Disclaimer: I do not own the Avengers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, there would totally be a Hawkeye/Black Widow movie in the works.

Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism, remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"

Special thanks to those who reviewed EVERY chapter: discordchick, Reteka Hyuuga, CyanB, xx-Forever Yours-xx, Fyroni, Leo-firefly, Clovely-littleme, Sam Mayer, snitch-bewitch, authorunable, Shanynde, Blackwindmill, liberated vulcan, viressiel, Furionknight, Mirabilem Electo

Also, thanks to those who reveiwed almost every chapter (all but 1 or 2): Dani9513, VoldieBeth, ArabianForest, Drake.12, lunarweather, bookworm1517, The Pris, Cara, GregsMadHatter, tpt player5701, JaymieCaitlyn, Oakleaf

Thanks to all who reviewed Chapter 8: Sam M. Holmes, Blackwindmill, Dani9513, angel-inthetardis, discordchick (your story made me laugh out loud!), xx-Forever Yours-xx, viressiel, Leo-firefly, Sam Mayer, bookworm1517, Reteka Hyuuga, CyanB, N-Sarrova, Shanynde, tpt player 5701, Fyroni, Cara, authorunable, Smiles123, liberated vulcan, snitch-bewitch, Panther Moon, coastalcajun, Clovely-littleme, Arabian Forest, Furionknight, JaymieCaitlyn, Oakleaf, Mirabilem Electo, and Malmal86

To snitch-bewitch: Youngest in History is my favorite too!

To Leo-firefly : You were the 300th review! YAY!

To authorunable: so...yeah I didn't remember that part of the movie at all. I remember Phil calling her, obviously, but I have no memory of the traffic cam recording, lol. So unfortunately, no, that will not be in this story. If I had remembered that before, I would have most definitely put it in here :/ I'm sorry about that! I literally got a knot in my stomach when I read your review because I was like 'Oh no! I forgot about something important from the movie! AH! I can't believe I don't remember that!' I felt so terrible :( I hope you aren't disappointed!

The end is here yet again. Moreno's about to get what she's got coming! Thank you to all who read the story and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There are still more Vantage Point Universe stories to come and the summary for the next one is at the bottom of this chapter.

Now on to the final chapter of Budapest...

Last Time:

"She's mine," she stated even more firmly.

Coulson nodded. There were only a handful of people in the world that he wouldn't want coming for his blood. Fury was one, the man wasn't the Director of SHIELD for nothing. Clint was another, his agent was a finely tuned killer when he wanted to be, usually more effective when emotions like hate came into play. Natasha was a third, because she had been named the Black Widow as a teenager and had since become the most notorious contract killer in the world and then a loyal SHIELD agent.

Moreno wouldn't survive the day. He was certain of it.

If you are going through hell, keep going –Winston Churchill

When they pulled to a stop next to the SHIELD jet, Natasha watched Coulson hesitate, torn between helping her out of the SUV and moving to help transfer Clint.

"I've got her, Phil," Agent Bryan stated suddenly, pulling open Natasha's door and offering her a hand out. Phil nodded his thanks even as he all but leapt out of his seat and moved to the back. The second SUV parked a moment later and two other men joined Phil and Dan to carry Clint quickly into the jet. Natasha and Todd followed, the trainer doing his best to keep Natasha from having to put any real weight on her injured leg. They hobbled up the ramp in time to see Dan pushing a needle that was attached to a small device with an empty vile at the center, into the vein on Clint's arm. He held it there as the empty vile slowly filled with Clint's blood. That done, he handed the hand held device off to a man Natasha recognized as Mark, who immediately moved to a laptop and attached the device to a cord. A few moments later he had what she recognized as the SHIELD database pulled up on the screen. A text box popped up that read 'Sample Uploaded' in red block letters.

Her attention was pulled away when she heard Clint's name mentioned.

"Barton!" Dan called sharply.

There was no response, not even a flicker.

"Phil should try," Natasha stated quietly. Several pairs of eyes fell on her, where she still stood supported by Agent Bryan. "If he was going to respond to anyone it would be Phil."

Coulson was already snatching Clint's hand into his own.

"Clint, come on kid, if you can hear me I need you to let me know."

There was nothing. The entire group deflated a little.

"John, hook him up to the heart monitor," Dan ordered. "Romanoff, let me get a look at you."

Natasha kept her eyes on her partner even as she carefully sat in one of the seats and Dan started taking her pulse, checking her pupils and general analyzing her condition. She watched Coulson move quickly to a bag and pull out a t-shirt and then snap something she didn't process at Mark, the smallest of the men. A few seconds later he was pushing a pair of folded cargo pants and a black t-shirt into her hands with a pair of boots resting on top of them.

She blinked dumbly at him.

"If we're going to do this, we need to go."

She nodded numbly and looked back at Clint. He was stretched out on his back on the floor of the jet. John was in the process of taping the IV bag to the side of the jet and then adjusting the oxygen mask over Clint's face. Clint didn't stir. He hadn't woken, hadn't even twitched in the short fifteen minutes since Coulson had busted into the prison and saved them.

"She's not looking good, Phil," Dan murmured to the older man as they watched Natasha stare almost blankly at Clint. "You saw her leg, how bad was it?"

"It wasn't good."

"It'll hold as long as I need it to," she stated quietly, tearing her eyes away from her archer to look at them. "Will he live?"

Coulson looked to Dan who sighed deeply.

