Hey guys! Chapter two is finally up yay! I'm hoping to be a little more consistent in updating this story oops :D Thank you so much for your support! xoxo


Time was moving too fast.

For the past several hours, Clint and Natasha had been on the jet to Siberia, Russia. Natasha had been reviewing mission plans, chatting with Clint, and generally putting off the inevitable. Which was to actually stop and think about what had happened in Clint's room and what it meant, if it meant anything at all.

Natasha had never been in love with a person and she planned on keeping it that way. Love was a liability, a compromise, a weakness. Something she couldn't afford. But recently, Natasha had felt different around him, something she didn't want to acknowledge. Something that made her unnaturally worried – a nervous, fluttery feeling that started in the middle of her stomach and quickly worked its way up into her chest. It made her want to punch something. Or shoot something. Or kiss... someone.

The thought startled Natasha and she brushed it away quickly. She didn't want to kiss him. They were professional partners. And professional work partners don't want to kiss each other. Fury was a professional work partner, and Natasha didn't want to kiss him, either. She didn't want to kiss anyone.

A nagging voice at the back of her mind reminded her of dark rooms, of leaning closer to Clint…

She told it to shut up.

After all, they hadn't been about to kiss, she was sure of it. She hadn't been about to kiss Clint; she didn't even want to kiss him. And she was sure he felt the same way.

I'm right, aren't I?

Natasha stole a glance at Clint. He was sitting at the controls of the quinjet to her left, frowning in concentration as he mumbled to himself under his breath. Was it her imagination or was her stomach starting to feel strange? Daring the fluttery feeling to make an appearance, Natasha stared closely at him, studying every detail of him in the dimly-lit quinjet. She explored every inch of his face, the twitch of his mouth, the crease in his forehead, the light blue of his eyes; then followed the line of his neck to his broad shoulders, muscular arms, and solid chest. The uncomfortable tingling sensation in her stomach grew and she froze.

Clint glanced at her and did a double-take when he caught her staring. "What?"

Natasha ducked her head down, reaching for the control panel to turn up the AC. When had it gotten so uncomfortably warm? She was almost sweating, and they were in Siberia.

"Nothing."

The fluttery feelings were as just hunger pains. It had been a while since she'd eaten last, after all. She looked quickly at Clint, who had a puzzled smile on his face. Her gut knotted. When was the last time she had eaten? She couldn't remember. It must have been a while ago. She was getting hungry.

"Um, okay," said Clint, clearing his throat. "Are you ready to jump?"

Natasha gave a quick nod in response, pushing away all thoughts of hunger pains and looks in dark rooms. She stood, removed her headset, then grabbed a parachute waiting the wall and began to buckle it on.

"Remember, you have to cause a big enough distraction that I can land the jet without too much opposition," Clint cautioned. "The Red Skull Organization is fairly new, and since their only base is small, that shouldn't be a problem. Take out as many agents as you can. Rescuing Steve is not a priority until I can get in there and join you, since they're probably keeping a close eye on him. Just be distracting."

Natasha turned on her comm. "Be distracting. Not a problem."

Clint grinned. "Savage," he teased.

Natasha smirked.

Leaning forward, Clint flipped a switch that opened a hatch in the side of the quinjet. "Catch you later, partner," he shouted over the rush of wind.

Natasha double-checked her Widow's Bites and glanced up at him, and her lips quirked into a smile. "Not if I catch you first." She stepped out into thin air.

And she was falling. The icy wind chilled her ears, and the stinging snowflakes brought tears to her eyes. Natasha yanked her parachute open, and a second passed before her body jerked as her parachute filled with air, and her descent slowed. Floating down through a low layer of clouds, Natasha shivered involuntarily as she drew her guns.

When she emerged from the cloud bank, the Red Skull Organization's base loomed below her, covered in a thick layer of white. There were two guards posted at the entrance, their black uniforms a stark contrast to the snow. Natasha shot them both before they noticed her—one in the head and the other in the shoulder. The injured guard yelled in pain, dropping his gun to cradle his arm.

"I feel like the screams of men in pain are your theme music, Nat," Clint commented in her ear, and Natasha could hear a smile in his voice.

"You think you're so funny," she replied. Her feet hit the ground and sunk several inches into the snow.

"Because I am so funny," Clint defended himself.

