By comparison, it absolutely was not the worst place she'd ever slept. Didn't even crack the top ten. That didn't mean there was anything good about it at all. It was bad. Very, very bad.
The sign out front advertising vacancies was translated, poorly, into six different languages. The facade had always been ugly, but had begun to crumble and wear away even more so than the last time. The area was known for violence and crime; now an eerie stillness hung heavy over the deserted neighborhood.
Natasha kicked aside some discarded garbage and tugged the rusted, broken door open. A single fluorescent light buzzed and flickered overhead, casting the run-down lobby - if the tiny, grimy room could even be called that - in weak, dingy grey light. An ancient, frail looking woman sat behind the desk. The same woman who sat there ten, or was it fifteen, years prior.
Exhaling slowly, she dropped her shoulders, ducked her head, and approached the woman with feigned meekness. She spoke to the woman in her native tongue, intentionally poorly, and slid too much money across the counter. The woman held out a key attached to a ridiculously large key chain with her boney, gnarled hand. Natasha nodded her thanks.
"Same as before." The woman's voice was rough with disuse.
"I don't know what-" Natasha paused as they studied one another. "You remember me?"
"You fix things." The woman patted her hand then collected the cash from the counter.
"We do our best." Standing up straight, Natasha shoved the key in her pocket. "Try to."
"Fix this." It was a plea born of sorrow and the heaviness of this new life. She glanced at a small photograph taped to the wall behind her, then looked quickly down to her hands. Natasha recalled the woman's son and his wife. From the picture she could see they'd had children since she saw them last. "Please." The woman whispered.
With more confidence than she actually felt, Natasha forced a smile. "That's why I'm here. We'll get them back." When the woman didn't respond, she turned and took the dark narrow hallway to her room.
"Nat," Steve's voice cracked. There was nothing technical to it. "You can't… I don't know if this will…"
"Steve, it will work." She stopped in front of a warped, dirty door. The painted on numbers were chipped and flaking, but corresponded with the numbers painted on her keychain. Same room as before. Shushing Steve before he could say anything else, she paused, using all her senses to get a feel for her surroundings.
"He's here," she whispered. Gripping the umbrella like a baton, she slide the key into the lock.
"You know the plan." Steve kept his voice low. "We're ready when you are."
"Going in." The lock turned with some resistance, but the door knob stuck fast. She turned it left, then right, then harder left and harder right. She rattled it. Took the key out. Put the key in. Rattled it some more. "Damn it!"
"You sure it's the right door? I've done that before. Talk about embarrassing." Scott chimed in.
"Not. Helping." Natasha hissed as she tried to shoulder the door open. Two hits with her full force yielded no results. She tried the doorknob again, and it fell off in her hand. "Screw it." She braced herself to kick the door in when it wrenched open from the inside.
"Sloppy." The usual humor was gone, replaced with a hardness she'd never heard before. "You're losing your touch."
"Clint." Natasha took a step forward. He defensively took two steps back, looked from her eyes to the umbrella at her side, and smirked.
"Come to collect me, have you?" He sniffed and turned away from her, leaving the door open so she could follow. "Recruit me to the cause?"
"We have a plan," she pushed the door shut but didn't bother locking it. He shrugged away from her hand on his shoulder.
"Last time I worked with a team didn't end great." He spat bitterly and turned on her. "I work alone now." His voice cracked and he growled in frustration.
Natasha stood her ground and looked him in the eyes. He looked haggard. Exhausted. Broken. Leaner than he'd ever been, with more severe muscle definition. And scars. More than she cared to number. She took a step nearer. "Laura?"
It was evident he hadn't expect that as a retort. He flinched and grit his teeth. "Don't."
"Clint." Another tentative step forward. She clicked the handle on the umbrella once, twice, to the left.
Keeping his eyes focused on her hands, Clint crossed his arms over his chest defensively and shook his head. "No. No, I'm not… I know you. I know you're wired, and I know you've got Steve, or Bruce, or whoever the hell was unfortunate enough to survive this long, on the other end." He exhaled slowly. "I know you know." Barely a whisper.
She did know. She knew and she hated the fact. She knew, they all knew, that Lila and baby Nathaniel had been lost with half the population. They also knew that Laura had been with Cooper on a school trip when the driver, two teachers, and a third of the children on the bus had turned to dust. No one walked away from wreckage. Clint had still been on house arrest when it all went to hell.
Troubling her lower lip with her teeth, Natasha bowed her head. "I'm sor-"
"I said leave it." He ground out and scrubbed his hand roughly down his face.
"Laura… She was my friend," Natasha whispered. "And the baby. Nathaniel…"
"Damn it!" Clint roared as he hurled a lamp across the room. "What do you want from me? Huh?" He stepped into her personal space, and to her credit she ducked her head again. "We were having a snack. Blueberry muffins. That's right, I bake now. I learned how, because what the hell else was I supposed to do, locked in my own house because Rogers and Stark are stubborn assholes?"
He broke then, dropping into a battered chair and burying his face in his hands. "I was holding Nate, when he… My baby turned to dust in my arms. My little girl cried while she crumbled. I tri- I couldn't hold her together. And, it was two days…" He slammed his fist down on the decrepit old desk, and Natasha jumped. "...days before I knew what happened to Cooper and Laura."
"Clint, I…"
"What? What Natasha?" He practically growled. "You have a plan? Get the gang back together? One last hurrah, for old times' sake?" Clint glared up at her. "To hell with that. To hell with you." Standing up he leaned in close to her. "Rogers, I know you can hear me. You can fuck off too."