The Budapest Objective

Three

They split up for the rest of the day, Clint patrolling the city and Natasha looking for information. They met up at the restaurant in the hotel.

“How's your head?” Clint asked, taking the seat across from her.

“It's fine,” Natasha answered shortly, but Clint could tell from the look in her eyes that it still hurt. He decided not to mention it, though.

“What'd you find out?” he asked.

“Practically nothing useful. I think I'll have to dig a lot deeper to get even a hint as to who's behind this.”

Clint looked down at the menu, trying to find something that looked good. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a waiter walk by. He looked up, barely in time to see Natasha leap from her seat and push him backwards. His head smacked the floor. Dazed, he struggled to sit up. Clint caught a fleeting glimpse of Natasha as she ran towards the kitchen, tailing the waiter he'd seen pass him.

Natasha dodged an airborne knife, feeling in whiz by her cheek. The waiter had thrown a knife at Clint's head, and would have killed him if she hadn't acted so quickly. She cursed as another knife ripped her sleeve, slicing the flesh on her arm. Blood dripped down, making a bright red trail, too easy to follow. She ducked as a plate flew through the air.

Other waiters and cooks screamed and moved to the side to let Natasha and her quarry pass. Don't bother stopping him, Natasha thought irritably. Civilians!

Well, she'd made at least one useful observation today: at least one of the insane maniac's henchmen was running away from her. It could, of course, be some random guy who thought he'd have some fun and use her partner's head as a target for knives in the middle of a crowded restaurant. But it was way too much of a coincidence for him to pick her partner's head to throw knives at. He just had to be working with someone who wanted them dead.

She'd acted too fast to consider what would have happen to her if that knife had hit her head instead of Clint's. The image of her head getting impaled by that blade cut through her mind. Would it have hurt? Would she have died right away? Would Clint have missed her if she had died? Would anyone have missed her if she had died? What would Clint have said to her in her last few minutes?

The cold rain from the Budapest sky brought her back from her thoughts. She had emerged from the hotel, and her target was only feet away from her. She was glad the street was practically deserted. She ran faster, pushing herself to catch this guy. Natasha dove for him. A syringe caught her in the face, cutting her cheek open. She staggered back, temporarily dazed. Her target hadn't thrown that thing...

Natasha looked to her right just in time to see a huge rock heading right for her head. She dove out of the way, rolled, and came up on one knee. Her hand flew to her belt, but her gun wasn't there. It must have been ripped from her belt when she saved Clint. Natasha cursed, knowing she was in trouble if many more guys showed up. She'd have to make quick work of these two before they had the chance to call in back-up.

Someone hit her in the back of the neck. She fell forward, catching herself on her hands. She slipped because of the wet ground. Rain pelted her body. Natasha scrambled to get up. She grabbed the man who had hit her, flipped him over her shoulder, and pinned him to the ground. She heard a gunshot, and pulled him up, using his body as a shield.

Natasha pulled a gun out of the man's pocket, and shot her first target in the head. Red blood poured from the guy's cranium, mixed with grey brain matter. It quickly turning the rainwater on the ground red as it trickled down into the sewers. She shot the other man twice in the chest.