"Well, I'm working, so you can shut up anytime you want."

Natasha shrugged the parachute from her shoulders and hastened to approach the fallen Red Skull agent. He saw her coming and tried to heft his assault rifle towards her, but gave up with a groan, clutching his injured arm. Natasha stalked up to him and yanked him to his feet. He towered over her, but she shot a scowl up at him and wasn't surprised when he gulped visibly. She had that effect on people.

Cocking her gun, she pressed the cold barrel to his temple.

"Get me inside," she ordered in Russian.

He nodded enthusiastically and moved to punch in the security code, flinching when she shoved her pistol closer into his head warningly.

Creaking on their hinges, the heavy iron doors opened slowly when the agent pushed against them. Natasha grabbed the agent's arm and held him in front of her to shield herself, moving her gun to rest between his shoulder blades.

As soon as they stepped into the facility, Natasha heard the unmistakable click of guns being cocked and found herself facing a small group of Red Skull agents. By her estimation, there were roughly ten. She had been expecting a little less since it was such a small base, but ten was nothing she couldn't handle.

"Take me to Captain America, or I will blow your agent's brains out," she demanded, locking eyes with the nearest Red Skull Agent, the obvious leader.

He raised his rifle without breaking eye contact with Natasha.

He's going to kill him.

Natasha yanked a small tear gas grenade from her belt and pulled the pin just as the leader of the Red Skull agents pulled the trigger. Her captive slid heavily to the floor, deadweight, and his head hit the ground at the same time as the grenade.

Leaving the Red Skull agents choking and trying to clear the toxins from their eyes, Natasha escaped into a hallway through a side door.

Where could Steve be?

Natasha hurried down hallways, checking in every room for Steve. Rounding a corner, guns first, she came face-to-face with two agents standing outside a door. According to the blueprints she'd memorized, they were guarding the laboratory.

Aha.

Natasha sent two bullets flying side-by-side into their brains.

"Found him," she told Clint, pressing two fingers to her comm.

"10-4. I'm on my way in," Clint responded, and since she could no longer hear the sound of quinjet engines over the comm, Natasha assumed he'd made it safely inside the base.

"Where are you?" Clint questioned.

"Outside the lab," Natasha responded. "Steve's in there." She peered cautiously through the small window to assess the situation.

Fifteen armed agents were positioned around the room, along with four scientists and doctors. Their focus was on the middle of the room where Steve lay restrained on a gleaming metal table, his eyes closed peacefully. With unease, Natasha noticed the lack of color in his face and sweat standing out on his brow.

As she watched, one of the scientists held a long syringe up to the light, and even from far away, Natasha could see the bead of liquid that dripped down the length of the needle from the tip. Her chest constricted with fear.

"They're about to inject him with something," she murmured to Clint. "I'm going in."

"Nat," Clint said warningly, "just wait for me. I'm almost there."

Natasha hesitated outside the door. It would be better to wait for Clint. It was easier to fight alongside him than by herself. But then the doctor took Steve's arm and lowered the needle.

Natasha burst through the door and made the doctor with the needle her first target.

Right after she squeezed the trigger, Clint swore. "Natasha, I told you to wait!"

She ignored him, completely focused as she suddenly became the target of fifteen Red Skull agents. The room was small, and she used it to her advantage, making sure to stay at angles that would get agents caught in the crossfire.

Where is Clint?

She got close enough to kick a gun from an agent's hand, and he lunged for his belt.

A knife.

She darted out of the way, but a sharp twinge of pain shot through her ribcage. She gritted her teeth and shot him in the face.

Natasha took a shaky breath in, pressing a hand to her fresh wound as she slid under a nearby table. A round of bullets hit the floor in front of her and she pulled back, taking her hand off her wound in order to fire back. The gun slipped a little in her right hand as it recoiled from the shot. There was blood dripping off her fingers. She cursed and dragged her hand down her leg to clear away some of the blood.

"You holding up okay?" Clint sounded out of breath.

Natasha was cut short from answering by another volley of bullets splintering into the table leg next to her. She raised her pistol, anticipating the kick, and squeezed the trigger. An empty click was all that fired. Damn. She was out of bullets.

Natasha dropped the gun and held the second one steady in her hands.

One. Two. Three. Click.