"I've done what I can for now. Mark is running his blood sample through the SHIELD database, if the drug is in our system we'll find it. Hopefully he can figure out what they gave him and we can treat it."

"And if he can't figure it out?" Natasha asked softly, her green eyes boring into him with a coldness that made Dan swallow. It was as if she were daring him to count Clint out, to try and say he wouldn't make it. A glance at Phil showed the same challenge.

"You both know as well as I do that he'll fight this with everything he's got. But his vitals are bad and getting worse. If we can't figure out a way to treat the poison..." Dan shook his head. He couldn't give them false hope. Not when he didn't really have any hope himself.

He saw Romanoff close down, her eyes going hard and her expression becoming blank. She mechanically started pulling her fresh pants on, shakily standing to pull them up under her dress. Phil quickly made his way to Clint's side as Dan and the rest of the men turned their backs to let Natasha finish changing.

He pulled his agent's hand into his once again and leaned over him, sending John away with a look. He leaned closer and spoke in a whisper that no one would overhear.

"You don't give up, you understand?" he ordered sharply. "You are Clint Barton. You're as stubborn and as tough as they come. You never give up. You never give in. You always fight with everything you've got. So you fight now, Clint, and I'll fight too. Just stay with me."

Coulson, realizing painfully that since he was about to leave with Natasha, Clint might not survive until he got back, indulged in a moment of affection. Carefully resting his palm on Clint's hot forehead, he brushed his agent's hair back gently. Clint was a lot of things to him. His protégée, his agent, his best friend and his little brother. It was times like this though, times when Clint was barely hanging on, that he felt more like a son. Even though he wasn't old enough to ever be Clint's dad, he felt the weight of the kid's life on his shoulders. He felt the pain in his heart at the thought that he could lose him. The feeling that somewhere along the way this ornery, sarcastic, amazing kid had become the center of his world and Phil didn't know what he'd do if Clint didn't make it out of this one.

Natasha was suddenly standing next to them, using Phil's shoulder to help her lower herself down. She clasped her hand on top of Phil's, neither replacing his hold nor withholding her own. Clint was everything to both of them. Their feelings for the archer were vastly different, but neither less or more powerful than the other. If they lost him it would destroy them both.

Phil was deeply touched at the gesture, but not surprised. One of the things he respected most about Natasha was her respect for the brotherhood between him and Clint. He moved his other hand from Clint's hair to rest instead on top of hers. He squeezed her too cold hand gently and eased both of his hands away.

"I'll be in the car."

Natasha nodded, not watching him move away. She glanced at the rest of the men, all were purposefully not watching her. She leaned over Clint, putting her lips right next to his ear.

"If you give up on me now, after we've only just found each other, I will find your ass in hell and drag it back out. You fight this with everything you've got, understood?"

She didn't wait for the response she knew wasn't coming. Instead she drew back slightly, pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his warm forehead and pulled away completely.

"I'll come back soon, мой сокол, you better be here when I do."

Before she could struggle to stand Todd was there, offering her a hand. He helped her all the way out to the SUV and shut her in the passenger seat before climbing into the back. He arched his eyebrows at the look both Phil and Natasha gave him.

"What? You think I'm letting you two wander off alone? Nope. I'm tagging along to make sure nobody goes missing. Your little terrific trio has a bad habit of that."

Alex Moreno snapped her cell phone closed with a hard scowl. Her men at the police station weren't answering the phone. She hoped that meant they had finally gotten the nerve to deal with the problem. She glanced out the window of her car as they pulled to a stop on the tarmac. Her small private plane was waiting.

Eduardo climbed out and came around to open her door for her. She grabbed the silver briefcase resting on the seat next to her and stepped out of the car. Eduardo followed a step behind her as she approached the jet. She stepped briskly up the stairs and ducked through the door, turning to face the interior of the small jet.

Moreno froze and glared at the figure lounging easily in one of the plush seats at the very back of the jet.

Natasha glared right back.

"You just can't find competent help these days," Moreno sighed, facing the Black Widow confidently. Natasha huffed a slight laugh and smirked darkly.

"Now, now, you can't blame them because you didn't know who you were dealing with."

By the end of her response, Natasha's smirk was gone. In its place was the ice cold glare that many men and women had faced when whatever cover Natasha was playing faded away and the Black Widow took its place.

She stood slowly, refusing to show or acknowledge the pain in her leg. The wound was hidden, bandaged under the loose fitting cargo pants one of Coulson's men had lent her. She'd pulled her greasy hair, still stiff in places from hairspray, back into a messy ponytail. The t-shirt she wore was too big, one of Phil's, pulled hastily from his go-bag.

"Well," Moreno shrugged, "there was a lesson my father always tried to instill in me..."

She shifted slightly to her left, towards one of the large seats facing away from her.

"Oh yeah?" Natasha cocked her head a little. "What's that?"

"If you want something done right," Moreno's glare darkened, "you do it yourself."

With that she reached for something behind the chair, a gun hidden in the pocket. But before she even got her hand around it, Natasha was already moving. She took one running step, planted her hand on the back of the chair facing the one Moreno was reaching behind and launching her body over both of them. Her boots, also too big for her, slammed into the woman's chest, knocking her back. The briefcase in her hand went clattering to the floor.

Moreno brought the gun up and around and fired once. It clicked empty. Natasha shook her head patronizingly.

"Did you really think I hadn't found that?" she asked with a dark smirk.

She took a step forward and nearly lost her balance as her leg almost collapsed beneath her. She caught herself on the seat back and reached into the deep pocket of her cargo pants. She lifted out a handful of bullets and let them fall through her fingers onto the carpet of the jet.

