The alarms could be raised any minute now, and Natalia realized she had run into a conundrum: they didn't have a ride. Her transportation to the party waited in the crescent driveway, but she couldn't trust the KGB agent driver. She wouldn't get far on foot, especially with her tag-along. Speaking of which...

Natalia turned a full circle, but the archer was nowhere to be seen. She frowned as the possibilities ran through her brain. He either ditched her or was caught. She preferred the former. If he was caught, he could rat her out.

Her fight instincts jumped into action as an engine roar startled her. She squinted against the powerful light as the motorcycle screeched to a halt in front of her. The rider removed his helmet, revealing the smirking face of the archer.

  "Get on," he invited, tossing her the bike helmet. "Safety first!"

  Natalia scowled. "I don't need this."

  "I see better without it. Besides, it would hide your face from street cameras. Hopefully, that will take the KGB off our trail for a little while longer."

Reluctantly, Natalia slipped the clunky black helmet over her red head and climbed on behind him.

  "Hang on." The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent revved the engine and tore away. Determined to only grip his shoulders, Natalia lost her grip and was forced to wrap her arms around his stomach like, in her mind, a damsel in distress. That irked her.

Her hair whipped around in the wind. Glancing behind them periodically, Natalia watched their six for Miroslav's men or the police. As the dial climbed the miles per hour, she was surprised no one pulled them over.

It was when he parked behind her apartment building Natalia realized she never gave him any directions.

  "How long have you been spying on me?" she snapped as she removed the helmet.

  "Two days," he answered simply as he unslung his bow off his shoulder.

Natalia frowned.

  Noticing her distress, the archer added, "It was mostly the KGB's fault. Your informant was sloppy."

The Black Widow gazed up to her apartment window. She chewed her lip as she considered her options. She could use the fire escape or the staff only stairs... then weighed the risk of walking through the front door into the lobby.

  "Wait here."

Before the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent could protest, Natalia sprinted to the building. Using the power in her legs built up by years of intense training, the assassin coiled and jumped, just barely catching the edge of the fire escape. Her arms remained steady as they alone pulled up. Her heels braced against the icy metal floor as her hands moved to the railing. She climbed over the fence and stood safely on the fire escape, not even breathless.

Natalia scaled the stairs quickly. As she neared her apartment window, she slowed to make her steps silent. The room was dark like how she left it. The Russian assassin attempted to lift the window. The fact that it was still locked comforted her only slightly. Natalia flicked out the knife hidden beneath her skirt and used the blade to unlock the window. Silently, she opened it and stepped inside.

First, Natalia switched on a lamp. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she would be able to see whoever could be lurking. That also meant the potential assailant could see her, too. A necessary risk. They probably already knew she was home.

Now dimly lit, Natalia scanned her living quarters with her knife still firmly in her grip. She would prefer her glock, which was with the archer and her spare was in her bedroom. The living room was empty, so she deemed it safe enough to bend down and remove her heels for stealth and balance.

Holding her knife before her in the reverse grip, Natalia crept toward her bedroom. It was pitch black, so she turned on the light and braced herself for someone to pounce at her. When nothing happened, she continued forward, making a beeline for the nightstand where she stored her other gun in the drawer.

She passed by her closet and the doors banged open, a figure tackling Natalia to the ground. Another Black Widow dug her knee into her stomach with one hand squeezing her throat while the other pointed a silenced gun at Natalia's forehead. Natalia kicked and gasped as she struggled with the hand that tightened around her windpipe.

  "Dasvidaniya, Natalia," the older girl growled as the cool nozzle touched her skin.

In a desperate act of instinct, Natalia pushed the girl's wrist away with her free hand just before she pulled the trigger. She felt the air of the bullet zip past her face and pierce the floorboards.

Natalia abandoned the steel trap around her neck to punch the assassin's exposed throat. The dark haired girl choked as her entire body slackened. Natalia used her moment of weakness to turn the tables, pushing the girl off her body and rolling on top of her. Thinking quickly, the girl kicked Natalia hard in the gut.

Natalia hit the floorboards and curled in on herself as she sucked breath back into her lungs. She stayed in that position for several seconds before ignoring her pain and rising to her feet. In those precious seconds, her opponent also recovered and had her gun trained on Natalia.

Fear cut through her like shards of ice. She had never been afraid of dying. She didn't have much to live for other than the next mission. She had never thought about what waited for her on the other side. Darkness? Nothingness? The pit of enteral pain and fire? Certainly not heaven with all the red in her ledger. But the archer was offering her a second chance; a new life. She didn't want to throw it away.

She was afraid to die.

The other Widow jolted. Her eyes widened as her arms dropped. Blood dribbled from her lips. The gun clattered to the floor. She collapsed onto her knees, then hit the floor and lay unmoving, two arrows jutting from her back. Perched on the open window sill, bow in hand, was the archer.

Natalia was quick to extinguish her relief upon his interference. With that cocky smirk, it wasn't difficult.

  "I had her!"

  The agent dropped from the sill. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

  "I told you to stay by the motorcycle," she grumbled, yanking open the drawer to retrieve her gun. After checking to make sure it was loaded, Natalia tossed her Makarov PM onto the bed. She didn't need to give the archer any reason to turn her back into a pin cushion as she turned it toward him to search her closet.

  "I got bored. Besides, I didn't know if you were here to pack your things and leave the country without me."

  "I wouldn't do that. I need you." Then a thought crossed her mind. "But you don't need me." She turned and rushed at him. Before he could react, she had him pinned against the wall with her forearm crushing his chest. "S.H.I.E.L.D. wants me dead. Why did you spare me and offer recruitment? What does S.H.I.E.L.D. want from me?"

  Without breaking eye contact, the archer leaned his bow against the wall and raised his hands in surrender. "Nothing. They don't know I'm doing this."

  "Then what do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"

  "I was a lot like you." His voice was soft and his eyes distant. "I was an assassin for hire. I used my skills to take lives; thought it was the only way I could survive. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have to give me a second chance, but they did. Now I'm offering you that same chance."

Natalia searched his face for lies. His blue eyes never left her green ones. There was no sweat on his brow or tension in his muscles. Lying was an art that could be mastered. Detecting lies was another. She found no falsehood.

Natalia released her hold. The man rubbed his sternum and picked up his bow, slinging it across his chest.

  "We better move. The Red Room knew you would come here. More of you will be on their way."

  Natalia nodded in agreement. "I'm going to change out of this dress and then we can go."

The archer did not argue as she unhooked an article of clothing from her closet and grabbed a pair of boots. In her bathroom, she stripped off the torn, dirtied dress and exchanged it for her Black Widow suit, boots, and hourglass belt.

Her gun was waiting for her on the bed where she had left it, now accompanied by her knife, which had been on the floor when she last saw it, and the other gun the archer had taken. From his casual posture of leaning against the wall, he watched her strap her weapons to her belt, but made no move to stop her.

  "By the way, I never got your name."

  The archer grinned. "The name's Barton," he answered in a slow, deep voice that sounded British. "Clint Barton."