Clint sees Romanova next three days after getting pulled into the plane sent by extraction.

He's been doing little more than sitting around getting yelled at up to this point – even if Fury ultimately comes down on his side on keeping Romanova, Clint can't quite duck out of the official suspension that comes with directly disobeying orders. Not to mention bringing one of the most dangerous assassins, working for a deadly organization that will break down SHIELD's doors to find her, into their midst. Needless to say, nobody seems particularly happy with him.

He's perched on a stool in the corner of Romanova's cell, now, waiting for heavy sedatives they only this morning stopped giving her to wear off. Clint's fairly sure she won't let the cat out of the bag when she sees him: she's smart – near genius level intelligence, the file had said, but Clint doesn't know if he quite believes that yet – but in any case she's certainly clever enough to figure out that keeping hush hush is in her best interests, at least until she knows how much Clint has revealed.

Which is nothing. There are rules here – all cadets are required to disclose their soulwords when they first enter the academy, and full agents at SHIELD must report their soulmates the moment they find them. Clint could get fired or worse for failing to report the discovery of his soulmate to his CO (a man named Reilly, who Clint actually likes so far despite the chewing out of the century he had delivered on the ride back to SHIELD headquarters.)

Clint runs his index finger along his words. Barney had given him hell for it – which was ironic, considering his were pass the fucking needle – and Clint himself had spent hours wondering why exactly he was killing someone, and why in the world that someone was calling him arrow boy. It had seemed so ridiculous to him, so implausible, that he'd spent half his life convinced he was going to grow up an actor. He'd already been so good at pretending everything at home was okay, it seemed a likely possibility.

Romanova stirs, and the movement yanks Clint from his thoughts. His past is past, and he's got more important things to dwell on. Like the fact that his murderess of a soulmate is coming around.

Her transition from unconscious to lucid and aware lasts less than a minute. Clint watches the slight changes in her form that signal first that she's waking, then that she's awake and listening, taking inventory of herself and her surroundings, garnering information. The movements are so miniscule that if Clint hadn't been watching her head on he would not have seen them; had he only glanced over he would have assumed she was still deeply unconscious. He gives her about fifteen seconds before he says, "You're in a cell, Romanova."

She sits straight up and meets his gaze with eyes that are cold and clear. "Arrow boy," she says. Despite the hint of grogginess that tinges the edge of her voice, her tone is the silky purr Clint heard her use on a target not four days ago. "I underestimated you."

"Yes, you did," he says, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know why. SHIELD's almost caught you before, haven't they?" We have no connection to each other. There's no reason in the world you should have let your guard down. We are nothing but captor and captive.

"Well, typically here's the part where I say SHIELD's full of incompetent buffoons," she says, "but insulting one's host is rude. And I see you've graciously offered me these living quarters."

Message received. Not only that, but she's testing him, seeing how he'll react to the word "living" – she knows his job back in Moscow was to kill her, and she's trying to figure out whether he's still on the clock. Clever. But Clint knew she was clever. What he didn't know was exactly how fucking green Romanova's eyes are, but he's learning now as she studies him from the other side of the glass pane. "You can drop the flirting, Romanova, I'm wise to that particular trick," he tells her.

She licks her lips. "You'd be surprised how little being aware of my intentions seems to matter when I've got someone…interested."

Clint leans forward slightly on his stool, adjusting for the response of the uneven legs to his shifting weight without thinking. "It won't work," he says calmly. Both his face and hers are blank, now, Romanova dropping the slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips and Clint adopting an air of authority. He can't claim that since his world was pulled out from under him he's completely regained his balance around this woman, but he's better than he was three days ago, and he has no problem ignoring the bit of heat in his stomach at her words, no problem remembering that the two of them are two master spies at work. This is a dance, a game, and Clint…Clint is ready to play.

"So," she says, her tone completely devoid of any purr now. She leans back and cocks her head to the side. "I take it you won't be telling me where I am, then?"

"You're in New York," he says. "Forty miles beneath the city." Clint reads her surprise – her impossibly green eyes flash for the briefest instant before her expression is as unreadable as ever. He can't say he blames her. He's been a captive himself, once or twice, and a captor offering up information that easily in their business is very, very rare.

Romanova holds herself completely still on her cot. Dark purple smudges paint the skin beneath her eyes, a stark contrast to the near-white pallor of her face, and with her bright red hair tangled in snarls around her shoulders, she looks like she belongs on a movie set wearing a dark cape and a pair of glue-on fangs. But she's still beautiful. She looks like the Grim Reaper come to Earth and still she's beautiful. Useful quality for a spy.

"New York, huh?" she says. "Do you think that's a good move? Bringing the infamous Black Widow to the heart of your entire organization? Think of the damage I could do with intel alone, not to mention if I decide to go on the offensive and take out your leaders." The which I could remains unspoken.

He shrugs. "I think it's a good move."

"Do tell." She folds her arms over her chest, and the traces of the past few days that linger in her appearance are nowhere to be found in her demeanor.

But Clint's not fazed. "You're not gonna do any of that, Romanova."

"Arrow boy," Romanova says, amusement echoing beneath the pitying quality of her tone. She even lets a hint of grin play across her pale lips as she uncrosses her arms and uses her palm to brace herself while she leans forward. There's maybe ten feet between her cot and his stool, but the distance between the two seems far smaller. "Do you really think that the second I have my chance I won't be out of here?"

Clint mirrors her pose right down to the smile. His elbows dig into his thighs, which in turn dig into the wooden rim of the stool. "Yes."

"And why is that?"