Moreno stared at her.

She stared back.

Then she thought of Clint. Her hawk. Her hawk that was always so full of life and energy and was now dying because of this woman. She had stolen him from her. She had stolen her hawk.

Suddenly the pain in her leg didn't matter.

Natasha launched herself forward. She slammed a fist into Moreno's stomach and then hooked her elbow behind the woman's head, forcing her to double and then bringing her knee up into Moreno's stomach.

A fist, not necessarily strong, but not weak either, slammed into Natasha's thigh. Natasha hissed and pushed Moreno away, only to spin into an aerial roundhouse that sent Moreno crashing into the cockpit door. Natasha's head snapped to the side as Eduardo stepped into the jet. She twisted into the air for a second time, slamming her boot into the man's face and sending him flying backwards out of the jet door. She heard him land with a cry of pain on the tarmac below.

She caught Moreno's movement out of the corner of her eye as she clung to the back of a seat to keep herself upright. She moved at the last moment, grabbing the charging woman's shoulders and throwing her into the back of the same chair Natasha had been using for support. Moreno flipped backwards and landed with a crash on the other side.

Natasha stalked forward and slammed her boot into the woman's face and then pulled her up by the hair on the back of her head.

Moreno's eyes showed fear for the first time and Natasha took a moment to revel in it. This is what she did. She inspired fear.

"How did you find out about me?" she hissed angrily.

Moreno glared. Natasha twisted the hair in her hand tighter and slammed the heel of her hand into the woman's ribs. She felt one break and Moreno cried out.

"How did you find out about me?" Natasha demanded.

"I was warned that you would be coming," Moreno gasped.

Natasha smirked. For all her power and authority, Moreno was just as weak as Natasha expected.

"By who?"

"I don't know!"

"How did you know it was me?" Natasha snarled, wrapping her hand around Moreno's throat and squeezing just enough to show she was serious.

"You think I haven't heard of you?" Moreno scoffed. "I may not have known what you looked like, but I spotted you the moment you walked into that house."

Natasha frowned. Moreno had spotted her because she'd known to look. She hadn't spotted Clint.

"He's still alive you know," Natasha informed Moreno lowly. "My partner that you poisoned."

Moreno's eyes widened.

"He was your partner?"

"Guess you didn't know as much as you thought," Natasha smirked.

"I knew you wouldn't be alone, I was told you'd have someone with you, but he was so average, so..."

"Not what you expected?" Natasha smirked. "Yeah, he has that effect." The smirk fell away. "Is there an antidote?"

Moreno glared, her eyes flicking to something at the front of the jet only briefly.

"No, you're little hawk is going to die."

"He'll find a way to survive," Natasha decided, needing that hope for reasons that had nothing to do with Moreno. "He's got a habit of exceeding expectations."

"You turned out to be a little more than I bargained for as well," Moreno spat.

"I told you, Moreno, you had no idea who you were dealing with."

She saw the flash of the blade and twisted Moreno's neck a second too late.

The knife sliced deeply across her abdomen as she tried to back out of the way. She stumbled. Her leg collapsed beneath her and she fell, crashing to the ground in an embarrassingly ungraceful heap. He hand gripped her thigh above the wound, her other pressed into the freshly bleeding wound on her stomach and she clenched her jaw, only to gasp out a slight whimper when her jaw reminded her it had been abused too.

A gleam of silver caught her eye and she cocked her head at the briefcase Moreno had dropped. A wave of curiosity swept through her as she remembered the telling flick of Moreno's eyes when Natasha asked about an antidote. With a surge of hope she started pulling herself towards it, wrapping her hands around anything within reach to use as an anchor to help her half crawl, half drag her body across the floor.

Her vision was wavering as she reached the case and pushed the release to open it.

There were five syringes in it and an empty space where one had been before. Two of the syringes had a clear liquid and one had a blue liquid. Natasha stared at it, hope soaring through her. She flinched when a shadow fell over her.

"It's just me. Moreno's husband's dead," Coulson soothed, crouching next to her. His eyes tracked the thick trail of blood leading away from Moreno's body to the spreading pool beneath Natasha.

"I think there's an antidote," she gasped out, a shaking hand hovering over the blue syringes.

Coulson's eyes moved to the syringes and he felt a wave of hope crash through him. It took every ounce of self control he had not to snatch up the case and run for the car right then. Instead, he forced himself to be rational.

"Even if it's not, maybe we can create one from this. Good work, Tasha."

She smiled weakly. Clint had a fighting chance now and that's more than he'd ever needed. She blinked as grey swiftly bled into her vision.

"Natasha?" Coulson called in concern. He reached to catch her when she listed bonelessly to the side. "Natasha? Can you hear me?"

Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow and rapid. It seemed shock had finally decided to make its appearance. He felt for her pulse, weak and too slow. Quickly he reached to snap the briefcase shut. He grasped its handle with one hand. Then he pulled his agent into his arms, cradling her carefully against his chest as he stood. Her forehead lulled listlessly against his neck and he felt the moist clamminess of her skin.

As he carried her quickly off the jet and to the waiting truck and Todd who was already positioned behind the wheel, he realized how small she was. Small was never a term he'd ever think to associate with the Black Widow. But Natasha only three inches over five feet and she was lean and fit, giving her an almost petite look.

She seemed small in his arms now as he willed her to hold on as he felt her blood soaking into his shirt.

