Everything had been going well enough, Natasha thought, until Tony decided to run off his mouth. As was normal with Anthony Stark, he never knew how to keep his own thoughts well enough to himself, and though they hadn't had much time together since Fury had mandated they all move into the man's tower (which he was thrilled with) Natasha was already growing fed up with the bastard. He had a hard time getting over the fact that Nat had fooled him into thinking she was really just Natalie Rushman from Legal, though really she hadn't had to try hard with him at all, and never failed to bring it up whenever she did something he didn't like.

This time had just been one too many, and Nat had left with a slammed door and a curse in Russian to let him know that she meant business. She was damn good at hiding her feelings, so when they poked out like that, rearing their ugly little Soviet-inspired heads, they knew to bunker down and wait until she came back with her chocolates from Soho and her Starbucks venti chocolate chai latte with three shots of espresso and an extra shot of mocha

Guilty pleasure.

Why Fury had thought that getting two assassins, a idiot playboy, a super soldier that was still dealing with PTSD, and a mourning demigod who'd miraculously made it back to Midgard to try and make himself feel better to all live in the same house was a good idea was beyond her. It sounded like the recipe for a bomb, not a working, functioning team. They had no similarities, no common ground. No strengths together. They couldn't work as a functioning unit, couldn't do any sort of missions together because they wouldn't train together (Tony adamantly explained all he needed was his damn suit, much to Rogers' annoyance and insistence that, had he known a little self-defense he might've been able to stop the attack in Iraq.) They were a liability. A disaster. A clusterfuck of huge egos and mismatched personalities that would never, in a million years, be anything more.

And Fury wanted them to play nice?

She snorted from around her drink, sipping at the hot liquid and allowing the hot liquid to seep down into her stomach, rolling along with the desire to punch Tony Stark square in the jaw and steal a quinjet to just leave. Her attention was so diverted that she barely noticed the three men that had followed her. Clumsy, she would realize later. Her emotions had gotten into the way.

She didn't realize that the first hand wrapped around her mouth and the second struck her hard on the temple before everything went dark.

When she woke up it was to an empty warehouse, the night already having set in on the land around her, casting deep, long shadows into the warehouse. She was given nothing to use as far as light went, and her arms and legs were both bound to the chair.

She nearly screamed, the panic rising so swiftly in her gut. What the hell had happened? How had she gotten there, and what was going on? Tears ran, hot and fast, down her cheeks, as a crash came from downstairs.

No. No no no this wasn't fair! She looked wildly from side to side, trying to find out a way to hobble away, to find a safe hiding place, just as a voice from beneath hissed quietly for a "Natasha?"

Who the hell was that? She tried to slow the panic, tried to remember what it was like to breath in, but nothing was making any sense. It was as though everything that had happened-ever-had blanked out. Not only was the world around her dark, but her memories, her thoughts, they were all dark, too. Empty, vacant. Who the hell was she? A low keen escaped her mouth as she hung her head and started to cry, unable to think of doing anything worse. The footsteps coming towards her hurried. Maybe they were coming to help?

Hopefully?

She didn't have to have her memories to tell her that this was not a good place to be in, nor a good situation to find oneself in, but she couldn't get out of the rope bindings, and she couldn't see any other way around it. She tried scooting back a little, just to get herself some room, but the chair made a horrible scraping noise as it moved on the hard cement floor that made her stop, stock-still, as the footsteps seemed to come to her level.

'Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasedon'tkillmedon'tkillmeplease-.'

"Natasha? Agent Romanov?" The voices hissed out again, lights passing by her eyes. Did she dare call out? Was that even her? She didn't know, and a sob escaped her lips, loud enough to catch the attention of whoever was coming. Another light skittered over her, and a quiet sigh of relief passed through the man's lips.

"Oh thank God-Tasha." He stowed away the bow he'd been carrying and headed closer. She couldn't help but shy away when he reached out a hand, and his flashlight she could see the confusion twist his worried features.

"Hey, you're okay," he murmured, one hand stroking the side of her face gently, almost affectionately, before moving to undo the bindings. He'd pulled a knife free, and though she'd squirmed at the sight, he used the sharp blade to saw at the rope with one hand, the other pressing down on a device in his ear.

"This is Barton-I found Agent Romanov, copy?"

There must've been a response.

"Understood. Will be at extraction point soon. Soft opening when we get to base."

Natasha could hardly understand a word of it, clinging to his name. Barton. It didn't make any sense to her, but none of it did. She was Agent Romanov, she could only assume, but what the hell was she an agent of? And why?