The tension thickens in the empty space between her question and his answer, which he waits to give until her eyes meet his. "Because," he says, "the security camera's out and I'm unarmed. You could have been out of here already. But you and I both know that the second you leave your entire organization will start to hunt you down." Clint registers the way her eyes widen the smallest fraction, the tiny rise of her eyebrows. He's right. It was a gamble, coming into her cell like this, but Fury had agreed with his reasoning and half of SHIELD had been standing outside the hallway doors waiting for Romanova to show her face. It had been his bargain with the director. "Look, she's dangerous, and if she doesn't want to be here, there's a good chance she'll kill people trying to get out," Clint had told the man. "This is the fastest way to find out. If she runs, kill her. But she won't run."

Clint loves being right.

Romanova's face is expressionless, now, but Clint's seen enough. "My organization trusts me," she says, but even her voice doesn't sound quite as self-assured to his trained ears as it did before. "I clearly didn't go willingly –"

Clint chuckles. "Do you think that means anything to them, Natalia? If you were betraying them, do you think you'd want it to look like you waltzed away of your own free will?" She stiffens, but Clint plows on. "Now, you tell me, but if you're the head of a major Russian organization, and you're under the impression that SHIELD, you and your country's enemy, is, and I quote, "full of incompetent buffoons," how is it going to look when your best agent is suddenly captured on a routine mission? I'll tell you what I think."

Clint allows his smile to bloom into something that is very close to a smirk before pressing on. He doesn't take pleasure in the way Romanova's eyes are beginning to take on a hint of nerves, not really, but Clint knows how to manipulate people. Not as well as she does, maybe, and maybe she knows he's manipulating her, but in the end it doesn't really matter, because he's made his point and she's too smart not to see the truth in it. "I think there's no way in hell you'll go back to your organization," he tells her, "and I think there's no one you could go to that wouldn't immediately turn you over to them, or at the very least suspect or kill you because of your ties there, and I think you've already thought all of this through while we've been chatting. SHIELD's your only option, and I think you know it."

Boom.

Clint thinks it's a rather impressive speech, but Romanova doesn't miss a beat. "Or maybe you're in over your head," she says. "Maybe you're not aware of what I'm capable of, arrow boy."

"Oh, I'm aware. But hunted, on the run? Unable to utilize everything you're capable of? I don't think that's what you want." He drops his voice into something perilously close to soft. "You've been living this life for a long time, Romanova. Wouldn't it be nice to be on the right side of things for once? You wouldn't have to run anymore. You'd be able to right some of your wrongs."

Romanova smiles, then, and Clint realizes he's missed a step. "I've got a whole lot of wrongs, arrow boy, and working for SHIELD won't change that. But if you're recruiting, sure, I'll take the job. Go ahead, put me out in the field."

A beat of silence.

Clint's marshaling his response when Romanova scoffs. "That's what I thought. There's no way anyone at SHIELD will ever trust me after everything I've done, with good reason. Why did you even bring me in in the first place?"

"You're too valuable of an asset to waste." A lie, but not an implausible one. And she already knows the real reason, so there isn't really a point in justifying further than that.

"My skill set, the thing that makes me so valuable, doesn't involve me sitting behind a desk. I'm a hands on kind of girl, arrow boy, and SHIELD's not going to let me get handsy, so why bother? I could send a whole batch of your agents to their deaths with some bad intel, assuming you trust my intel at all."

"That's fair," he says. "It would gain you nothing, but that's a fair assessment. Don't worry, I won't be asking for your intel anytime soon. For now it's just going to be you and me, getting to know each other."

Romanova narrows her eyes but remains silent.

"I know you're not going to work for SHIELD just like that," he says. Clint keeps his tone firm and solid, stepping away from the dance to speak to her as a person. "I don't expect you to. You've got no reason to trust us, and we've got no reason to trust you, but the bottom line is that we need each other." He pauses, takes a moment to survey her. "I will swear to you, right here and now, not to lie to you if you'll do the same."

"You're in the wrong business, arrow boy," she snorts.

"I'm serious, Natalia. I can't make promises for SHIELD, but me, myself, I won't lie to you. I'm not saying I'll answer all your questions or anything, but this is never going to work without honesty."

Clint lets her study him, lets her find the complete sincerity he's offering, lets her decide for herself for once in her life. "There is no this," she says. "I never agreed to work for you. You know, capturing a girl isn't really a way to start out a relationship, or didn't they teach that in your academy?"

"I'm offering you a chance at a better life."

"Define better, because so far sitting in a cell for the rest of my days isn't sounding incredibly appealing, and I'm not very keen on–"

"You'd get a choice." That shuts her up, causes her to look at him like…he's not sure. He can't read her face, but he makes sure his is open, something it hasn't been for the entirety of their conversation. Clint takes a breath, continues. "You've never had a choice in your life and I'm giving you one now because I don't think you're what your file makes you out to be. You can be one of the good guys. Natalia…" he swallows. "I know what it's like to be made into a weapon. I know what it's like to be treated like one until you forget everything you were and everything you stood for, and I know what it's like to be sitting where you are now. But you don't have to be a weapon anymore. You can be your own person again."

"I got to say, arrow boy, it's tempting, but–"

"My name is Clint," he tells her. "And I don't want you to answer now. Think it over. Don't brush this off out of a misplaced sense of loyalty to a man who never saw you as more than a dog at the end of a very long leash." He exhales through his nose and stands. The moment is over. He walks to the other side of the cell and stops in the doorframe. "This is your chance to get out," he says. She's watching him with an icy expression, as if his offer has driven all the faux-warmth and playfulness out of her. "Think it over," he repeats, and walks out without looking back.