Normality

For years, Clint Barton had killed for S.H.I.E.L.D. He had done all they asked without question. That agency had been his life for so long, saving him from a past he'd rather not dwell on. To him, life was normal; he didn't think about any other person's life. Clint knew—to others—his life was far from normal, but that never worried him. Until he met her.

The moment she'd first smiled at Clint, his whole rough demeanor shattered. Angela was the embodiment of goodness. She was sweet, big-hearted, innocent; she was nothing like Clint expected to ever fall for. It started with that smile, in the place where he ordered his coffee. She'd given it to him, parted her scarlet lips for him, and that was the end. Every moment he had off, he'd come to that little cafe on the corner and watch her. Eventually, he'd gotten the courage to talk to her.

Clint had never felt so afraid in his life. He'd faced death multiple times and there he was, trembling at the knees for some blonde-haired waitress. After that first conversational word was uttered between them, it got easier. They'd stay past closing hours, sitting at the table by the window, and talk. That's all they ever did was talk. The more time he spent with her, it was clear that she had captivated Clint's heart.

Nearly a year passed. Clint would always be there at some time, whether a week elapsed or a month. He'd come back. Angela's life began to revolve around the mysterious man's visits.

A normal life with Angela was beyond Clint's grasp when he first thought of it. No way would he give up his life as an assassin, an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. That was his life, all he'd ever known apart from the carnival world. But the possibility of a life with Angela had been so tempting, so easy to imagine...he couldn't take it any longer.

Finally, Clint said a fine farewell to S.H.I.E.L.D, Fury, Natasha. The largest, most important part of his life. Every time that thought crossed his mind, he'd only have to look over at Angela and know that she was the most important part of his life now. Her smile is what kept him breathing; her kind heart reassured him he'd made the right choice.

The history of violence flashed through his mind as fast as the greenery outside the pickup window. How many lives had he ended? Did they have lives like the one he now had? Had he widowed someone, left children without a parent?

Hands clutching intensely to the steering wheel, his foot pressed down harder on the gas, trying to make the space between him and the house where Angela waited smaller. Their tiny house set in the mountains of Canada. Alone and nearly isolated.

Clint pulled up to the A-shaped house. It looked “normal” enough, though Clint wasn't exactly sure what a normal house was supposed to be like. Angela had planted flowers and landscaped everything to her liking. It was beautiful to look at all the different colors and shades of green that inhabited their front yard.

The quiet caught Clint's attention right before he reached the porch steps. Usually there was some sort of movement, a rabbit, a faint breeze, or Angela moving around inside...

Nothing.

The ex-assassin's heart quickened and he silently climbed the steps, opened the door, and slipped inside. Immediately, he reached under the edge of the table sitting in the entry way, his fingers curling around the gun. A breath of movement and Clint had the gun pointed at the intruder.

His eyes widened at the familiar redhead standing in front of him, her expression completely nonchalant, despite the handgun inches from her forehead.

“Go ahead and try it,” she said.

Clint cursed himself when he realized the difference in the gun's weight too late. It had been unloaded; she knew him too well.

“Where's Angela?” he demanded, freeing his hands by setting the gun on the table.

Natasha's eyes wandered behind him and she nodded in that direction. Clint turned, still keeping his ex-partner in his peripheral. A largely-built S.H.I.E.L.D agent had Angela secured with a firm hand on her shoulder and gun in the other. Clint's wife was staring at him, fear evident in her blue eyes.

“Clint...” she breathed.

Barton turned back to Natasha, loathing twisting his rugged face. “What do you want?”

“We need you back.”

“No,” Clint said bluntly. “I am done with S.H.I.E.L.D. With Fury. With you.” His words stung her, the look on her face proved that.

“You're not done, Clint. Your responsibility and your life is to S.H.I.E.L.D and it always will be.”

“And what if I don't go?” Clint asked.

Natasha pulled her gun from its holster and pointed it at Angela. A smile curved her full lips at Clint's widened eyes. “She dies.”Clint glared at her, blue orbs gleaming with fury and betrayal. For years, they'd worked side by side and now they were on opposite teams. Only because he wanted out. “We can never have a normal life, Clint,” Natasha said. “Normality is, and always will be, out of our reach.”

Clint gave her another burning look before switching his eyes to Angela. The anger is his eyes softened with pain and regret. “Just let me say goodbye.”

Switching the safety back on, Natasha sighed and dropped her hand to her side. “Fine,” she said shortly. “Make it fast.”

The other S.H.I.E.L.D agent released Angela with a nod from Natasha and shoved her roughly into Clint's arms. Angela clung to him, holding back tears with all the will power she had. “What's happening?” she whispered.

Clint stroked her hair as his lips pressed against the top of her head, inhaling slowly. “Its nothing, okay? I'll be back as soon as I can. I love you.”

An “I love you too” was murmured back before their lips melted together. Clint separated himself from her and walked scathingly towards the door where Natasha and her cohort waited. The redhead was fighting her triumphant smile. Clint met her gaze and her smile disappeared. He was truly furious with her. He really did love this “woman” of his. But how? Why? Natasha saw nothing that Clint would want in her. Why had he chosen Angela over her? She'd known him longer, knew what made him tick, knew what every little fidget and extra blink of his eye meant. And this...bitch thought she could come in and steal all that away? Natasha's hand on the gun tightened.

Escorted by the nameless S.H.I.E.L.D agent, Clint stepped to the outdoors, his decision weighing down on him, clouding his thoughts. What else was he to do? Natasha had threatened to take his life away. So the only option was to leave his life. Leave it waiting for him to come back.

Clint caught the offbeat too late. Something was wrong; the way Natasha looked as he passed. The confusion, the jealousy...the hate.

He whirled around just as the gunfire ripped through the air.

“No!” Clint yelled, slamming into the other agent and rushing back inside.

His steps came to a shuddering halt at the crumpled heap of his wife on the floor writhing in pain. Blood was splattered in a grotesque pattern across the floor and wall. More karma red drifted across the floor like a tiny river. Natasha stood over the mess, smirking down at the other woman, reveling in her accomplishment of bringing her enemy down.

Unable to push past anything, but grief, Clint fell to his knees, picking up his beloved gently in his sculpted arms. Angela was still conscious, but her eyes were squeezed shut and teeth bared to fight the pain. She opened them when Clint's hold around her tightened and she took in a ragged breath. The whole front of her lace top was stained scarlet.

Her lips trembling, she touched his cheek with a bloodied hand, and managed a small smile. “Its okay.”

Clint broke, uncaring of his weakened state as tears seeped from his eyes.“Angela, I'm so—”

Angela pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh...Its okay.” She wiped a tear from his eye, leaving a smear of blood. Suddenly, her face went blank and her breathing hitched. Her hand fell to the floor and Clint was left staring into the blank eyes of his wife.

A howl of pain tore from his throat as her buried his face in her golden hair, clutching at her corpse like a life preserver. All that time, Natasha watched him dully, never seeking to council her comrade.

Finally, Clint managed to regain enough breath to look up at Natasha, face ashen and smeared with pain and loss.

“Why?” he croaked out. “Why did you do this to me?”

Black Widow quirked a slender eyebrow at him and looked out the window, the sun slanting in through the windows.

“So you have nothing to come back to.”