Avengers/MCU Oneshots

Want To Wipe it Out? (Clint Barton)

An annoyed Clint Barton walked into SHIELD Directer Nick Fury's office. "Fury, this had better be a quick mission. My wife's due to give birth any second now, and I'm not missing the birth of my daughter."

"I can't promise a quick mission this time, Barton. This is a mission of the utmost importance. I need you to handle someone."

"So, you need me to assassinate someone. Why not have another agent do it? My wife's due date is in THREE DAYS!"

"This person is a threat to international security. We need you to take her out before she disappears again."

"And why can't anyone else handle her?"

Fury passed him a file. "She's the Black Widow. The single best spy on the planet."

"Better than me, huh?"

"Definitely better than you. But you're the best I've got. You really need to do your best here, Barton. Her kill count is high, and it's only rising. We don't even know her name, we can't find any record of her. She is a major threat, and needs to be handled for the good of the world."

Clint sighed. "Alright, I'll handle this, but if I die, my wife gets to kill you."

"Deal."

Clint gave him an nod before grabbing the file and leaving. He got the information he needed and headed off to Moscow, Russia. He waited at the hotel where he knew her to be staying.

After a couple hours, he saw her leaving, a long jacket on, a knit cap on her head. Her long, dark red curls were the telltale sign for him. She seemed on edge as she limped across the parking lot. Limping?

Clint payed her a bit more attention. If she was injured, she would be easier to fight. And he really wanted to be done with this as quickly as possible. He saw her get into a car- likely not hers, since the windows weren't tinted. She removed the jacket. She was wearing a skimpy black nightdress under it. He could easily see the surplus fresh wounds on her body. They looked pretty serious, and had to be painful. She pulled out a first aid kit, taking out a needle and thread.

Clint got out of the car, walking in her direction. He knew this might put her on edge, but she was between him and the hotel, so maybe not. She noticed him, but he didn't look at her for another few seconds before giving her a weird look. She was now back in her jacket. He shrugged his shoulders and kept walking. He could sense her slightly relaxing. He went inside, checking into a hotel room, before heading back out.

She didn't seem concerned about him this time. He walked over to her, making her tense. "You sure you want to be out here all alone?" He asked. "It can be dangerous for a young lady out here at night." He was glad his faux Russian accent was on point, and he was fluent in the language.

She smiled. "I'm good, thank you. I'll be heading inside soon."

"Glad to hear it. I was just making sure you were alright."

"Thank you."

He nodded, walking back to his car, coming back with his bags. He was trying to make sure she wasn't suspicious. "You want me to get you a baggage cart?"

"Oh, yes, please."

He brought her one, after sending the bellhop upstairs with his luggage.

She opened the car door, getting out. "Thank you so much, sir."

He felt slight guilty. But that was good. He had to keep that sense it guilt. It was human nature to feel pity. He didn't want to stifle it. As he helped her put her things on the cart, he 'accidentally' kicked her just above the side of her left ankle. He had seen a large gash there. A small gasp escaped her lips.