Even as the SUV screeched to a halt, Coulson knew something was wrong. He knew because before Todd could even get it into park, John was running towards them from the jet. Everything inside of Phil froze and he had the door open and was already halfway out as John got to them.

"He's crashing."

Phil was already sprinting towards the jet, silver briefcase clenched in his hand. He trusted Todd and John to take care of Natasha. He came up the ramp to see Dan staring pensively at Clint's heart monitor with his thumb hovering over the charge button on a portable defibrillator. The leads were already attached to Clint's now bare chest.

Coulson was on his knees next to them in the next moment, already snapping open the case.

"His heart is giving out. It'll hold rhythm for twenty to thirty seconds and then flat line again. He's fighting but..." Dan glanced at him and saw the syringes. "Is that what I think it is?"

"I don't know," Phil admitted, pulling a syringe filled with blue liquid out. "We don't even know if that blank spot is from what she gave him. We don't know if this will help or hurt."

He didn't know what to do. He held the syringe in a shaking hand, debating what choice to make.

"Phil," Dan drew his eyes to him, "it can't make it worse. If we don't do something now, he's not going to make it."

Phil held out the syringe.

"Do it."

He vaguely registered Todd and John carrying Natasha in and begin tending to her. He barely heard Todd ordering Kyle and Jack to go clear out Clint and Natasha's safe house and take their jet home. His eyes stayed pinned on the blue liquid as Todd pushed it into Clint's IV port. And then, just as the first of the blue liquid disappeared into Clint's body, the heart monitor hiccupped and than flat lined. And everything else faded away. All he could see was Clint and Dan, who was already reaching to charge the defibrillator.

"Come on, Clint," Coulson breathed.

The defibrillator reached its charge and Dan delivered the shock. The line on the heart monitor jumped, but then returned to its straight path.

"Don't give up," Phil continued to coach under his breath.

Dan shocked him again with the same result.

"Keep fighting."

Dan upped the charge and tried once more. The line jumped, and then started bouncing in an unsteady rhythm across the screen. Phil wasn't relieved yet. He and Dan continued to stare at the screen, waiting for it to falter.

But it didn't falter. It didn't disappear again. But it didn't get steady or stronger either. Five minutes later Phil felt like he could breathe again.

"He's not stable, but believe it or not this is an improvement," Dan sighed deeply.

"There's a SHIELD base in Vienna, get us there," Todd barked at Mark, who was already powering up the jet's engines.

"Take care of Natasha," Phil instructed Dan quietly as he settled more comfortably on the floor next to Clint.

Dan nodded and quickly moved across the small expanse to where John had already put an IV in place and was prepping her for a transfusion. At Dan's urging, John moved to the small cooler they'd hooked up to the jet's power system. It was stocked with a supply of both their blood types for this exact reason. John retrieved the appropriate bag and brought it back to Dan, who quickly started the transfusion and then set about patching up the Widow as best he could.

Phil watched from across the floor of the jet, and when he was satisfied Natasha was in Dan's capable hands, he turned his attention back to Clint. He rested his hand on Clint's bare forearm and silently willed him to fight. To always fight.

Phil hadn't meant to doze off. But two weeks of inhabiting infirmary chairs had been hell for his sleeping pattern and had left him exhausted.

It had taken a week before Clint and Natasha had been stable enough to be moved from the SHIELD infirmary in Vienna back to New York. Phil, after insisting they were kept in the same room, had split his time alternating whose bed he sat next to. He was ashamed to admit, he'd spent more time next to Clint than he had Natasha. He chalked it up to history and hoped Natasha wouldn't hold it against him if she ever found out.

It had taken three days of Clint switching between having the doctors convinced he would pull through and then just as convinced he wouldn't survive before his vitals finally leveled out. He'd held his own after that. His body, with the help of what was now a confirmed antidote, had been working tirelessly to fight the poison ever since. The doctors weren't sure when he'd wake up or what lasting effects the poison would have. But they'd assured Phil he would survive, that his vitals were growing stronger every day.

Natasha had developed a nasty infection, not from her bullet wound, but unpredictably from the knife wound on her stomach. It had wreaked havoc on her already weakened body and she'd nearly left them twice, but had fought her way back each time. She was fighting just as hard as Clint to make it back. And her fever had only just broken that afternoon. The doctors were optimistic now that she'd wake in the next few days and have a slow, but full recovery.

So Phil was left to wait. He'd nodded off around 2am only to flinch awake just forty minutes later. He looked around blearily, wondering what had woken him. Movement caught his eye. Clint's hand had shifted and was moving towards the oxygen cannula hooked under his nose. Phil looked down at his own hand, resting on the bed near where Clint's hand had been. Clint must have brushed him accidentally as he moved. The archer aborted the motion halfway there and let his hand drop wearily onto his chest.

"Clint?" Phil surged out of his chair, ignoring that he nearly knocked it on end, and leaned over his charge hopefully.

Bleary, exhausted, half-lidded blue grey eyes shifted to focus on him immediately. Phil was nearly overwhelmed by relief as he smiled down at Clint.

"Look who finally decided to stop sleeping on the job," he joked weakly, knowing his emotions were written all over his eyes and that Clint would have no trouble reading them. He saw Clint's hand lift slightly and caught it in his own obligingly. "You're okay," he assured gently. "You're going to be fine."

"'appen'd?" Clint barely breathed the question, his eyes already starting to drift closed only to be stubbornly forced open.

"You were poisoned," Phil explained carefully.

Clint blinked heavily and then confusion flashed openly across his face.

"P'soned?"

