A couple of master assassins…after a tough mission.
Collaboration with the wonderful and incredibly talented Takanye (click here for her art blog)! She made some fantastic edits to my lineart and contributed the beautiful colors. :D Reference I used for the lines is x.
The mission is like any other, even if it takes place in the heart of the country. Get in. Retrieve the files and eliminate the target. Get out. They flirt and banter along the way, make a bet who’s going to finish their task first (her downloading the files or him taking out the target). They never find out. It’s all a trap, has been from the start and when Natasha finds the dead guards, hears Clint telling her he’s going in, she knows, it’s too late. His hoarse, broken Nat echoes in her mind for weeks.
He is brought to a secret facility, a playground for doctors who use him for their horrible and cruel experiments. Nightmares become his constant friend but he never gives up, trusts Nat to come for him. She gives her best, uses every tool in her arsenal to get information about his whereabouts, doesn’t rest until she has finally found him.
Time loses all meaning but one day there’s a hidden message from her, carved into a wooden panel, and Clint has barely time to process its meaning before he hears the unmistakeable sound of Nat’s Widow’s Bite. They bring hell down on the place, leaving nothing behind but smoking ruins and crushed bodies - like Budapest all over again. They don’t look back as they drive off.
Natasha takes him to her temporary hideout, an old barrack in the desert, and for a moment she has to close her eyes, battling her own emotions as she sees the extend of Clint’s injuries. Gently, with far greater care than one would suspect, she cleans him, runs her hands over his bruised body. When he wraps his fingers around hers and slowly pulls her close, she doesn’t resist. For the first time, their nightmares stay away.
Mexico was nice. Clint leaned back in his beach chair and rubbed at the scar on his leg; it ached despite the hot sun. But he liked Mexico, and he liked the sight of Natasha in a white bikini swaying across the sand, margarita in hand and red hair blowing in the breeze.
They started out as rivals, two assassins working for the same boss, and there was only room for one hitman at the top. Much to their mutual annoyance, they ended up on the same job, both given the assignment probably in the hope that one would kill the other. They killed the mark together, because it was that or die trying to finish the job separately.
Clint found Natasha in his bed that night, naked and seductive, and he knew she was there to kill him. He fucked her anyway, pinned her to the bed and fucked her until she screamed, and then she took her turn, tying his hands to the headboard and blowing his mind.
After that night, they decided they worked well together, in bed and out of it. He was the guns and she was the brains. She was a beautiful distraction and he never missed a shot. They stole from the best, traded in secrets, killed for the highest bidder.
Natasha settled on her chair, a smile curving the corner of her lips, the sun bright on her pale skin.
“You were thinking about ditching me in Stark’s lab,” Clint said, and Natasha looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Why didn’t you? Or are you going to ditch me here? Or, better yet, kill me? That way you’d get all the money.”
One last job, and they could tell Justin Hammer to go fuck himself. Just break into Stark Industries and steal the schematics for a weaponized suit, and then they could take the money and run, go hide out in Mexico until the furor died down, and then they could go anywhere.
Stark caught Natasha in his lab. Clint had never been in a Mexican standoff before, but he trusted Tasha’s trigger finger more than he was worried about Stark’s. Rich boy probably never shot a gun before in his life.
Natasha saw the guards before Clint did. A bullet hit him in the thigh, and he went down, but she kept her gun on Stark. She thought about leaving Clint there, but something held her back. She wasn’t used to the feeling, but she thought it might be loyalty.
“You two are good,” Stark said, thumbing the safety back on and setting his gun to the side. “I don’t know how you got through my security, so you’re probably the best. I can’t believe Hammer could actually afford you. Why don’t you put your guns down, kids, and we can work out a deal.”
Stark’s pocketbook was bigger. They left Hammer drowning in his own blood and wiped his company clean.
Mexico was nice, and Stark’s paycheck–plus a little extra skimmed off of his accounts–sat in an account in Switzerland with two names on it–not their real names, but they laid claim to it anyway.
Natasha took a long, salty sip of her margarita, rolling his words around in her mind the way she rolled the tequila and lime around her tongue. “I like you,” she finally said. “I like having you around.”
He could read her well–he was the only one who could read her. That was as good as he would get from Natasha, but she might as well have come out and said that she loved him. When she kissed him, he could taste salt and lime and Patrón Silver.
Clint sat back in his beach chair and wondered when they would get bored. There was always another job.