Better late than never.

Natasha was not having a good day. At all.

And it was only 8am… lovely.

It had taken years for the S.H.I.E..L.D. agents to –finally- get through the paperwork to make it official that she was now not only a U.S. citizen but also that she was trustworthy enough to be part of a division of the agency, whoever small. She had figured they would have gotten around to it much more quickly. After all, there’s nothing that says “yes, you can trust me” like ditching you old employer (who’s also out to kill you) and joining the enemy camp. Maybe those Americans really are crazy. Or lazy… lazy was a good way to describe most of them too.

The paperwork had also managed to get her three days late into the Academy. Credentials weren’t enough to prove anything here either. О мой Бог! Couldn’t they just get over themselves? Was it that hard to live down that a 13 year old could get passed their so called ‘high-tech’ security toys… ok maybe it was. But did they HAVE to take revenge by making her pass tests to check if she was up to date in everything and ready for a ‘School Environment’? What part of ‘Enhanced Psychological Capabilities’ did they not understand. Useless, the lot of them.

Now that she finally had been let in, Tasha decided it would be best not to throw a tantrum at the other students on their first meeting and instead go out for a few shots at the shooting range. After a quick shower and getting dressed in some old slacks she’d found at the bottom of her suit case, she’d made her way through the school, picked the locks on the gun reserves and settled down in the shooting range.

It wasn’t much, to say the least, nothing like those gigantic warehouses in Russia, but comfortable enough for the red-headed girl to feel somewhat at home. She slid some bullets in the barrel of the gun, the sound of metal against metal like music to her ears. Cocking the gun and focusing only on the target in front of her, Tasha let her all worries slip away. Screw this new school, these new people, these idiotic agents that pranced around like they knew everything. All that mattered right now was the feel of the gun in her hands, the pull of the trigger and the clear sound of the bullets as they zoomed by, hitting all targets head on.

It was only until she’d completely emptied her cartridge she noticed someone else had stepped in the room. This wasn’t good, she was getting rusty. Feeling the person inch close, Natasha didn’t hesitate to turn around in one, smooth, quick motion and aim straight at the other person’s head.

Whoever this was, they had chosen a baaad time to do this…

Clint walked silently towards the shooting range. Finally, a little time to let out some frustration mostly caused by Loki. The god of mischief had to prank him, had to fight him and had to insult him, all in one day which was the day before. He sighed. It was only his third day at the academy and he couldn't stand to be with the man more than ten seconds. This was going to be a long year. But what bothered him more was the nightmare he had woken up to this morning. His dream had been filled with betrayal and despair as he remembered his brother and mentors. His big talk with Bruce the night before had probably caused the dream, but he was still grateful to the man to have listened to him. He never thought he'd be able to talk so much about his dark past to someone. He had never done it before. And it felt good. The archer took that feeling to bury the last memories of his still fresh nightmare. He would forget everything once he shot arrows too.

Clint readjusted the strap of his quiver across his chest. He had packed it full with arrows. He embraced the familiar weight of his quiver on his back. It was like an extension of his being. So was his bow, his most precious belonging. He was holding it in his right hand, impatient to snap it into its original form and shoot his arrows into the targets.

He finally reached the range, but slowed his pace as he approached the door. The archer could hear gun shots coming from the inside. The shots were relentless. He guessed someone else had to let a little steam out this morning too. He opened the heavy door and stepped inside. He slowly walked to the shooting stall where all the commotion was coming from, wondering who could be shooting guns this early in the morning.

The archer abruptly stopped, his eyes widening as he saw, only a few feet away, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. A long cascade of fiery red hair fell onto her shoulders and back. She was small and he took in all the perfect curves of her body. Her pale face radiated with beauty, her skin looking like soft porcelain and her cute little nose was slightly creased with what seemed to be anger. But what caught his attention, was her green eyes filled with determination. He couldn't help the slight gap in his mouth, stunned by such beauty. But his reverie was suddenly interrupted as the girl turned around and pointed her gun straight at his head. He didn't hide his panic.

"Whoa! Hey there! I'm not gonna hurt you!" Clint said while putting his hands in the air to show he was surrendering. He then looked at his folded bow still in his right hand. "That doesn't sound convincing at all," he thought before hiding his weapon behind his back and smile dumbly at the woman. He caught her eyes and was once again lost in them thinking at how beautiful they were, forgetting for a moment the gun still pointed towards his head. He shook his head, coming back to reality. What was going on with him! He had never acted like this before. "What the hell, Clint."