"By Moreno," Phil went on.

Clint frowned, which made Phil frown.

"D'd we g't him?" Clint asked wearily, his eyes already drifting closed again. Phil felt a shot of concern, but forced a smile as Clint pushed his eyes open one last time.

"Yeah," he assured. "Moreno's dead."

A moment later Clint was asleep, his breathing even and calm. Phil sat back, not releasing his hold on Clint's hand. Did we get him? The question repeated itself in his mind several times. Him. Clint, himself, had been the one to tell Phil Alex Moreno was a woman. Moreno should have been a her in Clint's mind, not a him.

The next time Clint woke, four hours later, he was markedly more coherent. He just opened his eyes, suddenly aware and sought Phil out with his gaze immediately.

"Hey," Phil greeted warmly. He had convinced himself that Clint had just been confused earlier, a natural byproduct to a two week coma.

"What happened?" Clint asked quietly, shifting higher on his pillows with a groan. Phil wordlessly helped him sit up a little more.

"You were poisoned by Moreno," Phil repeated. He hadn't really expected Clint to remember their previous conversation.

"Poisoned?"

Phil nodded and frowned when Clint did.

"We found the antidote, though. You're going to be fine."

He watched Clint reach to press his hand against his forehead as if his head hurt.

"Where's Natasha?" Clint demanded suddenly, his tone confused.

"She's right over there, to your right."

Clint looked immediately, his frown deepening when he saw the state she was in.

"What happened to her?"

Phil was now watching him very carefully.

"You don't remember?" he asked cautiously.

Clint rubbed his hand down to press against his eyes.

"She's hurt?"

"Yes." Phil waited as Clint continued to keep his eyes covered.

"Is she okay?"

"She will be."

Silence reigned for a few tense moments.

"I don't remember," the archer suddenly announced.

"Remember what?" Phil asked with growing concern.

"What happened. I don't remember what happened, Phil." Clint tone was agitated now.

"Okay, calm down," Phil stood and moved to sit on the bed next to Clint's hip. "Take a deep breath and think back. Do you remember anything that happened in Budapest?"

Clint was silent for a moment.

"I needed to find her. I remember that I needed to find her. That I was worried about her when I did because she was hurt."

"Good, what else?"

Clint was silent again and Phil could almost hear his mind straining to grasp at memories Phil was growing increasingly certain weren't there.

"Barney," Clint stated suddenly, heartbreakingly.

"He wasn't real," Phil assured hastily.

"I know," Clint pulled his hand away from his eyes to look at Phil. "But I remember believing he was."

Phil wondered if Clint knew his hand had gone to rest over the old knife scar Barney had marked him with. He wanted that vulnerable, devastated look out of Clint's eyes.

"What else?" he urged.

He was horrified when the devastation was suddenly joined by guilt.

"Names. I saw the names."

"What names?" But Phil was pretty sure he already knew.

"From my book. I saw the people I'd killed...why was I seeing them? Why was I seeing Barney?"

"You were hallucinating," Phil explained calmly. "It was a side effect of the poison. You told me about it on the phone. Do you remember talking to me on the phone?"

Clint shook his head, his eyes wide and looking more vulnerable than they had a moment ago.

"What else do you remember?" Phil asked quickly.

"Pain."

"What else?" Because that was something he didn't want Clint dwelling on.

Clint shook his head.

"I..." he brought his hand to cover his eyes again, "I only have little flashes. I was with Natasha. We were in a cell." He shook his head again. "I remember feeling afraid. Afraid because I knew I was forgetting what was real and what wasn't. She helped with that."

"Anything else?" Phil urged soothingly.

"I don't know." Clint shook his head and uncovered his eyes again looking at Coulson like he thought he could just wave his hand and fix it. "Why don't I remember?"

"I don't know, Clint, but you're okay. You're alive and you're functioning. We'll take it as a win for now, okay?"

Clint nodded, accepting the assurance.

"You're exhausted. Try to get back to sleep."

Clint nodded again and let Phil shift his pillows so he was laying mostly flat again.

"Don't go anywhere okay?" Clint whispered so lowly that Phil barely heard him.

"I'm not going anywhere," Phil promised.

He didn't know why Clint's expression shifted oddly at the phrase before it smoothed and sleep over took him once again. He didn't know that the hallucination of Clint's brother had promised the same thing. He didn't know how different the same words sounded to Clint when they came from the two different sources. He didn't know that the same words that had inspired dread when uttered by Barney, did nothing but sooth and comfort when spoken by him.

The first thing Natasha was aware of was the smell. An infirmary, definitely an infirmary. She hated the smell of these places. There were crisp, not quite soft, sheets surrounding her and the mattress wasn't somewhere between hard and about as soft as a stack of cardboard.

Opening her eyes was harder than she'd anticipated, but after a few tries she managed it. The room was mostly dark, a dim light provided by the open bathroom door. She rolled her head to the side and blinked.

Coulson was watching her calmly, but his eyes were tired and deeply concerned.

"Welcome back," he greeted warmly. "You had us worried."

"What happened?" she asked groggily.

"You passed out, went into shock from losing more blood than you could afford and managed to develop a nasty infection," Coulson reported easily. "But we knew you were too stubborn to let that keep you down."

"How long have I been out?"

"A little over two weeks."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

"Like I said," Coulson sighed, "you had us worried."

She rested her head back against the pillow. Over two weeks. Clint must have been beside himself worrying. Her thoughts screeched to a halt.

Clint. Clint who had been poisoned and barely clinging to life last time she'd seen him.

