#strike team delta | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

quietlyimplode · 6 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 21 - Found family

Warnings: child abandonment, grief

Word Count: 1.8k (gif not mine)

Summary: Clint leaves to find a person from his past, surrounded by the family he created.

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

2013

NEW YORK

“Can you find someone for me?” Clint asks Tony, looking around the room, and the technology it holds.

He can’t help but touch the screens and play with the holograms as he waits for Tony to reply.

“Can you pass me the copper wire?” Tony asks.

Clint hops up on the bench and throws it to him, his aim true.

“I can find anyone, if they want to be found, and even then, likely I can find them if they don’t want to be,” he answers distractedly.

“Can you hold this here?”

Clint hops down and pushes on the wire, analysing the circuitry and frowning.

“You’ve wired it wrong,” he surmises, pointing with his other hand.

Tony swears and rubs his face.

“How long have you been up for?” Clint asks, a pinch of worry for his friend and his insomniac ways.

Tony looks up and glances at the time.

Jarvis answers for him, “twenty six hours.”

Clint swears it’s sounds almost disapproving.

“What are you trying to do?” he asks, knowing that until the project has reached a satisfactory conclusion, there’s no way Tony will stop.

Rubbing his forehead, Tony shows him the circuit board connected to the towers alarm system, and automatic controls for system lockdown.

Clint frowns.

“Has there been any attempts to get in here?”

He doesn’t understand why Tony was upgrading the already functioning system.

He shakes his head.

“No, but I just..” he pauses.

“Who do you want me to find?”

Clint ignores him and without words helps, correcting the circuitry then placing the upgraded board into Tony’s hand.

“You know, if you get sleep, these things become easier,” he grins.

Tony rolls his eyes, the lower limbs of the suits attaching as he flies to the control box outside and installs the board quickly.

There’s a quick glow, and a light force field covers the tower before disappearing again.

Clint didn’t realise how big the project was, and smiles as Tony returns.

“Come get some food,” he prompts, holding the door open as the legs come away and he reaches ground again.

Tony obliges.

Heading to the kitchen, Clint explains about Gus.

The ex-carney, convenience store owner that stayed close to the circus and protected Clint from future foster homes and set him on the path of this life.

There’s some hesitation in the way Tony replies, and Clint doesn’t quite know if he should have trusted him with the story.

“Why do you want to see him again?” Tony asks, handing him a Stark-Pad.

Clint hesitates, feeling judged in the moment.

“I want to tell him about Barney, maybe just check that he’s okay. Thank him I suppose?”

He doesn’t know, not in any way he can put into words.

Tony is uncharacteristically quiet, before he takes the stark-pad off of Clint and opens up a data base, taking time, he seems to hack into some sort of data base.

It takes him a minute or so, before he hands the tablet back.

“He’s still in Iowa, Cedar Rapids, last known address was near the Prairie Park Fishery,” he pauses, “we can go now if you want?”

Clint stops in his tracks.

“What?”

Tony points upwards.

“Two hours, we can go there now if you want?”

Clint nods slowly.

“Yeah okay,” he says impulsively, “let me just send a message to Natasha, and let her know.”

Tony shrugs, “sure, I’ll be up at the hanger, if you ask Steve it will be a party.”

Clint decides on calling Natasha, feeling a slight urgency on getting going.

“Hey,” she picks up, after a beat.

“Hey,” he answers.

“I asked Tony to find Gus and he found him in like five seconds. He asked if we wanted to go visit, and I’ve said yes,” he says quickly.

“Doyouwannacome?”

Natasha takes a second before responding, and then tells him she’d meet him at the hanger.

He smiles. It’s like a road trip with his friends, something they’d do at the circus.

It’s seems somewhat fitting.

Picking up the phone again, he calls Steve.

“Hey man,” he says as the phone clicks over.

“Hey,” Steve replies.

