Title: The Set-Up
Author: SLynn

Summary: Three months after Clint Barton's death and what remains of the Avengers is still struggling to make sense of it all as the threat to SHIELD, and to them all, looms larger.

Notes: I didn't say this before, but let me say it now. Thank you! I love feedback. I love talking canon. I love hearing everything. I also really love those of you who have and continue to stick with me through this massive series, which honest to goodness (as Tripp my beta) was only meant to be like three stories to begin with. Thank you all! Enjoy!


The next day should have been a late start for everyone, but no one had the time or the inclination to sleep in.

Bruce made it into the shared kitchen just as Steve was finishing his own breakfast. Darcy was there as well, perched on a stool near the counter and painting her toes.

"Morning," he said heading straight for oven to start a fresh kettle of water to boil.

"Hey," Darcy returned, setting down her polish and picking up a notepad and pen. "I'm making a shop run later. Need anything?"

"No," he said and then immediately changed his mind. "Yes, actually. Those honey stick things? Honey straws? Is that what they're called?"

"Pretty sure that name is interchangeable," she answered.

Bruce nodded and opened up the nearest cabinet, taking out the empty box. "You know what I mean then," he said with a smile. "We're out."

"Got it," she answered. "Sticks O'Honey are on the list. Anything else?"

"Nope, that should do it. Thanks."

"Steve?" Darcy asked, turning and waiting.

"I'm good, thank you."

"You look exhausted," Bruce said giving him a onceover. "Didn't you get any sleep last night?"

"Some," he said as he rubbed his eyes.

"Nothing wrong, is there?" the other man said, having finished making his tea and taking a seat directly across from Steve.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and gave his head a shake. "No," he said, the word dragging out slow from his mouth. "I guess I'm just having a hard time shutting down. At the end of the day I can't tune it out anymore. It'll pass."

Before Bruce could offer any advice, Tony came striding into the room.

"Coffee," he said as he took out a mug and poured a cupful.

"Good morning to you, too," Darcy returned, having gone back to work on her toes. "Need anything from the store?"

"Yes, coffee," he answered as if she should have known.

"We have coffee," Darcy said. "It's that stuff in your hand. Got a whole cabinet full of it."

"Yeah, but this is awful," Tony said after he leaned into the counter and took a long pull from the mug. "This should be ashamed to call itself coffee. It is a poor substitute. It's a disgrace. This is the crap college kids drink because they don't have money."

"Well, hello?"

Tony gave her a curious look and then shrugged. "Oh yeah. Well, get something better next time. Splurge."

"What happened to your arm?" Steve asked suddenly.

"Nothing," Tony dismissed, shifting his body against the counter and facing Steve and Bruce directly.

"It looks pretty banged up," Bruce said, seeing what Steve was seeing and looking concerned.

"Unbelievable," Steve sighed.

"It's bruised, not broken," Tony said, giving up and showing them the worst of it. His arm was a mass of deep purple, just high enough above his elbow so that most of it was hidden by his shirt. "And it hardly even hurts. Suit took most of the damage. Which reminds me, I need to fix that first thing before whatever monstrosity of the week strikes next."

"Is that why you were trying to rush me off to the infirmary?" Steve asked. "To hide your own injury?"

"No," Tony said, less than convincingly. "Yours was worse. Bleeding trumps bruised, every time."

"Don't do that again, Tony," Steve said, giving up and shaking his head.

"You both need to take a break," Bruce intoned.

"That's what I've been saying," Darcy added with an eye roll for emphasis.

"How are things going for you?" Tony asked Bruce, happy to change the conversation and redirect the attention. "How's Natasha doing?"

"I'm heading over in about an hour," Bruce said with a shake of his head. "She's doing okay."

"Still won't leave?" Steve asked with concern.

"No. Not until she's sure she won't be triggered again but..."

"How can she ever be certain," Steve finished for him.

"Exactly," Bruce sighed. "If we knew what it was then maybe we could take steps to prevent it happening again, but there are too many variables. Even if we had the one trigger that caused this we might be able to help her recognize the feelings it evokes. It might help her prepare."

"I've tried," Tony said with an exhausted sigh. "I can give it another shot but she wrecked that SIM card. She really can't remember it? Not even a little bit?"

"She remembers it was a picture but..."

"Are we sure we want her to see it again?" Steve asked seriously. "Even if you can fix it and pull the image; is that a good idea?"

"I don't think it would cause another reaction," Bruce answered after giving it some thought. "But to be safe, I'd have to be the one to show her." 'And convince her', he added silently. Natasha was not keen on the idea.

"Okay, well... that will be number two on the list today," Tony said, slapping his hand against the table before getting to his feet. "Work the kinks out of the suit and then get you that picture."

"Thanks, Tony," Bruce said, getting up as well. "I'm going to head off now. I want to be gone before Agent Morse gets here. She's been asking a lot of questions and I'd rather not today."

"About Natasha?" Steve inquired.

Bruce nodded and Tony said, "Better hurry. She's usually here before nine."

He almost made it outside, but as he reached the main lobby doors, Morse was on her way inside.

"Dr. Banner," she said with a smile. "Do you have a moment?"

"I'm kind of in a hurry, Agent Morse," he said, but was too polite not to stop.