The archer looked back at the gun and thought that maybe if he introduced himself, he wouldn't be threatened by the weapon anymore. He cleared his suddenly dry throat:

"I'm Clint. Clint Barton. I'm a student at the academy." He let his left hand which was still up in the air drop in front of him slowly so he could shake the stranger's hand to show he was happy to make her acquaintance. Even with a gun pointed at him.

"Whoa! Hey there! I'm not gonna hurt you!" said the other student as the Russian redhead tensed, ready for battle.

Tasha quirked a brow at the obvious distress of the man in front of her. Maybe that had to do with the gun she was pointing at his head. Just maybe. She had to admit though, this one was… kind of cute. His blondish hair was cut short, (not in one of those obnoxious army styles, the Russia girl thought, it have a nice, twist to it), framing his sun-kissed features nicely. His blue eyes were clear, captivating, really. If Natasha had been one of those doe-eyed teenagers roaming the streets these days, she’d no doubt have gotten lost in them… and possibly dropped her guard which was very illogical, thank you very much.

Shaking her head to get herself out of her slight moment of daze, she focused again on the person before her, this time analyzing; weapon: Bow, quiver? full. Corporal language: obvious lack of offensive strategy, distress, anxiety. Optimal approach for survival: for him to surrender (and by the sheepish look now marring his features and his hands flailing in the air, this was indeed the option he’d opted for. Good on you, soldier).

Apparently though, this recruit seemed to have quite a knack for small-talk…

"I'm Clint. Clint Barton. I'm a student at the academy." the blond introduced himself, leaning forward slightly and extending his hand towards her.

For a moment, Natasha just stared at him, eyes cold and apprehensive. Soon enough though, she sighed and shrugged, dropping the gun and setting it back into her belt.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she said curtly, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, “also a student, albeit a late one”. She didn’t know quite what to make of this newcomer really… at least it meant there was some hope for her fellow classmates, she thought. It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard about some of her more famous cohorts before enrolling here. Heck, some of the stories about these kids were hard not to know about… something about popsicle heroes and billionaire daddies never could be kept quiet.

This one though, she’d never seen in the files she’d had access to (legally or otherwise). Might as well make her own, mental file then. Step one: extracting essential, first hand information.

“So what are you doing here so early, Mister Barton?” she asked, adding some extra sweetness to her tone, just to make sure she really disarmed him. It always worked, even on the younger ones. “It’s not exactly typical for students to be up and about at this time… especially roaming around a normally locked down area of campus” she smiled as she spoke the words. Let's see if this little inquiry was going to be worth her time..

The archer patiently waited for the girl to holster her weapon and then shake his hand before introducing herself. Natasha. What a nice name. Again, he smiled dumbly and chuckled at her last comment.

"No need to worry, you aren't that late. We still have a few days to settle in before classes start," he assured her. He suddenly hoped she might be in one of his classes.

Clint moved to the shooting stand next to hers, feeling her gaze follow his every step as if calculating him. He suddenly felt uneasy but he quickly suppressed it. He had no reason to feel that way. She was just observing...nothing more. On the other hand, he was little happy that he got to be next to Natasha. He hadn't chosen the stand deliberately. It just happened that it was the best vantage point in the whole range, permitting him to have a good view on all targets. The two of them would be able to converse more.

The archer grew excited, no longer able to wait to shoot his arrows. He was about to snap his bow into full form when Natasha suddenly asked him what he was doing here so early in the morning. He wasn't able to suppress a little laugh when he heard her call him "Mister Barton".

"You can call me Clint. No need for formalities," he said with a smile. He then pondered the question wondering if he should tell Natasha the real reason of his visit to the range. Her sweet voice resounded in his head like a beautiful symphony, inviting him to tell the truth, saying it was safe to tell anything important or secret he held locked inside his mind not wanting it to be revealed. The archer shook his head, breaking the spell. No, he couldn't talk about his past that easily. He hadn't revealed half of himself yet to anyone. Not even to Bruce and it was all out of fear of being betrayed again. Natasha was no exception and he barely knew her. "For now, at least."

"I'm an early riser. And I like to start the day with a little exercise," Clint finally answered, hoping he hadn't hesitated too long to answer her. He made his bow snap into its original form at the same time as if to demonstrate the truth of his answer. He settled the weapon on the table in front of him and started to stretch his arms.

"What about you? Why here so early?" he asked while observing her. He then looked at the well damaged targets, all the holes the bullets tore on them concentrated near the middle of the big circles. He raised his eyebrows, impressed by the work. "Not bad your shooting skills by the way."