“Natasha and Tony and I are going on a bit of trip to see an old friend I have in Iowa. Do you want to come?”

“When?” Steve asks.

“Now?”

Steve takes a moment and then agrees, Clint thinks he can hear the change in his tone, a small amount of pleasure at being invited.

“Come to the hanger when you can,” Clint tells him, “we’ll be waiting.”

The trip to Iowa is an exchange of stories. Clint starts by telling the story of Gus and how he taught him magic, he shows the others a trick and then produces a coin from Steve’s ear.

Much to his delight, Steve replicates the trick and produces two coins.

Tony, not to be outdone, produces two coins and a card.

Natasha bursts out laughing.

“You’re all magic nerds,” she says, joyfully.

The rest of the trip they try and outdo each other, Natasha taking the lead in flying the plane as they all show off random magic tricks, and teaching each other the ones they don’t know.

She gives them a ten minute warning and looks back to see Clint smiling, a true smile that had been so rare from the events of New York to learning of his brothers death.

She hopes this is positive and that Gus is the man Clint believes him to be.

Otherwise, she might kill him herself.

Clint knocks on the door.

Alone now, he wishes he hadn’t been so adamant to do this himself. He’d left Natasha with the others in the plane, promising to be back soon.

The anticipation feels heavy as he hears movement in the house and he hopes Tony was right in the address.

The door opens slowly, and Clint smiles lightly.

“Hello,” he opens, “I don’t know if you—“

“Clint?”

The door opens wider, revealing Gus, now older but still the same man.

“Hi,” he says shyly.

“Clint!”

He pulls him into a hug and Clint feels himself sink into it, feeling like a kid again.

“Come in,” Gus asks, ushering him through the door.

“Can I get you anything?

Clint doesn’t get a chance to answer as Gus disappears into the kitchen and returns with beer and a bottle opener.

He takes it and opens them both, offering it to cheers which Gus does with a smile.

“Clint,” he says, almost in reverence.

“How are you?”

“I’m good,” Clint replies, not sure what to say.

He came here to say that Barney was dead. To thank him for helping him when he was a child, to pointing him in the direction of the military.

“I — wanted to find you,” he starts.

Gus stands, finds an album on the bench and hands it to Clint.

“Open it,” he gestures.

The album has photos, some articles from the circus, pictures of Clint he’d never seen before, gently he turns the pages, emotion welling inside.

He can’t speak.

Gently touching the photos, he sees himself holding the bow and arrow as a young boy, stance strong and gaze focussed.

“That’s my favourite,” Gus says, watching Clint carefully, “you had such natural talent from the get go, and even if archery didn’t get you famous, I think you would have been a fantastic pickpocket.”

Clint huffs a laugh, turning the page.

“And now you’re an Avenger?”

There’s clippings from the paper from the last twelve months.

Of Tony, Steve and Thor, of him and Natasha. Articles and pictures.

Clint thinks it’s one of the kindest things someone has ever done.

He smiles.

“I’m just a human, amongst superhero’s, metal men and gods,” he laughs, starting at the start again to take the photos in.

“Maybe it’s what they need, to keep them in line,” Gus retorts.

Clint stops at a picture.

Barney stands arms crossed with a smile as Clint does a handstand.

He stares at it, and forces breath.

Barney.

“He’s dead,” he whispers, taking the photo out, he shows it Gus.

“He’s dead,” he repeats again.

Gus hobbles over to sit with Clint, taking the photo and then handing it back.

“I know,” he nods, and hugs Clint in a side hug.

“He came here, a couple of years ago, asking after you, I showed him and told him you had gone into the military.”

He turns the page and Clint finds the picture of himself in uniform.

“He was so proud of you,” Gus tells him.

“I think he wanted to tell you.”

Clint can’t help it; he cries.

For the loss of his brother, for all the words left unsaid and the time they’d never get back.

“Do you think he knew I loved him?” he asks, voice as small as a child’s.

