A/N: WOAH! Long time without an update, sorry everybody! *laughs nervously* I thought I had updated this. Oh well!
Anyway, here's Chapter Four.
Chapter Four: Wake Up!
Clint and Natasha had switched from the 'I, Spy' game to the 'I Know the Song That Gets on Everybody's Nerves' game. They had continued it for a solid fifteen minutes and already their guard was cracking. They just needed to get a little more time and…
They were barely able to keep the smirks of victory off of their faces as the guard snapped and put his gun to the side. He stepped over to Clint, moving to gag him and…Natasha's legs snapped up, slamming into the guy's lower back. He pitched forward and his shout of agony would have probably alerted any other guards, if it weren't for the fact that Clint hurt something leaning forward and slamming his head into the guy's throat. He went down with a strangled cry and Natasha was already moving, helping Clint get free.
They hurried to the exit, Natasha grabbing the gun as they went and paused as they got to the door. Through various hand signals, they worked out a plan, with Clint getting the gun. Between the two of them, Natasha had a better chance of standing up to them in hand-to-hand combat then Clint. They settled and then slipped out of their 'cell'.
And into the cold.
They nearly jumped back when Clint looked around. "Nat," he called softly and nodded. They shifted around and Clint gripped the weapon he held a little tighter.
Their 'cell' had been one of SHIELD's moveable bases. They glanced at each other and then, carefully, began to make their way across the snow, being sure to make it hard for them to be followed. Clint pulled Natasha into a shadow of some rocks and peeked around, with Natasha, to see what they were dragging.
"The garbage!" she growled lowly and Clint nodded, seeing their companions being thrown into various places.
They were all unconscious and Clint's eyes narrowed. "Phil is gone," he whispered and Natasha looked over her shoulder, eyes narrowed.
Clint held up his hands and, after having a hand sign only argument, agreed to go find the original encampment and inform Fury. Clint seemed to rankle a bit at that, but obeyed and followed Natasha's lead. Soon, they had a hotwired truck and went blazing away, Clint ready for any who might follow. "You feel this is too easy, don't you?" Clint asked.
Natasha kept silent, her eyes focused on the road.
"Wake up!" a rough voice demanded and Coulson ignored him, letting himself sag against the bonds that held him up. He willed himself to stay relaxed as someone grabbed his chin and forced him to look up.
Coulson just kept forcing himself to relax, forcing himself to give a slack expression, and refusing to let his body wince every time his head got jerked around. They really knew how to stab someone in the neck without killing them and he resisted the urge to hiss as his head was dropped down. "Sir, we have a problem!" one of the men suddenly stated.
"What?" the leader growled.
"The agents we caught earlier, they're gone. The guard has a bruised windpipe and the gun is gone," one of the men stated and Coulson forced himself to keep relaxed.
If Natasha won the argument, that meant they were on their way to Fury. If they were on their way to Fury, that meant help was coming soon. "Sir? One of the trucks is on the move," another voice stated and Coulson quietly cursed them all in every language he knew.
"Intercept it and bring them back! I want them alive!" the leader ordered.
"Yes, sir!" the men responded and the cold, that biting, evil, cruel cold swept through, sapping all of Coulson's will to not shiver.
The leader leaned on the spot between his shoulder blades, putting pressure on his shoulders, wrists, arms, and his back. He went with the movement and he could hear the man's smirk in his voice. "I didn't say uninjured Agent Coulson," the man reminded, but Coulson did not react.
Inside, however, he raged at the men that held them captive while hoping that Clint and Natasha would be able to get away from them. Distantly, he worried about the Avengers, trying to see if he could overhear anything on their condition or position. Were they even alive still?
His arms were burning now as the man put more pressure in that space between his shoulder blades, but Coulson did not budge. He did not tense, even when his instincts screamed at him to put a stop to it before his arms got broken. Suddenly, the pressure was off of his upper back and the leader walked around. "You know, this silence, it is irritating. And I can't break your mind or you can't tell me what my boss wishes to know. And if I cannot get that information my goose, as you say, is cooked," the leader stated, a trace of accent slipping through instead of the neutral accent he had earlier.
Coulson immediately began thinking about where he had heard that voice before.
He focused on those thoughts as he considered, questioned, and thought his way through the man's words. Casual threats were made (broken fingers, broken shins, those usual things that happened when someone of a high position was caught) and the words washed over him like water over a duck's back. He was jerked out of his thoughts, though he refused to let it show, when his face was suddenly grabbed and the leader lifted his face up. "Wake up, Agent Coulson, or I'll go after your pretty-boy archer next," the leader snarled.
Coulson nearly reacted and his face was dropped, again his neck twinging painfully. "Ah well. We'll execute him first, then, in the snow, while you watch," the leader stated and the cold swept through the room again, freezing Coulson.
Only, this time, he barely felt it.
He already felt frozen at the threat to Clint's life.
A/N: Sorry it is so short.
