A/N: This fic has always been sitting in the back of my mind throughout the years and I feel horrible having just dropped it. After reading through it again [and going through another big Marvel kick] I figured I would come back and revise it as I wasn't too happy with how I worked some pieces. This time around I will most likely not cover Budapest like I planned because I just was never able to figure out what I wanted to do for that whole piece of the story. As this is still MCU, there will be plenty of mention of Clint's wife. Yes, it's a Clintasha fic but there is a better plan for how the romance will work out in this than the last time.

Enjoy!

The clicking of black heels along the marble floor echoed through the hotel's lobby, working in tune with the sound of the luggage cart following right behind her, both sounds nearly drowning out the voices of those the slender female passed. Her long, red curls seemed to bounce with every step as she moved over to the front desk. The woman leaned against the polished marble of the desk and slide her sunglasses down her nose so her bright, green eyes could meet with those of the desk clerk. "Deluxe suite with a king bed for three days and four nights. Name; Petra Yanovna," she told him, her red painted lips curling into a kind smile as she pulled a credit card and an ID from the small purse in her hand and slid it to the man.

A more recent disguise, a journalist for a lesser known newspaper - the perfect identity for her target. Of course, she only hoped that she would get to reveal her codename to her victim right before their death. There was something about the look of fear in someone's eyes when she got to whisper the name 'Black Widow' in their ear before they perished.

The short, squirrelly nodded twice and quickly shot his eyes to his computer to confirm the reservation, unable to hide the blush that immediately formed on his tanned cheeks. The woman took this moment to scan over the people who stood around the lobby. CEOs, governors from the States, a president or two, models, a singer, and even a mob boss. That was where her eyes stopped. A tall, musculer man with dark, greased back hair and even darker eyes wearing a slick, navy blue suit standing at the lobby bar, chatting up a gorgeous, blonde model.

"Say," she started in a voice filled with false curiosity, "that is Sidor Konovalov at the bar, is it not? The CEO of the Konovalov Corporation?" Her eyes didn't move from the man, studying him more than a simple file had allowed. She had to avoid a light chuckle out loud as she mentally noted that he looked shorter than his dossier said. From her other side she could hear the desk clerk happily confirm the man's identity, adding in that there was an annual charity event being held at the hotel all weekend, that night being a large dinner and auction. It was said that it was Konovalov's first year joining them for the event.

'And his last,' the red head thought to herself before returning her eyes to the clerk and thanking him. Still a bit flustered, he held out her credentials along with the room key and tried to avoid her alluring gaze.

Nodding the bus boy to follow her to the elevators, she returned her gaze to Konovalov as she passed him - their eyes actually locking for a mere second before she pushed her sunglasses back up and turned her head away. She hoped her small glance would be enough to hook him and have him seeking her out later that evening at the auction. After all - it was enough to get his attention away from the lovely woman at the bar just long enough for a flush of jealousy to rise to her face.

She had the bus boy in and out of the suite faster than the younger male was used to, encouraging his speed with a two thousand ruble tip, and went straight into her planning. Her multiple suitcases were placed on the large bed and opened for her to dig through the contents. Casual and formal wear were pulled from the cases and placed on hangers in the closet, along with shoes and extra items that worked with her identity for the weekend. Her weapons remained inside of their suitcases but were quickly looked over to make sure she had anything and everything she needed. Even a quick check to her secondary passport and identification cards was made. Petra Yanovna would be in and out of the hotel but Natalia Romanova would be leaving the country.

She had three days in the hotel, time to watch over her kill and figure out the best way she would end his life and when. The same basic routine as many of her missions though she never grew tired of it. Every mission brought its fun and each ended in their own special way.

Stepping to one of the large windows of her room, she removed her sunglasses and stared out at the setting sun. She could already tell that this mission would be different than the others - and maybe even pose a little more difficulty. When she had arrived, a man sitting in the lobby had stuck out to her and when she had passed him, there was an odd, almost uneasy presence from him. There was no doubt to her that he knew who she was and why she was there.

"C'mon, Coulson. Just let me do my job." Clint Barton, dressed in a black suit, complimented with a black shirt and tie, walked into the hotel, hanging up on his fellow agent. If there was one thing he had grown rather tired of, was the constant handling of his seniors. He was still rather new to the job and, of course, it meant there was an exceptionally close eye being kept on him. He was a man of the correct procedure for these missions but...procedure was rather boring at times so sometimes he would differ in places. This added to some of the nagging.

He had been assigned to take out a rather dangerous assassin; the Black Widow. He had studied her file over and over since getting the mission, memorizing each feature, her skill set, and every service his bosses had documented. Part of him wondered if she had slept with any of the men before she killed them or maybe just the ones who had money. Clint shook his head with a laugh and adjusted his cuffs before removing his sunglasses, eyes scanning the crowd.

And there she was. Beautiful. More beautiful than her fuzzy pictures had led on - and that could possibly pose as a problem. Her beauty was different than his wife's; captivating and dangerous rather than gentle and welcoming.

"Head in the game, Barton," his whispered under his breath, taking a seat in one of the chairs placed comfortably in the lobby. Pretending to read the newspaper he had come in with, he watched her walk to the desk then eye the high and mighty around her. One man in particular seemed to catch her attention more than others and, with a check, he knew it was her target.

He waited, listening in for her room number then finally the sound of her heels trotting away. It seemed she had several days planned out and none were given any particular emphasis. He could believe maybe she would wait until the very last day to kill Konovalov then flee back into the shadows but anything was possible with her. One thought was certain though - his job HAD to be carried out before hers.

He didn't have a room - no, not at this fancy hotel, not this time around. What he had was a gun and his mission. Though the weapon was not what he preferred, it was the best in this situation and he was just as handy with it. So, he waited a while into the evening, around the time the charity dinner would begin, knowing she would be attending to get close to her victim. He would have to go up to her room and play his part there.

The elevator ride was horrendous, being mixed with horrible music and an awkward bell boy who thankfully got off one floor before him. Bus boy... That gave him an idea.

Once off the elevator, he quickly found her room and approached quietly, one hand on the butt of his gun. Once taking a heavy breath in and out, he raised the other hand and gave the door a knock before calling out in a heavy Russian accent, "Excuse me, Miss Yanovna."