"Just a moment," she assured him, motioning towards the chairs. "I promise." With reluctance, he followed, but Bruce didn't sit. Taking his cue, she also remained on her feet before continuing, "I'd like an update on your progress with Agent Romanoff."

"I've sent you reports. Actually, I sent you one yesterday."

"Yes, well, if I wanted her vitals I would ask medical. I'm more interested in her mental state."

"I'm not a psychiatrist."

"But you are the only one she's talking to," Morse countered. "And surely you've been around enough unstable personalities to recognize one if you saw another."

"Are you asking me if I think she's unstable?" Bruce asked, deciding to play dumb.

"Do you?"

"I think she's in a very difficult situation."

"So you believe this was unintentional. That she wasn't acting of her own free will," she stated.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, "didn't you tell us about the Red Rooms?"

"Yes, and I shared all of my information with you."

"But you don't think she was triggered? I'm just... I'm not sure what you're getting at here, Agent," Bruce finished with a near scowl.

Morse dropped her eyes and sighed. She looked exhausted, just like the rest of them. But with Morse it seemed to go a little deeper.

"I am trying to be thorough," Morse finally said.

Bruce considered it for a moment.

"My opinion is that she is not faking this in any way," he said, willing to give a little in order to see what he'd get in return. "She is truly sorry and full of remorse and regret."

"You believe that?" she asked, but it wasn't harsh; it was almost hopeful. "After everything you read, after all the files I sent you about the Red Rooms... You really believe that she's capable of those emotions?"

"I do."

Morse looked him in the eyes for a long moment and then nodded.

"Okay," she said. "Please understand, Dr. Banner, I don't know Agent Romanoff. I barely knew Agent Barton. I just know what's in their files. I know their pasts. I'm trying to get this right."

"Get what right?"

Morse fixed him with another look and smiled again. "Maybe later, Dr. Banner. I don't want to keep you."

Bruce watched her walk off towards the elevator with no small amount of confusion, but let it go. He was running late and Natasha was hopefully expecting him.

Tony always had a car service ready for them to use and it didn't take long to arrive at the Helicarrier. Bruce had all the proper credentials, courtesy of Director Fury, and made his way easily to the correct level.

"Good morning, Dr. Banner," the young agent behind the glassed in reception desk said as he buzzed open the door. "Agent Romanoff is expecting you."

"Thank you, Agent West."

As promised, Natasha was already awake and dressed, sitting on her bed with her back propped against the wall. The cell, Bruce could never bring himself to call it a room, wasn't very large, but it was a fair size. It afforded a single bed, dresser, a desk and chair along with a small bookshelf. She didn't have a lot of things in it, a few changes of clothes, a few books. Pepper had insisted on sending her a good set of sheets and blankets. Tony had fixed her music box. And even if Natasha hadn't thanked either of them, she had kept the items.

In three months, Natasha herself had changed.

Her hair had grown out past her shoulders and was darker than before. In contrast, she was paler than ever. Quieter, too.

"Morning," he said as he came into the cell, pulling the chair out from the desk and turning it to face her. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine."

"Just fine? I slept like crap."

"It's quiet here," she went on with a shrug. "Makes it easy to doze but... I can't sleep through the night. I'm bored and restless. I'm full of energy but I don't want to do anything."

"That's normal, Tasha. We've talked about this. You're depressed."

"Shouldn't I be?"

"Yes," he said with a short nod. "That's natural."

"Not for me."

"Maybe not before but..."

"What are we doing here?" she asked, suddenly a lot more serious than she had been. "What are we accomplishing? I've told you, there's nothing you can do to fix me. It can't be undone. I can't be made safe."

"And I told you that I think you can."

"How?"

"First, you need to recognize how the triggers make you feel."

"They make me feel homicidal," she answered flatly.

"No," he gently argued. "That's not what you told me or Steve. You said they made you afraid."

"It doesn't matter," she said with a brutal shake of her head not wanting to remember it if at all possible.

"It will if we can get our hands on one of these triggers."

"But we can't."

"Tony is working on it," Bruce answered to see how she'd react. "He's going to try and fix the card again and pull the image."

"No."

"Natasha."

"I don't want to see it," she bit back at him. It was bad enough, not getting to see Clint again. Worse still, what she'd done and how it had happened. Her last moments with him had been brutal and terrifying. She was worried that image might bring it all rushing back to her with too much clarity.

"Even if it helps?" Bruce asked after a moment. "Even if it lets you move on? Helps you understand what's happening and why?"

Natasha stared at him for a long minute as if considering his words. Wondering if she could move on.

"Can he do it?" she finally asked.

"Tony thinks he can."

"Tony thinks he can do anything," she replied, and for a half a second she was like her old self again, but the moment faded fast. "If he does it then I'll consider it, but with guidelines. My rules. It happens my way or it doesn't happen."

"I won't have you restrained."

"Then..." she said, taking a look around the room, "Then isolated. At least that."

"Just you and I," he assured her.

"If," she repeated harshly.

"When," he corrected. "When Tony gets that picture." Natasha didn't reply and began to look apprehensive. "You remember why you're doing this?" Bruce asked.

"I do."

"So?"

"Okay."