~ This story is set in 2008, after Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff both join up with SHIELD, but long before either one encounters any other Avenger. Iron Man is not even on the scene yet. Since Clint Barton's age has never been confirmed, we're going to assume that Clint is about 5 years older than Natasha, and she would be 24 years old at this point. ~
Canada was exceedingly cold this time of year. All they could do to keep from freezing was to keep moving. Their breath hung noiselessly in front of them as they descended a steep hillside covered in pines that obstructed the night sky. "It's just," he swallowed, "another mile." She shook her head at her partner as they hung onto each other. "We'll... freeze to death... there's a cabin," she squeaked, as she pointed a few hundred yards ahead of them among the foliage.
Agent Barton's arm was strung around Romanoff's waist, grasping onto the curve of her figure. Her blood stained the sleeve of his shirt. She had sunk her fingers into the side of his belt at his hip. Her walk was unsteady and her lips were pale. Her ankle had certainly been broken, with black and blue offending the skin around the joint. She had cuts and puncture wounds up and down her body, blood staining her skin and signature suit. Her hands were unsteady and sore. Her back was torn to shreds with gashes that could kill a bear. Clint was nowhere near unscathed either. His head was bleeding at his right temple, bottom lip cut open, but he had mostly been tased, apparent red marks where prongs had been littering his neck and shoulders. They had dislocated his left shoulder, but he had Natasha move that back into place hours before. However, the worst impact for Clint was hearing Natasha's screams over and over in his head.
Barton's quiver clung tightly to his frame, bow in his free hand. He was low on arrows, but knew Natasha and him were far out of reach from their enemy now. Their mile long hike and questionably safe careen across a canyon ensured that.
After another 10 minutes, Barton had settled Romanoff onto a dusty couch that laid in front of the fireplace that he was hastily prepping in the vacant cabin. She clutched onto her partner's vest that he had laid over her torso. She lay still and silent, as she trusted her partner to get them warmed up.
"This is probably a summer home," Clint theorized as the fire roared to life.
"Maybe," she replied as he hoisted her up and loosely held her seated in front of the fire. "I don't really care... I'm just cold."
With that, Barton went to the bedroom of the cabin and grabbed the duvet and a couple pillows. There was only one T-shirt in the closet, which he brought with him as a makeshift bandage if need be. He wrapped the duvet around them as they shook from the cold and the beatings they endured. They laid on their left sides and stared at the fire. Barton loosely hugged Natasha from behind on the wooden floor boards, careful not to put pressure on her raw skin. Warmth circulated around them as the fire grew. Normally, Romanoff would never allow this, but she was too bloodied and exhausted to protest.
Clint stood again once he was warm enough to think straight and feel his fingers. Caringly, he tucked the blanket around Romanoff to keep the heat in. He scoured the nearby kitchen cabinets and bathroom for medical supplies. Scattered in the different rooms of the house, he found a few rolls of gauze, extra strength Tylenol, scissors, bandaids, and hydrogen peroxide. He handed Natasha the bottle of pills, and she took four, full well knowing the dose was two. Her liver was not the issue right now. Clint laid the other supplies on the coffee table that was between his partner and the couch. Still shivering, he prepared to bandage his partner, cutting the sleeves and collar off the XL T-shirt. It would have to do.
"What did they do to you in there, Tash," Clint questioned with a gentle tone. "I've never seen you so... vulnerable." He frowned at the words he never thought he could say. Natasha Romanoff was never vulnerable.
She took a deep breath in, and replied, "A better question would be... what didn't they do."
~Earlier that day~
"They're a mercenary group that is threatening our national security," Coulson explained. "We need to know what they've already uncovered and where they're headed next. That's where you guys come in." He smirked at them with a purposeful sternness. Romanoff glanced at Barton where he gave her an approving nod. "So where are we going," she quizzed with a confident gaze. The mission was simple: Download the files from their mainframe onto a flash drive, and get to the extraction point.