“Of course he did,” Gus nods.

He closes the album, and motions for Clint to follow him.

“Barney stayed here, for a little while at least, and drew some pictures. I held onto them, as I hoped— I wished I would see you again.”

He opens the door and pulls out some pictures from a drawer.

The pictures are of Clint and Barney as children, their faces small and chubby.

Clint feels the tears on his face as he furiously wipes at them.

“Your brother, he was complicated and could be harsh and I think he wanted to protect you but didn’t know how… You were both so young.”

Gus looks down.

“I think I failed you both but I did the best I could,” he admits.

Clint shakes his head.

“No,” he refutes, “you saved my life, probably Barney’s too. I came to thank you.”

Gus waves him off.

“Take them,” he tells Clint, “they’re yours, the album too if you want anything from it.”

Clint nods, finding the album, knowing what pictures he wants and the ones he wants to show Natasha, maybe even the others.

He sits back down, not quite ready to leave yet.

“I’m going to get married,” he confesses.

Gus looks up, his smile wide.

“Will you come?”

The nod and laugh is infectious.

“Of course, of course I will,” he agrees.

He sits back and takes a sip of the still cold beer.

“Tell me about her,” he asks.

The plane home is in darkness, as Clint shares the chocolate and pictures that Gus sent with him.

He tells the stories behind the pictures, prompting Steve and Tony to tell their own.

Natasha holds onto the picture of Clint and Barney and stares at it for a long time.

“He looks like you,” she whispers later.

“Remind me,” he tells her, “remind me to tell you the story behind that one.”

Natasha hands it back to him, and nods, bringing her head to his and pushing it against his.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, so the others can’t hear.

“It’s hard facing our pasts, and I’m glad it went well.”

He regards Natasha and all the history she has with facing her past; the good and the bad.

He nods.

“Me too, Nat.”

57 notes · View notes

headcanonthings · 1 year

Text

Coulson: Why are you so protective of Romanoff?

Clint: I’m not protective of her, she could murder me with my own arm.

Coulson: . . .

Natasha, internally: that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about me

#incorrect quotes #incorrect mcu quotes #incorrect avengers quotes #mcu #marvel #avengers #phil coulson #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #the black widow #strike team delta

204 notes · View notes

my-own-remorse · 9 months

Text

“How about that Red Room rematch? 😈”

#black widow #black widow fanart #Natasha Romanoff fanart #Hawkeye #hawkeye fanart #clint barton fanart #clintasha #strike team delta #clintasha art

61 notes · View notes

scavengerssuccotash · 4 months

Text

#Clintasha #it might be an addition #clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanoff #black widow #marvel #strike team delta #capcut #meme video

22 notes · View notes

the-feels-assassin · 5 months

Text

Sunday Six

Continuing to work on the Christmas fic, where Strike Team Delta ends up spending Christmas with Coulson's family of origin. Current word count is just under 37k and...I'm not close to done!

This scene is during Christmas dinner. Natasha is explaining that she just came over from Russia five years ago, and someone asked her why she emigrated. Dean is a spouse of one of Phil's siblings.

“It was totally me,” Clint said with a bright, sparkling smile. His eyes twinkled with an inside joke. “Went oversees for work and she followed me home.” He leaned over towards Dean and added conspiratorially, “I think she’s a Russian spy.” Dean laughed at that, warm and full. Natasha smiled and gently cuffed Clint on the arm, while a flicker of a smile crossed Phil’s face. It was clearly an old joke between them.

#my writing #Sunday Six #Christmas fic #Strike Team Delta #Natasha Romanoff #Clint Barton #Phil Coulson

24 notes · View notes

jinxquickfoot · 8 months

Text

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Rescue Mission

Find the fic on Ao3

“And you’re sure Romanoff won’t break?”

Clint watches Fury straighten up to his full height, his one eye staring down Senator Stern with the force of a bulldozer. “She’s a former Russian super spy and presently one of the most skilled agents in this organization. What do you think, Senator?”

