Lover's Pursuit

1. Target

7 years later
Natasha's POV.

"I killed Dreykov and his daughter, I should be allowed to go."
I argued with the undercover constable, who was handing me yet another assassination file, claiming this to be my final assignment before being granted departure rights. Though, I'd just completed my alleged 'final assignment'.
It was clear, they were wringing me out, knowing entirely that I wasn't in a position to deny. 

"SHIELD orders sweetheart, can't argue."
I snatched the file from him and stormed away, holding it tightly rolled in my palm. I was reassuring myself that within just one more mission, I'd be free. Finally, I'd be free.

I slammed the door to my apartment shut and rushed towards the kitchen window, pushing it open in an attempt to filter out some of the scorching Budapest air.
"Bad day at work?"
Clint was sat at the table, his feet up on a seat as he wound wire through some arrows. Funnily enough, the exact type of arrow that he'd attempted to murder me with just a month or two ago - before he'd realised my true intentions.
"They've given me another 'final' assignment."
He peered up at me with sympathy in his eyes.
"You don't need to do it." He replied.
I sat down next to him, sliding the file towards his side of the table without inspecting it myself.
"I wish that were the case. I'm telling you again, Clint, you don't need to stick around."
He stood from his position, placing his hand on my shoulder and sliding the fresh arrows into his bag.
"I promised I'd help you get out, and I never break a promise."

I was eternally grateful for his presence. He was the first person I'd trusted since Y/N and Yelena - both of whom I haven't seen for around 7 years.

Clint returned from packing away his weapons and sat adjacent me, lifting the file into his hands.
"Have you had a look?"
I shook my head, no. After being told and seeing the stamp of assassination on it's cover, I'd avoided facing the facts of my next victim.
Clint lightly browsed the contents, his face screwed a little as he comprehended the individual.
I watched him, the mystery of unknowing-ness spiking my interest.
"See, now I'm intrigued."
I leant over, going to snatch the papers back, unsuccessful as he shifted them from my reach - his eyes still fixated and moving across the page.

"Where is it you grew up again, Nat?"
I raised my brow at him, chewing on my bottom lip a little as the memories rehashed.
"The Red Room, Russia...why?"
Clint shut the file over and placed it in it's original position, face up. He kept his hand over the top, stopping me from touching it.
"What's wrong, Clint?"
"Your next target, she grew up there too."
I sighed, going to pull the file from beneath his palm.
"Yeah, I probably don't know her. It was a big place."
He reluctantly dropped his protection of the papers, watching worriedly as I took them into my hands.
"I'm not so sure, Nat..."

I lifted the off-white bundle into my hands and slowly turned to the first sheet.
My stomach sank at the sight. Her name, her face, everything there is to know about her was sprawled between the lines of this file.

Her black and white photo in the corner, her only form of image identification. She was 16, a small but noticeable smile on her face. I remember precisely why - we'd planned to sneak into the photo room that night and she couldn't stop giggling at the thought.
I wouldn't even know what she looked like now, but I guess that's on me.

"Nat, is that-"
"Mhm."
I closed the file over, unable to look much further than her Red Room profile. I couldn't bare to find out what had made her my next target. Her life in these years of my absence existed within the following sheets and I wasn't sure I was ready to face the impacts of my own abandonment.

I excused myself and completed every other trivial task that there was to be done. Clint left me be, sending himself to bed as I made little to no conversation for the remainder of the evening.
I tiptoed past the kitchen after rendering the entire apartment organised and spotless, my eyes stitched to the file - sitting ever so temptingly on the wooden surface.
The cover's black stamp of assassination littered it's contents, a sad stain on the girl I once knew inside.
Walking over, I lifted it gently into my hands, flicking open to the first sheet.

I ran the tip of my finger over her picture, momentarily touching her faint smile. It'd been so long since I'd seen it, I'd almost forgotten what it looked like.

I read her name, her age, her alias...
"The Winter Soldier?"
I spoke aloud, the title seeming ill-fitted. I'd only had one previous encounter with The Winter Soldier and I could've sworn I fought a man.
Anyways, I think I'd have recognised her if it weren't.
I walked towards Clint's room and knocked on his door. He called for me to come in and I found him leant against the windowsill, looking out across the city.
"Can we talk about this first page?"
He nodded, taking the file from my hands.
"Just the first?"
"I'm not sure if I'm ready to look at the rest."

I watched as his eyes skimmed the words again, his face reading the same scepticism as mine. 
"The Winter Soldier?" He questioned.
"Right? I thought that was-"
"James Buchanan Barnes."
He re-handed me the sheets, screwing his brows and ruffling his hair.
"This is a job for the morning, Nat."
He took possession of the sheets once more, quickly pulling them from my grip.
"Get some sleep. These stay with me for now."