of black coffee following breakfast, Clint walked to Fury’s office for the debriefing, dreading the reaming he expected from the director. He stood in front of the closed door to the director’s office, took a deep breath, and then knocked.

“Come in.” Fury’s voice sounded oddly calm, or so Clint thought. He knew that the other man was aware that they were meeting, so it wasn’t like the director was mistaking him for someone else.

He opened the door and walked into the director’s office and was this time surprised by the slight smile he got from the older man.

“Glad to see you alive and more or less in one piece, Hawkeye,” Fury stated, waving a hand at the bandage at his temple.

“Thank you, sir. Glad to be alive as well.”

The director waved at the seat in front of his desk and Clint sat in it.

“So, your first mission solo,” the older man started, letting the words hang as he sat back in his chair.

Hawkeye gave a slight nod but said nothing, not sure what he could at this moment. He still couldn’t gauge the director’s attitude, so he figured it was safer to wait to see where the other man went before he spoke up.

“Not your best work,” Fury stated. Clint didn’t miss the hint of sarcasm in the older man’s words.

“No, sir, it wasn’t.”

The director arched an eyebrow at the response. “What, no excuses?”

Hawkeye frowned a little at the question. “No, sir; I own my mistakes, no excuses.”

Fury actually smiled at his answer. “What a refreshing change. Too many of the guys I get in here after a cock-up like this are usually overflowing with reasons why, trying to deflect away from the truth of the matter: They. Fucked. Up.”

Clint glanced away from the smiling man in front of him, staring at his hands sitting on his lap. He couldn’t disagree with the director; he was right. He’d had a job to do and he’d failed.

“Not used to messing up, are you, son?” the older man suddenly questioned, causing Hawkeye to look up at him again. Fury was still smiling slightly with amusement. “First time always seems to be the worst. Next time it’ll bug you a bit less.”

Clint frowned at the director. “Next time?”

The other man grinned. “You don’t think there’ll be a next time? There’s always a next time.”

Hawkeye gave the older man a puzzled look. “Sir, I’m a little confused. Are you saying that you still want to send me out on missions alone, and not just for sniper duty?”

“I’ve always thought you could do more. And while this may not have been the best way to get your feet wet with so little training in the finer points of espionage, at least you’re not dead. And that’s quite the accomplishment considering who you were up against,” Fury told him.

Clint didn’t hide his surprise, and just a touch of pride, at the other man’s words. The director had always seemed to be joking with him about becoming a full field agent, but he’d never taken the other man seriously.

“Thank you, sir.”

“There is a caveat, though, to you becoming a full field agent,” Fury stated. When Hawkeye didn't say anything, the older man continued. “You'll need to get further training.”

“Of course,” Clint replied.

“And Romanoff will be a part of that,” the director added.

The younger man's mouth fell open momentarily in shock. “Sir?” he asked, his voice going up an octave in disbelief.

“She was your capture, for better or worse. While she's provided some intel on her past missions, there's nothing all that earth-shattering and I have a feeling she's not going to share much more. But I will admit that she's too good an asset to cancel at this time, and you could learn a lot from the knowledge she has in spycraft. She's your responsibility now, Hawkeye.”

When Clint simply sat there not uttering a word or moving, Fury waved at the other man, saying, “Dismissed.”

The younger man didn't move at first, but got up as the director began to frown at him.

He walked out of the office, feeling a bit dazed as he wandered somewhat aimlessly through the corridors of the base. Fury had to be punishing him by forcing him to have to deal with her. That was the only explanation for the director being that mean to him.

Clint stopped and shook his head, as if to shake himself out of his self-pity. He realized he was near the gym and decided to go in to see if he couldn't find some way to release some of the tension and anger that still sat inside. Finding a punching bag that was free, he grabbed a pair of gloves, lacing them up. He got into an appropriate boxing stance and threw a left and then a right at the bag, hitting it squarely with each fist, enjoying the feel of the heft of the bag reverberate as his fists connected. Continuing to pound the bag, he lost himself in the physicality of what he was doing which allowed his mind to work out his problems.

He knew that getting himself worked up over this would help nothing. Sure, he didn't have to like it, but he knew Fury was giving him no choice and that he had to make up for his mistake in judgment. Clint just hoped he survived the coming rounds with Natasha, because as cooperative as she'd been in coming along, it was only temporary. He was sure she'd try to find a way out of here when the opportunity presented itself, and who knew what kind of tricks she'd have up her sleeve to take advantage. He'd just have to be at the top of his game with her; no more second chances.

The End