Stern sinks back into his chair, looking around at the gathered mix of SHIELD and CIA in the meeting room. “Then I think we have our answer. This information exists in two places. Here,” he places the hard drive on the table in front of him, “and in Romanoff’s head. And if Romanoff doesn’t talk, we can decree the information safe.”

Clint lets the arrow tip he’s fiddling with sink into his palm, letting the sharp pain distract him from the urge to punch Stern and every other suit in the room who is haggling over whether Natasha’s life was worth the expense of a rescue mission.

“Need I remind you,” Fury says, and something settles in Clint when he hears the barely disguised outrage behind the words. “That Agent Romanoff is valued for more than whatever government secrets she has obtained. That she risked her life to send you that information.”

Stern isn’t cowed. “She is deep behind enemy lines, on a mission she chose to undertake despite knowing the risks. If we attempt to rescue her, not only do we risk losing more men and more resources, but we prove to the enemy just how vital this information is.” He pats the hard drive again. “The intelligence is safe and in our hands. The matter is closed.”

As quietly as he can, Clint slides his chair away from the table. No one so much as glances at him as he slips towards the kitchenette at the rear of the room.

Fury isn’t ready to let it rest. “I already told you—there are plenty of agents at SHIELD who would be more than willing to volunteer for this mission.”

Stern snorts, unimpressed. “Please don’t tell me you mean the Avengers. If you send your team of super-freaks over there, we risk war, Fury.”

Clint pours himself a cup of coffee, taking a sip. Today’s batch isn’t actually terrible. Shame.

“I can offer a rescue team far more subtle than an alien god, a rage monster, and Tony Stark,” Fury replies dryly, his next words disdainful. “At no extra cost to you, Senator.”

Clint turns around just in time to see Stern shake his head. “You’re out of your jurisdiction. It’s too much to risk for one asset who went and got herself captured. Romanoff is a professional, she knows that. She sacrificed herself for the good of the country, and she has our gratitude. But we have the information here now, where it’s safe. We can’t risk changing that.”

“Because the only other copy is in Romanoff’s head,” Fury fires back. If he’s noticed Clint sneaking around the meeting table towards the senator, he doesn’t say a word about it. “And it will die with her.”

“Unfortunate,” Stern offers, sounding completely unbothered. “But necessary in the grand scheme of—”

He’s so absorbed in making his statement that he doesn’t even notice Clint has crept up behind him until Clint empties the entire cup of coffee over the hard drive.

Stern leaps to his feet with an undignified yelp lunging forward to grab the now-sopping hard drive. “What did you just do?”

Clint shrugs, his lips twitching as he sees Fury stifle a laugh. “Now there’s only one copy of the information,” he states, twirling the empty mug in his fingers. “Guess you’re going to have to make the effort to rescue Romanoff after all.”

“I assume you know the sensitive nature of what you have learned, Agent Romanoff.”

Every part of her still hurts, but Natasha is determined not to show that. She didn’t in front of her captors, and she certainly won’t reveal any weaknesses here. “I’m aware, Senator.”

“Then I can trust this will not be passed onto anyone else?”

As answer, Natasha raises her bandaged hand, splinted and stitched back together after its encounter with a hammer. “I think you can trust me not to talk.”

“Are we done here?” Fury says. He’s sitting to her right, having chosen to take that seat as opposed to leering over the other side of the table with Stern. On her side, as always. “You have what you wanted, Stern.”

“Indeed. Onto the next mission. Speaking of.” He leans forward, and Natasha does not trust the glint in his eyes. “I require some reconnaissance done in Alaska. Shouldn’t take longer than six weeks.”

Natasha’s heart sinks. She knew there would be some kind of punishment, some kind of power play following the events in Russia. She doubts the mission is one that will get her hurt, but pure reconnaissance missions are their own kind of torture. Nothing but time, and nothing to do but think. Still, if it’ll get Stern off SHIELD’s back, she’ll pay the penance. “When do I leave?”