They spent the 10 minutes after the debriefing gearing up and preparing for the trek ahead of them. Clint made sure to pack a satellite phone that connected to HQ in case of an emergency. Both agents declined jackets, insisting it would only restrict their movement. Coulson and the strike team explained where their target was, the outdoor layout of the building, and their extraction point. Not-so-conveniently, it was a two mile hike in, and a two mile hike out.
"Let's go," Natasha stated to the room full of agents, then turning to her partner, "Unless you are afraid of the cold," she playfully taunted. Clint followed behind her onto the helipad where their ride was waiting.
"Don't get an attitude or I'll throw you off the helicopter," Clint jabbed back with a wide grin as they boarded for their 6 hour flight.
After departing from the SHIELD helicopter, Clint and Natasha snuck up the mountain, avoiding boobytraps and pits that surrounded the hideout.They approached a dreary stone mansion perched at the hilltop, many guards were stationed with assault rifles strewn across their backs. The whole building was devoid of color, and icicles hung from every ledge. Undoubtedly, the watchtower looming at the side of the structure was intimidating, but nothing two master assassins couldn't handle. With bow in hand, Barton darted around the corner, Romanoff in tow. Their backs against the freezing stone, Romanoff pointed upward at a window about 4 feet above their heads. Barton lifted his partner up to the sill, where she scanned the inside. It looked like a guest room with beautiful wallpaper that shimmered. A quilt covered the bed with a golden and white metal frame. A small armoire sat against the opposite wall, matching the bed frame perfectly. With no effort at all, she noiselessly cracked open the window and slid inside. Barton shot an arrow just above the window frame that drew him up, just as a guard rounded the corner opposite. He closed the window and mentally thanked god there was heat flowing through the space.
When he turned, Natasha was frozen with her arm extended in front of him. He stopped and drew an arrow, pointed at the door his partner seemed to be locked on, Romanoff with her pistol extended. He listened intently and heard what must have raised her alarm. Footsteps approaching. They swiftly crammed into a small closet to Clint's left, with almost no wiggle room. Natasha was white knuckling her gun and Clint was grasping his belt where he kept his throwing knives. He watched her face and could tell she was worried they had been compromised. But the footsteps never entered the space they were in. They breathed a sigh of relief. "Dammit," Clint silently mouthed as he motioned for them to keep going.
Skillfully, they exited the closet and entered the hallway. Expensive looking paintings hung on the walls and there wasn't a soul in sight. They jogged down the hall to the control room that was made exceedingly obvious by a steel door, unlike the lavish rest of the property. They needed a key card to enter. Hiding behind a bookcase that sat to the left of the door, they waited for someone to open the door to make their move. A man left, and they slunk in, keeping close to the wall. One tall man with black hair had their back to them.
"Agents Romanoff and Barton, is it? Come in, come in," he baited, with a light French accent. The SHIELD agents looked down at their chests to find several red dots aimed. The ring leader smirked at them deviously, and echoed, "Don't worry, I won't let them shoot you if you don't try to shoot me. Drop your weapons. All of them!" The man finally turned to face them. His face was riddled with confidence. Green eyes and dimples made him look less threatening than Clint and Natasha would've imagined. But there was a darkness behind his facade that they both could see right through. They complied with the mans demands, placing a bow, quiver full of arrows, three pistols, four rounds of ammunition, eight knives, one taser, and three flash bangs onto the floor in front of them. Barton clicked the panic button on his satellite phone as he threw it to the floor. Just then, four guards simultaneously electrocuted and handcuffed them. "You know where to put them," the boss said to his heavily armed cronies.
They were taken down three flights of stairs and thrown in a small, cold, and barren cell with an iron gate. The guards locked the door, engaged a motion-detecting alarm surrounding the cell, and started to walk away, laughing at them. "Wait, what if I need to go to the bathroom," Clint yelled after them sarcastically. Natasha chuckled at the stupidity of his remark. "Shut up," she asserted, then she whispered, "What's our play?"