I lose the joys of life. (For speaks_latin)

[thehawkinhisnest]

Warning: Will contain violence.

Clint fiddles with his cufflink, looking away from the window overlooking the street below. This is the last step of a mission he's been working for the last two weeks, and while he's as anxious as ever for it to be over, there's no sense of victory on the horizon. He's used to that with these missions, of knowing that once he's finished, he'll feel a sense of accomplishment, of having something to be proud of. But no matter how hard he tries, he just wants this one to be over.

He's supposed to kill a child.

Not really, of course. The girl (The Black Widow. Natalie. Natalia.) is only a few years younger than him - their intel says she is actually eighteen, though he's wondered about that in the time he's been watching her this week, while he decided the best way to play this, while his contacts set up this meeting. Natalia was his date to a dinner for some rich assholes this evening, and the longer the night goes on, the more certain he becomes that he can't go through with this. She's a killer, has taken out more targets than S.H.I.E.L.D. can actually keep up with - but he sees more when people don't know he's watching. He's seen the black cars and men that dog her heels, and the looks she gives them when she thinks no one's watching aren't to reassure herself that they're there. He's seen her steel herself before she talks to them, before she came up to meet up, tonight, and they all paint a picture different than the one in her file.

He has weapons hidden nearby, should be hiding one of them on himself now while Natalia freshens up in the bathroom - he doesn't want to think about why she thinks she needs to freshen up, she's a child and not even one allowed to make her own decisions - but he can't. He can't do it.

But he has to, and he finally takes his hand away from his sleeve, turning to find the closest handgun, to tuck it away as the sound of water stops in the bathroom and the door opens, to school his own expression and posture back into the relaxed, confident swagger this cover requires, to let himself leer a little when he turns to face her.

Another hour, and this will be done.

Comments

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Probably not," he agrees, "but I think we can deal with it."

He watches her for a moment, staying carefully still. "I was sent to kill you," he says, simply. "I don't want to, because I don't think you want to be here any more than I wanted to be taking people out for a paycheck."

[speaks_latin]

"That definitely won't go well," she answers, sounding still more casual than she feels. "You're not wrong, but you do know we're being watched, don't you? If either of us tries anything ... "

She imagines James will be at the door before either of them can so much as blink.

[thehawkinhisnest]

"S.H.I.E.L.D.'s outside, too," he agrees, "and is probably already going to kill me for telling you this much. But between the two of us, I think we can work something out."

They're both very good at what they do, even if what they do isn't very nice.

"We've gotta do it fast, though," he adds after a moment, likely unnecessarily.

[speaks_latin]

Despite the idea that, yes, they're on a strict timetable, now, she still takes a moment, turning to face him, to study him. On one hand, it would be easy to just kill him now, regardless of how good he thinks he is, let James know that they're going to have to fight their way out, and watch him go to town. Go back to the life, once he's done, once they're out. It would be easy. On the other hand, though -- well, she wasn't kidding when she said she was tired of that life. She needs an out, even if that out is her death.

Blowing out a breath that stirs her bangs, she closes her eyes briefly, and when she reopens them, asks, "What's the plan?"

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint huffs out a breath, relieved that she's going with him on this, and then frowns, thinking, before he mouths silently, "Are you or the room wired?"

The fact that she's been willing to discuss this much outloud says she's probably not, but he wants to check, too. He is, and he'll turn his off as soon as he has her answer.

[speaks_latin]

She arches her eyebrows at the question, clearly unimpressed -- does he really think she'd have opened her mouth even to suggest she was getting tired of the bigger game, if she or the room was wired? Rather than ask that aloud, however, she shakes her head once the look has faded, and instead answers, "No. They trust me to do my job."

Either because they think she enjoys it, because they think whatever number they did on her to make her a killer is still functioning, or because they know that she knows what the alternative is. It doesn't matter. The result is the same. As is the fact that, despite that, James will be along to check up on her eventually. They may trust her to do her job, but her job doesn't include clean up. That's always been on him.