That glint in Stern’s eye ignites. “I think there’s some confusion, Agent Romanoff. Who said anything about sending you?”

“Are you lost, Romanoff?”

“What, am I not allowed to visit my friend?”

Tony narrows his eyes at her, up to his elbows in mechanical parts. “This is highly suspicious behavior.”

Natasha nudges aside a stack of equipment so she can perch on a nearby bench. “It’s a social visit, Stark. You know what those are, right?”

“So you’re missing your shadow, then.” He softens. “I’m sure Barton’s fine. They have coffee and pizza in Alaska.”

“Yes, and he was sent there by a very powerful person who knows I have extremely dangerous information in my head. A very powerful person who went out of his way to prove he knows exactly how to hurt me.”

Tony pauses in his work. “You know,” he says lightly. “JARVIS can theoretically get into some pretty secure places. Bank accounts. Private photos. Browser history on less than savory websites.”

“Sounds illegal.”

“Which is why I said theoretically.” Tony considers, drumming a screwdriver against the bench. “Otherwise I could scrounge up an SI emergency that just so happens to require freaky good eyesight and circus skills.”

Natasha reaches across the workbench to take his hand. “Thank you,” she says, meaning it. “But I already talked to Fury. He says best to let Stern restore his ego, or it’s going to bite us in the ass later.”

Tony exhales, looking as though he’s about to argue before dropping it. “If you’re going to hang out in here, don’t touch anything.”

Natasha manages a smile. “We’ll see.”

“So. How boring was it?”

A stack of plans is dumped on the workbench, and Clint has the satisfaction of watching Tony Stark be impressed as he leafs through the various trick arrow designs Clint’s spent the past six weeks doodling.

“That boring, then.” Tony plucks one from the pile, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a lunatic, Barton. I’ll have it done by the weekend.”

After six weeks of waiting, Clint has to wait another few hours before Natasha is back from her own mission. He camps out in her rooms at the Tower, delighting in the luxuries of a decent shower and a bed that isn’t of the shitty motel variety as he waits for her to come back.

The first words out of her mouth when she walks in the door are, “You’re such an idiot.”

“Missed you too, Nat.” He sits up on her bed, taking her in. Most of the injuries from Russia seemed to have healed, at least. “I’d do it again. Even if the consequences were worse.”

Natasha closes and locks the door behind her. “Then you’re definitely an idiot.”

Clint’s voice goes sour. “You should have heard the way they were talking about you. It was gross.”

She crosses the room so she can sit beside him on the bed. “I knew the risks.”

“I don’t care.” Clint reaches down to take her hand. “One day I’m going to punch Stern in the face.”

Natasha offers him a smile. “Not if I beat you to it.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do this.”

Rounding up HYDRA has been exhausting. SHIELD is gone, and the Avengers are doing what they can on their own, but HYDRA has sunk its claws into the furthest reaches of the Earth. It’s proving very difficult to pry them up.

The entire team is run ragged but, when they had located the hiding out place of a certain senator, Clint had enthusiastically volunteered.

He could have incapacitated him straight away, but Clint let him run. Just a little. Just enough to see the hope drop from his face when he realized who was standing in front of him. “Barton—”

Clint’s fist catches him across the lip, knocking him to his knees. “Sorry, Senator, but I’m sure you understand,” Clint remarks as Stern spits blood. “It’s necessary in the grand scheme of things.”

He grabs Stern by the shoulders, hauling him back to Avengers HQ. He doesn’t take a second hit, though.

He’ll save that for Natasha.

#bad things happen bingo #bthb card #whump writing #clint barton #natasha romanoff #nick fury #tony stark #2012 avengers #mcu #marvel #strike team delta #clint x natasha #platonic or slash

31 notes · View notes

scaarletwiitch · 9 months

Note

Ohhhh. Snippet from the target language verse?

