Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CHAPTER ONE:

2015. January, Brooklyn

Clint never realized just how much one single thing could affect his foreseeable future. 

Take this phone call for instance. An acquaintance of his called to tell him — more specifically Ronin — about where he needed to go to continue ‘this cat and mouse chase’ he had going on. Which weren't exactly the words Clint would've used. Sure, this wasn't the first time he dealt with these people, but it's been years. He started this mission at a very different point in his life. At the time he hadn't even known most of his current teammates and had a different partner. Who now…

The point being. This was an old job that he could never quite let go of. There was always a tiny voice in the back of his head reminding him that they could come back. That's why he needed to get rid of them as fast as possible. He couldn't let the past repeat itself. He couldn't have what happened last time happen again. He lost too much thanks to these people. But not again. 

And that is why, on this fine evening of January's last day he had on not only his Ronin suit, but also a dress shirt he stole from Matt and an unnecessarily long and puffy coat that hid all his weapons, all the while he was on his way to a fancy gala. Because that's where the people he was following were. Not because he wanted to be there. He didn't like rich people and being near so many posh millionaires without being able to insult them caused him unimaginable amounts of pain. 

He made his way through the crowded rooms of the house, looking for someone out of place. Which was hard, because he was the only one out of place here. The women he was looking for were trained to adjust, so he had to watch for the smallest slipups. That or just wait until the speeches of the posh rich men began and see who left the room.

Which he luckily didn't have to wait a long time for (very very luckily, cause he was two minutes away from shooting the guy giving a speech about how hard it was for him — a nepo baby — to get to where he was now), as two women sneaked out of the main hall and entered the servants corridor. Because this was such an old and fancy house that it still had servant halls. Although it was the best place to sneak around in. Especially since — if his source was right — what the ladies were after was hidden in the attic, where the old servant bedrooms were. He climbed the endless stairs to the top of the house, always a corner behind the other two. Just before they turned the corner to enter the attic hallway they took off their fancy dresses in a swift move, revealing the black leather outfits and the chunky bracelets that had caused Clint the second most pain he’d ever felt in his life. Once in the clear he got rid of his own disguise, if he could even call it that, and turned the corner with his arrow drawn, ready to fight if needed. He was hoping it didn't come to that. He knew the women had no choice, but to fight once the right button was pressed and then he'd need to fight if he wanted to survive. But still.

All Clint needed was for this to be over and quickly, but based on previous experiences it wasn't very easy to get rid of the Red Room and their Black Widows.

2010. March, Budapest

Ronin had his eyes locked on the target. It was an easy shot. Now that he got onto this roof at least. He had to fight multiple Widows until he reached this point, but now he was here. A clean shot. One arrow. One target. Only one body. 

He should've taken the shot the second he drew the arrow. The moment he had his eyes on his target. Before it was too late. But he didn't think it would be too late. He didn't think there would be someone else there. A child. He didn't think a child would walk into the line of fire. That's it. That was the problem. He didn't plan for a complication like this. A lot of other things, but not this.

“What are you waiting for, Clint?” The voice of his partner — at least at the time — echoed in his ear. “Take the shot.”

“There's a child there, Kate. What if I miss?”

“You won't. You never do. Now stop waiting around a take–”

However Kate wished to finish that sentence Clint never heard. All he heard was one quiet moment before the building ahead of him went up in flames. There was no more target. No more complications. Just a building ablaze, an arrow shot into the fire and a ringing in his ears.

2015. January, Brooklyn

The Widows were already in the old bedrooms looking for whatever they were sent to find. Now Clint had his mask and his hood on, his arrow was drawn and all he needed was a theatrical way of announcing presence to—

The unmistakable feeling of electricity running through his body froze him up and made him shoot his arrow into an old lamp that was probably worth more than him. One of the two ladies, the darker haired one, charged at Clint, not even giving him time to draw a new arrow before she knocked him down onto the ground. She held her fist only centimeters away from Clint's face, ready to fire the second he dared to move. Which he did, in the form kicking her right between her legs — which he will admit was unnecessarily evil — but he didn't have any better ideas about how to launch her over his head. 

Once he was free he jumped back onto his feet turning to face the Widow who also got up scarily fast and was ready to shoot him again. This is where Clint's very nice, very pretty trick arrows he made came into play. Specifically the one that releases a stupid amount of foggy gas the second it hits something. He fired it at the ground before the woman's feet, making her stop and take a step back, just as he hoped for. 

What he didn't hope for was the girl running through the fog and to the wall, only to kick herself off of it, bodyslamming Clint through a door and into a horribly dusty room. He was on the ground, pieces of broken wood under him. The Widow stepped over the remains of the doorframe and shot Clint with her widow bites once again, making him wince. Taking in this much electricity definitely wasn't healthy. Not to mention his sword went flying to the corner when he himself also went flying. Arrows and a bow weren't really a weapon used laying down either. That left him with the splinters of the door as the only possible weapon. And to be fair it worked quite well. He gripped a price of broken wood and when the woman arrived next to him, crouching down to see whether he was out of it yet he hit her in the side with it. She tumbled backwards, but even there she could kick Clint in the side before the archer got to his feet, another splinter in his hand as some kind of sword, ready for when she jumped back onto her feet. She started getting back up a lot slower, so even though it seemed like she was unable of tiring she wasn't completely on top of the situation anymore. 

A couple more hits from the wood and she was stumbling to the wall. That is when Clint brought out his arrows again, this time one filled with a sticky substance, gluing her right hand and stomach to the wall. Then when she tried to shoot Clint again with her free hand he stuck that to the wall as well. Slowly, but surely making his way to the Widow he held up his hands to the side. 

Maybe, just maybe after this many hits to the head the mind control would start to wear off. Maybe he could talk to her.

“Hey,” he started as calmly as he could. “I know you don't want to fight. We can sto–”

Once he was close enough the Widow raised her legs and kicked Clint in the stomach, all the air leaving his body. He tumbled over in a coughing fit. 

“Well okay,” he coughed. “Mind control definitely still there. Great.”  He reached down to the ground to grab another piece of wood and raised it in line with her head. “I am so so sorry about this.” He kept apologizing as he hit her in the head with the wood, finally knocking her out. 

He got back his sword from the corner, then went back into the tight hallway. There was still another Widow here, looking for something. At least he hoped she was still here. 

Yes. She was still here. When Clint passed in front of another old bedroom she jumped onto his back, trying to strangle him from behind. Though, because he couldn't hold an entire human on his back, he stumbled backwards into a wall, slamming the Widow's head into it. So many concussions he's giving these poor girls. The Widow pushed Clint forward, gracefully landing back on her feet, once again ready to attack, but so was Clint. He pulled out his sword, aiming for her chunky bracelet. If he could take that out of the equation then he stood a much better chance.

The very necessary stare down ended and they both started running towards the other, Clint a second away from striking down.

But then a fourth person's voice rang through the hall.

“Stop!” it shouted.

2010. March, Budapest

Clint's vision was blurry when he woke up. His head was pounding and his whole chest stung. Around him the only things he saw were a thick layer of smoke settling the streets and the wreckage left in the place of the building. 

The building. The little girl. Dreykov. Clint needed to see if the man he came all this way for was actually dead. Yes, the building blew up, but he didn't see the man blow up. He didn't take the shot. He didn't take the shot. But someone did. Someone blew up the place. Who?

He climbed down the side of the building he lay upon, putting back on his mask and hood, making sure nothing of his face was visible. A mask was a great choice of clothing walking through this smoke anyway. With every step he took a new cloud of ash flew up. He climbed into the middle of the pile where Dreykov's burnt body should be, but he didn't find anything. He found other bodies. Men and women of the Red Room, but not the man in charge. Not him. Not the reason Clint was here. But at least he didn't find the child's body either. Maybe she also escaped. That would be a tiny bit of condolence in the grand scheme of things if nothing else. The smoke started to be unbearable, so he chose to leave. He had to find Kate anyway. The girl was definitely okay, she was further away from the place and she was more than capable of getting herself to safety, but still.

Closer to the edge of the rubble he heard Kate shout his name somewhere from  the distance. Just barely. But then nearly all the sound around him died down. Only hearing the things close to him he arrived at the conclusion that his hearing aids were at fault here. He reached under his mask and took out one of them, hoping it wasn't that damaged by the explosion. He hit it on his palms a couple of times, the best way to solve any technical problems, then put it back in. He still only heard the bare minimum, but with nothing else to do he went the way he heard Kate's voice before the devices gave in, shouting back to her. But someone decided he wouldn't be doing that. He felt something at his back, then electricity ran through his entire body, making him fold into himself coughing and squirming, practically falling to the ground. He just barely managed to turn his head to the side. He saw the outline of a woman in clothes made for walking through heavy smoke and ash (unlike Clint's suit) coming towards him. He tried to move away while there was still a chance.

“Stop right there!” the lady (who it turned out was a lot closer to him than he thought) yanked him back by his arm. “Who are you?” she asked, a single strand of red hair escaping from under her hood.

“The hell was that thing you shot me with?!" Clint groaned from the pain.

“Who are you?” the lady repeated the question, still not letting go of Clint's arm.

“I don't know,” he huffed out of breath. Really, what the actual hell was that thing? “Vengeance?”

The woman pulled him closer and tried to reach for his mask, which one, was very inconsiderate of her and two, also would've made him inhale the smoke straight on. And you know. Inhaling smoke was a bad thing. He did manage to lift his free hand to stop hers before she reached his face.

“What if you didn't do that?” He shoved her hand away, the pain finally starting to dim. 

Behind the fancy glasses that she had on her eyes were in a tight line observing his face. Which was great, because she wasn't observing his hand that reached for the tiny knife in his back pocket. That he then stabbed into the back of her wrist. Clint had to give it to her. She did tear away her hand, but she didn't even scream. 

Clint took off his bow from his back in a swift move and drew an arrow, aiming at her. She also aimed at him with one of her hands (the one Clint didn't stab). It had some weird chunky thing on it. Clint assumed that was what caused him the previously felt pain. Luckily, he didn't have to wait until the theory was proven, because they both heard the sirens of ambulances, fire trucks and probably also the CTC (or TEK as it was called there). The woman looked to the side just long enough for Clint to shoot his arrow at an unstable column or something that was still standing, collapsing it between them and running away. 

This wasn't his fight. He didn't blow up any buildings. His plan was to kill one guy and that wouldn't have brought out the TEK. 

Now. It was about time he went and found Kate.

2015. January, Brooklyn

“Stop! Don't kill her!”

The shout made Clint miss his shot at destroying the bracelet. Instead he was electrocuted. Again. His body was surely one more hit away from shutting down. He collapsed to his knees, but at least from there he could turn his sword and knock the Widow's feet out from under her with the grip of it. She fell, knocked her head on an end table next to her and went unconscious. At least Clint really hoped it was just unconscious. He didn't see any blood.

Using his sword as a crutch he stood up and walked over to the woman, feeling her heartbeat. Great. Still alive. And also, there was a third person in the hallway still alive.

“Natasha Romanoff,” he smiled forcibly. 

He hadn't been this close to her since the Incident of 2013. Which — unlike his teammates — he was mostly over. Sure, it wasn't nice, they were captured, but he did do some questionable things that were a cause for concern. Oh well. What's past is past and the present was trying to figure out whether to attack or not. 