"Clint?" she sat up suddenly only to have her vision swim.

Coulson gently pushed her back down.

"He's fine."

Coulson nodded at something off to her left. She turned her head to see the object of her thoughts curled on his side on another hospital bed, facing away from her with an IV snaking towards him from a pole next to his bed.

"It was touch and go for the first few days, but then the antidote you found started doing its job. He held his own after that. He only woke up two days ago," Coulson explained quietly. "He's weak as a kitten right now, but don't tell him I said that. He spent most of the last two days sitting next to your bed. He fell asleep in the chair last night and the nurses threatened to tie him to his bed if he didn't get some real rest. They hit him with a mild sedative before I could stop them. He's going to be pissed when he wakes up."

She smiled warmly, her eyes still on his back. That sounded like Clint.

"And he's okay?" she asked softly. Hearing Coulson talk was comforting. It was normal. It made her feel like everything would be okay.

"He will be. Whatever the hell it was they gave him did a number. He's got some pretty serious gaps in his memory about what happened."

"How serious of gaps?" Natasha asked in concern.

"He doesn't remember much, mostly feelings and generalities. And of course he managed to remember that he was seeing Barney and the people he killed on contract. As if he wasn't tortured enough about both of those."

Natasha could relate to the worry in Coulson's tone.

"Will he ever remember everything?" she asked.

"They don't know."

Natasha sighed, thinking of the conversations they had as they'd waited for Coulson. She hoped he remembered those or at least parts of them. She suddenly wanted to hear his voice, see his eyes and actually see their color instead of the blackness of his over dilated pupils. She wanted to hear her name whispered like a prayer across his lips, telling her everything was going to be okay.

Coulson seemed to read her thoughts.

"He needs his rest and so do you. He'll be here next time you wake up," the handler promised.

Natasha nodded, keeping her eyes on Clint as she let herself settle farther into the pillows. The short time she'd been awake had exhausted her. Her leg and her stomach twinged in pain and she frowned. She heard rustling near Coulson and then she felt the weightless relief of morphine rush into her system.

Sleep came easily after that.

When she woke again, Coulson was gone, but Clint was there. His feet were propped on her bed and he was slouched down in his chair, his chin resting on his chest. He was breathing deeply as he slept. Natasha shifted, weighing the need to hear his voice against his need for rest.

Ever tuned to her, he suddenly stirred.

He raised his head and blinked blearily. He was still pale and still looked exhausted, but she could see the blue grey of his eyes clearly and it was the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

She watched her conscious state register slowly and then he was springing to his feet.

"Tasha!"

"Hey," she greeted warmly, careful not to move too suddenly when her leg suddenly twinged.

"God damn, it's good to see you awake. I wanted to be here when you woke up the first time, but they drugged me into unconsciousness. I raised holy hell when I found out I'd slept through you wake up. And as you can see," he held up both his arms, demonstrating their lack of needles, "I'm now IV free."

She wondered if that freeness was doctor approved or Clint approved.

"Are you sure you don't still need one?" she frowned.

"They've done all they can," he shrugged, "I just have to build my strength back up."

"Any after effects?" she asked quietly, already feeling tired again.

"I get a few twinges every now and then, but mostly I'm just tired. And pissed off because I can't remember a lot of things about what happened. But we can talk about that later, how are you feeling? Are you in pain?"

"A little," she sighed, longing to reach out and take his hand where it rested next to hers, their knuckles barely brushing. But there were prying eyes in the SHIELD infirmary and she didn't want anybody prying into their business.

"I told them to start easing you off of the pain meds," Clint revealed.

Natasha smiled.

"Thank you."

She hated how drugs clouded her thoughts and made her lethargic. She was grateful Clint had taken that into account and acted on her behalf.

"Get some sleep, Natasha. I'll be here when you wake up."

There it was. Her name whispered like a prayer on his lips. Natasha fell asleep with a slight smile on her lips the feeling of his fingers brushing across the back of her hand.

"So what exactly do you remember?" Natasha asked from where she sat on her infirmary bed. Clint was sitting cross legged at the foot of it, her injured leg stretched out next to him and the other curled under her. Her bed table was between them and their dinner sat on top of it, secretly smuggled in by Clint, who had spent the better part of the evening cooking her favorite Russian dishes.

It had been a week since she'd woken up, three weeks now since Budapest. Clint's strength was returning more quickly every day. He was still tired a lot, but she thought that was more because he hadn't gone a night without dreaming about his old contract days or Barney than the effects of the poison. He'd been sleeping on the spare infirmary bed in her room ever since he was released five days ago. So she knew for a fact that he hadn't slept through the night since she'd woken up for the second time.

This was the first time she'd brought up what happened though. They hadn't had much time alone accept for at night and she didn't think after a nightmare was the best time to ask him about it. But tonight they were alone. The nurses had already made their last round for the night, Natasha far enough on the road to recovery to be free from their ministrations throughout the night, Coulson was busy with something he wasn't willing to discuss yet.

He'd already debriefed Clint before she woke up and then debriefed her separately when she was strong enough. Something she'd told him had made him visibly tense and he'd been making himself fairly scarce since.

She watched Clint shift a little, careful not to jostle her leg where it was resting on pillows next to him. He shrugged as he answered.

"Not much. I remember Barney and seeing a lot of the people I took contracts on. But mostly just a lot of pain and confusion. I remember being focused on finding you. That was my driving force and what kept me going. But other than that," he shook his head, "I don't really remember much."

