A/N: WOW! So many people are following this fic. Awesome! The real challenge for me in this chapter was Fury and Stark's characterisation. It's really hard to get the snark that Tony Stark has. I hope I did it okay though.

Also, when Natasha is internally monologue-ing, her history comes from her bio on wiki.

Verse: Avengers Movie-Verse

Rating: M/NC-17

Characters: Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) and Clint Barton (Hawkeye). Some OCs.

Warnings: There will be smut, with elements of dubious consent, but overall, there is no rape. There will also be angst and hurt/comfort. Oh, and let's not forget an eventual HEA.

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Avengers franchise. I'm just using them for my twisted muse.

No Time for Regrets – Chapter 4

"Wait a sec. You're telling me that two of your best and insane assassins, who happen to be my teammates, have been God knows where for almost a week, and now is the time you decide to come and ask if I have trackers on them? Well Nick, I'd say your attitude towards them is enough to freeze beer."

Nick Fury glared at Tony Stark, who was standing behind his bar, a glass of scotch in his hand and a disapproving expression on his face.

"They are grown and competent agents. And I don't need you to make comments on how I run SHIELD. What I need from you right now is an answer," Fury replied, his voice and eye steely as he crossed his arms. He didn't have time for Stark's sarcasm and drama.

Rolling his eyes, Tony said, "Of course I do. Right after they moved into their floors here I asked them if I could plant a device in their arms. It's like a microchip you'd put in a pet, only, y'know, better quality, a hell of a lot more accurate, and made by me." Beckoning to the director of SHIELD, the genius led the way to the elevator, where they dropped to his personal labs. "They only agreed because I explained that it was undetectable by anything other than my own equipment. Even the high-tech stuff you give your little monkeys on the helicarrier. But I think they forgot they actually had them with all the missions they've been on lately."

Curbing his desire to reply to the insulting tone, Fury watched, silently, as Tony brought up a screen, navigating through until he reached the program for the microchips he and the rest of the Avengers had in their bodies. "All right, this should be telling us where they are right about…now."

A soft chime sounded from the screen and Tony frowned at the co-ordinates.

"Where are they Stark?" demanded Fury.

"About twenty five miles to the west of the town of Catan Lil in Argentina. Pretty remote location, even for a SHIELD agent. And my information tells me that they're actually underground, which is odd. In fact…" Tony trailed off, and in all seriousness, looked at the Africa-American next to him. "By any chance, are you guys looking for a guy named Dr. Venen?"

Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Fury asked, "And if we were?"

"Then Legolas and Nattie are screwed," replied Tony bluntly, all humour dropping.

Fury's demeanour changed and he leaned forward, gesturing for the other man to explain.

"He's real hard to get information on. That's why I'm so surprised you guys found him. The location on the trackers is very close to his last known location. The only reason I've kept tabs on him is because he was a collaborator with the gang that captured me, and we all know that story," Tony responded.

Fury blinked in surprise. "And?" he pressed.

"He's a master in biological warfare. The only reason he doesn't wipe out whoever he wants is because he's science oriented. He likes coming up with the poisons and viruses, and is less enthusiastic about actually using on them on humanity. So from what I know about Venen, he's probably using Clint and Natasha as part of his experiments." Tony paused and scrolled down the data from the chip and read what he needed. "From what the chip tells me, they're both still alive. But there's really high activity in the adrenal glands. Could be something Venen gave them, could be something else. I don't know. But what I do know is that we need to mobilise now."

Nick Fury turned, satisfied with the information given, when he realised Stark was following him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Where do you think Popeye? Going to rescue the fair maiden and bird boy," retorted Tony scathingly, daring Fury to challenge him. "You need me on this. Venen is one sick puppy and you gave your best agents a mission that was way in over their heads with what looks like the wrong info. You'll have to put me in a straightjacket if you don't want me to come."

What the hell, Fury thought, might as well take advantage of Stark wanting to help.

"Fine," snapped Fury as they made their way to the Ironman suit. Tony quickly entered the suit, getting JARVIS to input the co-ordinates of the microchips into his HUD. Both Fury and Ironman were in motion, Fury quickly directing a team of agents to make their way to Argentina with full bio-hazard suits while Stark dropped the director off at his quinjet before jetting off in the direction of Argentina.

Although he wouldn't even admit this to Pepper, Tony feared for the two agents. He liked them (even when Natasha threatened to kill him five different ways with a spoon) and he liked that they lived in his tower. They were a part of his home.

He knew what Venen was capable of. He could only hope that Clint and Natasha could hold out as long as they could.

"God," muttered Natasha as Clint was led away to use the facilities. She leant her head back against the headboard, breathing in and out slowly, willing the burn in her lower abdomen to go away.

