A/N: Hello lovelies. This story is a rewriting to a previous story I had, "Time's Up", AND the sequel I'd started for it. Instead, I'm just going to redo the whole thing, as its several years old. So if you don't want to wait for updates, the original story is always available, though it will end up slightly different than this one, just so we're clear. Enjoy. -E

Bzzzzz!

Clint Barton stirred slightly in his sleep, rolling onto his side.

Bzzzzz!

Groaning softly, his brows furrowed as he slowly came into consciousness, the dull light of his cell phone shining in front of his face. Opening his eyes, he immediately squinted before shutting them again, eyes stinging from the sudden light. Stubbornly ignoring the message alerts on the screen, he rolled back onto his other side, facing away from the phone. Oblivious to the space in front of him being empty, he tried to drift back to sleep.

Bzz-Bzzzz! Bzzzz! Bzzzz!

Someone was calling him. A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he sat up in bed, glancing over at the pale red light of his alarm clock. It was 3:45 in the morning. 'Someone better be dying,' he thought bitterly to himself before reaching over to pick up the phone. His heart sank.

"Tasha?" Slowly coming out of his grogginess, he suddenly became all-too aware of the empty space beside him. "Tash, where are you?" Swinging his feet over the bed, he pressed the phone hard against his ear.

Static. Quickly fumbling around in the dark, he clicked his bedside light on and snatched up his hearing aids, putting them in. More static.

"Tasha?" Standing, he didn't notice the chill of the floorboards underneath his feet as he went for the door, phone still pressed to his ear. He stopped in his tracks and held his breath as he heard what sounded like nothing more than distant whispers on the other line. As though someone were whispering through an echoing auditorium. Holding the phone awkwardly in one hand, he used the other to maneuver his hearing aids to the highest setting, hoping he would be able to make out what the whispers were saying. Unmoving, so as to not make any noise, he listened.

"Clint!" Natasha's voice came through as a whisper, clear and firm as the static immediately ceased. Jumping, and nearly dropping his phone, he returned it to his ear.

"Tasha?!" His voice only a little louder than a whisper himself, just in case she was in danger, which he had high suspicions that she was. The static returned, only this time with Natasha's voice cutting through it.

"I don't-somewhere still in the tower-B-7-like a closet-something out there, like a monster-not a lot of time-"

"...Natassssshhhhha…." A low, dark voice interrupted her.

The static cut, the phone going silent. Heart racing, he looked at the screen. The call had ended.

"What the fuck?" He whispered to himself, thumb moving frantically, hovering over the screen while he tried to decide what to do. Opening his contacts, he called Natasha's phone again. Holding it up to his ear, it rang for a moment before beeping at him a few times, signalling the call had been ignored. "Shit."

If she was in trouble, she might not be able to answer the phone. She might've been hiding, needing to stay as quiet as possible. He prayed that he didn't just give away her location. From what he could gather, she was still somewhere in the Avengers tower- in a closet? Dialing a new number, he held the phone to his ear again, listening to it ring for what seemed like hours.

"Barton, what do you want," Tony Stark's voice had a hint of impatience to it, and he could tell that he was on speakerphone. "Kind of in the middle of something important, here!" Clint could hear the bright sounds of a video game coming from the background, the light clicks of controllers mixed among them.

"Stark, I need the security footage from the past couple hours," he informed him as he grabbed a sweater and slipped on a pair of shoes. Jogging back to the door, he opened it and stepped outside into a large hallway, dozens of doors lining the walls, all identical to his. Some with light decorations on them, others plain, he walked past them quickly. The air in the hallway was cooler than he expected, and he was immediately glad that he thought to grab his sweater, almost regretting that he didn't take Natasha's for her as well.

"Oooh, wanting to make a 'homemade video', are we? You dirty-"

"Natasha's missing." Clint cut him off irritably, not caring for Tony's teasing. A small 'What?' could be heard from somewhere next to Tony as the sounds from the game stalled. "Security wing. Now. Finish your game later. Bring Bruce, too, if he wants to come." There was a pause, the line quiet.

"Yeah, we'll be there in a minute." A series of beeps signalled Clint that the call had ended and he glanced at his lock screen as he sped down the hall. The image of him and Natasha sharing their first kiss as a newlywed couple tugged at his heart as he opened his message notifications.

[3:38 am, Nat] Idk where. Head throbbing. Dark n cold. Small closet I think. No way out from what I can tell. Knob locked. Light from under the door. Footsteps. .