That in mind, she continues with, "But they will send someone up, before too much longer."

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint just shrugs. "Making sure."

That said, he reaches up to his ear, fishing out a small earpiece that he unceremoniously chucks off the balcony.

"I'm reaching into my pockets. One of them's a phone, the other one's a gun." He doesn't really want her to jump him because she's nervous.

Warning given, though, he reaches first for his phone, to turn it off, and then for his gun, to move it from his waistband to somewhere more accessible. "You got anything around here besides you that'll help us get past James?"

He knows she's a deadly weapon all on her own, but it'll be nice to know if there are other weapons stashed around.

"Unless you think going off the balcony is the better idea."

He's not joking.

[speaks_latin]

She watches the earbud as it disappears into the street below before turning her attentions to him, giving him the same careful attention. When it seems he's not going for the gun to shoot her, thinking he might have put her somewhat at ease by warning her he was going for it, she turns, nodding back into the room.

"There's a gun behind one of the vases on the table." A beat. "And unless you have rappelling gear, we might be better off just grabbing it and going."

[thehawkinhisnest]

"I've gone off a lot of balconies with less preparation than I'd have right now," he returns, but he also nods, following her back into the room. "Anything you want to take with you, grab it."

He's going to grab the gun she mentioned unless she gets there first, and he'll toss it to her on his way toward the door - where he'll wait for her before he opens it, in case anyone's waiting to come in when he does.

[speaks_latin]

"You're either very good or a fan of broken bones," she decides in a mutter.

Shaking her head, that said, she turns to follow him into the room, snapping up a pair of heels as she goes. She steps into them gracefully and without pause, one right after the other, and continues forward, catching the gun with no more effort as she tosses it to him. She takes a moment, checking it over quickly, and then trains it on the door, over his shoulder. A wordless nod follows. Any time he's ready, he can open it.

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Both," Clint returns.

As soon as she nods, he copies the gesture - and then pulls open the door in one steady motion, his own gun already coming up. If there's S.H.I.E.L.D. behind the door, he won't fire, though he'll definitely rush them and make sure to keep himself between them and Natasha.

If it's James, well. All bets will be off.

[december_everyday]

Unfortunately, it is James.

He's changed since the last time Clint saw him, earlier, downstairs, both in demeanor and in clothing. Gone is Natasha's quiet but charming manager, replaced by a stone-faced killer, the metal of his arm exposed where his suit had covered it before, a rifle in hand, trained on the door as it opens, and a collection of combat knives at his belt. He doesn't seem surprised to see Clint standing there, loaded for bear, either -- instead, he's ready for it, reaching for the gun with his cybernetic hand. If he can get a hold of it, he'll crush it; if not, at least that will protect him from being shot in the head.

Natasha, meanwhile, seems to hesitate behind Clint, torn. If nothing else, she doesn't immediately start shooting.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint pulls the trigger, but the bullet barely makes it out of the barrel before James's hand is closing around it. He knows better than to try and keep hold of the gun, even if James hadn't just crushed it. He immediately backpedals, wary of James getting a shot off with the rifle - and almost trips over his own feet. "Fuck," he barks as he grabs for the wall, barely managing not to fall.

"Fire!" he yells in the next moment, because telling Natasha to shoot him might not work, might make her balk at the realization of who she's about to shoot - but at least he might startle her into pulling the trigger with that wording.

[december_everyday]

Where anyone else might have smiled, triumphant in getting a weapon away from an enemy, James' expression remains blank as he tosses the gun aside and stalks into the room. Natasha, meanwhile, remains motionless, frozen, as James puts the butt of the rifle to his shoulder to brace it as he takes aim at Clint. The order, thankfully, snaps her out of it, and while she doesn't take a shot at him, too well-trained to startle like that, she does call out.

"James, Oстановись."

If nothing else, he hesitates, glancing in her direction.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint takes advantage of the hesitation to rush James, grabbing for the rifle with one hand, to point it away from himself or Natasha and hopefully use it for some leverage to get James out of the doorway.