Hey thanks for the request. I did start it during the ticket queue but then had to fight for my life so just finished today. I warn you, it really is just a snippet:

Target Language Chapter 5

Hearing Aid Problems

“This is why, this is why I always get mine in purple,” Clint complained as he grasped blindly under the couch. “That way, you can find them when this happens.”

Read more on AO3

#clintasha #natasha romanoff #clint barton #black widow #hawkeye #marvel #avengers #strike team delta #natasha romanov #clint barton fic #natasha x clint #clint x natasha #natasha romanoff fic #clintasha fanfiction #clintasha fanfic #clintasha fic #katie barton #deaf katie barton #deaf clint barton

37 notes · View notes

listen-to-the-trees · 9 months

Text

Every now and then I suddenly remember that Phil Coulson is solely a product of the MCU, which means that the only canon facts are those from the first few movies up through Avengers, Captain Marvel, and Agents of SHIELD. Anything is just widely accepted and understood fanon.

Like, there are things I know to be Facts.

Agent Coulson recruited Clint Barton, a process that included shooting him in the leg and then making him a job offer.

After Barton’s rocky start with SHIELD, it was found he did much better after being assigned to solely have Coulson as his handler.

After Natasha joined SHIELD, Coulson was The handler for Strike Team Delta, who were as close as family.

Coulson had a couch in his office, which was one of the few places that Clint felt truly safe enough to crash. It was never stated whether giving Clint a safe place to sleep was part of why Coulson had the couch.

I know these things to be true.

#mcu #phil coulson #strike team delta #coulson’s couch #fandom thoughts #fandom #hawkeye #clint barton

19 notes · View notes

iriel3000 · 2 months

Text

Always Look Up

Febuwhump Day 10 - Human Weapon, alt

Summary: The bad guys think they have Hawkeye trapped. They never saw her coming.

Hydra whump, happy ending, RATED TEEN+, graphic language

excerpt

Three Hydra soldiers slithered out onto the roof. The leader, Elliot Kohl, looked around, no sign of the Archer.

He jerked his hand forward. They crept around the corner and there he was, in position on the edge, bow drawn, laser focused on whatever target was below.

Kohl tossed a coin from his pocket to the far corner. Hawkeye didn’t flinch or look its way.

This would be too easy.

As they inched up behind him, Barton started to sing under his breath.

“The itsy bitsy spider...”

Commander Kohl stopped in his tracks and held up his fist.

“Slid down the water spout.” Barton continued slowly.

One word fell from Elliot’s mouth.

“Fuck.”

to be continued, please click link below

Always Look Up

#febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #clintasha #strike team delta #hawkeye #black widow

32 notes · View notes

slavicshadownr · 1 year

Text

Phil: Everyone always asks me, how do you handle Barton and Romanoff?

Phil: The secret is, I don’t. I have no control over them whatsoever. This morning, Natasha called my name, and when I showed up to see what was going on, they both shot me in the head with nerf guns.

324 notes · View notes

mothmansloverrr · 2 years

Text

Clint: *Screams*

Natasha: *Screams louder to assert dominance*

Coulson: Should we do something?!

Fury, observing: No, I want to see who wins this.

#marvel #incorrect marvel quotes #clint barton #comic clint barton #hawkeye #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #phil coulson #nick fury #strike team delta

129 notes · View notes

quietlyimplode · 7 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 11 - Captivity

Warnings: canon type violence.

Word Count: 1.6k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha offers choices and chances.

A/N: reunion <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

SINGAPORE

2014

Clint stares at her as she gets ready, smiling at her putting on make up.

“What?” she asks, “you’ve seen me do this a thousand times.”

“Nat, watching you put make up on in a bra, will always make me stop and stare at you,” he pauses.

“In a non creepy way.”