“Clint Barton,” Black Widow replied without any kind of emotion on her face. “Surprised you listened to me.”

“If it makes you feel better I didn't,” Clint pulled down his mask to free his mouth. “I never planned on killing them. I don't hurt innocents,” he crouched next to the unconscious Widow unbuckling her bracelets.

“Are you here for what they are?”

Clint found a scrambled up paper in the woman's pocket and shoved it into his own, before Romanoff noticed it. “I don't even know what they were looking for,” he pushed himself off the ground, heading to check the other Widow's pockets for something he could use.

He found an old bag in the dusty bedroom and put the widow bites he now also took from the other into it. He was about to swing it over his shoulder when Romanoff — who showed up next to him from nowhere — grabbed the other end of it. “You're not taking those.”

Clint wanted to argue, but his eyes flickered down onto the bracelets on her hand that were the same as the ones in the bag, except upgraded by one of Clint's least liked billionaires. He let go of it and raised his hands in surrender. “Sure. Take ‘em,” he shrugged, then continued his way through the hall. 

As he carefully brought the Widow from the hall into another bedroom and sat her up against the wall he noticed a little emblem on her outfit with letters on it. “You know what RRNY stands for?” he shouted over his shoulder. Romanoff was definitely somewhere there even if Clint didn't see her at the very moment. He didn't receive an answer, so he looked over his shoulder. Romanoff was leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms. “C'mon. You could really answer me,” he walked up to her.

Romanoff stared at him either considering an answer or ways of killing him. “That's how the Red Room categorizes the Widows. Red Room and then whatever city they are stationed in.”

Great. So they really set up shop in New York again.  

Clint went to another room again, finding all the drawers and closet doors torn open. They were really looking for something here, but he didn't find anything. Giving up the search he got the paper out of his pocket. It was written in code, thus he didn't have a lot to look at. He pushed it back into his pocket with the intention of giving it to Peter tomorrow. Maybe he could decode it for him.

When he turned to leave Black Widow stood in his way, a hand raised to aim. “You didn't answer me,” she said threateningly. “What are you here for?”

“Not here to kill any of the assholes downstairs, don't worry,” Clint raised up his hands to the side again. “Was lookin’ for the man in charge.”

“Dreykov's not here.” She still didn't lower her hands.

“No, I know. I'm trying to find the head of this new New York branch, before it gets worse. We've got enough mobs and mafias already, we don't need the Red Room here as well.”

“You don't need the Red Room anywhere.”

“Yeah, but I can't change what Dreykov does in Russia. I can stop his men here though.”

Romanoff stared at him menacingly for a while, her hands slightly relaxing, but still not down.

“You gonna try to capture me again?” Because if she was she could really do it faster. Clint wanted to get home for dinner.

“I didn't just try, I succeeded. But no,” she put down her hands with a sigh. “I was here for Dreykov.”

“Well then,” Clint clapped his hands together, “it was nice seeing you, we should definitely make a habit of meeting up once every two years.” He maneuvered around her and headed for the staircase.

“Afraid we can't do that.” Romanoff's voice stopped Clint in his tracks. “You're after the New York branch and I'm after the whole operation. We'll end up at the same places.”

Wait… was she? A ginormous grin grew on Clint's face. “Natasha Romanoff,” he turned back to her, “are you suggesting an alliance?”

“I haven't even said it yet and I'm already regretting it,” she muttered. “Yes, Clint Barton. I'm after Dreykov, you're looking for whoever's in charge here. I say we work together.”

“Okay, okay.” Clint could hardly stop himself from laughing. “I can consider it. But let's say it works. Once they're gone from New York I'm out. I won't leave the country for one guy.” Not again.

“Perfect,” Romanoff walked up to him, extending a hand forward. “I'm only offering a partnership, because I don't want you getting in my way.”

“Rude, but sure,” Clint shook her hand.

Romanoff nodded once then went around Clint to leave the hall. Clint put his hands in his pockets and felt the paper in it. Making the choice surprisingly quickly, he called after the other with a sigh. “Romanoff, wait!” She turned back, looking at him expectantly. “Found this on the Widow. I'm sure SHIELD can decode it faster than I could,” he held out the paper.

“SHIELD's been out of order for a while now,” she took the paper from him.

“I simply do not believe that,” Clint smiled. “You guys were everywhere and I doubt you stopped. You're working for someone, aren't you?”

“I'll see what I can do,” she very pointedly ignored his question and looked over the paper. “I'll text you if I get it.”

“You don't have my number.”

Romanoff didn't answer, just turned the corner and disappeared down the stairs.

How much of a chance was there that Clint would never see that paper again? A lot. Well what's done was done. And who knew. Maybe this could work out. 

On his way out his phone buzzed. He checked it to see a message from an unknown number. ‘I'm a spy, Clint Barton. Of course I have your number.’ Laughing to himself, Clint texted back. ‘And now I have yours, Natasha Romanoff.’

Chapter Text

CHAPTER TWO:

2015. February, Hell's Kitchen

"Are you sure you're okay?"

As it had been mentioned previously Clint didn't work alone most of the time. He had a team. Other heroes/vigilantes of New York. This team consisted of: Deadpool, aka Wade Wilson, the one Clint had known the longest — vigilantism wise that is — out of the group, an absolutely unhinged individual that caused half the problems in Clint's life, but at least he did it while being entertaining; Spiderman, by another name Peter Parker, Wade's roommate, best friend, and possibly boyfriend/situationship, but Clint wasn't a hundred percent sure about the last part; and lastly the one and only Devil of Hell's Kitchen, The Man Without Fear: Daredevil, also known as Matt Murdock, Clint's roommate, friend and — since a very nice evening eight months ago — his boyfriend. Because yes. Clint not only managed to keep a friendship long enough to catch feelings, but also until he asked Matt on a date. The other liking him back was just an added bonus. They called themselves Team Red and worked on most things in pairs or trios or maybe they brought the whole group. It depended on how dire a situation was. For instance there was this Eastern European mafia that all four of them were needed for, but some of the smaller mafias that resided in Hell's Kitchen only required two of them. 

So yes, Clint had some great vigilantes as teammates that he didn't know what he would've done without. 

Now, with all that being said he would not let any of them even near his fight against the Red Room. No way. Yes, it was pretty dangerous and he should've, but he wouldn't. If he was gonna drag anyone into this mess it wouldn't be any of them. It would be Romanoff, now that she offered anyway. Except Clint hadn't heard anything from her since the gala and he started to doubt he ever would.

“Yes, Matt. I'm fine,” he had to continuously assure his boyfriend (it still felt so strange that he could refer to Matt like that even after eight months) that he was completely fine after the aforementioned mission last week. 

“You were shot, Clint. Three times.”

“That makes it sound a lot worse than it is. I mean it was just electricity.”

“That does not make it any better,” Matt sighed. “You could've been electrocuted to death. Why didn't you ask one of us to come with you?”

“I thought I could handle it alone,” he lied, very much aware that Matt knew he was doing it. “And I handled it, didn't I?”

“If you say so… Just… bring one of us with you the next time. Okay?” 

Clint nodded, knowing full well he would not be doing that. Matt turned back to the papers he had been reading before Clint arrived in their living room silently suffering. Of course there was no such a thing as silent with Matt.

Clint laid back on the couch, continuing his suffering, more for the joy of doing it and less because he was actually in pain, right until his phone on the coffee table vibrated. He took it into his hands, surprised to see that the text came from a number he thought he'd never see again.

‘Decoded the papers. It's mission instructions. Meet me at the Holland tunnel if you're serious about working together. I'll tell you the details there.’

Would you look at that! She actually told him what she found. Clint was genuinely surprised. Maybe he should be a bit more optimistic. He jumped over the armrest of the couch and went down the hallway to his room to grab his duffle bag with his Ronin stuff that he threw into a corner a couple days ago. He didn't expect to feel this happy about going on a mission, but he liked the idea of working with Romanoff. It was bound to be fun. 

Appearing out of the hallway with a smile on his face he called out to Matt. “Hey–” His phone buzzed in his pocket again and stopped him mid sentence. It was Romanoff again: ‘And don't tell your teammates. In case that wasn't clear. The less people know about it the better.’

The smile that previously resided on Clint's face fell. What did she mean he couldn't tell the others? They knew he was after the Red Room. They would surely ask about it. Was he supposed to just lie to them and say he's not pursuing them? He was practically gripping his phone when Matt, definitely noticing the change in Clint's heartbeat, perked up.

"Is everything alright?" he asked. Clint didn't reply, just continued to stare at his phone. "Where are you going with your Ronin stuff?" Matt tilted his head to the side, listening, as he always did.

Clint closed his phone and shoved it back into his pocket. Plastering his usual smile onto his face as he walked over to the back of the couch. "What did I tell you about using echolocation to see what's inside my bags and stuff?" He tried joking to redirect the conversation.

"That I shouldn't do it because it's a breach of privacy?" Matt leaned his head over the back of the couch, 'looking' up at Clint.

"And what are you doing now?" Clint smiled down at the other, relieved Matt didn't push for an answer.

"Being a nice person and asking you where you're planning to spend your evening?" a smile — or rather his usual grin — spread on Matt's face.

Clint leaned down, leaving only millimeters between their faces. "Is that what you're doing?" he muttered.

"Definitely," Matt said as he pushed his head up just the tiniest bit, placing a light kiss onto Clint's lips.

"So this wasn't a ploy to get me to kiss ya'?" Clint pulled back a bit, definitely not because he felt bad kissing Matt while actively trying to figure out whether or not he was going to lie to him.

"Don't be ridiculous, Clint, I don't need ploys for that, you do it yourself," Matt laughed. "But seriously where are you going?"

Clint wished he didn't return to his original question, but he couldn't be that lucky. He just had to decide. He either started this partnership with Romanoff by going against what she asked from him, or he twisted the truth just a bit. Maybe she had a good reason for asking him to lie to the others. Maybe… How much harm could one little lie cause anyway? And who knew? Maybe this alliance would fail after one try and then it wouldn't matter. There was a reason he avoided telling the others he met with Black Widow last week and agreed to work with her. It was an unspoken rule that the Avengers (and by extension SHIELD) did not mix with the vigilantes. They disagreed on how to handle situations so they just avoided having any of those conversations. And Natasha Romanoff was not only a SHIELD agent (even if she tried to deny it), but also an Avenger, so she was a double package. And the conversation of him agreeing to work with her wouldn't have been fun. That is why Clint tried to ignore it until he got confirmation that she was actually willing to treat him as a partner.  

Maybe now that there was proof he would've told the others. But maybe he was never going to and this just proved to be the perfect excuse.

"Meeting someone," he finally replied, breaking his plans down to the barest of bones.

"Got another job or something?"

"Something like that, yeah." Clint took out his phone, acting like he checked the time on it. "Something to which I should be heading to.” He'd see how this mission went and then he'd tell them. Yeah. Definitely. It's just this one little lie. What harm could that cause? "See you later!"

Closing the door to their apartment very inconspicuously quickly he could barely hear Matt's little 'Bye!' as he left.

He didn't like how easily he could twist his words to technically not lie. He didn't like lying to Matt, also he literally couldn't most of the time, but he wouldn't bring him — or any of his teammates — into this. Not dealing with the Red Room. He had learned that lesson before.