[december_everyday]

While Clint manages to get him to point the rifle at anywhere other than them, getting him to move is another story entirely, his stance solid despite the hesitation. Gritting his teeth, he shoves back, trying to push Clint back into the room. It doesn't help that, in either case, he's a lot stronger than he looks and for more than that arm of his.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint drops his own stance, trying to keep his feet, but he's off balance already in trying to keep the gun away from either of them. It's enough for James to shove him back, but he manages to keep his feet - and to keep moving. He's the most worried about James's gun, right now, and he really doesn't want him to get a bead on either of them, even while he also doesn't really think he has a chance in getting it away from him.

[december_everyday]

He doesn't seem terribly surprised or upset that Clint keeps moving. He just keeps coming, expression unwavering, raising the gun again now that it's definitely staying with him to track Clint as he moves. When he thinks he can hit him, and really it only takes a few seconds of leading, he takes a shot. Whether or not it's true, however, Natasha moves finally, grabbing Clint by the waist to pull him out of the way. Now, he looks disgruntled.

"James, не. Он может вытащить нас отсюда. Мы могли бы быть свободными."

"Нет," he says, simply, turning the gun on her, now.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint goes with Natasha, letting her drag him to the side, the bullet embedding itself in something breakable behind him that he doesn't dare to check and see what it is.

He doesn't turn around to see what's behind him, either, just reaching back to grab the first thing that comes to hand - which, thankfully, is a glass, and he chucks it at the side of James's head as soon as it's clear whatever Natasha's saying isn't working.

(He really needs to work on his Russian.)

[december_everyday]

James recoils as the glass finds its mark, raising a hand, too late, to try and shield his face. A grunt follows, then a growl, once he's recovered, and then he starts forward again, still heading for Natasha. He says something to her, still in Russian (называть вашу собаку), but this time, she ignores him, tugging Clint back towards the balcony.

"We may want to think about the window, after all."

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Don't have to tell me twice," he returns, catching her hand as he starts moving, running toward the balcony, and he's fully prepared to go off it if she doesn't have any better options.

"Kinda wishing I'd kept that ear piece about five minutes longer," he shouts to her as they go.

[speaks_latin]

"Not sure that would change anything," she answers back, stopping short of the railing of the balcony, once they reach it and if only so she can look for something, anything better than trying to jump to the street. Dropping down to the balcony beneath them might be preferable, if not more awkward, but --

But they don't really have time to think about it.

That in mind, she moves to pull herself up onto the railing, tucking her gun away as she goes. "There's another balcony, a few floors down. Come on."

[thehawkinhisnest]

"Woulda been a nice distraction," he calls back, pressing himself into as much of the corner as he can, to cut down on James's opening, peering down himself.

"Go," he tells her - and he'll wait until he's sure she's clear before he vaults the railing himself, barely catching himself on the edge of the balcony itself, pumping his legs for an instant to set himself swinging, to make sure he doesn't hit the other balcony's railing before he lets go.

[speaks_latin]

She doesn't bother answering that. Instead, she mirrors him (or, well, more accurately, he mirrors her in eventuality), swinging over the balcony and onto the one below in a single, fluid motion that brings her to her feet again at its completion. She moves, both to avoid Clint crashing into her as he comes down, and to head for the doors, trying them first, then, once she finds them locked, pulling out her gun again so she can take a shot at the handle. It crumples and she pushes into the room, currently empty, thank God. She suspects James will be right behind them and it's better if there are as few other people involved as possible.

"Keep moving," she tells Clint, offhandedly, over her shoulder, as she makes for the door out of the room.

[thehawkinhisnest]

Clint hits the balcony hard and feels the shock up his ankles - these shoes really weren't made for this - but doesn't react to it, glancing up at the balcony they came from as she busts the lock. "Don't need to tell me twice," he tells her while keeping close to her heels.

"Stairs are to the right if you don't think he'll just come down 'em," he says quickly as they get to this room's door and move to pull it open.