"Natasha, what happened?" He was looking at her now, blue eyes bright even in the darkness, watching her for the smallest hints of understanding. Anything. She wished she could give some to him, but there was nothing for her to remember or fall back on. Another sob left her lips and it was as though someone had been shot in front of his eyes the way they widened and his breath quickened.

"Oh God. Nat-What'd they do?" He asked as he, once again, cupped the side of her face, tipping it up and to the side as though looking her over for bruises. She didn't think she had any, didn't feel as though she'd been bruised. Perhaps, but not likely.

"Nothing-I don't know," she whimpered as he pulled the last of the ropes free. Others had joined them, now, and they all had similar looks of shock on their face at the tears that spilled freely down her face. "I don't know who it was, or what happened. I just woke up. I don't know who I am." She admitted with a wail so loud he actually took a step backwards, his eyes so wide they might have popped out of his face. It didn't help her, and she only cried harder. Slowly, he took her in his arms and held her tight, pulling her free from the last of the bindings to hug her.

"Hey, Tasha, it's okay. We'll get it figured out," he promised. "Just-just come with us, okay?"

She nodded, and followed him out to where the cars had parked just to the side of the building. The man, Barton, was whispering something about keeping everyone away when they got back to base, as Nat was offered a seat in the backseat of the car. She kept to herself, swallowing thickly, as Barton piled in beside her and ordered that they leave, keeping his voice muted so as not to scare her. She appreciated it, she supposed.

"What am I-who am I? Why were you guys looking for me?" She asked quietly, turning to face Barton with wide eyes, wishing she could think of a way to stop herself from shaking as hard as she was. It was maddening, that she couldn't get basic control over her body, but she'd never been so afraid. Even if she ever had been, she couldn't remember it, dammit all.

"You're a spy, Natasha. A damn good one," He said, looking as though he wasn't used to the smile he was giving her, a sympathetic, apologetic one. Why not, she wondered. "You were my partner for work, and we think you were targeted because of something you knew. You don't remember anything?" He asked, brow drawn in concern.

She shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand as she tried to force herself to breathe deep. To formulate some sort of response, or something to fill in the blank spots in her head. Nothing came up, not even childhood memories, as though it was just a black, blank spot in her head. How the heck had that happened?

"I wish but it's like-it's like fuzzy. As though they don't exist." She gulped hard, wiping her eyes furiously and looking down in surprise as they came away covered in make-up. Oops?

Under his breath Barton swore, muttering something into the ear piece he'd been talking into before. There weren't many more questions between them as they drove through the city, though he did reach for her hand to take it. She pulled her hand back, unsure. No, she didn't really want to hold anyone's hair, not right then. Not without knowing him. He said they were partners but what the hell did that mean? And how was she supposed to know whether or not he was telling the damn truth?

A tall, dark-haired woman greeted them at the large doors of an even taller building than those around them. She shot the pair of them a tight, almost regretful, smile. Why? Natasha wondered, sure that her face telegraphed everything while these people seemed to keep it all under wraps no matter what. Spys, she supposed. It was part of the job. Perhaps she'd once done it, though any recollection of it was far gone. She kept her arms pulled in tight at her side as they led her down empty chrome colored hallways towards a large, square room. Two chairs sat at a table and the female, Maria, took one of them, the second being offered to Natasha. She frowned as she took it.

"What's wrong?" She asked. "Why am I here?" It couldn't have been a good thing, or else Barton would be with her, right?

"We just need to get your statement about what happened," Maria said, her eyes sympathetic as they turned to Natasha, her shoulders loosening as she scooted a little closer. "What can you remember about the place where Barton found you? Was there anything on the floor, anything unusual?"

Natasha shook her head, blinking back tears that never seemed to end. "No. Nothing. I don't know what you mean by unusual, anyway."

"Strange. Out of the ordinary for a warehouse. The district you were found in doesn't usually get used for anything, so that they took you there only means that they were intending you wouldn't get found anytime soon. Thankfully you have a tracker in your upper left arm," she nodded her head in its direction. "That allowed us to find you."

Natasha looked down at her arm, unsure what to expect as she looked up at down the pale skin. Scars littered the surface, the underside especially, but which of them was the location of the tracker? Maria called her attention back, smiling and looking as if she would rather be doing anything but sitting there working on the details with Natasha, and Nat? Well, she was in the same boat. They went back and forth over the details for some time before Nat lost her patience, her nails having indented the skin on the palms of her hands.