She had been tramping everything down since their capture, but there was only so long she could go without even five minutes respite. This situation was unique to her, hell, it was unique to SHIELD in general. No one had ever captured two agents and made them fuck each other. Not to mention they had no way of protection. The threat from Venen was all too real if Clint decided to climax outside of her – and she would rather have Clint within her than used as a gangbang toy for Venen's guards. Armed? She would have chanced it. But unarmed and outnumbered, her fists and feet could only do so much.

The repulsion for Venen conflicted with the anguish. Clint showed his true colours and Natasha was thankful for it. Thankful for the protectiveness he offered her.

But…he was right. He had the potential to hurt her. To get her…pregnant.

The very thought of the word was enough to make Natasha feel like throwing up last night's dinner.

It would ruin everything.

Her career. The carefully built up walls that guarded her heart from the horror that she had seen and done. Her focus. Her sense of self.

Closing her eyes, the red head made sure not to outwardly show her anxiety. What would she do with a child? Natasha had never really known love in her life. She couldn't even remember her parents before their death when she was a child. After their death, a majority of her early memories consisted of being trained as an assassin soon after. This life had been all she had known. The other girls at the training facility never cared for her, and she never cared for them. She had vowed to survive. And she did. She survived the Red Room, survived her first handlers in the USSR taking her body when she was seventeen, and survived ever since. Her existence was based on survival and her independence.

'Love is for children,' she had said to Loki. It was her standard reply to those who joked that she didn't know what love was. She hid the fact that she didn't know what love was, how it felt.

The closest thing she could say was the connection she had with Clint. She looked out for him, worried about him, and liked him. She felt secure in his presence. Natasha had also realised she also cared for the rest of the Avengers team, and cared for the Earth in the way she could protect it.

They cared for her too. She knew Clint probably cared for her more than most, but could you call it love?

"Shit," Natasha muttered, wishing all her thoughts would go away. They were complicating things and interfering with her determination and focus.

The door to the room opened and Clint returned, looking freshly showered and clean. Instantly, Natasha perked up. He looked even better than even before, and as he came further into the room, she swore she could smell him.

"Your turn," grunted one of the guards, levelling an Uzi at her head and mentioning towards the door. "Food will be waiting when you return."

"Fine," she snarled, relishing in the wince on the man's pathetic face from the force of her vehemence. She strode out and was immediately surrounded by guards.

When she felt herself getting warm the red head realised that the pheromones were non-discriminating. While she felt a strong pull towards Clint while they were in the same room, there was also a small pull to the male guards. The knowledge added another layer of stress to her already burdened mind. Arriving at the bathroom, she was glad to be left in private to take care of business and shower. After a week of nothing but a damp cloth to wipe herself down, the hot water on her skin felt almost orgasmic.

Halfway through, as she was soaping up her thighs, curious, Natasha let the fingers of one hand trail up and stroke over her slit. Gasping, she brought her fingers up and smelled her arousal. She was wet, ready.

"Shit, fuck, bugger, all the rest," she cursed. Her body was rebelling against her and she hated it.

Ignoring the need burning at the apex of her legs, the assassin finished off and got herself presentable in her clothes once more.

Stepping out, she held in an aggravated sigh at the amount of guards still outside the door. Was there seriously going to be no opportunity that she could use to her advantage? Finding herself at the centre with weapons trained on her again, she reluctantly moved back to the cell. When something brushed against her lower back, she ignored it. When it happened again, she darted a quick glance to the side and saw one of the guards smirking as they marched along. When a hand touched her again, it was a slow slide over the swell of her ass.

That. Was. It.

Without warning, she lashed out, turning around and slamming her fist straight into the offending guards face, blood erupting from the break in his nose.

The sense of victory at attacking was short lived when her arms were grabbed and twisted behind her back, another man coming In front of her and holding her hair back so he could look her in the eye. "Out here, you're under our control. So if we want to touch you, we get to touch you."

"And you are going to die by my hand. But I'll make sure you see me coming," Natasha spat back, struggling against the arms that held her.

Galled by the woman's spirit, the burly guard lashed out and punched her in the gut. Natasha didn't give him the satisfaction of making a sound. Instead, she glared at him, her eyes alive and dancing with hate.

The rest of the walk went without incident, and Natasha was pushed back into the room. Then, and only then when she was alone with only Clint to hear her, she hissed in pain and felt her stomach, making sure the bastard didn't do too much damage. Lifting up her shirt, she saw an angry red mark swelling slightly off her skin.

"They hit you?" Clint growled, voice dropping low in his anger.

"Yeah, after one of them tried to cop a feel of my ass," replied Natasha, satisfied she would be fine. She had suffered much worse than a simple punch.

Clint cursed and went to her, kneeling so he could inspect the mark.

"Clint, it's nothing," Natasha protested as thick, calloused fingers gently touched the mark. The touch sent such a strong wave of arousal through her she felt her knees go weak.

"It's not nothing. They touched you and hurt you when you could do nothing about it."