Natasha nodded.

"What about after you found me? Do you remember anything after that?"

His brow furrowed in contemplation.

"A gunfight?"

Or several. Natasha mentally added.

"I remember being worried about you, for your leg I guess." He eyed her thigh where it was hidden under her blankets. She could tell by the look on his face he didn't actually remember anything about the injury other than what he knew of it now.

"Anything else?" she prodded.

He frowned, frustration growing in his eyes.

"I remember telling you why I saved you and I remember your voice, talking to me about something else, but I can't remember anything you said."

Natasha hoped her disappointment didn't show on her face. He didn't remember what she'd told him. About what he meant to her or about the Red Room.

"Sorry," he apologized softly.

"It's not your fault," Natasha assured gently. She knew he'd been straining for days to remember something, anything, more than he already did. A few things had come back, like parts of their conversation about why he saved her. Other things had stayed stubbornly beyond his memory's reach. "I'll just have to tell you again sometime."

He smiled slightly and nodded.

Natasha watched him spoon some of his food into his mouth and chew. They would always remember Budapest differently, she supposed. She remembered what he didn't. She remembered facing a small army of Moreno's lieutenants and bought off police officers. She remembered odds that seemed insurmountable, but somehow, they'd survived them. She remembered watching Clint argue with a brother that wasn't there and seeing the fear in his eyes when he realized what he was doing.

He didn't remember any of that and probably never would.

"Still can't sleep?" Natasha asked quietly as she limped towards the edge of the roof where Clint was sitting. He glanced over his shoulder at her and immediately jumped up to help her sit without putting too much pressure on her leg.

"Are you supposed to be using crutches?"

"I don't need them."

"You were released from the infirmary yesterday."

"I don't need them," Natasha reiterated firmly.

Clint held his hands up in defeat and dropped down next to her, silently vowing to make sure he helped her back down the stairs.

"You didn't answer my question," Natasha pointed out. She was too used to his deflection techniques to fall for them now.

Clint sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair and then down his face.

"If it's not Barney, then it's the people I killed on contracts. I don't even want to try and sleep anymore."

Natasha frowned sympathetically and reached to squeeze his hand.

"I think I know how to help with at least part of that."

They both turned to see Phil approaching them, hands stuffed deeply in his jacket pockets.

"How's that?" Clint asked with an arched eyebrow.

Without another word Phil withdrew his hands from his pockets and in his left was Clint's ledger. Clint's ledger that he'd given Phil over six and a half years ago and told him to let him know when he'd made it right. Clint's ledger, full of the names that still haunted him even after all this time.

"Is that what I think it is?" Natasha asked softly.

Phil nodded, not surprised Clint had told Natasha about it. Clint, for his part, just stared, wide eyed and slightly slack jawed. There was a vulnerability in his blue-grey gaze that Phil didn't see often, but he'd seen it six and a half years ago when Clint handed him this little book and told him to keep it until it was made right.

"It's time for this to stop haunting you," Phil stated quietly, still holding the ledger up in his left hand.

"I don't understand," Clint managed to force out through a suddenly tight throat. He made his way to his feet and turned to face Coulson, holding out a hand to help Natasha up almost absently.

"You told me, a little over six and half years ago that you wanted me to hold on to this and to let you know when you made it right. This is me, telling you that you've made it right, Clint."

Clint was already shaking his head so Phil forged on.

"You've made it right with all the lives that you've saved since then," he glanced meaningfully at Natasha, who nodded in agreement. "Including hers. And including mine. Lives you saved without a thought about your own well being or safety. If that doesn't make it right, I don't know what ever could. What happened in Budapest showed me that it's time for you to leave this part of your life behind. You'll always remember and you'll always have those regrets, but it's time to stop letting it haunt you. It's time to leave this," he shook the little book slightly in demonstration, "behind and destroy the hold it's had on you."

Coulson produced a lighter from his pocket.

"Leave it behind Clint."

With shaking hands, Clint reached out to take the book, its weight still painfully familiar even after all these years. He took the lighter next and stared at the two objects. Then he raised wide eyes, shining eyes to Coulson, who reached out and gripped his shoulder in a show of support. His eyes found Natasha next and she smiled, her own eyes brighter than normal. She nodded in approval and his eyes went back to the book.

He swallowed thickly.

"You've made it right," Coulson whispered firmly, not releasing his grip on Clint's shoulder.

With a trembling hand Clint sparked the lighter to life and hesitated only a moment more before holding the lighter to the corner of the book. It took a moment to light, but then the pages were burning brightly and he crouched slowly to rest the flaming book on the ground, watching the pages curl and the carefully printed names melt away.

Natasha's hand wove into his hair and he still felt Coulson's hand on his shoulder from where the man had crouched next to him.

The weight that hadn't really lifted when he'd handed that book to Coulson years ago on a jet home from the Andes Mission, seemed to fade away right along with the book. He still felt like he'd never really make up for what he did. He knew he'd probably always feel that way. Maybe he'd even still dream those names. But something shifted in him. Some darkness that had been clinging to his soul slipped away because whether or not he ever thought he'd done enough. The two most important people in his life believed he had.

And what they believed could be enough for now.

"That was when I suggested we start making safe houses of our own," Natasha explained quietly from where they were eating lunch on the roof.

"We were going to start in Budapest?" Clint asked around a mouthful of a very meaty sandwich.

She nodded.

"I guess Budapest will have to wait though."

"I'm sure we'll make it back one day. We'll just start at the next city one of us gets sent to," Clint shrugged.

