Chapter Text
Natasha had showered and dressed the next morning before making her appearance in the other room. Her hair was bound in a single braid today, laying damp across her straight shoulders, her chin up as she wandered out, even if she had yet to meet Clint’s eye. She doubted he noticed anyway, as he seemed glued to the news on the television, a well-dressed news presenter sitting behind a desk as the lower-third screamed about a terrorism attack in Hungarian.
“Any updates?” She kept the tenor of her voice light, even if it was anything but.
“From my broken Hungarian, I’m guessing that it is being pitched as a terrorist attack on a noted businessman.” It sounded as if Clint was going for the same sort of vibe, professional and all business. Natasha tried not to wince at the audible distance he placed between them. “The police and government security forces are investigating, and I’m sure they are going to start asking some uncomfortable questions as to who targeted an innocent man and child. After that, I am guessing it is only a matter of time before someone among Dreykov’s people will leak something about you, and chances are high that will lead back to the school.”
From there Natasha could see where this thread was going. “We will need to get out of here.”
“That will be the tricky thing, won’t it, with your face out there and us running dark?”
Another quiet reminder of how badly this situation turned, all because she chose to sacrifice one girl for many. “If we need to split up to get out of here…”
“We are not splitting up,” he returned, vehemently, glaring at her before moving, restlessly towards the windows, likely keeping an eye out for anyone who may come up. “I’m still the agent-in-charge on this, and I'm your handler, besides. We came into this together, we will go out together.”
In a world of shadows and gray, the idea that Clint of all people would have a stubborn bright streak of principles was both heartening and aggravating. “You have a lot more to lose than I do.”
He turned from the window, his blue eyes piercing. “Don’t, Natasha!”
She wanted to argue the point, but they had already fought so much already, she didn’t have it in her heart to keep bickering. “Okay, so getting out, chances are high they are watching all the trains and public transport. Flights are going to be watched. We could maybe drive.”
“They may have checkpoints set up already, especially at the boarding crossings.”
It was a fair point. “I used to know a few ways in and out of Ukraine through the mountain passes, ones no one was looking at. We can drive up in there, hike if we need to. From there, we could get to a town with a train that will get us to Poland and Germany.” It was less than ideal, but at the very least it would get them moving and out of Hungary.
“How are we going to get up to the mountains? You torched the car and renting anything will look suspicious.”
“You could rent,” she said, seeing it as the next most logical conclusion. “I don’t think that Dreykov knew about you or SHIELD’s involvement. Your face won’t be out there to be seen.”
He mulled that over, pondering. “Fair point. You don’t think Hungarian security forces haven’t set up checkpoints all over the city, though?”
They likely had. “We hunker down here, then, at least for a few days. Let things cool off, let them throw themselves against the wall trying to find us, and then when they finally calm down, we can slip out.”
Most protocol usually called for beating a hasty retreat, but Natasha had found the strategy of waiting right under their noses till things had cooled far better over the years. It would give them time to get themselves together, process…maybe figure out how to breach this divide…if she were honest with herself, she doubted anything could. Studying Clint standing by the window, he looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. She didn’t think he had. She had fallen into a restless slumber out of sheer exhaustion. If the weight of her actions weighed on Natasha, how much more did they on Clint, who asked for none of this. She had foisted it on him, the death of Antonia, as well as the now even more problematic retreat from the city. Hungarian security forces were already going to hunt them down just for Dreykov, but adding a child to the mix add the level of horror and pity, which meant more eyes and ears would be on it. The general public would be looking for her, the murderer of a child. It was why she suggested he leave without her. If he were smart, he would.
“We may have a problem.”
Her attention snapped to Clint as he inched away from the window and the curtains there. She moved to see, but he held his hand up, a silent warning to stay back.
“What is it?” Her fingers curled, nails digging into her palms.
“Someone taking a lot of notice of the apartment,” he murmured, watching. “Woman from down the street. Has a terrier that she walks.
Natasha knew of whom he spoke of, had seen her just the night before. “You think she’s suspicious?”
“Judging from her horribly obvious covert skills, yeah, she might be.” He let the curtain fall, casually, as if he happened to be looking out and hadn’t a care in the world about why his neighbor was taking an inordinate interest in his front window. “Times up! We need out of here now!”
She didn’t question him, merely turning to move down the hall and grab her go bag. What little wasn’t already kept in it was shoved inside, as she strapped on her weapons and vambraces. Down the hall, she could hear Clint doing the same. She was ready in less than five minutes, rushing back to the main room, checking to make sure it was clear of anything that tied back to them.
“Ready,” Clint muttered, dressed in similar dark clothes, his go back slung across him, resting on his left hip, his quiver, as always, slung to his back. “Let’s head out of the back, fewer eyes watching.
In the distance, faintly, Natasha thought she could hear the sound of alarms. “I think they are on their way.”
Clint only nodded, curtly, moving to the door and its peephole to glance out. “Looks clear, but better be prepared.”