"I don't know, alright? I don't fucking know anything!" She all but screamed, her eyes wide and watching how one of Maria's hands, the right one, moved to her belt. How Maria's eyes narrowed and her lips pursed.

Natasha pulled back in on herself, biting her bottom lip. She hadn't meant to do that, to scare her or at least put her on edge.

"Sorry," she whispered, pulling her legs up to her chest so that her face could hide in her lap. "I'm sorry-I'm so, so sorry I just, I don't know anything, okay? Nothing." She muttered into her lap. What more was she supposed to say? There was nothing else about it. She had nothing to fall back on, no memories, no recollections. It was blank. Empty. All she knew was that she'd opened her eyes and was in that warehouse, or wherever the hell it was, a man named Barton had picked her up, told her he was her partner, she was a spy, and then she'd been brought here to be questioned by this woman. Nothing else came to her mind, nothing but fear, and she was sure by now she reeked of it. How could she not? Her body was trembling, her palms sweating. This fear, the anxiety, was going to be the death of her she was certain.

And they had nothing to go on, so it seemed, to try and help her get her memories back. The trembling began anew.

She was brought back to Stark Tower, where she was told she lived, and Clint kept by her the whole while, not wanting to scare her by letting her stay at the SHIELD headquarters with a million faces she wouldn't know. She'd heard him telling a tall man named Nick Fury that he'd keep an eye on her at all times, and she didn't mind it. They'd been hopeful that under the eye of two men called Stark and Banner that they might be able to find someway to bring her memories back. Natasha did, too, her eyes trying to take in the group of bodies that had weaved in and around them, taking no notice of the three of them, like clockwork. Crazy. Had she once been part of it?

She'd mulled over it while Barton drove, watching the cars as they passed by, the sky above them darkening with the oncoming of night.

"So, Stark Tower? What's there?" She asked quietly, turning her eyes to watch Barton as they stopped at a busy red light.

"Well, all the Avengers. That's what we call ourselves, at least," Barton said with the briefest of smiles, his blue eyes seeking out hers quickly.

"The Avengers?"

"Yeah. We, ah, haven't had anything to avenge yet, but it's you, I, Tony Stark-Iron Man. Steve Rogers, Captain America. Bruce Banner, Hulk, and Thor. Ah, Thor."

"What's wrong with him?" She asked, not understanding it.

"Well, he's just a god. A demi-god, or whatever I guess would be the technical term for it." Barton sighed, picking up speed as the cars around them moved once more. "I don't really know what to call Thor. Besides mopey, lately. These clouds?" He said as he arched his head a little towards the sky above, where clouds had further growing around a large tower. "They're all from him. He went off on a mission to Sweden not long ago, and when he came back he was all sulky and kept bringing in the rain and thunder. Don't know why, but that's Thor for you. He works in mysterious ways." His smile, this one teasing, was beginning to grow on her. Thankfully, too. She wasn't looking forward to living with a bunch of guys if she couldn't get along with at least one of them, but at least he was willing to help her.

On the way he filled her in on what to expect from the others. She knew already that Thor was to be tread carefully around, and learned how Stark had a quick tongue but might start being careful around her. Apparently he was blaming himself for what had happened to Natasha, the pair of them having gotten into it right before she'd disappeared. "Was it his fault?" Natasha asked, curious.

Barton grew quiet, giving a one shoulder shrug. "I don't know, Tash. It's hard to say. You guys have gotten into it before but he's never been one to leave well alone. Still bitter about you getting the best of him when you ended up infiltrating Stark Enterprises."

"I did that?" She asked, eyes wide as he pulled into a large carpark besides the building she'd set her eyes on before, the man's last name plastered to the front like a signal. Curious. Did he have something against subtlety?

"Yep. I told you you were-are. You are the best," he said, wincing at the slip. Natasha reached over to grip his shoulder, to try and squeeze it reassuringly. When he turned to her she offered him a small smile.

"We'll get my memories back, right?" She asked.

"Yeah, of course."

"Then don't worry about offending me. I'll probably be so caught up with having everything I forgot back that I'll forget you said anything at all about it." Well, at least she thought that was how it would work. When she turned to get out she missed his grimace. He hoped they got her memories back. He couldn't imagine her without them; there was far too much danger.

A/N: Alright! First shot at a T rated fic [Surprise surprise] though it may change in later chapters. Goodness only knows. Written for the amazing Bella, who requested a fic where Nat loses her memories and Loki helps bring them back. I twisted it just a touch to make it a WIP, hope you don't mind darling!
Thanks so much for reading, as ever!