2010. March, Brooklyn

Clint woke up very tired, very annoyed and very much done with life. He still hadn't managed to sleep off the explosion of the building, even though it's been three days. Maybe walking around an actively burning building wasn't good for his health. Or maybe he just needed some coffee. 

He got out of bed and prodded down the stairs of his apartment — Lucky following closely behind —, only to find Kate there, shooting arrows at one of the targets Clint had in his living room.

“G'mornin’,” Clint slurred, barely awake.

“Hey,” Kate said — while Clint searched the mess that was his coffee table for his hearing aids. If Kate was here then maybe he would need to hear something. He found one of them and decided that would be enough — a lot more frustrated than Clint thought one could be at eight in the morning, while she shot another arrow.

“What's wrong? Your penthouse isn't big enough for target practice?” Clint teased her when he arrived at his Lord and saviour the coffee machine. 

“Had enough of my dad,” she shot yet another arrow into the target dummy's heart and Clint would've been scared in her father's place. “Someone called you by the way,” she nodded at Clint's phone on the couch. “Your ringtone is really annoying.”

Between two yawns and sighs and pats to the head of the dog running in circles around his feet Clint took his mobile into his hands and checked the calls. It was from an unknown number that left him a voice message. He put the phone to his ear while he waited for the coffee to brew. It started with seconds of silence and he was about to assume it was an accident when some guy with a thick Russian accent spoke.

“Clint Barton. We do not appreciate what you tried to do.” That sounds about right. “You have one chance to make amends. If not, we will come after you.” The voice then listed off an address that Clint would definitely not remember. “Come alone or else any chance for peace is off.”

Clint blinked at his phone a couple of times before turning to Kate.

“It was the Red Room. They threatened me then asked to meet.” He now sipped his coffee right out of the pot. “They said come alone.”

“I'm coming with you,” Kate stated in a very ‘there's no question about it’ tone. Of course Clint didn't expect anything less. They were a team. When one of them got into shit (usually Clint) the other helped out. 

“So? Where are we kicking their asses?” Kate asked, eyes full of energy.

2015. Jersey City (/Manhattan)

“So why exactly are we here?” Clint scratched the back of his neck.

He got to the Holland Tunnel pretty fast, all things considered. Romanoff was waiting there for him, only mildly annoyed at him for having to wait. But like… it's better to go at night. A lot less chance of running into people.

“Because we need to get to the other side of the river?” Romanoff answered as if Clint had just asked what colour the sky was. “The George Washington Bridge is all the way over there on the literal other side of Manhattan and the Lincoln Tunnel isn't much closer either, so all we can do is use the Holland Tunnel.”

“No, I get that. I'm asking why we're going through the ventilation shaft.” 

It was obvious that this was the fastest way over the Hudson. That wasn't what Clint was wondering about. He was a lot more concerned as to why Romanoff dragged him to the ventilation shaft of the tunnel and why she was trying to force a manhole cover looking thing open on the floor. 

“Because we can't go in where the cars go in,” she grunted and then cursed at the cover that still wouldn't budge.

“Technically the cars aren't going in either, cause it's under construction,” Clint leaned against a wall. Romanoff just looked at him, as if not understanding why he was saying this. “It's closed.”

“A closed sign? Really, Clint Barton  really? That's what's gonna stop you from breaking the law?” She managed to lift the lid just ever so slightly. “Would you stop just standing there and help?”

“I don't know what you mean, Natasha Romanoff,” Clint said as he grabbed the other half of the seriously overweight lid. “I am a law abiding citizen.” 

“Said the man with the very illegal sword.” The manhole cover finally came off.

“I'm sorry, we can go down and buy a gun at Walmart. Are we sure the sword is our biggest concern?”

“No, it definitely should be how going through the Holland Tunnel on foot is also illegal.” Romanoff flashed him a very fake smile as she jumped down onto the road under them.

“Oh no! Whatever will we do?” Clint muttered to himself amused, as he followed suit.

Being in the tunnel while it was completely empty, mind a couple of construction cars, was definitely a different experience. It looked even longer now that he wasn't in any kind of vehicle. 

They started their walk down the road and towards Jersey in silence, but Clint wasn't great with silence. Especially when there was a question eating away at him ever since he saw Romanoff. After about ten minutes of walking he finally asked.

“Why couldn't I tell the others where I was going?”

He could've sworn there was a very small hitch in the other's breath. She started walking even faster than before, practically leaving Clint behind. 

“Did you tell them?” she asked.

“No,” Clint scrunched his eyebrows. “But I would like to know why.”

“Because you didn't want to.”

“I wanted to. I just didn't, because…”

“Because I asked you?” she huffed a disbelieving laugh. “We both know you wouldn't do something just because I asked you to. You said it yourself last week.”

Clint didn't like how right she was. But no. She wasn't right. He would've told them. That's what he would've done, had he not been asked to do otherwise. Right?

“So do the other Avengers not know you're working with me?” It would be logical. If his teammates couldn't know, neither could hers.

“Of course they don't,” she looked back at him as if just the idea was absurd to even think of. “I don't tell them for the exact same reasons you didn't tell yours.”

“I didn't ask you to not tell them,” Clint said, even though he knew that's not what she meant.

With a sigh she finally slowed down so Clint could catch up. “Your team doesn't like me and mine doesn't like you. Isn't it easier to just keep this between us?” If Clint didn't know any better he would've said she showed some kind of an emotion.

He just shrugged and went back to analyzing the architecture. After another while of walking in silence he realized she never actually told him what was on that paper he gave her.

“So why are we going to Jersey City?”

“There's this woman that created an antidote to the Black Widows' mind control, some red dust. Dreykov sent people to get it to him.”

“Wow. He sent the mind controlled Widows to give him the one thing that could stop their mind controlled...ness. He really is a bitch,” Clint joked.

“Yeah,” Romanoff looked like she almost laughed. “Well, it's him or the head of the New York branch.” Back to business it seemed.

“That now also extends to Jersey.” Clint did say he would only deal with the New York side of things, but this was close enough. 

“That's what I don't get. The woman lives on the east side of Queens. Why did she go to Jersey City to make the antidote?”

“Okay, I'm gonna forgive you for not knowing this, since you didn't grow up around here,” Clint said very sincerely, “but everything's legal in New Jersey.”

Romanoff turned to him with a troubled expression. “No... I think they have laws.”

“Technically yes,” Clint started to explain very excitedly, “but if you wanna do shady business you either go to Hell's Kitchen or Jersey.”

“How comparable are those two, though?” There was definitely a tiny smile on Romaniff's face. “One's a state and the other is like fifteen streets.”

“Oh I'd say ask Matt just exactly how much crime goes on in those streets, but he wouldn't answer you, so... Let's just say a lot.”

“I can imagine... so scary those Irish mafia members,” she rolled her eyes.

“I'm sorry there was also a Russian, a Chinese and a Japanese mafia there these past few years,” Clint listed them off on his fingers. “Also Fisk. Who SHIELD also didn't do anything about.”

“We can't deal with every corrupt guy that rises to power.” And there went the smile.

Well then. If it was gone anyway. “You could though. You have the resources.” Let's have a debate about SHIELD's morals.

“Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement & Logistics Division.”

“Okay...?” Someone really wanted the initials to spell shield, but what did that have to do with this?

“Strategic intervention,” she repeated like it clarified anything. “If SHIELD appeared to deal with every criminal we'd be in the public eye way too much.”

“I would say since someone put out all of SHIELD's files on the internet and we found out half of you were nazis you've been in the spotlight more than enough, but sure.”

“Then look at it like this. If we took care of everything you and your friends wouldn't be doing what you're doing. What would the New York police do without you?”

She was clearly diverting the conversation, but Clint was willing to go along with it. “You're right, we are amazing.”

“I don't remember using that word.”

“No? You said it right between 'irreplaceable' and 'good-looking'.”

“Did I now?” she chuckled. Yes. Chuckled. Clint managed to make her kind of laugh. He could table the conversation about his problems with SHIELD for later.

“Yeah you did,” he grinned. Who knew, maybe this allyship might just work out.

The rest of the walk they made mostly normal small talk and Clint got all the details she could find on the lady they were about to pay a visit to. 

After what felt like an eternity they came out of the tunnel on the Jersey side. Luckily the woman's apartment was near it, because Clint was starting to get really tired. 

Once they arrived it went relatively easy. The other Widows hadn't arrived yet and the lady who made the antidote — which really was just a vial of red dust — was unharmed and swore no one had been to her apartment, other than them two. Of course Clint had to think too soon and the second they relaxed, happy that they were ahead of the others the tiny apartments' door flew off its hinges, startling Clint and knocking the woman who made the dust unconscious when it landed on her. 

Fighting in this tiny place was not only hard, but also annoying. At every other step they managed to knock down something. And ‘they’ was just Clint, because all the others in the place who were still conscious were trained to fight extremely gracefully. If he wasn't being actively attacked he might've even just watched Romanoff fight the other Widow. But he wasn't that lucky. Technically lucky was a relative term. He had the dust or whatever they wished to call it with him. He only needed a window to open up the box, take a vial and throw it at a Widow. Which was hard to do while also trying to avoid being electrocuted. He did promise Matt he'd try to do that next time.

The fighting practically became monotonous, until god knows what happened and Romanoff cried out screaming.

2010. March, Brooklyn

The address led them to a fancy, but abandoned looking house. Perfect for shady business. Okay, most of New York was perfect for shady business. It's not a coincidence that more and more vigilantes were popping up these days other than Clint and Kate. There was some guy that called himself Deadpool Clint had heard about here and there. From what he got the guy sounded pretty unhinged.

Kate hid behind some very overgrown bushes and Clint walked up to the door. The second he did so it opened itself (or maybe the wind knocked it  wide open). Either way it was very ominous. Clint was very glad he didn't come alone. Shooting a small smile to Kate he entered the house, his collapsible bow hidden under his jacket. The hall that the front door led into was ginormous, stairs wrapping wound both sides of it, leading up to the second floor gallery. And that is where an ominous looking man stood with a stupid amount of golden rings that Clint could see even from far away and in the darkness. 

“Clint Barton,” he greeted with a crooked smile. “I see you've got my message.”

“Kind of hard to miss,” Clint smiled right back at him. All around the second floor various men and women stood, definitely ready to kill him in a second. 

“Oh you know how many people we've had to reach in other ways because they wouldn't pick up the phone?”

“Poor you,” Clint stopped at the foot of the staircase.

“Oh come right up, no need to be shy. We only want to talk to you.”

Yeah, the Tracksuits always just want to talk and then they show up with fifty different baseball bats and a shotgun. Yet he walked up the stairs anyway, knowing they would bring him up forcefully if he didn't do it himself.

“Ah, thank you.” The man's smile looked even worse from up close. “It is unfortunate that we need this conversation, but a couple of days ago someone made an attempt on our director's life.”

“Really?” When could they get to the fighting part? He always hated the monologues that bad guys felt like they needed to give. 

“Yes. Someone blew up one of our main headquarters in Budapest.”

“Oh! Well sorry to disappoint, but that wasn't me.”

“We are well aware of who that was,” the guy's eyes twitched. “But you were there. Ready to fire an arrow at Mr. Dreykov.”

