Chapter Text
Natasha watched Clint hitting a punching bag through the window, taking it as her chance to observe him without any other eyes watching. He was toned, his blonde hair gleaming with sweat. Although he was in his early 30's, the glint in his eyes as he punched the bag made him look older. Like a green tree that had sprouted amongst a wildfire. Not as tall as the other trees, but making up for it by the way its roots firmly stuck into the ground. It didn’t allow anyone or anything to move it, despite growing up around despair.
Natasha had seen many agents in her time during her missions with the Red Room. But there was something about Clint Barton that was different. Every agent had a wall in front of them, making themselves jaded to do what they had to do. But when she’d first met Barton, the wall in front of him wasn’t built out of brick or stone.
It was a glass wall. One that protected Clint, but allowed her to see through it—to see him. It was also breakable, and he’d trusted her not to shatter it into pieces when he’d lowered his bow that night. He offered her a chance at another life, so she could be more than just another weapon in Russia’s holster.
It had been three months since then, three months of Coulson enlisting her in a training program that she was flying quickly through. Faster than any other recruit they’d ever had. She knew that soon, she’d start getting sent into the field. When that day came, she had a feeling who Fury would assign her to shadow.
They hadn’t talked since she arrived at SHIELD. Mostly because if she didn’t have the words for someone, she wouldn’t say anything at all. She’s ducked out of his way every time she’d seen him and avoided his attempts to talk.
But if she was going to go in the field with him soon, she needed to make things between them clear.
As he slowed down his punches, Natasha moved away from the window and towards the door of the sparring room.
The loud slamming of the door didn’t cause his head to turn. He only backed away from the punching bag, beginning to unwrap the gauze on his hands.
Natasha squared her shoulders when she made it to his side.
“I looked over your files,” she said, looking straight forward as she spoke.
“So, we’re talking again, that’s good.” Clint let out a breath with a slight smile. “I mean, you’re admitting that you stole confidential information about me, but I still think this is progress.”
She turned to him, finally meeting his eyes. He stared back at her, pretending to be unaffected by her presence, but the sly tilt of his lips told her otherwise. Almost like he was…happy to see her.
Natasha ignored this, folding her arms across her chest.
“It said that you never miss a shot.”
He shrugged. “I never do.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
Natasha huffed dubiously, but the seriousness of his expression caught her off guard. She expected him to be humble. After what he’d done for her, she wondered if he was one of those types of guys who lived for being chivalrous and saving every maiden in distress (which Natasha had not been. She could have made it out of that alley if it had been in her best interest). But, there was no modesty about his abilities. He was fully aware that his skills made him a valuable asset, one SHIELD coveted and enemies feared.
Natasha let her hands drop, eyeing him curiously. “So why did you that night?”
He took a step back, surprised that that they were finally broaching the subject of the different call he made—of the night that had changed everything for Natasha.
He walked to the trash, throwing away the gauze in his hands. Clint looked back towards her, running a hand through his hair, making it stick to his forehead.
“There’s a difference between missing a shot and not taking it.”
“Why didn’t you take it then?” she asked, with her voice clear of emotion. Like she’d been trained to do when asking questions laced with vulnerability.
He gave her a pointed look. “You know why, Natasha.” She kept standing stable in front of him, but inside, she felt something shaken at his words. He let out a long sigh before continuing. “I thought you were in a bad place and had done some bad things, but you had the potential to do some good.”
“Killing people is good?”
“No, but protecting the world and the people in it is.”
She’d been told the same thing at the Red Room. What makes the same promise from SHIELD any different?
Clint sensed her skepticism. He stepped forward, his face softening.
“If you take away the thought of what organization you’re working for when you’re on a mission and do what you think is right regardless, then you can sleep a little better at night. Not like a baby, but good enough.”
This was something she could believe. It wasn’t a guarantee that she was on the right path, but it was giving her hope that she was because the choice was finally hers to make.
Clint’s eyes scanned her, as if trying to learn something from her silence. Natasha didn’t like that. Even more so, she didn’t like that she let him for a few seconds longer than she had with anyone before.
“Thank you,” Natasha said, voice still hard-hitting, but the tone sincere. “Thank you for what you did, for giving me a chance. I’m not sure I ever said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Yes, I did.”
A smile tugged at Clint’s lips, and she felt herself mirror it.
She felt the wall in front of her lose a brick.
“Thank you for not killing me on the spot, I know you could’ve,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. Then, his face clouded over with curiosity. “Why didn’t you, by the way?”
Natasha didn’t answer, she went to the cupboard, pulling out some gauze and beginning to wrap her hands. She walked over to the punching bag he’d been hitting and began to swing.
“It said you worked in the circus, that’s how you know how to use a bow, isn’t it?” she said between punches.
“Ok, you’re deflecting, but I’ll bite.” Clint walked over to her, grabbing the punching back from the other side and holding it in place for her to hit. “I was a performer. I’d shoot apples off people’s heads and shoot arrows around their bodies as they stood in front of a stack of hay. Other performers at the circus would steal money from the audience as I dazzled them with my act.”
Her punches halted, tilting her head at him. “Seriously?”
“What?” he smirked. “You thought you were the only one here with a murky past?”
She almost laughed. Almost.
She began punching again. “What about your family?”
He held onto the bag a little tighter, his eyebrows creasing together.
“You didn’t read about that too?”
“No, I figured that if you’re going to be my partner, reading about your skillset was all I needed to know. You could tell me anything else yourself in your own time.”
He was quiet for a few seconds. When Natasha looked up, she saw that his face had relaxed, and was eyeing her with that scanning look again. She steeled her expression and turned back to the punching back.
“If ever, that is,” she corrected.
He gave a toothy grin. “So, you want to be my partner now?”
She rolled her eyes. “I think that’s what Coulson wants after I shadow you on the field for a while.”
“But you wouldn’t be opposed to it.”
“No.”
“I wouldn’t either.”
She stepped away from the punching back, meeting him on the other side where he was standing. She hovered close, allowing her body to gravitate towards him, so it almost brushed against his chest.
“You have to promise me one thing, though,” she said lowly, batting her eyelashes for good measure.
Clint’s jaw went slack, his eyes flickering briefly down to her lips. “What’s that?”
She swept his legs unexpectedly from underneath him, flipping him onto the ground. They tussled until Natasha managed to pin him down, his head locked between her arms.
“Never pull your punches,” Natasha finished, her smile sly.
Clint let out a choked laugh. He lifted his hand, pushing a strand of her red hair behind her ear as if pulling open a curtain on a window to let the light into the room.
She didn’t flinch, but the feeling of his palm as it went down to brush against her cheek made her shiver, making her grip loosen ever so slightly.
He took this as his chance to hit her square in the face. She grimaced, and he flipped her onto her back.
He loomed over her with a smirk, “That won’t ever be a problem.”
She ended up wiping the smirk off his face as they continued to spar. Even when a few agents came in, gawking them with intrigue, neither of them stopped until they were both completely out of breath.