Chapter Text
Name: Unknown
Alias: The Black Widow
Age: Unknown – estimated 25–30
Gender: Female
Confirmed Kills: 700+
Hair Color: Red
Agent Barton just stared at the file. It was the shortest one he’d ever seen. Barely any useful information. No fingerprints, no real name, not even a known photo—just one note: red hair. But even that was useless. She could dye it. Wear a wig. Disappear in plain sight.
Still, it didn’t matter.
He was going to find her. And kill her.
She had taken so many lives. Innocents. Agents. Friends. She deserved the most painful death imaginable. That’s why they sent him.
Clint Barton—Hawkeye. The best sharpshooter S.H.I.E.L.D. had. If he couldn’t do it, no one could.
They had a lead: she might be at the Bolshoi Ballet. He didn’t know whether she’d be in the audience or on the stage. But he’d find her. He always did. His name was Hawkeye for a reason.
~~~
The Bolshoi Theatre was one of the most beautiful buildings Clint had ever seen, but something felt off. There was a heaviness in the air—something dark that didn't fit with the elegance and grace of the place. Something... Black Widow-like.
The house was full. Not a single empty seat. Everyone had come to see Swan Lake, performed by the world’s finest ballet company.
Clint scanned the audience, looking for red hair. Nothing. She could have changed her appearance. Or maybe... maybe she was on stage.
Then he saw her.
The Black Swan.
She was staring directly at him.
Could it be her? He couldn’t be sure. And even if it was, he couldn’t take a shot. Not here. Not in front of hundreds of people. So he watched her dance.
She moved with a grace that didn’t belong to a killer. Every pirouette was perfect, every motion breathtaking. It was hypnotic. For a moment, he forgot why he was here.
She was... mesmerizing.
When the final curtain fell, Clint snapped back into reality. She bowed, then disappeared backstage.
He bolted out of the opera house.
Five minutes later, he caught sight of something red on a rooftop.
It was her.
The Black Widow.
She stood at the edge, watching him. But she didn’t attack. She didn’t run. Not yet. For a moment, they just stared at each other across the Moscow skyline. The moment was thick with silence.
Then, without warning, she turned and ran.
Across the rooftops of beautiful, cold Moscow.
And Clint ran too.
But she was fast. Too fast. He had to weave through streets and alleyways while she danced above him, silent and swift.
Eventually, he made it to the rooftops. He was quicker now, but she still had the lead. Then, suddenly, she stopped.
Clint slowed. Cautious.
This was it.
He reached for his bow.
She didn’t move.
Now that he was closer, he could finally see her face. And he knew. This was her.
The Black Widow.
She held a gun in one hand. It must have appeared while she ran. But she wasn’t pointing it at him.
She looked young.
Too young.
And then she spoke.
“Hello, Hawkeye.”
Clint’s heart skipped. No one outside S.H.I.E.L.D. should know that name.
“I know why you're here,” she said softly.
“You're here to kill me.”
She looked at him, eyes tired. “Do it. But make it quick. I want to die—but not in pain. If you don’t, I’ll kill you. It won’t be painless.”
She paused, then added with a broken voice, “Please.”
There was something so raw in her tone, so heartbreakingly human. She looked barely 18. Just a girl. And she was begging to die.
Clint hesitated. He couldn’t kill a child.
He made a decision.
He drew an arrow—not a lethal one. A tranquilizer.
For a split second, he saw a spark in her eyes. She thought he was going to kill her.
Poor girl.
He let the arrow fly. It hit her in the shoulder. She stumbled but remained conscious, staring at him in shock and betrayal. He shot again.
She collapsed.
Unconscious.
Clint rushed forward and picked her up. She was light—too light. Maybe 40 kilograms at most. Dangerously underweight.
He carried her back to his hotel. Thankfully, no one saw. It would be hard to explain carrying an unconscious teenage girl through Moscow.
In the room, he laid her gently on the bed and cuffed her to it. It felt wrong, but she was still the Black Widow. Dangerous.
He needed answers before he could let her go.
He changed into more comfortable clothes and sat down beside her waiting for her to wake up.
This was going to be a long night.