[right]The Far, Far Past
Madripoor[/right]The building was made for the upper crust. Clint's eyes kept catching on those things of value just left strewn about as if they were worthless. Another habit from his Carnie criminal days. He passed more men and women dressed in tuxedos and carrying trays. He knows he's going in the right direction. Still, his only comfort was his bow collapsed and hidden in his pant leg. His arrows were in the other. 

"The doors are all locked." Coulson's voice sounded strained. "She's locked everyone in."

Clint cussed. There's only one way Coulson would know that. It was coming through the building feeds. He dropped the tray he's holding and pulled out his bow. Someone screams but he ignored them. They weren't armed, nor were they aggressive. Rather they were backing away. Just as well, Hawkeye didn't have time for this. 

"Hurry!" Coulson urged as Clint finished his preparation and ran down the corridor. A part of Clint seethed in anger. There's something else here going on that no one told him about. And it pissed him off. His mission could be compromised and he wouldn't even know it. Hell, Coulson could be leading him into a trap. But he had to trust the man. There was no other choice at this point. He made his bed.

Finally the doors to the ballroom were visible. Great double doors, gilded in gold. Clint picked an arrow out of his quiver and fired it nearly point blank at them. Upon impact the doors quivered and one fell neatly off it's hinges. The ruined doors exposed the iron inside of once gaudy cries of wealth.

With the doors a non issue, Clint slammed himself against the wall just outside the ballroom. He could hear screaming from inside. At this point he wasn't sure if it's because of him or something else. He pulled another arrow from his quiver and nocked it against the bow string. He took a deep steadying breath before poking his head around and looking into the ballroom. Only to pull it right back out as people started running by him.

That wasn't his fault. The scream that was. The Black Widow must be inside. 
[hr][right]The more recent Past
Some warehouse in Texas[/right]The catwalk was rickety as Clint tested it with his body weight. The small radio on his neck was a welcome presence. His strung bow and nocked arrow was even more welcome. Widows were never something Clint enjoyed tangling with. Especially not a O-Stupid-Dark-Hundred in the morning. In fact he wasn't sure if it was even morning yet.

This new rendition of Widow, most likely Natasha's replacement, had lead them on a merry case. The blonde was just like Nat from the [i]Good Old Days[/i]. Back when she was murdering people and torturing them for information. Facing this new woman made Clint doubt his own sanity. And Fury's. Why had SHIELD ever thought Clint could take down Natasha? He was just a guy with a bow. A crappy guy at that. As his current girlfriend would attest to with the woman he cheated on her with.

Clint pressed more of his weight on the catwalk. It made a small groan and he hurriedly back pedaled. [color=bc8dbf][i]Shit[/i][/color]. 

Never underestimate a Widow. Ever. He learned that by working with Natasha. Some of the things she dd push him past all his limits. He had been so sure he'd die so many times. Yet, instead of passing, he some how managed to pull off stupid and insane and [i]incredible[/i]. With Natasha at his side he had quickly moved off SHEILD's shit list and up the ranks to one of their best agents. Nat didn't follow. But she did gain Fury's respect. Still she had to battle against every one's expectations against traitors. Still, it was eerie to see this Widow act just like Nat.

Clint quickly gazed around the warehouse. The building was full of crates, shelving and strewn packing supplies. Undoubtedly there was a room  somewhere filled with bodies. She had made her lair here. And all signs pointed towards this being an active building. Which meant the workers had to go somewhere.

Clint's heart pounded as he waited for any sign of movement. Sweat trickled down his neck, itching him, but he didn't dare move. Had the Black Widow #2 heard him? Was she even now aiming to kill him? He had to take a deep breath to dispel the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Nat needed him in position. And where he was, did not cut it. He couldn't see most of the warehouse.

He forced himself to step back on the catwalk. It made the soft noise again. Instead of pulling away he moved his entire body weight onto it. It held, but the slow whine continued as he moved. 

[color=bc8dbf][i]Screw it.[/i][/color]

Clint moved crouched down, slow but as rapidly as he dared. When he was in position he tapped his mic twice.

[hr][right]The Present
Libson, Portugal[/right]Holy Crap. He was going to make it. The car was directly in front of him. A small cocky smile broke out over his face. Oh yeah. [color=bc8dbf][i]Who's he man?[/i][/color] Clint thought to himself as he reached for the car door. Only to find himself hit from the side. He immediately went limp as he hit the pavement. Little bits of Crappy Motel poked at him as he hit said ground. Those would leave marks.

Clint twisted as soon as he hit, trying to regain the upper hand. But Nat was already off him and moving. Her teasing words echoed in the space she had been.

[quote=Natasha][color=#cc0000]“Are you even trying, Barton?”[/color][/quote]
So that was how it was going to be. Clint's mouth flicked back into his cocky smile. He had just the arrow to wipe her own smirk away. He reached for his quiver even as he gained his feet. When his hand meet empty air he groaned. That was right. No arrows. Which meant he couldn't use his net arrow. And that he lost.

"[color=bc8dbf]Aww man.[/color]" Clint complained as Nat reached the car first. "[color=bc8dbf]That was dirty and uncalled for.[/color]" 

Clint picked Nat's case off the ground where it had bee left when he had fallen. He tossed it towards Nat. In most cases (No pun intended) off missions Clint would have made a huge production out of his loss. But he could be professional. Kind of. As he walked around the car he made a pretense of being hurt.

"[color=bc8dbf]Look what your foul play did![/color]" He mock complained and even exaggerated his [i]limp[/i] just a little more. "[color=bc8dbf]I'm wounded![/color]" He cried theatrically as he sat down heavily in the passenger's seat.