Natasha smiled at that thought and nodded, though she knew she still had a ways to go before she was sent on another mission. Her leg was healing nicely, but she still couldn't put all her weight on it yet.

They both looked up suddenly when Phil strode across the roof towards them.

"We need to talk."

"What's wrong?" Clint frowned.

"What's going on," Natasha asked carefully, accepting Clint's help to stand.

"When you told me that Moreno had said someone had warned her you were coming, I started an unofficial investigation."

"What?" Clint frowned.

"The only people that knew you were coming were Hill, Fury, me, and the Council. I had a tech that owed me a favor tear apart Moreno's computer. One of our teams recovered it after we moved on her operations and her house in Madrid. He found an encrypted email that had no sender and seemed untraceable. All it said was that "The Black Widow and Hawkeye are coming for you in Budapest." He found evidence of her extensive research into the Black Widow and she managed to uncover your name," Phil told them. "But Clint wasn't so easy for her to trace. Where you, Natasha, have always been in the spot light, he's always been in the shadows. Even now, nobody really knows what he looks like accept for Fourie, who, thank god, we found no trace of contact with."

"You said the email was untraceable?" Natasha questioned.

"I said it seemed untraceable. But the sender obviously didn't expect SHIELD to be the one investigating. My tech was able to trace it back to the sender."

"Who sent it?" Clint demanded.

Phil looked suddenly years older than he was.

"A member of the Council. You've met him several times but I don't think you've ever been told his name. The email was sent by a man named Matthew Williams."

Clint's eyes widened suddenly and he paled.

"Did you say Williams?"

"What is it?" Phil demanded.

Clint ran a shaking hand over his jaw.

"Does Matthew Williams have any children?"

"He had a daughter. She was killed while studying overseas. The investigation was strictly need-to-know. Not even Fury was read in. The details of her murder were never revealed. Her name was..."

"Brianna." Clint interrupted, paling a few more shades.

"How did you know that?" Natasha asked, but she was afraid she already knew.

"I took a contract on a young woman named Brianna Williams seven years ago," Clint revealed.

"Could it be tied to you?" Phil asked even though he knew the answer to that.

"Of course it could, I put an arrow through her heart." Clint paced away, scrubbing his hands roughly over his face. "All this time, he knew. He knew it was me that killed her." Clint shook his head and turned back to them. "He's been trying to kill me ever since."

"Williams has a lot of pull in the Council. It wouldn't take much more than his say-so to poison them against you," Phil explained. "And you, Natasha, they didn't like from the beginning. They've never really been on board with you being part of SHIELD."

"So Williams saw an opportunity for a two-for-one special and tipped Moreno off," Natasha deduced.

Clint had moved over to the edge of the roof, staring pensively out into the bright day. Coulson shared a look with Natasha and then moved to join him.

"All this time, I wondered why they hated me so much. Now I find out I deserve it."

"No," Coulson denied. "You've paid your debt, Clint."

"Not to Williams," Clint scoffed. "I took his daughter, Phil. How can I fault him for wanting me dead?"

"You were just the bullet in the gun, Clint. Whoever hired you for that hit is the one that pulled the trigger. Williams just wants someone to blame."

"Well he's found someone."

"What are we going to do about it?" Natasha asked as she came to stand with them.

"Convince him to shift his blame to where it belongs," Coulson decided.

"How do you suggest we do that?" Clint frowned.

"We find the man that ordered the hit in the first place."

End of Budapest

Is it just me or are my final chapters getting longer and longer? After I did my final edits on this last night I realized just how LONG it was...but I'd already told everyone this was the last chapter so here we are. You just got a super long final chap instead of two normal length chapters. That's kind of becoming my thing though...huh...

I tried to lay it out with Natasha's thoughts, but I'll put it here too just to cover my bases. Why did the alien invasion remind her of Budapest? Insurmountable odds, Clint had been mentally screwed with. Done. That's all the connection I created. Not a whole lot, I know, but it was enough for me to be a happy little author. I hope it was enough for you as the readers because that's what really matters. And I mean honestly, its not like they'd have faced another alien invasion in Budapest to compare the experience with...

Why Clint remembered it differently, I should think was obvious.

For all of you that are like "Hey! We finally know why the Council is after Clint and Nat and you're just going to leave it there?!" Trust me, that will all play out in a different story, perhaps a one shot (though it would be a long one) or perhaps a multi-chap fic. I know what will happen, just not exactly how it will happen and how long I want it to take to happen. If that makes sense. I think Tsukinoko1 predicted this in a review early in this story so AWESOME job :D

And Clint's ledger is finally put the rest. I thought he'd earned it by now.

Finally ArabianForest...do you see why I said we'd touch base again? Nat WILL tell Clint again, this time in MORE detail, and next time he'll remember it :)

Another story down. Whew...I've started the next one, but it's slower going because I just don't have as much time anymore. It and the one to follow WILL be in chronological order...I know...SHOCKING. :D Look for one-shots in the near future. You'll probably get a few before the next story comes out...that being said...

Here's the summary for the next story which will have some serious Clint and Coulson bromance :D

"Croatia"

Coulson wasn't sure how it happened. One second he was being closed in on by their target and his crew, the next Clint was dropping guys with his arrows and purposefully drawing attention to himself and his position. Now they were separated. Both on the run and communicating with faulty equipment. But they were both alive, for now, and uncaptured, for now. He supposed they were already off to a better start than most missions. *Pre-Avengers*Pre-Natasha*