“But I didn't shoot him,” Clint shook his head. “You should be looking for who blew up the whole place,” he smiled.

“That is not as easy as it may sound,” the smile was getting more and more forced and at this point he should've just lost it all together. It would've been better for everyone involved. “Now–”

A distressed shout echoed through the mostly empty hall. Clint instinctively ran to the railings looking down to see some big guy dragging Kate in by her forearm and stabbing a knife right above where he had a hold on her.

“Clint Barton,” the man tsked. “We asked you to come alone. Yet you…” Another painful cry flew through the air as the guy stabbed with his knife again, but this time in an attempt to escape Kate moved and instead of her arm the knife reached her around her collarbone. The man pulled out the knife and then just shoved her to the ground. “Now look at all the mess you've–”

Clint did not let the man finish his stupid monologue. He turned back to him in a swift move and connected his fist with the guy's jaw. He got in one more punch before the Widows stationed in the corners raised their hands and shot at him. Ignoring the pain that coursed through him he stumbled down the stairs towards Kate. And to his surprise no one tried to stop him. He reached the girl lying on the floor, half unconscious without any trouble. He looked up at the top of the stair and saw everyone retreating back to the doors behind them. Only the man he punched stayed behind for a minute longer. 

“This is your only warning, Clint Barton,” he stared down at him ominously then  disappeared into the shadows.

Well that sounded great.

2015. February, Jersey City

The shriek that came out of Natasha caused Clint to stop in what he was doing and black out for a second, a faint memory screeching in the back of his mind. But only for so long. While the Widows’ programming was definitely strong this scream threw even them off for just enough time that Clint could tear the box he guarded so hard open. He grabbed two vials from it, hurling them at the floor in front of the Widows and praying to all the available gods that the antidote actually worked. 

And it did. The girls started coughing and then fell to the ground with confused expressions. Clint couldn't care about them at the moment. With the box still under his arm, not daring to let go he went — not ran, he was definitely not running — to Romanoff. She sat with her back to the wall in the hallway with a knife that had a mechanical looking handle stuck in her arm. If Clint had to guess it wasn't only a regular knife, but it also shot out electricity, because the Red Room really liked their electricity.

“Oh, Barton! I see the dust works,” Romanoff grunted from the ground.

“I think that's the smaller concern here.” He crouched down before her. “How bad is it?”

“The woman was experimenting. There's definitely a first aid kit here. Could you go find that? Please?”

She had a look of vulnerability on her that she would definitely deny if Clint ever brought it up, but then again, he would deny how much that scream scared him so they were even on that topic. On his part it was definitely just some trauma response anyway. 

He — very calmly! — looked for the medical kit and found it quickly enough in the bathroom. He brought it back to the only Widow in the room that wasn't looking around confused. He'll have to deal with those guys too, but for now it was more important to make sure Romanoff didn't bleed out on the floor. 

Which it turned out wasn't actually a cause for concern, as she way too calmly pulled the knife out of her arm, cleaned the wound and gauzed it up. 

Taking a bit of a breather Clint sat across from her on the floor just watching. 

“You are definitely something else, Romanoff,” he said.

“You're not so bad yourself, Barton,” she just barely smiled.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER THREE:

2015. Feruary, Harlem

Working with Romanoff was fun, sure, but primarily he was still a member of what they very creatively called Team Red. Fighting brainwashed people and trying to take some red dust from them was an acceptable way of spending a night, but busting some drug deal of the Tracksuits with Wade was a lot better. And definitely not because those guys weren't trained assassins, just some Polish and Russian guys that had nothing better to do then be a pain in the ass for every citizen of New York.

So yes. Easier, faster and just overall a better time. Although — even if she didn't want to admit it — Romanoff had been warming up to Clint. She stopped calling him his full government name after the mission in Jersey. Who knew, maybe one day she would call him Clint. Or just respect his secret identity and call him Ronin. 

It was well into the night by the time they cleaned out the entire building of every Tracksuit and their very poorly hid drugs. At least they could’ve tried, although this was still better than the time they hid out in an old toy store. A warehouse was a lot more fitting than a ball pit. 

“I think we're clear,” Clint called down to Wade from the second floor gallery of the warehouse.

“Yeah, I don't see anything else down here either.”

Clint was just about to jog down the stairs, happy to have a job well done, ready to go home finally, but then he saw something move in the corner of his eye and in a second he had an arrow drawn. Focusing on the dark corner where he saw the figure he slowly made advances. He was ready to shoot up until he saw the red strands of hair and the by now familiar face of Romanoff, clearly telling him to stop what he is doing right now without even saying a word.

“Why d’you get your stick out?” Clint heard Wade call from downstairs. “Is there someone up there?”

“No,” Clint put the arrow back into his quiver, “I just thought I saw something,” and collapsed his bow to then attach it to his back. “But I think it's nothing.”

“Great, then can we go?”

The pointed look Clint revived from Romanoff told him she didn't just come here to give him a heart attack, but also to say something.

“I'll check everything one more time, but you can go. We'll talk tomorrow,” he walked to the railing and called down.

“You just said there's nothing there.”

“Yeah well I can never be too sure.”

“Since when are you this responsible about anything?” The confusion carried in Wade's voice. “But you do you. It takes me longer to get home anyway. See ya Clinton!”

The second the heavy metal doors shut behind Wade Romanoff stepped out of the shadows and leaned against the railing next to Clint.

“You know you could've just texted like a normal person,” he said.

“Do you bring your phone with you?” she asked with a disbelieving look.

“...no,” Clint admitted.

“Well then. You're already in gear and near enough to our destination, so why bother calling?”

“Because I don't like lying to my teammates, Romanoff."

“I've already explained to you why I think it's easier if our teammates don't know about this. But you're a grown adult, Barton. You do what you want to do.”

Clint just sighed and dragged a hand over his face. “What mission do you have for us today?”

2010. April, Brooklyn

Going back to the fancy house where Kate was nearly killed was definitely not a great idea, especially not for said girl, but she insisted on coming with Clint. But why was he going there? Because he wanted to find these assholes and kill them for hurting Kate. Those were the basics of Ronin anyway. He found bad people and hurt them. He beat them up real bad and if there was nothing else to do, he killed them. He became Ronin to punish a bunch of assholes that hurt someone he loved, so why wouldn't he do that now? He had to take care of these guys. Also because he didn't believe in threatening messages. Although that was getting a tiny bit harder. Every time they found anyone from the Red Room the situation just got worse. Worse how, one might ask. Well worse as in worse for Kate. They meant it when they said if Clint didn't leave them alone everyone he loved (two and a half people plus a dog, but still) would suffer. They always attacked Kate, not Clint. Even when he ran face first into the fight they just diverted his attacks, never hurting him seriously. But Kate? She was their main target. And that's why Clint tried harder and harder everyday to convince her of staying behind, but she just refused. 

And now, going back to the house where it all began Clint really started to doubt himself. The second he stepped foot into the hallway he was hit with the smell of dried blood and the faint sounds of Kate's scream, as if it was still echoing through the halls. Maybe he could just give up? Let them be and then Kate wouldn't get hurt anymore. He wouldn't be scared every morning that Kate wouldn't wake up that day. All because of something Clint thought up. Even if Kate kept reminding him that she agreed to go to Budapest and he couldn't have stopped her. Yet that didn't help the guilt he was feeling. And the guilt he would feel if he let her die. He couldn't do that. He couldn't let someone so close to him die. Not again…

“Are you going to come further inside or just stand in the doorway?” Kate asked and looked back at Clint, pulling him out of his spiral. Which was definitely for the better. 

“Yeah, yeah. I'm coming,” he shut the doors behind himself and stepped inside. 

Kate took three steps up the stairs before wincing and leaning on the railing. “I'll take the ground floor. You go up, okay?” she smiled tiredly. Her leg was hurt. No question from one of the times the Red Room went after her instead of Clint while she was trying to help him. 

Clint just nodded and made his way up the stairs, only surface level scanning everything. He didn't want to find anything. If he did then Kate would be in more danger than she already was. 

And just as his luck he found something. When he was making his last round he heard a bunch of people having conversations down a hallway. When Kate shouted up to ask him what he found he did what he deemed necessary. Lie. He said nothing.

“We ran into something at all the other places, but not here?”

“Yeah, weird,” Clint kept an eye on the hallway. “Hey, I can do one more sweep of the place, just to make sure we didn't miss anything. Maybe you could go home and rest.” Before she could start protesting Clint continued. “You've done enough for today. You need to heal.”

And to his surprise she listened. Made a bit of a fuss, but still left the house in the next five minutes. Which of course Clint was happy about, but it meant he had to face the others alone. And if he was alone they definitely won't be sparing him. He walked into the room and guess what. The guy from the last time sat comfortably in an armchair by a fireplace with two Widows in the corners of the room.

“Clint Barton.” There came Clint's favorite smile. Though the guy was missing a tooth now, so at least he left a mark. “I see you become smarter. Sending her home.”

“Okay, before you start another monologue,” Clint cut him off before he even started. “Let's get a couple of things straight. I tried to kill Dreykov. I wanted to go to Budapest. I arranged the whole mission. Kate just tried to help me. So hurt me or whatever, but let her go.”

“But that is the thing. You think yourself a hero. If we hurt and kill you, you become a martyr,” the man laughed. “We hurt and torture her than you will slowly break and won't want to play the good guy anymore.”

Clint clenched his fists, having to force himself to not punch the man again, but the Widows’ hands ready to shoot him again were enough motivation.

“But,” the man started again once he deemed the silence to be dramatic enough, “we can make a deal. That is why we asked you here the last time, only you broke our trust. But I'm willing to make an exception.”

“What do you want?” Clint growled.

“It's simple really. You leave us alone. Never try to interfere with what we do again and leave the town.”

“Leave… leave New York?” Clint snapped his head up.

“Well yes. If you're here we can't do what we want.”

“I can't just leave New York. I have a job, places to be.”

“But Miss Bishop would be safe. Everyone you care about would be safe.” Clint would not have called what was on the asshole's face a smile anymore. It was closer to a vicious grin, clearly pleased with himself. “It's your choice.”

Well that… that was very bad.

2015. February, Harlem

After weeks of running after the Widows and red dust (it was still unclear why it got scattered all around New York) it was becoming almost easy. Or at least easier. And Clint could see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

By now it was clear why the Red Room came back to New York. They heard about the dust, and they wanted it for themselves. But there wasn't an endless amount of dust and there were places they couldn't steal it from. Soon they would run out of chances to get their hands on even one drop of it, all thanks to Clint and Natahsa. Clint didn't know who Romanoff's informator guy was, but they sure as hell were doing a great job. Any time even one small vial of it came up Romanoff already knew about it and sometimes even before the Red Room could get near the place they had the dust safely stored at the one place unreachable to the Russians. The new and improved SHIELD, without the nazis this time. Of course if anyone were to ask a civilian they would say SHIELD was still down, and possibly just a bunch of terrorists, but as Clint had learnt some guy restarted it. Or something like that. It was a bit confusing and Romanoff didn't like giving him details. It was already a surprise she admitted that they were back at all.