She smiles and continues to make up her face; the wig cap covering her hair.

“Are you sure, blue is the way to go?”

The wig both brown and blue is styled like Natasha’s hair when she was young.

She bites her lip.

“No. But maybe, if anything gets to her, maybe the past will.”

She stands and bends over, placing the wig on and adjusting it.

When she stands she looks like a different person.

“I never know how you do that,” he says in awe.

She sighs.

He kisses the top of her head, and hugs round her shoulders.

“We can do this another time, it doesn’t have to be now… this feels too dangerous.”

Natasha shakes her head.

“No, it has to be now,” she says, determined.

“Because who knows when we will get a chance again?”

She looks up at him and attempts a smile.

“Plus, I know you’ll be there, right?”

Clint nods, prepares his basic disguise of a hat and sunglasses and leaves her to finish getting ready.

Natasha feels eyes on her as soon as she enters the hotel.

They can’t know, not yet. She scans and looks for Yelena.

Seeing nothing, she continues into the bowels of the hotel, checking in and wheeling her suitcase to the elevator.

Natasha is hypervigilant.

Continuously scanning the environment, she focuses on getting to her room and closing the door.

She’d checked in as Melina Vostokoff, hoping to get Yelena’s attention, or at the very least, someone from the Red Room.

Taking a deep breath, she tries to calm her nerves. Waiting for it, for someone to come, felt almost torturous.

Isla was right.

Her words, as scathing as they were, were correct. She’d left.

Not just Yelena but the other widows. She hadn’t known what killing Dreykov would do, and selfishly; she didn’t care.

She just needed him dead.

Sitting on the edge of the bed she flops back.

Clint, perhaps, was also right, that she’d done the best she could in keeping herself safe, but it didn’t negate the fact that she didn’t look for Yelena.

There’s a small part of her that still thinks it’s not her problem, Yelena is not her sister, either were the widows.

They instilled every man (or woman) for themselves in training. Some girls took it seriously but most of them knew they’d only survive together.

Usually it was the widows with friends and guiding hands around them that survived.

Those that didn’t… well. They’re the ones they held funerals for.

She groans. The wig itching.

Natasha knows she needs to get up, set the trap within the trap.

She just knows it’s going to be a long, hard day.

But, she supposes, what’s another one.

It takes them to dinner to come for her.

The things they do are so predictable, that Natasha has to suppress a role of her eyes.

It’s amazing how things never change and the playbook they run hasn’t changed in years.

She told Clint they’d wait, scout and take her at night, and he’d scoffed.

Natasha feels them follow.

If the timing is right, and her guesses are correct, it will be Yelena and two others.

If Yelena is on point.. it’s all Natasha us counting on.

Clint can take out the other two.

With Yelena alone, she’s sure she can convince her to come.

Focussing, she moves quickly up the fire exit stairs, ascending them as quickly as she can, she hears the door close behind her, quick footsteps following after her.

She doubles her speed, listening for the door again.

When it doesn’t come, she knows Clint has likely taken out the other two.

Natasha feels the thrill of being chased, adrenaline pumping through her, as she continues up the stairs.

It better be Yelena.

Legs burning, she continues to the roof.

One flight to go, she calls out.

“Think you can get me?”

The footsteps behind her stop.

“Oh big sister,” the words come viciously, “you’re as good as got.”

Humidity hits Natasha as soon as she opens the door to the rooftop.

Singapore has a rainy season that brings a thick muggy quality to the world.

She catches her breath, and moves to the corner.

The trap set.

If Clint has the other two drugged, then maybe, this plan has a chance at working.

Yelena rushes the door.

Guns drawn they hold them high and face each other.

Postures identical, they circle each other, waiting for the other to speak.

Taking a step forward, Yelena takes a step back.

“Stop moving,” she growls.

Natasha takes another step.

Neither sure who has the upper hand, Yelena throws her gun.

