"In accordance with the document at hand, I hereby certify that the below peoples and individuals, shall no longer operate freely or unregulated, but instead operate under the rules, ordinances and governances of the afore mentioned United Nations panel, acting only when and if the panel deems it appropriate or necessary."

Natasha read the document before her. She wasn't sure what to think of it. It was completely ludicrous. The Avengers have caused damage, she'll admit, but only if it meant saving more than they lost. And the UN? No one should have so much power that they get to decide when and if someone needs the Avengers' help. She couldn't sign these accords. But not signing them meant retiring and she couldn't do that either. She had a world to protect and she couldn't just retire.

She looked up to see Clint sitting across from her. He was staring at the accords with his eyebrows crossed in frustration. She could tell he thought it was just as absurd as she thought it was. However, Natasha knew he was having no trouble deciding whether or not to sign them. There was no way he would. She had known this man for almost twenty years.

Clint was trying to figure out what idiot would think this, the accords, would solve anything. He kept reading out of curiosity, though. Every so often he would look up to gauge Natasha's reaction. As expected, it was always seemingly unfazed. He knew by looking in her eyes, though, that she was struggling on the inside. What's the right thing to do? For him, the answer was clear. For her? Not so much. He'd seen that look before many times, but time one in particular sticks out in his mind.

18 years ago

"Hawkeye, do you have eyes on the mark? Over." Coulson's voice was heard over the comm.

"Affirmative. I have eyes on the mark. Over," he replied. Agent Barton pulls his bow string taught- his arrow ready to fly at any second- as he watched a blonde woman enter an old motel. He'd been given a top-secret mission: exterminate the Black Widow. However, he had apparently not been given all of the information. This girl was, well... a girl.

"Sir, I can't make this shot. Over," the hawk says over the comm, slowly releasing the pressure on his bow string.

"I thought you couldn't miss, Hawkeye," Coulson teased.

"I mean I can't kill this girl, Coulson."

"And why not?"

"She's a kid, Coulson." Clint heard Coulson sigh deeply over the comm. Unfortunately, the older man understood all too well what the younger agent was trying to get across. He was doing exactly what Coulson had done for him. Giving her a chance at life.

Hawkeye watches through the tinted windows as the girl removes her wig and jacket. She moves to the other side of the room and picks something up. Is that what I think it is? He takes a closer look through his scope and sure enough...

"She's got a kid in there."

Clint turned off his com. He needed to figure out a way to get the Black Widow to join SHIELD. Is that what I'm doing? It seems so. He needed to decide quickly; she'd be leaving soon. He started to pace. What do I do? What do I do? How do I approach the deadliest woman in the world to offer her a job at a place that just sent someone to kill her? Before he knew it, Clint was at the door of her room, knocking. WHAT AM I DOING? I can't just knock on her door!

"Уходи!" he heard a voice say in Russian on the other side of the door.

"Мне надо поговорить с тобой," he fumbled. There was a pause, then the door cracked open. She peaked through the crack at him, unamused. [I need to speak with you.]

"Какие?" she snapped at him. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. He didn't know what to say. Maybe the truth? No not all of it. Her knowing he came to kill her wouldn't really help right now.

"Black Widow," he stated. Her face wasn't shocked like he expected; it stayed stone cold. Quickly, she grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him inside then slammed the door and shoved him against it. She pressed her fist against his throat, not enough to cut off his airways though. Not yet anyway. Clint was afraid for his life. He didn't know what she was going to do to him: maim him, rip out his throat, stab him. The possibilities were endless. He looked around the small room in search of the child he had seen earlier, but he didn't see it. Maybe he was mistaken.

"На кого ты работаешь?" she demanded. Clint just stared at her with wide eyes. He knew one phrase in Russian and he'd already said it. Unless, of course, she wanted to give him directions to the nearest bathroom, but he didn't find that likely. His silence frustrated her and she pressed her fist into his throat harder.

"Кто!" she shouted.

"I d-don't speak Russian," Clint fumbled out. He knew she spoke English. She sighed deeply and seemed to calm down.

"Who do you work for?" she asked with a thick accent. Clint finally looked at her for the first time since he entered the small room. Her dark red hair was pulled back into a pony-tail with little baby hairs curling out around her hairline and she'd started to remove her make-up making her look a lot younger. She was wearing a worn t-shirt a pair of jeans, and some mix-matched socks. She almost looked normal and that scared Clint more than anything because he knew what she was capable of. But it also reminded him of why he was here.

"I work for SHIELD."

"SHIELD," she repeated disdainfully, looking down for a moment, thinking. Then, as if she was just remembering the situation, she snapped her eyes back to his and asked, "Why are you here?"

Clint thought about how he should answer that. If he told her the truth, there was a chance she'd kill him. Or torture him. Or hold him hostage. Or all three. But there was also a chance she wouldn't. Granted, it was a small chance (really, really small) but he liked to keep his options open. If he told her they sent him to recruit her she most likely wouldn't believe him and she didn't seem like she appreciated being lied to.

"They sent me to kill you," he stated plainly, gauging her reaction.

"And, why haven't you? You seem smart," she retorted.

"I don't think I should," he started and she froze. "I think you deserve a chance." Her eyes were wide, trying to analyze what his angle was. She would come to find out he had none.

"I saw the kid," Clint explained. "I want to offer you a job at SHIELD. You'd have protection- for you and the kid -and you wouldn't be alone. Trust me, we're the good guys." The woman thought it over for a second. She had that look on her face. She was scared, he could tell, though it was masked. Her face and body said, "I can and will kill you slowly" but her eyes… they told her story, no matter how hard she'd tried to bury it.

"And how do I know you friends won't shoot me as soon as they find out you went against orders?" she asked. Clint hadn't really thought about that yet. What would happen when they got back to SHIELD HQ?

"They won't," he said, not entirely sure himself.

Present Day

Natasha had that same look in her eyes then as she did now. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes. She thought the choices in front of her were both right, both wrong. He knew what he'd prefer her to do, but he'd learned long ago that Natasha didn't like being told what she could and couldn't do. So, he waited, watched. And, just like last time, Clint wasn't sure what she would decide.

Audacity /ôˈdasitē/

The willingness to take bold risks