Tonight though was a harder night. The dust showed up in three different parts of Manhattan all at the same time. And they weren't far ahead of the Widows this time. Clint had to go to one of the places alone while Romanoff after the other and even that way there was a third box of vials, open for taking. At least Clint learned how to fight against a Widow by now (courtesy of Natasha Romanoff deciding after one mission where Clint almost lost a tooth to teach him). He knew how to evade being electrocuted and hadn't been hit with a Widow bite in a week (to all the happiness of Matt). 

Today as well Clint got the dust for himself and found a long enough opening in the fight to spray the Widow with it and bring her back to her consciousness. Which was the other hard part of the job. Having to help these girls calm down after being mind controlled for possibly years without stop was hard. Tonight specifically as he didn't have time to go slowly, he just had to tell her the cold facts of what had happened to her and where she needed to go to find help. Also some people of SHIELD that Romanoff trusted. Clint didn't exactly trust SHIELD, but he had no better idea as to what these poor Widows were supposed to do after finally regaining their autonomy, so he accepted that some people at SHIELD could help them.

With one place down he still had another one to go. Romanoff finished with her first place as well and they met up the last location, only to find the Widows sent there already running further and further away from the place with the dust under their arms. Catching up with them was certainly harder than just fighting them, considering Clint had a lot more gear than they did, but he managed. Just barely. But hey, he had experience in running after women. And getting punched by said women. Really, this could've just been his dating life.

Reaching the Widows definitely was the hardest part. After that, taking the box from them was practically child's play. Clint wondered for a second if their subconscious was making them lose the fights, as a hope for escape. Except these girls didn't get an escape. The box flew out of their hands while fighting Romanoff and it crashed, breaking every single vial inside of it. Then whoever was controlling the switch made the Widows retreat and disappear into the night.

Standing above the broken glass and sprawled out dust Clint tried catching his breath, vaguely aware of what Romanoff was doing behind him. He heard the quiet sound of glass knocking into each other, so he assumed she was counting the vials she got from the other place.

She kept on muttering to herself about the dust, then finally stopped across from Clint. “How many did you find at the other place?”

Clint reached into his pocket and pulled out two small vials from it. “That's all. There was only one Widow as well.”

She took the dust from him and placed it next to all the others in her bag. She looked around tiredly and dragged a hand over her face before speaking again. “I'm tired. You want coffee?” she asked.

“I never say no to coffee,” Clint shrugged.

And that is how Clint ended up sitting on the balcony of a water tower (or whatever they were called) near the Hudson in Hell's Kitchen, drinking coffee with Romanoff. Who, believe it or not, was showing emotion. And not only that, but Clint could see it. “You okay?” he asked, strictly keeping his eyes trained on his legs that were swinging over the edge of the balcony.

“Of course. Why wouldn't I be?” She was vaguely looking in his direction. More like over him.

“You're sad ‘cause we couldn't help those Widows escape,” Clint stated, still not wanting to look up.

“What? No, I– You don't know what you are talking about, Clint Barton,” Romanoff looked away from him.

“Wow. I try to be nice and you demote me to full name. Not nice, Natasha Romanoff,” he shook his head in disappointment.

“That's hardly even close to my full name, Clint Barton,” she sighed, relieved. 

“No?” Clint turned to her. “Then what is?”

“As if I told you.”

“C'mon! I would tell you mine, but I'm sure you already know it.”

“Yes, I do know your parents hated you enough to name you Francis,” she sipped her coffee.

“Logically speaking, would Clinton Barton be any better?”

“No, definitely not.”

“See? I have a stupid name. Now gimme yours. It's fine to have a dumb name.”

After another sigh she finally gave in. “Natalia Alianovna Romanova.”

“Okay. That definitely is a mouthful,” Clint scratched his chin. “I can see why you'd lose the ‘a’ from Romanova and that whole  thing in the middle. It's a bit much. But why did you change Natalia to Natasha?”

“Because I did?”

“No but like– You get so many nicknames from Natalia. Nat, Tali, Talia, Natalie, Lia… all you get with Natasha is Nat and Tasha,” he sipped his drink. “Which do you like, by the way?” 

“You're nowhere near nickname level yet, Barton,” she shook her head over the cup.

“But I'm back to last name level,” he pointed at her.

“Just drink your damn coffee, Clint.”

“Sure,” he smiled into the cup. ‘Natasha’ he added in his head.

2010. April, Brooklyn

Clint all but ran back to his apartment after that very pleasant conversation, thoughts running around in his head. 

Shouldn't this be an easy choice? Kate (and the other one and a half people he cared about) would be safe if he left. But leaving the Red Room to do what they wanted to? He started being Ronin to stop people like them. To stop them. To make sure no one had to be hurt like he and his sister were. But Laura was dead and Kate was alive. At least for now. But if Clint stayed she wouldn't be for long. He couldn't let that happen, no. 

He tore open his apartment’s door and without even registering anything he ran up the stairs to his bedroom. Lucky ran up behind him, clearly very happy to see him, even though it's only been like two hours since he left the place. Once he shoved all his Ronin stuff into a duffle bag he jumped over every other step of the stairs on his way down and only then did he notice Kate sitting on his couch, arms crossed and staring at him.

“I see there weren't any Red Room agents you forgot to tell me about,” she said accusingly. Why was she even here? Clint told her to go home. He told her to go home and she came here? Great. That just made him even more sure about getting the hell out of here if that meant she would be safe. 

“Yes, I found some of them. But they wanted to threaten me, not you so it's all good.”

“What did they say now?” Kate asked while patting the dog that now rested next to her on the couch.

“Uhh…” Clint started back up the stairs, completely forgetting why he even came down here. “That they'll leave you alone.”

“And what do we need to do for them to do that?” Damn Kate and her logically functioning brain for making obvious connections.

“Leave New York,” Clint shouted down.

“What?”

“I mean I have to leave. You can stay.” What was he looking for in his closet?

“What are you talking about, Clint?” Kate was now standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“If I leave they won't hurt you anymore.” Ah yes, he wanted to put away his boots. “It's easy, really.”

“They're attacking me, not you. Don't I get a say in this?” she was slowly climbing up the stairs. 

“They're attacking you because it hurts me. I go away they'll get off of your back,” Clint tried to go down again, but she stood in his way. 

“You cannot be serious right now!” she yelled, frustrated.

And Clint was also getting angry, he just wasn't sure why exactly. “I don't want you to die, Kate! Or the one and a half other people I care about! Or the dog! They threatened the dog, Kate!”

“They did that two weeks ago already!” Kate said in an exasperated tone as Clint pushed himself out of the way. “What's different now?!”

“That you can barely stand on your goddamn feet!” Clint shouted, gesturing at Kate who was using the railings to keep herself up.

“Look,” she started a minute later, somewhat calmer, “I know things have been hard since your sister's death, but–”

“No, Kate. There is no ‘but’. I let her die and I won't let that happen to anyone else I care about.”

“And that equals running like a coward?”

“If that's what it takes, then yes.”

“That's Clint Barton to you people I guess! You always fuck up and what do you do? Run from the problem. Act like someone else is responsible!” she yelled. “I chose to walk into this mess. If I get hurt, that's on me!” She pointed at her chest. “Not you! You don't get to act like you're doing this to protect me! You're not doing this to protect your loved ones, you're doing this to protect yourself!” 

“I…”

She breathed heavily, waiting for Clint to say something, but he couldn't. His brain stopped operating. 

“I don't need this. I'm going home,” she shook her head and stumbled to the door. “I hope you come to your senses,” she shut the door behind herself.

“Kate…” Was all Clint could say, but by then she was long gone.

2015. February, Hell's Kitchen

Clint got home very very late. He opened the apartment's door as quietly as possible to not wake Matt up. He took small steps through the room, but having stubbed his toe within three steps he decided to turn on the lights. He had to jump back when he saw the figure sitting at the dining table, but then he calmed down and didn't get out his sword when he saw that it was just Matt deep in a pile of papers.

“Matt, hey,” Clint clutched his chest. “Why are you still up? It's late.”

“Is it?” Matt dragged a hand over his face. “How late?”

“Like three a.m. late.” Clint set down his quiver and bow next to the couch.

“What? I don't believe you.” Matt tapped the screen of his phone and it read aloud the time, which was three twenty-four a.m. indeed. “Okay, it is late. Next question then. Why are you still up? Better yet. Why are you only coming home now?”

“I was out with Wade, but I'm pretty sure I told you that.”

“I know that, but Wade said you finished hours ago,” Matt got up from the desk. “He did say you checked everything again, but that surely doesn't take this long.”

“Oh, that! I got something else to do, I–” He couldn't say he forgot, that wasn't the truth he just… “I didn't tell you, sorry.”

“I wasn't anxiously waiting for your arrival, I know you can take care of yourself,” Matt arranged the papers into a neat little pile. “Most of the time,” he added quietly.

“Excuse me? What do you mean most of the time? I am a very competent person.”

“Really now? How many times have you ended up in dumpsters before exactly?” Matt turned to leave the room with an evil grin, clearly hearable in his voice.

Which of course Clint wasn't gonna just let. He made his way to the other side of the room quickly and grabbed Matt's wrists, pulling him back and trapping him between his arms. “I'm sorry, but didn't Ronin and Daredevil meet by being thrown into the same dumpster?” he smiled, climbing into Matt's personal space.

“Yeah, well you've definitely been in more dumpsters than me.”

“That's completely impossible. You're the one they like throwing into the trash. They usually electrocute me.”

“You went to deal with the Red Room again?” The smile fell from Matt's face.

“What?”

“You said electrocuted.”

“I meant it more like in general, not tonight. I wasn't electrocuted tonight… At least I think so. No, they couldn't get me.”

“So you did go after the Red Room,” Matt freed his arms, just so he could cross them.

Damn Matt and his stupidly functional brain. “Yeah… I did.”

“Why didn't you ask Wade to go with you? You were with him anyway.”

“I don't know when I have to deal with those guys, they don't give me a schedule,” Clint leaned against the wall.

“You wouldn't have asked him even if you knew, would you?” Matt stepped closer, taking Clint's hands in his.

“Well you can see right through me, can't you? Pun completely intended.”

“Clint. Are you alright? You've been more avoidant than usual these past weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah ‘m fine… I've just been… thinking.”

“You've been thinking? That's how bad the situation is?” Matt joked.

“Ha ha very funny. Uhhh… It's just that I've been thinking about the times before I had any of this. You know, our team, my friends, you…”

“I remember when we first met. You were acting like anyone who talked to you was in imminent danger of a tram falling on their head.”

“A tram, yeah.”

Definitely a tram and not a mob of angry Russians. A tram. Definitely.

Chapter Text

CAHPTER FOUR:

2015. March, Staten Island

It wasn't completely intentional that Clint didn't tell the others about his partnership/friendship with Natasha. It's just that they never asked and Clint never brought it up. Had they asked him straight on whether or not he was working with someone other than them he would've told them. He wasn't hiding it. He had nothing to hide. He just made a new friend. Granted, that friend helped bring him and his friends into the government's custody and also kinda sort of stalked them two years ago. But that's the point! It was two years ago. Actually, he almost brought up the fact that he had some help with his Dreykov missions one time when they were all hanging out and talking about patrols, but Peter started his monologue with ‘The Avengers are being assholes again’ and that he'd ‘like to throw half of them out the nearest window’. Clint decided that wouldn't be the day he told them. And he also suspected Wade — being as dramatic as he was — would say something like ‘he was working with the enemy’. And Matt. He couldn't yet find a good reason for why he wouldn't take it well, but there surely was. He had his problems with the Avengers. All the people he worked with that lost their houses after the Battle of New York definitely made him bitter. 

