Russian Doll

Enemies Closer

Like clockwork, the man they call Hawkeye appears at six each morning to take me to the training room for a workout before I'm once again deposited in my room.

This morning, however, he doesn't come.

I wait.

He never shows.

The next morning is the same, and the one after that.

Two days after that, I finally come face-to-face with him.

His face is bruised and swollen. His arm is in a sling. He has a brace on his knee.

I know better than to ask, so I just follow him to the training room.

He sits in a chair and watches as I throw knives at the target across the room.

I move on to the boxing bag, where I let everything out, punching and kicking until I'm almost too tired to stand.

When I sit down beside him and take a swig of my water, he turns to me.

"I was on a mission," he says. "It was meant to be simple. In and out. Turns out they knew I was coming."

I nod as I place my bottle on the ground by my feet. "What about your partner?"

"Don't have one. Apparently, I'm 'difficult to work with'... whatever that means," he says with a light chuckle.

A smile plays at my lips, and he leaps to his feet. Well, kind of. More like stumbled.

"Ah-ha! There it is! I knew you could smile!"

I duck my head, trying to hide my grin.

What's the matter with me? The Black Widow would never let anyone close to her, let alone let them see any form of emotion on her face. I'm getting soft.

He chuckles, letting himself fall back into his chair. "I knew that you'd open up eventually. I just have such a great personality, right?"

I struggle to not smile. "Uh... y-yeah. Sure, you do."

He places a hand to his chest in mock horror. "The sarcasm!"

I run a hand through my hair as we sit in silence for a few moments. "What's your actual name?" I ask.

"Don't have one. I was shot through the brain with an arrow when I was a baby," he deadpans.

For some reason, I find this extremely funny. I let out something between a giggle and a snort, burying my face in my hands as he collapses into a fit of laughter.

Literally.

He falls off his chair, he's laughing so hard.

I crouch down at his side to help him up, and suddenly our faces are inches apart as he sits up.

Both of us have stopped laughing.

I can't stop staring into those eyes. They capture something in me. Leave me wanting more. They stare right at me. Right into me.

Then his eyes flit down a little, and I realise he's staring at my lips. They come back up to meet mine, and my face begins to heat up.

We abruptly break apart, and I haul him to his feet.

For the first time in years, I'm at a loss for words.

When I finally find my tongue, the only thing I can manage is, "I should leave."

He nods, and I turn and hurry to the door.

"Natalia," I hear him say behind me.

I turn, and the corner of his mouth lifts a little. "My name's Clint. Clint Barton."