Three more bullets, three more dead agents. She tossed her gun away and slid out from under the table. The wound in her side burned and sweat itched her forehead as she snapped necks between her thighs. A movement hooked her attention—a doctor that she thought she had killed was reaching slowly for a fallen assault rifle. She yanked it from his reach and clubbed him over the head.

The door clicked open behind Natasha and she swung around, quickly falling into a defensive stance. But it was Clint.

"Hey." He surveyed the aftermath.

Natasha sagged against a table, dropping her head down in exhaustion. Her curls slid forward, dropping in front of her eyes and sticking to the sweat on her forehead.

"You could've invited me to the party," Clint said dryly.

"You were taking too long," she responded, grunting as she pushed off the table.

"You take too many risks, Nat," Clint grumbled, following her to the table where Steve lay motionless.

"Well, it's a risky business to be in," Natasha said, stopping beside the table and starting to work on the restraints. Clint sighed and joined her.

"Are you okay?"

She glanced at him with a small smile. "When am I not?"

There was a small tray of utensils next to the table. Several empty syringes lay on it. Natasha picked one up to study.

"I wonder what was in these," She mused aloud.

"Whatever it was, it was strong enough to sedate Cap, so not good," said Clint. "By the way, I killed most of the Red Skull bastards, but not all of them. They may regroup soon and if they do, they won't keep their distance forever."

Natasha set down the empty syringe and leaned forward to unbuckle the restraint over Steve's chest. The sharp metal edge of the table dug into the knife wound in her ribcage, and she sucked in her breath and yanked back.

"Woah, woah, steady, Nat," Clint said, and suddenly he was right next to her, his hand on her upper arm. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Knife wound," Natasha muttered between clenched teeth. "It didn't go deep, though. Guy just threw it past me and it cut me up a little." She pressed on the throbbing injury. The pain was making her light-headed.

"Let's see." Clint turned her to face him and gently pried her hand away. When he saw her injury, he sucked in his breath. "That looks bad. That's a lot of blood."

"Wow, thank you for your expert diagnosis, Dr. Barton," Natasha said dryly, trying to make the situation a little lighter as she craned to see the damage. She was used to pushing back the pain.

"Nat, seriously," Clint argued, taking her by the arms. "We really need to get this looked at. A lot of blood means not good things."

Natasha looked at him to tell him she was fine, that they should hurry before the Red Skull agents found them. But when she looked at him, her gut constricted, her tongue twisted, and she was suddenly too aware of his grip on her arms, strong but gentle.

And the stupid hunger pains were back. She cursed them in Russian under her breath.

"Nat?" Clint took a step closer, searching her face anxiously, and her feet grew roots and buried themselves in the floor. "Are you okay?"

Natasha tried to answer but her mouth was too dry. She licked her lips. Get a grip.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just felt a little dizzy for a second. Lack of sleep or something probably. Also, I'm really hungry. That could be it."

"Or lack of blood," Clint suggested, but he sounded doubtful as he watched her attentively.

Natasha shrugged. "Could be."

Clint focused on something behind her and his eyes widened.

"Nat!" He barked, and reached backwards for an arrow right as she felt a tiny prick of pain in the side of her neck.

She spun around, ready to fight, but her fist landed on a doctor with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. He crumpled to the floor at her feet.

Natasha felt her neck carefully and found a syringe sticking out at the base. Gingerly, she plucked it out. Clint grabbed it from her and stared at it, his face going ashen white.

"Natasha, what was in this?" He demanded, sounding frantic as he shook the empty syringe accusingly in her face. "What did he give you?"

"I don't know," Natasha said, her heart pounding. Clint was worried and that didn't happen often. It was unnerving.

"Great, well, it was enough to sedate Steve." Clint scowled at the syringe like it had floated off the table and stuck itself in Natasha's vein of its own accord.

Natasha thought back to when she'd first approached Steve and seen the syringes on the table, and she let out a breath she hadn't remembered holding.

"I don't think anything was in it. I saw them when I came in and they were all empty."

"Are you sure?" Clint challenged. "Why would a doctor stab you with a syringe if there was nothing in it?"

Good question.

"I don't know," Natasha admitted. "There's a lot of major veins and nerves in your neck, though. He was probably hoping to hit one of them and delay us."

Clint frowned darkly and tossed the syringe.

"Let's get out of here."