On happier notes his fight against the Red Room was going really well. Natasha and him went back to Jersey and found the lady who made the antidote to begin with (again). Turns out the reason every little vial had to be hunted down was because after the first set of Widows arrived she scattered it all around the place so they wouldn't come knocking on her door for it. A supremely idiotic idea if you asked Clint and he had made a lot of stupid decisions in the past. But even though this woman made everything so much harder for everyone they were making progress. Based on the information they got from her there were only a handful more doses of the antidote floating around. And then maybe, just maybe the Red Room would be out of here. They didn't have a place set up here for five years now, and they were doing fine, so why would they stay after (hopefully) not getting any of the antidote into their hands.

The latest (and one of the last) vials they had recovered from a night market on Staten Island. Having to get on the ferry just for one dose of the dust was definitely annoying, but at least there was some great food they got from one of the other stalls for the way back. 

And that was the other thing. Since the mission in Harlem their usual dust hunting activities were accompanied by getting coffee or some food after. And Clint definitely didn't mind that, because one, he loved coffee and two, he didn't think it was possible, but he was having normal conversations with Natasha. Not just the half-hearted insults they'd been throwing at each other previously, or the strictly business talks. Even right now, in a far corner of the ferry that took them back to Manhattan they were having just a regular, friendly conversation. Maybe not regular, as the current question Natahsa asked from Clint was what his craziest mission was. Regular for people like them.

“Craziest one?” Clint pondered. “This whole thing, probably.”

“We're just chasing a bunch of people and vials of dust. Surely there were things weirder than this.”

“Well then I'll have to say Budapest. What are the chances that when I leave the country to kill that one guy it's the exact same day that someone else,” he nudged Natahs's side, “also decides to do just that?”

Ever since their partnership began this might've been the first time he saw genuine confusion on Natasha's face. “What?”

“I mean out of all the years and all the days we decide to go kill Dreykov at the exact same time,” Clint repeated himself, furrowing his brows.

“That was you in Budapest?”

“Yeah… did you– were you not aware of that? You fought me.”

“I fought some guy that was walking around the rubble. I didn't know it was you. You were being less stupid and had a mask that covered your entire face.”

“Okay, no need to insult the wardrobe. But how did you not…? I don't think Hungary has vigilantes and how many of us walk around with a bow and arrow?” Two, his brain very usefully answered the question. At the time two.

“I thought he was some guy from the Hungarian special forces.”

“Just because it's Eastern-Europe it doesn’t mean they stopped weaponry improvement at bows and arrows.”

“Yeah, well I didn't really think about it. They guy stabbed me and then the Counter Terrorism Centre came and I had other things to worry about. And by the way fuck you for stabbing me,” Natasha punched his arm.

“I mean I thought you wanted to kill me. I had to do something,” Clint held up his hands in surrender. “But sorry about it I guess.”

“Well that's…” she rubbed her temples. “What were you doing all the way over there? I mean you said you didn't want to leave New York for one guy.”

“Oh, it's…” Pain. He went there, because he was in pain. And revenge. He wanted revenge for what happened to him. For what happened to… On the outside it looked like a heroic thing. Trying to make sure they couldn't hurt anyone, but it wasn't that. It wasn't just that. He would've never gone all the way to Europe to take out Dreykov and the Red Room had they not… “It's a long story.” He decided to divert the question before he had a mental breakdown. “Complicated. They were doing a lot of annoying stuff around here, so I just thought I'd… You know,” he made vague gestures similar to drawing and shooting an arrow. “And you? I mean I know why you would go after him, but why then and there?”

Answering any kind of personal question from Clint was still a thing Natasha thought about every time, but she had decided to trust him today. “When I left the Red Room and joined SHIELD there were… certain things I had to do to become an official member. First, of course, was to give them all the information I had about them. The last one was the Budapest Operation. I had to go and kill Dreykov. You know, make sure I wasn't even a tiny bit loyal to him. Of course now I know it didn't work, but at the time it seemed like it and I got into SHIELD.”

Clint opened his mouth, but then closed it back up and only said something once Natasha furrowed her brows and looked suspiciously at him. “I almost said his fake death at least did something useful,” Clint explained, “but his actual death would've accomplished the same thing and more."

“That man can never do what would be convenient for others,” Natasha said quietly as she stared out at the water over the railings.

There were minutes of silence. Or as much silence as one could get on a public transport.

“Hey,” Natasha spoke again — which Clint was grateful for as his mind started circling back to her last question —, a bit distracted, “did you have some team or a partner before you collected your current teammates? I mean I could swear you were calling after someone when I found you in the rubble.”

Scratch that. Nothing good about her new question. That's a different mental breakdown. Very closely tied to the previous one though. “Natasha, you do know my friends are people too, right? I didn't just collect them,” Clint very smoothly evaded the question.

“Really?” she turned around and leaned her back against the rails. “I swear the file says beings that do the police's job.”

“Oh now we're beings that do police job?” Clint asked, smiling. “We're not nuisances in your ass like two years ago?”

“That was then. Since then SHIELD has crumbled and I'm no longer assigned to capture you,” she shrugged. “No, Clint, but really. Was there anyone?”

2010. April, Brooklyn

As it turned out, doing vigilante work alone was a lot less fun than doing it with a partner. At least Kate was relatively safe. She definitely wasn't taking the necessary break she needed, but she didn't end up in the clasps of the Red Room. Clint was sure that if she were then they would've let him know just to make him suffer even more. He still wasn't entirely sure whether or not he should leave. The next time he ran into the Russians they said he had until the end of the month. At least they were considerate of how hard it would be for a guy working in customer service to just leave town from one day to the next.

To ease his mind a little Clint was practicing his archery, the only thing that calmed him down ever since he was a child, but even that didn't help right now. He kept missing the target. There were at least four new dents in the wall. When the fifth arrow hit the wall the door of the apartment creaked open. Clint looked back, and to his surprise it was Kate who had arrived. She had her bow and arrows with her.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Clint replied, shooting and missing again.

“So… how are you doing,” she started slowly as Clint drew and aimed the next arrow. Missed. Again.

Not receiving an answer Kate took over the place where Clint previously stood — before he dropped his bow down and walked away in anger — and drew her own arrow. She was mostly healthy now. It's only been a week and a half since they last saw each other, but she's already better off without him.

“Listen,” she started as she shot the arrow. It hit. Right in the center. “I was–”

“What?!” Clint was unnecessarily angry. But maybe that's for the better. If she gets mad at him again she'll stay away. Then she'll be safe. Maybe even without Clint having to leave.

“Why are you yelling at me?!” She put down her bow next to Clint's also abandoned one.

“Kate, it's just… You're trying to help, I get it. But don't.”

“Okay, on the list of people you get to be an asshole to, I am very very low. I'm practically the only person that still cares about you in this godforsaken city!” She grabbed a bow and shot another arrow right next to her other one.

She turned to leave and Clint raised a hand and called after her. “Kate…”

She looked back at him expectantly. “Yes?” 

“That's…” He couldn't say what he wanted. “That's my bow,” he sighed.

Kate looked down at the very poorly painted bow in her hands and scoffed. She dropped it down onto the floor and snatched her own one from the ground. “I cannot believe you, Barton,” she shook her head as she walked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind herself.

Clint felt like absolute shit for the whole day after and the fact that she showed up again tomorrow didn't help either. He was depressedly eating his cereal when she busted in through the door and, without a word, started collecting a bunch of stuff that Clint assumed to be hers. Maybe some it was his, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Once all packed up she stood in front of Clint.

“I gotta get out of here for a while,” she announced. After not receiving an answer she repeated. “I'm leaving. Clint?”

“Do what you gotta do,” he kept swirling his cereal.

“I can't sit around and watch you do nothing as the Red Room goes on a rampage all because you have convinced yourself you're doing this to protect me.” Clint said nothing, just shrugged, mesmerized by the soggy cereal. “Things are hard, I get it. They are for me too, but that's why we should be sticking together.” No answer. “You know normal people would be asking for help when a criminal organization threatens them, not pushing away what little they already have.”

Clint couldn't handle it anymore. It was getting too much. Too real. “Please just… just stop talking, I can't…”

“I can't just watch as you sit and wallow in self pity, while pretending this is good for anyone,” she finished and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Clint decided to finally ask something.

“L.A.”

“Los Angeles? Why are you going there?” Clint snapped up his head.

“Because that's the furthest I can get from you and this whole situation while still being in America,” she answered, making sure that Clint felt even worse than he already did. “Come on Lucky,” she whistled.

And that's what it took for Clint to finally step into the actual world. He stood up from the barstool and ran after Kate and the dog. “Hey! Hey! You're not my girlfriend, you can't take my dog!”

“Goodbye, Clint!” Kate shouted over her shoulder. 

The second the elevator door closed behind her Clint felt a weird emptiness eating away at him. He didn't think she'd leave the state. He assumed she'd go back home to her dad and stay there. Not that she'd go all the way over to the West Coast…

It was better this way, Clint kept telling himself. He had to, or else he might regret it.

2015. March, Staten Island

“Clint?” Natasha called his name, definitely not for the first time. “You blanked out there for a minute.”

If he had blanked out, that would've been so much better than having to remember every little detail about how he fucked up and lost Kate all those years ago. It would've been so much better than having to feel like fog clouded up his mind and the only thing remaining are the memories of those days repeating in his mind over and over and over and–

“Clint!” Natahsa snapped in front of his face.

“Oh,” he blinked, trying to drown out the fog and trying to remember what the conversation was about. “Sorry.”

“So? You had anyone?” 

Right. That was the question. He didn't exactly want to talk about it right now. He never wanted to talk about it. But maybe it would be better for him if he didn't keep it inside. All these memories he tried so hard to push down, flooding back with no way to stop them. But maybe if he talked about it. Told someone about it. After all, it was the events of these past months that caused him to enter this spiral. Thus by association Natahsa. And why couldn't he tell her about Kate? It's not like it was a secret. Yes. He should tell her.

“Hey, you ever get food from the trucks downtown?” Just not right this second.

“Uhhh,” Natasha studied his face, definitely checking if he went crazy all of a sudden. “No… Never really got any sidewalk food.”

“No? I know a guy, he has amazing food. You wanna come with me this weekend?” He hoped with all her people reading skills she understood Clint wanted to answer her, just couldn't do it right this second. Not now, with the memories circling his brain, vibrant as if they only happened yesterday.

“Sure. I don't have anything planned for the weekend,” she smiled a bit confused, but she probably got the message.

“Great.” 

At that moment, looking at her smiling confused at the weird little things he did, he realized that with Natasha he had regained something that he last had with Kate. 

He never thought he'd say this, but he was glad he went to Budapest five years ago.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER FIVE:

2015. March, Downtown Manhattan

“Now let me get this straight,” Natahsa laughed at the pure stupidity of what Clint had just said. At least she thought it was stupid. “This guy that sells food from a truck in Downtown Manhattan of all places also has seating set up in a fenced off alleyway across from said truck?"

"Yes,” Clint nodded, not understanding what would be someone weird about this.