[3:38 am, Nat] It's april 1. Is this some sick joke

[3:40 am, Nat] clint wkae up

[3:40 am, Nat] oh god clint wake up

[3:40 am, Nat] Idk what it is but all i smell is blood

[3:41 am, Nat] It opened the door and i saw on the wall b7 im still in the tower

[3:44 am, Nat] Clint its

[3:44 am, Nat] Coming pelase

[3:45 am, Nat] Help p

Trying to swallow down the lump forming in his already too-dry throat, he rounded the corner, stopping at a plain door. Knocking loudly a few times, he took a step back and began absentmindedly tapping his foot impatiently. After a few moments, a confused looking Steve Rogers opened the door, toothbrush in hand.

"Clint?" Looking down at Clint's pajamas, his eyebrows furrowed more in confusion. "What's up?"

"Tasha's trouble," he rushed out breathlessly before stopping to blink. "I- Tasha's IN trouble. We gotta go!" Pushing past Steve he grabbed a pair of shoes and practically threw them at Steve, who easily caught them.

"What kind of trouble?" Steve had set down his toothbrush carefully on a small table he had near the door so it wouldn't get dirty before pulling his shoes on. Already dressed in a t-shirt and shorts to go on his usual 4 am jog, he wasn't really used to having to deal with people so early in the morning anymore.

"Don't know! Meeting Tony in security!" Clint almost went to push Steve out the door until he realized how useless that would've been and moved around him again, once again speed-walking down the hall. Shutting the door behind himself, Steve jogged lightly to catch up.

"'Tony in security', or Tony, in security?"
"What- Oh. My god. Stark. Meeting Stark so we can look at the security footage."
"Gotcha!" The pair made their way quickly and quietly down the seemingly endless hallway and down a few flights of stairs before practically flattening Tony and Bruce just outside the stairwell doors.

"Clint! What's going on?" Bruce asked immediately, jumping back so as he wouldn't be knocked over.

"That's what we're here to find out," Clint replied irritably before grimacing slightly. "Sorry. I don't know. I'm just worried."

"So you think something happened in the tower?" Tony questioned as the group made their way into one of the control rooms. The walls of the room were filled with screens, a large desk stretching the length of three of the four walls, covered in keyboards, mice and different computers. Taking a seat, he began fiddling with one of the devices. "About what time, do you think?"
"She called me. I couldn't make out most of it, but it seems like she's still somewhere in the tower, but she's not alone. Um, around 3-3:30." Sitting back in the chair, Tony looked up at Clint.

"Still in the tower…? Barton, are you sure that she's not just-"

"Please," Clint interrupted quickly, his tone pleading. "Just do it."

"We ought to hear him out," Steve interjected, crossing and uncrossing his arms over his chest.

"He's, uh. I mean he's not really one to get so riled up by nothing," Bruce shrugged nervously, glancing between everyone. Hesitating a moment, Tony nodded and turned back to the screens.

"Alright," typing in the sector and time into one of the keyboards, he nodded again. Clearly still unsure, he complied anyway. "Yeah, we'll check it out."

"Thank you."

Sitting back again, the group looked up at one of the larger screens as it played footage from Clint and Tasha's room at 3 in the morning, just 56 minutes earlier. The room obviously dark, the camera had been switched to 'night mode', and everything had a green tinge to it. The camera had been sped up very slightly, to make it go by faster. 3:10, nothing had moved. Soon 3:15 had passed, and still, both Clint and Natasha were asleep in bed. Several small inhales and gasped escaped their mouths as at 3:26 a large, dark figure walked out from the shadows in the corner of the room.

Clint suddenly felt cold, chills running down his spine being an understatement. His heart ready to burst out from his chest, his eyes were glued to the large figure. Who was that? How did they get in?! Feeling sick at the thought of this person being in his room and so close to him, he placed a hand over his mouth silently. All of their eyes trained on the screen, they watched as the large figure- too big to feasibly be human- stalk over to the bed and scoop a still-sleeping Natasha into what looked like large dark claws. The footage cut to static.

"What!?" Clint exclaimed quickly, wanting to reach out and slam the screen, as if that would get it to work again.
"I'm-" clearly alarmed, Tony frantically typed into the keyboard. "-trying!"

"Who was that?! What was that?!" Bruce tore his eyes from the screen to look at Steve, his own eyes round, mouth hung open slightly.

"I'm…" Steve's voice was cut off by the static ending. The screen showed the time at 3:40, both Natasha and the figure gone, leaving Clint alone in his bed.

"Where did she say she was?" Tony asked nervously, trying over and over to replay the footage to see if he could get the times between 3:36 and 3:40, only getting static each time he did.

"I- Um," fumbling with the phone still in his hand, Clint unlocked the screen and looked at the messages still open. "A closet? B-7." Stopping, Tony slowly leaned back and looked up at Clint, clearly startled.

"B….B-7?"

"Yeah. That's what she wrote."

"Clint," Bruce leaned forwards slightly, his eyebrows bowed. "There is no B-7."