She flexed her vambraces as they glowed a light blue. Her darts would taze and sting, but not permanently harm. She’d had enough blood on her hands this mission. Clint, for his part, had his gun out, but he held it down as he peeked out of the door and on both sides of the long, narrow hallway. Natasha held her breath until he jerked his head silently, indicating the coast was clear. On light feet, she followed behind him, moving swiftly towards the back stairs that led to an alley and a garbage area. They hit the outside, the space empty for now, but the sirens sounding closer and closer.
“They are going to try and surround the place,” she pointed out, eyes to the roofs above them, knowing they likely already had aerial security on the way.”
“Yeah, they’d be smart to do that.” His tone dripped regret, sliding his service weapon into his holder, reaching instead for his collapsible bow. “I’m not interested in getting anyone else killed.”
His tone was even, but she could hear the recrimination all the same. “They may not feel the same, you know.”
Beyond the buildings, out on the street, the sirens were turning into a wail, promising them only minutes more to decide on what to do. Natasha spun around considering options. There was an alley out, certainly soon to be covered. They could hide in a neighboring building and sneak out of the block unobtrusively, Or…
“How are you at hot wiring a motorcycle?”
Clint spun in his spot, confused, till he followed the line of her finger to the Ducati parked by the neighboring building. “You got to be kidding!”
“It’s tight, but if I scoot forward, you hold on to the back…”
His disbelief turned directly on her. “And what, let you destroy that? It’s a Ducati! That’s $15,000 easy!”
“You want to get arrested by Hungarian security forces and create an international incident?”
He didn’t, and she knew it, which was why she knew Clint would do as she asked. He passed her his bow as he reached for his go back, swiveling it around to rummage inside, pausing only long enough to scowl at her, likely for all of the mess they were in now. “Cover me! It will take a minute.”
She nodded, vambraces at the ready. “Just do it fast.”
He only grunted by way of acknowledgement, finally pulling out one of the boxes he stored the bits of his various creations in, fishing out a length of wire from it. Crouching down, he fiddled with the wiring on the engine, just under the seat of the machine. Natasha kept watch on the buildings around them, as tires screeched up the asphalt in front of the building, and the whining of the sirens began to echo back.
“We got seconds, Clint!” She snapped around as he finished removing three cables from the main starter one, and shoved the bit of cable into one of the remaining sockets.
“Rendőr,” someone shouted from the front. More sirens sounded, more tires, and she could imagine large SWAT style vehicles waiting out there, filled with members of the Rendőrség, ready to siege the apartment complex and force her out.
“They’re here,” she snapped, turning to see him try the wire in a new configuration as he pressed the start button. Nothing purred to life.
“One more,” he grunted, pulling one end of the wire and plugging it into another socket. Above she could hear helicopters beating the air from a distance, and the sounds of people storming into the front of the apartment. Natasha held her breath.
Behind her the motorcycle roared to life. The breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding released in a rush as she turned to a grimly pleased Clint. She handed him back his bow, nodding to the handlebars. “I’ll drive.”
He didn’t even question it as she hopped on the small bike, scooting as close to the front as she could as he slipped in snuggle behind her, snapping his bow to its fullest extent. “You keep this thing straight, I’ll fend them off.”
“Got it,” she grunted, revving the engine as he balanced himself. From the other side of the block now she could hear other cars, other sirens, all with the thumping of helicopters threatening to catch them soon overhead. No sooner than she felt Clint secure himself, she pulled the bike out and down the alley, to where a police car sat, waiting.
She revved the engine and gunned it.
The Ducati purred beneath her thighs as it screamed down the narrow alley and out towards the street. Clint held on long enough for her to get out into the open air, bank by the car, and tear off down the street, all before the police seemed to realize what was even happening. She heard voices shouting as buildings and cars whipped by, her long braid following in the breeze as she dodged around vehicles, tilting the motorcycle at just the right angle to slip between sedans and larger box trucks, Clint helping her maneuver it as he watched their backs.
“They caught on that was us,” he called over the sound of the engine and the wind in her ears.
Sure enough, she could hear the sirens, as ahead police vehicles came tearing towards them.
“Clint,” she called, turning his attention forward.
“I got them,” he yelled, as she felt him shift back on his seat. Over her head came a whistling sound, as a few seconds later two small explosions sent both cars bouncing on their sides. Not fatal car accidents, certainly, but ones that would keep the cars from chasing them. Natasha slid between the two, as behind them, she could hear similar explosions.
Traffic around them began to clog and thicken as people in their cars saw the explosions and panicked, wondering what was going on. Cursing, Natasha glanced over he shoulder, to where Clint was eyeing the helicopters overhead. “Where do we go?”
“Try the metro, underground, closest station.” He gestured towards the skies with his bow. “They can’t follow down there.”
She jerked her chin by way of a nod, focusing back on weaving between vehicles as Clint covered their escape. While no further explosions rocked the street behind her, she could hear his bow twang, as soft whistles of whatever he was firing carried on the wind. She almost didn’t want to know what he was up to, content to bank around an SUV and behind a small group of cyclists. The closest station to them was not far from the river, a few blocks away. Traffic was grinding to a halt in front of them - either police were stopping it, or it was slowing of its own accord. Whatever the case, she eyed the curb and the sidewalk as a potential shortcut.