"Way to make me feel competent. I was feeling pretty happy after I broke a guy's nose," she said sarcastically.

Clint gave her a quick smirk at hearing she had got a shot in, but he frowned again. "It's not right."

"Of course it isn't. Now, where's the food? I'm hungry," Natasha said before another emotional moment could happen. She was dangerously close to snapping, and her control was wearing thin. Clint sensed it and brought the plate filled with bacon, eggs, toast, and mushrooms to her. Natasha wrinkled her nose at the bacon, which prompted Clint to pinch it off her plate and chow down. He grinned at her in between mouthfuls and said, "I saved you my mushrooms. You know I don't like them much."

This is one of the many reasons why she and Clint worked well together.

Smiling softly at him in thanks, she grabbed the leftovers from his plate and finally fed her starving body.

The flare of arousal she had felt before had dimmed to a low level hum, and she was all too aware of Clint as he watched her eat, all too aware of his breathing, the darkening of his eyes as they roamed her form. Natasha knew he was fighting his urges as much as she was fighting hers, but she took a little bit of pleasure in knowing he was admiring her.

"You're staring," she remarked.

"You're noticing," he replied with a hint of his normal wit.

"You started it."

"You can end it."

"I can't help it you watch me like a hawk."

"Well, a little spider in her web can't fail to draw my attention."

Natasha felt some tension leave her as their banter continued. This was right. This was the way their partnership was meant to be.

"I'm trying to lure you in."

"It's working all too well, but can your web catch me?"

They looked at each other then, and the context changed. No longer banter, it was a form of foreplay. "I'll try," whispered Natasha, placing her plate on the floor and crawling up the bed, her eyes drinking the sight of Clint, stretched out, smelling so wonderful, his muscles practically edible. She knew they shouldn't, but as the flames of her need built, Natasha couldn't help but think that maybe sex was what they needed.

"Tasha," murmured Clint as she straddled him. His hands cupped her hips, and he knew she could feel the evidence of his hard-on against the seat of her jeans. Desire was clouding his judgement, Natasha's presence intoxicating, making him want to forget everything but her.

"Clint," Natasha breathed. One part of her mind was screaming at her to get the hell away, knowing the severity of the consequences.

But if this was the first day and they were finding it hard to resist each other, how could they hold out another day with these pheromones?

Clint seemed to sense her line of thinking, and pulled her close so he could whisper in her ear, "Just kiss me and see if you can get yourself off by rubbing against me. If we can dim down the urge, maybe we can make it."

"Clothes stay on?"

"Clothes stay on," the archer confirmed. It was he who initiated the kiss this time, capturing her hair in his hand and guiding her lips down to his. His pulse spiked as her mouth began to assault his mercilessly, seeking that passion, that fire that had burned earlier. He reacted, one hand at her hip, sliding under the hem of her shirt to caress the skin beneath, the other threaded through her flame-coloured locks to pull their mouths ever closer, slipping inside her mouth and taking, drinking in her fierceness, her determination, her lust.

Intoxicating.

Natasha whimpered as she felt him harden through their jeans, and rocked her hips against him. She was soaked through her panties, and the wet and rough fabric slid along her clit, the pleasure making her moan into Clint's mouth, who was plundering her own, possessing her. She liked the sensation.

"That's it Tasha," Clint whispered hoarsely as her hips rutted against his own. The heat building between their bodies only highlighted the sensations, making every nerve of his stand on edge. His mind was consumed with the searing passion of his lips on hers.

"Oh," she whined, shamelessly grinding down, chasing release through the contact of fabric on fabric. The fact they were acting like teenagers only served to make her climax come faster.

Clint provided the final push, whispering in her ear, "Imagine that my fingers are in you. Stroking that pretty little clit of yours. Making you let go, send you spinning through pleasure…"

With a series of soft cries muffled against the cords of her partner's neck, Natasha came, her folds wet with release and her nub over-sensitised from her frantic dry humping. While not completely satisfying as her normal orgasms would be, it left her feeling a lot less inclined to rip Clint's clothes off now that part of her needs were taken care of.

Crap…what about Clint?

She looked up at him to gauge how he was feeling. She could feel the evidence still pressed against her, but she could tell he was fighting the arousal. Wincing, Natasha wished that he had come too.

His eyes, although clouded with need, were filled with concern. "Okay?"

"Yeah. I feel better. You?"

"I'll deal with it," Clint grunted.

Biting her lower lip in a rare display of nervousness, Natasha said, "If I can-"

"It's fine," interrupted the archer. "For you, for our sake, I can deal with it."

Gratitude filled Natasha, and so, in thanks, she pressed a soft, chaste kiss on his lips.

He understood, and that in itself was priceless.

A/N: Don't worry, the good stuff is coming soon :D

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I wasn't going to put in that frottage scene, but I thought my WONDERFUL reviewers deserved to be thrown a bone.

Please read and review!