"Clint, if you want to get me killed you really could've chosen a less suspicious place."

"I swear I'm not trying to kill you." Now it was Clint's turn to laugh. “See? There's the truck. It's completely legit.”

"And the people that live in the houses bordering the alley?"

"There are no side doors and I'm eighty percent sure he pays off the residents with free food to not give him up. It's gonna be fine, I promise,” he looped an arm around hers (he did not lose the arm) and dragged her to the truck.

"You and I move in very different circles, I must say.”

“And mine are objectively better,” he smiled.

Who wouldn't like some good New York street food? Especially from such a great guy. Sure, the tables in the alley weren't legal, but c'mon! With all the Hydra agents running around was this really the biggest problem the police had? (Definitely. They always had the stupidest priorities.)

Once they acquired their food and drinks Clint very dramatically opened the gate in the fence and led Natasha through to the L-shaped alley full with tables, seats (a dumpster) and a bunch of people. Natasha pulled on her hood the second they stepped in, looking down. Clearly worrying about problems only people stupid enough to do hero business without a mask have.

“You don't have to worry about that.” Clint motioned at her head with his cup. “No one here cares that you're an Avenger. Ain't the weirdest thing they've seen."

"Then what is?" she hesitantly took off her hood.

"Could say blind man throwing away his cane and doing parkour, but probably not."

"These guys just know Murdock's identity?"

"Of course not. They have four– more than four vigilantes to choose from and he could be a SHIELD agent for all they know. Or Hydra. And what civilian wants to potentially mess with either of those?"

"I mean I guess– wait,” she stopped in her tracks and pulled Clint along with her. “What do you mean more than four vigilantes?"

"Nothing,” Clint freed his arms and continued walking. “Where do you wanna sit? I usually sit somewhere near the end.”

"N-no. Clint,” Natasha caught up with him. “How many vigilantes do you know about?"

"How many do you?"

"Four. But now I'm guessing there are a bit more than that..."

"Umm..." Well there was that scary lady, and those two dudes, not even mentioning the weird old guy Matt told him about and that other woman so that would be five, and then obviously there's the four of them so... "I've got nine, I think?"

"Nine?"

"I mean. I'm not sure where the line between a powered individual who helped with crimes ends and where a vigilante starts, so actually I'm not a hundred percent sure, but close enough.”

"Well thanks, I definitely didn't already have enough things to deal with and now you tell me I missed the existence of five vigilantes. Or at least powered individuals." They finally stopped before an empty table near the end of the alleyway.

"If it helps, one of ‘em is already dead.” 

"No that does not... I will be asking more questions later. That is a threat,” she sat down and pointed a finger at him.

"And I'm not guaranteeing a single answer to them,” Clint sat down across from her with a wide smile.

Amongst other things Natasha did keep true to her words and asked him a number of questions and he very smoothly evaded all of them. Okay, like eighty percent of them. Seventy… fifty-two. Unimportant. That was only part of the conversation. There were other parts. Like the very important question she had just asked him:

“Are you still working in the depths of hell that is customer service?”

“Of course,” he took a bite of his food. “You know how much I love dealing with people who think they're better than me.”

“Was that another dig at SHIELD?”

“Yeah it was another dig at SHIELD,” Clint answered before she could even finish the sentence.

"You're never letting that mission go, are you?" Natasha sighed tiredly, but she was smiling.

"Nope. Never."

"Statistically speaking there's a good chance that the mission was thought up by Hydra..."

"It's possible, it's possible. But maybe you're saying that to make yourself look better."

"That's the fun of it, you may never know,” she smiled into her cup.

"How did things go with rooting out Hydra, anyway?"

"Before or after the outbreak?"

"Was there any rooting out to be done once they announced to the world they are nazis?"

"Before that? We were… working on it. Slowly, but surely getting rid of people, but…” she leaned back with a sigh. “We had to make sure none of them found out we were after Hydra. It would've been a long process and we only had five months and we didn't even know they were behind Project Insight. It was… it was chaos"

"I can imagine. I saw the helicarriers on the news. The idea that those things were in the hands of a bunch of nazis?"

"Yes, that is obviously horrible, but the carriers were a physical problem we could deal with. The bigger thing was…” she drew her eyes into a tight line. “All these people I've worked with for quite a while now, people I thought were my friends, or at least close to that turned out to be my enemies that wanted to kill me. That feeling... It kinda made me feel like I would've been better off had I not let them close in the first place. At least then they couldn't hurt me. Not this way."

"Yeah," Clint breathed, barely audible. "I have an idea what that might feel like."

2010. June, Manhattan

Two months ago he rid himself of Kate, his only ally. Now that he had nothing to lose he could hurt them back. Get rid of them. He could make sure they wouldn't hurt anyone else ever again. Now that Kate wasn't here there wasn't anyone to tell him to stop. To calm down. All the criminals in New York, not just the Red Room, were getting a new side of Ronin. One that gave them even less of a chance to run. To escape. To survive. Now that Kate was gone he didn't have anyone. He didn't want to have anyone. He made sure to disappear very fast whenever that Deadpool guy showed up and started blabbering about something. He couldn't afford to gain a new ally. Then what he did would've been for nothing. There would still be someone for the Red Room to hurt. Other than him. But that was fine. Not fine. Fine wasn't the word for it. It was tolerable. He could tolerate the physical pain that came with fighting off a bunch of angry Russians. He could heal from those wounds. The emotional ones he never quite learned how to heal from. It's not like anyone ever taught it to him. No one was ever there for him to teach these things. Not his parents, not his brother. And he couldn't teach this to his sister either. He couldn't do that. He couldn't do a lot of things that were emotional. That's why he liked the physical pain better. At least it reminded him that he was suffering, not Kate. Not someone else he cared about. Luckily there wasn't anyone like that left. And he didn't plan on gaining any new ones. 

But the thing was, the world didn't want it that way. It kept on trying and trying to hurt him. To give him someone new to lose. He kept on running into that Deadpool guy. They kept on going after the same people. For Christ's sake Clint knew what the guy looked like under his stupid mask because of some unfortunate events that occurred while fighting some ninjas. And if that wasn't enough this guy kept and kept coming to him. Not only when they were after the same guys, no. He kept coming to Clint because he decided he wanted to talk. He decided to talk to him, because he felt like it. He wouldn't take the hint. And then one day, when Clint was desperately trying to ignore one vigilante he ran into another. Another one that kept on talking and talking. Spiderman, he called himself. Maybe if these two met they would leave him alone? He could only hope. New York certainly seemed small to him, maybe it was small to them too. And then there was another problem. And an even bigger one. An even less avoidable, and a lot less annoying problem. A problem Clint almost wanted to go to.

The horrid place Clint called his workplace, also known as Columbia University's coffee bar, was his biggest cause for concern. More specifically a certain someone that studied at said university and probably wouldn't be alive without coffee.

Clint was trying very hard to act normal and ignore the stinging pain in his side that might've been a broken rib from last night's endeavors. He hadn't been to work in a while, healing from a not so hideable injury, so now he couldn't stay away. He was fairly peacefully cleaning used cups in the sink, feeling something close to happiness, because Deadpool hadn't come looking for him in nearly a week now (maybe he met Spiderman and found a new person to annoy) when an ever so familiar voice called from behind him.

"Good to know you're still alive," greeted him one Matt Murdock, first year law student, weirdly agile blind man and — most importantly — Clint's biggest concern at the moment, because this guy also insisted on talking to him noticeably more than anyone else that lived off coffee and Clint saw nearly everyday. Also how he knew Clint was the one behind the counter was very unclear.

He put down the mug he was holding onto the rack and turned around. "I'm guessing the usual with enough caffeine to kill a man?" Clint tried to smile.

"Yes. And a less deadly one for Foggy." Why did this guy have to keep smiling at him so unnecessarily adorably? 

"Comin' right up," he took the money from Matt, turned back to the machine and started punching buttons on it.

"Are you alright?" Matt's voice came from behind him, and Clint could practically see the little head tilt that he loved doing when he asked a question.

"Of course," Clint's hand stopped for a second, then continued.

"You sound tired."

Hitting the last button he needed to, Clint took a deep breath before forcing a smile onto his face and turning back around. "I serve coffee to law students that haven't slept in days. Obviously I'm done with life," he leaned against the back counter.

"What? You don't like it? Do you not enjoy my amazing company?"

"No, I enjoy it," he couldn't keep on the smile anymore so he just turned away. (He really was just turning back and forth at this point.) Which of course he didn't need to do, it wasn't like Matt could see him, but sometimes Clint felt like the other knew exactly what he was doing. "But you shouldn't be enjoying mine. It would be better for you."

"That sounded way too ominous for a guy who works in customer service," Matt laughed.

Too friendly. He was being too friendly. He always was. He was trying to be friends with Clint. He was trying to get himself hurt. Of course he didn't know that. But Clint did. And he could stop this. He just had to push him away. That worked fine enough with Kate. Sure, he felt — he was still feeling — like shit. But if it's what did the job. "And you're way too agile for a blind guy, but you don't see me pointing that out." He placed the finished cups on the counter and turned right back around (he was seriously getting dizzy from all this turning (or the blood loss from two nights ago (or both))) without waiting even half a second.

The aforementioned dizziness came forth with that last turn and he had to lean forward, all but gripping the side of the countertops. As if some fog filled up his head he saw black dots all around, his ears became clogged up. The last sound he could make out of the fog and the students' chatting all around him was Matt's cane tapping on the ground and the little bell over the door ringing as he left. That ringing got tangled in the fog, repeating over and over again in a muffled way, running around his head in a circle holding it tighter and tighter until he felt like his brain was about to blow up. Then a shout and a chair's clamoring dragged him back faster than he went. Some hungover guy tripped over himself and knocked over a pile of extra chairs. 

Couldn't all the law students be like this? Couldn't they all be so bothered by their hangovers that they didn't have time to acknowledge Clint? He didn't want to be an asshole to Matt, he hadn't done anything wrong. He was just being a normal person. Unluckily for him he chose the one person here who hadn't had a normal day in his life since he was a child. But it was fine. Everything was fine. If he pushed everyone he had and everyone he could have away then the Red Room or anyone else that might have it out for him wouldn't have anyone to use against him. It was safer this way. It was safer to be without friends. If he didn't have anyone, then there would be no one to hurt, and no one for him to lose. 

2015. March, Downtown Manhattan

"So how are things going with your friends? They still hate us?” 

After having their mid-afternoon lunch Downton they moved further up to a bar Natasha mentioned. What better way was there to spend a Saturday afternoon/evening than drinking and talking with a friend anyway?

"It is ever-changing. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. Well, even then they find you annoying,” Clint took a sip of his drink. “Current problems are that you won't let them deal with Hydra agents they find. Not very happy about that. Considering everything that happened in 2013."

"Oh, I've heard from Tony the things Peter manages to say while still sounding polite. That boy has skills that I am afraid of.”

"Imagine the things he says once he's out of the HR's reach. And Wade... well he's still Wade. Unhinged as ever."

"And Murdock? He's still taking on the absolute craziest cases those fifteen streets he protects have ever seen?" Natasha laughed over her glass.

"Hell's Kitchen is at least twenty-six streets. And actually! We are dating now!"

"Wow. How'd you manage that?"