“Hold on,” she snapped back at Clint, as she dove between two parked cars, jumping up on the sidewalk, scattering pedestrians as she did. Screams and curses followed, as Clint clung to her shoulders, bouncing as she maneuvered around people, whipping around the corner and down the sidewalk towards the metro station, located under the stately buildings that lined the Danube River.
“Are you taking her in?” There was a hint of terror in Clint’s voice as Natasha gunned the engines full throttle, not even stopping for to allow them to get off and run down the concrete steps.
“Yeah,” she shouted, grinning. “Hold tight!”
He did, for what it was worth, wrapping both arms around her middle as she sent the Ducati down the concrete steps, sending metro riders scattering with cries as the motorcycle bounced and jostled, before coming down at the bottom, losing balance, and skidding across the tiled floor, sending both Clint and Natasha flying across it. They bounced, Clint letting go, as Natasha rolled, flipping herself up as fast as she could, finding herself surrounded by a crowd of shocked onlookers, many asking if they were okay.
“Fine,” she yelped, rushing over to help Clint up. His arm was scraped up, but otherwise he seemed relatively fine. She ignored the Ducati, which had spun into a trash can and turned off, perhaps too heavily damaged to continue anyway.
“Downstairs,” Clint grunted, ringing his right arm. Thankfully, like her, it was not his dominant hand, and besides, it only seemed stung, scraped and battered, but usable.
“Come on,” she tugged him, breathlessly, to the turnstiles, pulling out the card she had been using to get around the city. It was best not to draw the further eyes of the Metro authorities as they made their way through the crowd, blending in as best they could after driving a motorcycle down the steps and into the busy lobby area, which was to say not at all. They likely had minutes, if not only seconds to decide next moves. A Metro train could get them somewhere else in the city, but not much beyond that. Besides, the minute they discovered the bike, they would assume they had hopped onto one and would be scouring the train cars looking for them.
“Do you think,” she began, but Clint grabbed her forearm, dragging her behind him on the busy train platform, to an area walled off from the main space filled with travelers, bored and waiting for their connections and unaware of the events top side, or the police chase, or who the pair of them were. Natasha had only a moment to glance at a partition covered in the smiling face of a young woman promising a faster, smoother ride in the future, before Clint yanked her behind it, closing the gap in the temporary barricade, shutting them off, for now, from any prying eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“Hold this,” he shoved a toolbox at her, one he clearly had in his pack, and pulled out one of his trick arrows, along with his bow. Before she could ask why, he had already fired, as a grappling head opened up and bit into the ceiling, right next to an HVAC duct high above. The cable tugged as he tested it, clipping it to his belt, before he turned back to her and the toolbox.
“One of these should work.” He snagged what looked like a dual ended screwdriver in hand.
“The vents? Seriously?”
“You got a better idea?”
She didn’t. “This is turning into a cliche Cold War trope the further we go along. Assassins hiding in the vents?”
“Cliched it may be, but it’s just so out there, it might work. Why hide in the HVAC when we could hop a train.”
All true and sound reasoning, and she was mildly impressed and somewhat jealous that Clint had thought of that. She said nothing more, though, as he rose up to the ceiling, slowly, dangling as he carefully began to unscrew the bits of metal holding the grating in place. He worked quickly. Before she could talk herself out of this scheme, he had metal grill popped off and pushed inside, a hole now open just big enough for each of them to shimmy inside.
“I’ll come down to you,” Clint offered by way of explanation for her next question. He lowered himself down again, just as slowly, holding his left arm wide. She closed the toolbox, slipping it in her own pack before stepping inside his grasp, looping her hands around his neck as he held her tight, pulling her back up with him.
“You first,” he ordered, jerking his chin up towards the open vent shaft. She complied, reaching up to grab the lip and pull herself inside, boosted by Clint as she did so. She scrabbled into the darkness, the dirt and dust of years making her purchase slippery as she shimmied into the cramped, tight space, before turning around to help him inside. He had just unhooked his grapple from outside in the ceiling when the first noises indicating the arrival of security came.
“Nick of time,” he breathed, putting the grate vent back into place, loose, but sitting flush in its frame, allowing them a limited vantage of the area just behind the barrier. In the distance, Natasha could hear voices calling “rendőr” as people murmured. She held her breath, and knew that beside her Clint did much of the same. For long moments they waited, tensing as someone opened the temporary partition to peek inside. A light flickered as an officer looked about at the construction going on there; the torn up tiles, the bare and open work beyond, but turned away soon after, uninterested, closing the partition once again. His steps moved away and were lost in the sounds of people being asked to leave the platform for now as they conducted a police investigation.
It was then, and only then, that Clint began to relax, sagging onto the dusty metal, his expression dark, lit only from the faint light coming through the grate. “Now what?”
That, Natasha didn’t know.