A/N: I'm not really sure what this actually is...so please bear with me. I don't know if it's any good, so I'll only continue if I get a few reviews. Please give it a go!

She came to in the back of a van. Admittedly, this was not unusual for Natasha, she'd been in hostage situations many times in the past and saw no reason to panic when the chances were she would escape in a matter of minutes anyway. No, what worried her more was her total lack of memories. What was the last thing she could remember? Straining her mind, she thought back. A new mission, Fury was telling her and Clint. She got off the plane. She spotted someone she knew... Nothing else. Her head hurt (and her shoulder, very much so, for that matter, but that didn't seem to have much to do with it). Had she been hit in the head? Amnesia, maybe? She shuddered. Hopefully not; she wasn't sure she could live with that.

Whoever her captors were, they had some idea of her abilities. Her wrists and ankles were cuffed to some sort of bench, and there were two guards with guns trained at her, both of whom looked familiar. In fact, she was pretty sure she could name one of them... Ivan? Something beginning with an 'I'. She rested her head against the metal wall - what was it called in a van? - and grunted slightly. Her head was spinning; she felt slightly sick. Natasha glanced down at herself. She was filthy, her clothes that were most certainly not her usual SHIELD attire covered in a fine layer of grime and a dark substance which she presumed to be blood. Her own blood, judging by the hole and near unbearable pain in her left shoulder.

"It's Iain, isn't it?" she said aloud, not really directing the question at him but hardly at anyone else either. She wondered where she knew him from.

"Don't talk," the other one said harshly. She examined him. There was a slight tremor in his voice and hands: he was scared of her. Scared of what she could do. Natasha almost smiled, but thought better of it at the last moment. She didn't want another bullet wound (not that she actually thought he was going to shoot. She imagined that he'd had orders not to, because if he was going to shoot her he would have done it already).

"Who are you again?" The two exchanged glances but said nothing. Was she meant to know something?

That was when she saw it; in the slight turn of his head. The SHIELD logo. SHIELD. Why were SHIELD arresting her? Didn't they know who she was? She was Black Widow. An Avenger. They couldn't be locking her up, surely? Had she gone too far? Said something she shouldn't have? Natasha Romanoff was not afraid of anything, but she could feel fear bubbling in her chest, just waiting to break up to the surface in her equivalent of a scream...no. What was she thinking? Or, perhaps only slightly more importantly, what was she doing? She couldn't have amnesia. She wouldn't allow it. Where the hell was Clint?

"Where's Clint?" she asked hoarsely. They stared at her. "Agent Barton," she snapped. "Hawkeye. You know who I'm-"

"I think she's playing dumb," Iain muttered. "Making out she doesn't know what's going on. Then she'll..." He slashed a finger across his own throat to point his point.

"Strike," his companion replied grimly.

"I can hear you, you know."

"Shut up!"

She frowned. This should not be happening. It was all wrong. Was this a nightmare? Everyone said that you couldn't feel pain in nightmares, but she could, most definitely. Maybe not real pain, but she knew that the mind could trick itself into thinking that it was feeling it. Most of the time she could trick her mind into not feeling anything, but it wasn't working. Why wasn't it working? In dreams, she felt detached, almost surreal. She felt like that here - but it could just be the head injury.

"Is she OK?" Iain asked with some concern. "You think she needs a doctor?"

"Doesn't deserve one," his companion hissed angrily. "Bloody traitor. Stop being so soft, Igor."

Traitor? Igor? Was that his name? Yes, now she remembered. Agent B. Igor, Level Four. He'd been on the mission with her, hadn't he, before it went horribly wrong. It had gone wrong, hadn't it...? It occurred to her that she had never not completed a mission. What would Fury say? What would Clint say? Had he been on the mission with her? She struggled to remember. Probably. He normally was.

And suddenly people were swarming round them, and there was a gun pressed into her temple, and his, and everyone else's, and the pistol was forced out of her hands.

"Tasha, what's going on?" he shouted as they pulled her away from the others.

"I don't know," she said, wide-eyed as she stumbled back, but in his eyes she could see definite disbelief. Why didn't he believe her? They snapped handcuffs onto his wrists but they weren't doing the same to her. They weren't restraining her at all, in fact. She turned around. "What's going on?" she demanded angrily, in Russian.

Someone smiled. "Welcome back, Natalia."

She blinked at the sudden memory. What the hell? They knew who she was. Her real name. She had stopped being Natalia Romanova a long time ago...she wasn't Natalia any more. Natasha. She was Natasha.

...Wasn't she?

The van shuddered to a halt. They were stopping. Time for some answers? She certainly hoped so. Igor's companion, whatever his name was (she silently christened him Moron), released her ankles. They were numb, but she could stand. "Up, bi-"

"Don't call her that," Ia- Igor interrupted. "Don't make yourself as bad as she is. She doesn't seem to...know. Anything."

She brought up her leg and kicked Moron, hard, sending him sprawling across the floor. He groaned. She turned to Igor. "Sorry," she said. "You're a good guy. But I do know a couple of things." She brought her cuffed hands up into his face.

Natasha taught herself when she was five to not feel regret. She kicked the door open. To her surprise, there was nobody there. That couldn't be right. She snapped her head to the side, hearing a light footstep-

-and someone grabbed her from behind. All training forgotten, she fought like a wildcat, and struggled to get free.

"Agent Romanoff! Stand down! For goodness' sake, why do you have to make everything so hard?!"

"Barton? Want to tell me what the hell's going on?" He pinned her against him, and though she was strong her slight frame betrayed her.

He nearly dropped her. "I'm sorry? Shouldn't it be the other way round?"

She twisted round in his arms, and this time he did drop her. "What?"

"Don't run. Move four steps and you'll have twenty-seven bullets lodged in your brain."

She didn't try, even though she knew he was lying. He could call in backup, but that would take perhaps half a minute, in which time she would be gone. But she had to know.

"Clint, what did I do?"

He looked at her closely. "I used to think I knew when you were lying," he said carefully, "I used to think I knew you. Seems I was wrong."

She didn't bother to duck the fist that came flying out of nowhere at her face. It would let her sleep. Darkness was good. Darkness was peaceful. Darkness was less confusing.