“What do you mean? I am charming. Also I asked him on a date and he — the catholic little nonswearing boy — replied with ‘fucking finally’ so it wasn't exactly that hard. You know I'm not sure, but he might've been flirting with me since we first met. Which was, for reference, more than five years ago. But yes. I managed to finally get the hint around a year ago,” he smiled proudly as if he hadn't missed four and a half years worth of other hints. To be fair he was having other problems in 2010, so he can't really be blamed for that.

"I mean yeah, he's also blind so you have an advantage there,” Natasha shrugged.

"I'm sorry? Did you just call me ugly? Wow. Okay. Then how are the Avengerses’ love lives goin'?" he slurred a bit.

"Oh, well, you know. Tony and Pepper are always on again off again. Depends what day of the week it is. Bruce's only love is science as far as I'm aware and Steve... Umm... Steve won't admit it, but he's still not over his best friend/crush from the forties so that's that."

"Still? That guy has to be what? Either dead or old and rotting by now."

Natasha just chuckled and tapped her fingers on the glass. "Funny thing is that no."

"What d'you mean no?" That wasn't even a yes or no question.

"Do you know what happened in DC during the Hydra invasion?"

"Some SHIELD base with a stupid name got taken over real bad."

"Oh if it was just that. Ever heard about the Winter Soldier?"

"Yeah. The guy's some myth the Soviets made when they got bored."

"Oh no, he's definitely real. Me, Steve and this other guy got attacked by him in DC. And now take a guess who he turned out to be."

Clint had thought what he and Wade went through around the time of the Hydra surfacing here in New York was bad. That some buildings blowing up, some old enemies resurfacing, more blown up buildings and a weird cyborg guy was the worst it could get. But compared to what went down in DC their day was child's play. There was no highway car chase committed by the world's deadliest assassin, no helicarriers, just one, singular cyborg. That actually left, so not even that bad. Clint wasn't nearly electrocuted to death either, he just got beaten up real bad.

"His friend from the forties?!"

"Yep,” Natasha kept on laughing at Clint's face.

"Literally no way. How is that even possible?"

"Lots and lots of cryofreezing."

Wait… "So they put him in a Soviet fridge?"

"Yeah, they put him in a Soviet freezer.”

"Well that's..." 

Just the simple idea, the 'what if?' of having someone he thought was dead... no, not even the people he thought dead. Anyone who had left him coming back to kill him, to hurt him... If Kate had come back five years ago to get revenge on him he would've let her. He deserved it. He felt like he would've deserved it back then. He was an asshole to everyone. (Everyone was two people and maybe a half, but still.) People liked to say your past comes back to haunt you, didn't they? Your past coming to murder you might have to become a new saying. To make sure people prepared for all those they hurt coming back to kill them. To make them feel the pain they felt. The pain they deser–

"Clint! Clint!" Natasha snapped her fingers.

"Wha‐what?" Clint shook his head, trying to get rid of the fog clouding his mind.

"You keep blanking out on me, you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, no I– It's–,” putting down his glass he took a deep breath. "I'm not saying I've had anyone I thought dead come back to kill me, but I sure as hell have been feeling like my past is coming back to haunt me this past while,” he smiled weakly. Not at Natasha. Not at anything, just… "My previous teammate. That thing you asked Wednesday. That question I very smoothly evaded by getting you to hang out with me."

"Yeah, I assumed that's why you asked to meet me in the first place."

"No– Well yes, but also no. I didn't just ask you here to talk about that. I wanted to hang out with you without having to chase anyone or anything. You know, normal stuff. Getting food, talking. All these things that... friends do,” he looked at her.

"I see. I'll be sure to remember that.” If there was one thing alcohol did it was make people's masks break and right now Natasha's mask had cracks in it. And through those fine lines something somber was seeping out.

"Do you..." Maybe he was reading too much into this, but still it felt as if... "You don't just hang out with the other Avengers? Or SHIELD agents?"

"No no, I do.” She tried to put on that perfect mask again. “I've spent quite a bit of time with the other Avengers these past months. We've been searching these Hydra base–"

"See? That's work. Not normal friend things. I'm not saying that's not hanging out, but outside of work?"

"I lived in the Avengers Tower from 2012 to 14... till Hydra... but then I went on the run and…” Her voice quieted down. “Huh, I guess I don't really just hang out with anyone."

"Wow... and here I thought I was bad at friendships."

"You? Bad at friends?” She looked at him in disbelief. “You have an entire team that aren't just coworkers, but your actual friends.” There were genuine feelings behind that. Some small hints of envy? Why would– “And believe me when I say it. I did my research on you four two years ago." Smile right back on. Clint really started to understand why they became friends so easily.

"I mean, yes... Now I have these guys... but I didn't always have them... and before that, well..." Clint rambled.

"Your previous partner?" Natasha stopped him before it got too long.

"Yes,” he closed his eyes for a second. “Her name was Kate. Another archer. Maybe even better than me. She was just so amazing. I loved working with her. But then... She was with me in Budapest. And the Red Room didn't take my attempt at Dreykov's life lightly.” His hands tightened around his glass. “They hurt her to hurt me. It went on until I just... I pushed her away. I made her angry at me. I was an asshole to her so she'd leave. And she did. Flew off to L.A. five years ago. Hadn't heard a word from her since. But maybe that's for the better. She's safer without me.”

"This is what you meant," Natasha stared off to the side, speaking quietly, "when I said the Hydra invasion and all that."

"I have wondered way too many times if her life would've been better if she just... never crossed paths with me..." And then, in the quietest voice possible he added, "If none of my friends ever…”

2015. March, Hell's Kitchen

Clint hoped he'd be feeling less like shit once he talked about Kate, about what had happened. He achieved the exact opposite of that. He felt even worse than how he's been feeling with just the memories, because now he acknowledged them. He didn't just black out for a bit, remember something and then ignore it with the same breath he remembered it with. And now guess what? He had all those conversations, all the memories he remembered slowly, but surely throughout these nearly two months in his head all at once. 

He was back home. Sometime between the faint sounds of Kate's yelling at him and the pain of being beaten up he managed to get home. Technically he wasn't home yet. He was standing outside the door, his hand on the door handle, but not yet being able to turn it. He just stood there, staring at the chipped wood of the door. He took deep breaths, trying to rid himself of the past, at least until he could get to bed and probably cry himself to sleep. One last breath and he opened the door. He stepped inside the apartment with a smile on his face. Matt was sitting on the couch, a pile of papers once again before him on the coffee table.

“Good to know you're still alive,” he smiled, looking up.

Barely. “I wasn't in danger of losing it.”

“I thought you were just heading Downtown to get some food,” Matt scrunched his nose.

“I got a bit sidetracked,” Clint shrugged, hanging up his coat.

“I can smell that. You're reeking of alcohol.”

“I'll go take a shower,” Clint rubbed his eyes, “don't worry,” he planted a kiss on the top of Matt's head on the way to the bathroom. 

After standing in the shower for a lot longer than needed, letting the water pour on his head hoping that would empty it out he finally got out of it. He dried himself and put on his pajamas, because it was past five p.m. and everybody knew that once it was past five p.m. you could change into your pajamas. Still in the process of drying his hair with a towel he walked back out into the living room where he found two times the people he left it with, except neither of them lived there.

“What brings you two here?” he asked the newly arrived Peter and Wade sitting on the floor around the coffee table.

“Ludo and/or Activity,” Peter replied at the exact same time as Wade said, “Your mental problems.”

“I would like some elaboration on the second one,” Clint leaned on the back of the couch. 

“Activity?” Peter asked innocently. “It's this game where you draw cards and they have words on it, from which you have to–” His further explanations were cut short by a towel hitting him in the face.

“Rude!” he tried to throw the towel back at him, but Clint ducked down and it went flying over his head, landing in Matt's face, who only just now emerged from the hallway. 

“I didn't know flying towels were a thing I had to worry about in my own home,” he stopped next to Clint and handed it back to him.

“Because you have to worry about them in other places?” Wade asked.

“I think we're getting side tracked here,” Clint interjected. “What do my mental problems have to do with you two?” Quite a lot, actually. Thanks brain, that is very useful, he thought.

“I can feel you've been having a bad time for a while now,” Matt took one of his hands in his own. “I thought a little team get together might help cheer you up.”

“So I'm guessing I'm not great at hiding my problems,” Clint huffed.

“You're bad at hiding anything from anyone period.”

“Right.” Obviously. He wasn't keeping anything from anyone.

“But hey, this way at least I can help.”

“Okay people, stop being mushy,” Wade groaned. “I came to play board games, not to witness public indecency.”

“We're inside our own house, Wade,” Clint rounded the couch and took place on the ground next to the coffee table. “This isn't public space.”

“It became public once I arrived.”

“I don't think that's not how that works,” Peter laughed.

“I'm sorry, did you want to continue watching that? What are you? Some freak?”

“What if we actually started playing?” Peter pulled out the Ludo board from the box.

“You're avoiding the question.”

“I want the blue pawns,” Clint said.

“You're all avoiding the question. Okay okay. I know what y'all are.”

“Just grab your pieces, Wade.”

After two rounds of Ludo Clint seriously wondered how this was supposed to help with his mental problems, because the only game that causes more fights than Ludo was Uno (thank god they couldn't play that one). But it did help him realize something. That he wasn't only friends with these guys, but also Natasha and maybe it would be fine if he told them about her. He actually decided on it. He actually started speaking.

“So guys,” he started quietly, “there's this–”

“Oh! And I forgot to say,” Wade spoke a lot more loudly than he did. “Wanna guess who I ran into today? And by ‘run into’ I mean who found me completely on purpose?” he asked while rolling the dice.

“I have some guesses,” Matt replied.

“Cap'n ‘Murica! Who else?”

“What did he want?” Peter took the dice Wade handed him.

“He said — and I quote – ‘Taking care of Hydra is not your job.’ You know, cause I killed a bunch of ‘em last week. But what the hell does he mean I can't do that?!” Wade threw his hands up.

Clint almost spoke. He almost said he couldn't blindly go after Hydra agents, because the newly formed SHIELD had agents undercover inside it and he could be killing the good guys. But he didn't say that, for obvious reasons. No one at this table would've liked to hear that, so he just stayed quiet.

“If I want to kill some nazis then I'm gonna kill some nazis and he can't stop me!” Wade continued.

“Not to mention they wouldn't have known Hydra was inside SHIELD if it wasn't for us,” Peter moved one of his pawns, sending one of Matt's back to the starting point.

“Yes! Like it's one thing that they did a shit job at getting them out of SHIELD and the uprising still happened, but without us they wouldn't have known at all! And they won't let us intervene!”

“Right? After the invasion I went to talk to Mr. Stark to ask him for some names. You know, so I could help a bit. Found him with Romanoff and they said this is SHIELD business. SHIELD is gone! There is no such thing as SHIELD business anymore!”

“The Avengers really are something else when it comes to trusting us, aren't they?” Matt reached for the dice to check what he rolled.

We're also something else when it comes to trusting them, aren't we? Clint couldn't help but think.

“That's one way of saying it,” Peter snorted. 

Wade started to speak again, but then suddenly hit his forehead and turned to Clint. “You started saying something, didn't you?”

“Oh... it's…” Clint blinked, “it's nothing. Just... I think I'm close to getting the Red Room out of New York.”