The randomness of the action confuses Natasha and she’s not ready when Yelena rushes her, yelling and elbowing her in the face.

She rolls with it, circling and elbowing behind her.

It catches Yelena and pushes her back.

Natasha tries to sweep at her feet, then punches out, hitting Yelena as she moves back.

Yelena’s guard is strong, as she takes it, breaking it only for a moment to push then punch Natasha.

The fight gives Natasha enough time to wait to see if there’s any back up coming.

No one comes.

She turns and breaks the handle on the door, and then turns to Yelena.

“Just you and me, little one,” she smiles.

Yelena’s look is feral.

“How dare you,” she starts, and Natasha prepares for the onslaught.

The timing needs to be perfect.

She raises her knife and stabs it forward, hitting Yelena’s thigh.

It embeds in and Natasha thinks she’s done it.

Yelena sees red, wrenching the knife out and throwing it at Natasha.

She dodges it and pushes forward.

One punch blocked, two then.. she lets herself be hit.

Lets Yelena punch her, pummel her and hit her hard.

She feels the hate and anger behind each of the hits she takes.

Natasha growls, and throws her off as she gets messy in her anger.

“I failed you,” she says simply.

Yelena comes at her again, hitting her in the face as Natasha puts up no defence.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

Yelena places her in a hold and Natasha allows herself to be handcuffed to the nearby pole, pushed into a sitting position.

Fists clenched she sighs.

Easy to get out of, if she’s willing to rip skin and dislocate joints.

She doesn’t though.

Steadily she tries to breath through her mouth, her nose broken.

Yelena rounds on her.

“They’re going to come for you, and make you… make you like me,” she growls, “make you suffer every agony, every violation.”

The heat beats down as Yelena paces the rooftop.

“You’re a traitor.”

“You’re a traitor,” she breathes heavily.

Natasha gathers her breath.

“I’m not sorry for the choice I made,” she clarifies.

“I am sorry for not getting you sooner.”

Yelena spits.

“Choices? You had choices, what did we all have?”

Yelena continues to pace, looking to the door.

“When you made your choice, you condemned us all.”

Natasha compartmentalises her words, puts them aside, taking a deep breath.

“The decisions between bad choices is not better—“

“But you had them!” Yelena explodes.

“You had a choice.”

Natasha adjusts her position and sits on the ground.

“Not a good one,” she says, resigned. “A choice between dying and surviving.”

The next words are said with venom.

“What would you have done?”

She doesn’t mean for it to come out that way, but frustration and the need for this to go right, puts her on edge.

Yelena squats in front of her.

“I wouldn’t have left you there to die,” she says, as equally as venomously.

Natasha shrugs and looks away, “you would have.”

“Just like you’re going to do now.”

Yelena looks at her quizzically.

“You have a choice,” Natasha tells her, “to stay or go.”

“What do you—“

“The tracker in your thigh, the one they place so they always know,” she gestures to the stab wound.

“The knife, it’s disabled it. The current you felt, they can’t track you now.”

There’s horror in Yelena’s face as she feels her thigh, her hand coming away bloody.

Disbelief crosses her face.

“They’d have come by now, right? The other two to check?”

Natasha sees how much room she has in the cuffs. This was the plan, but she’s willing to try different ways that don’t involve her being vulnerable and being held captive.

“But they haven’t.”

She wriggles one hand.

“Now,” she pauses. “You have a choice.”

Clint finds Natasha handcuffed to a pole on the roof.

Alive.

“What happened?!” he asks, rushing towards her.

She doesn’t look too worse for wear, bruises on her face, broken nose and wig slightly askew; but alive nonetheless.

“She, uhhh, I stabbed her, she handcuffed me to a pole, we argued, and I gave her a choice.”

Natasha words come out in a huff as he releases the handcuffs.

“Where’s she go?” he asks, and they look out on the city.

“Did she go back?”

Natasha doesn’t answer.