A/N: I'm having fun (that never happens) Also, bad language ahead. It seemed appropriate but if you want me to up the rating let me know. I really don't know if anyone is reading this, if you are maybe review, comment? Let me know how I'm doing? I have nothing against Russians, it is for the purpose of the story :)

Clint had a certain animosity towards Russians. The only Russian he had ever met that he didn't despise was Natasha, and he had been sent to kill her originally. Russians weren't any good. He came to that conclusion easily. In fact, they sucked quite a lot.

He thought this as he sat bound in chains in the warehouse, semi drugged on whatever compound they had given to him. He didn't know how long he had been there. He was fairly sure it had only been a few days but he could barely recall being taken in the first place. He remembered his plane landing in Columbus, getting off the plane and walking through the airport… then nothing. He had woken up in a drugged haze back on a different airplane, then was administered some more drugs. The next time he had woken up he was more lucid and took action. He struck out immediately to try and get a handle on the situation—he knew escape was basically impossible at that point, with that many drugs in your system he was lucky he was as lucid as he was. He just wanted to get a handle on his bearings, see if he could find out where he had been taken.

He lamented the fact he hadn't been traveling with his bow, but using the American airlines that would have been impossible. He had taken out 2 individuals after waking up in a car and kicked out the window in the backseat before hurling himself out and rolling onto the pavement. He had heard the tires screech to a stop and knew he only had a few moments. He looked around and saw a billboard that was advertising—not in English. And that was when he realized he was in Russia.

He was so taken aback that he didn't hear anyone approach him from behind and wasn't able to defend himself from the person who whacked him in the back of the head. His vision whited out and he crumpled to the ground groaning. He had barely gotten to his knees when a fist pummeled him across the face, repeatedly. Then he was kicked in the ribs several times, he coughed the wind knocked out of him, and he tried to curl in on himself for protection. He was dragged back towards the car his captors speaking in Russian, he was lifted into a trunk and saw in his blurred vision a needle coming towards him. Instinctively he struggled again but was overpowered and held down by numerous hands as the needle was plunged into her jugular and he lost consciousness once more.

When he woke up again he was in this warehouse, chained. Every few hours someone would come and inject him with a drug, it didn't make him lose consciousness completely but it made his vision swim and he was certain that if he tried he wouldn't be able to stand up. He had tried talking to his captors, the first time someone came in to inject him he had tried to question them but after the drug was put into his bloodstream he found himself with a loose jaw unable to talk.

He was pissed. And wanted to raise hell. He hated feeling helpless. He body ached and was sore. He knew his face looked like shit, one of his eyes had swollen shut and he had run his tongue over his lips to find that it had split open. Fucking Russians.

He heard someone approaching, and braced himself. He didn't bother looking up, his gaze still fixed on the floor. A pair of combat boots came into his frame of vision, they were attached to slender legs. Someone placed their finger underneath his chin and forced him to meet their eye. It was a woman, roughly 5'8" tall. She had silvery blonde hair that was pulled back into a bun. Her face seemed to be symmetrically perfect and Clint found it unnerving. What was also unnerving was the smile she had on her face, lips red as a rose-like she knew a dirty secret that could determine the outcome of the future. She saw Clint giving her a once over and laughed breathily and spoke in accented English "I thought for sure… there was no possible way the Widow would come for you." Clint's heart skipped a beat. He didn't let it show. "We trained her to do better. But, Belova just checked in. And sure enough, the Widow is returning home." She removed her finger and his chin dropped back down to his chest. A wave of panic was threatening to overtake him. "To rescue you. Disappointing for several reasons. One, I will have to acknowledge Belova's correct assumption. It would seem she still may be useful. Two… the fact that Natalia has become so weak to acknowledge that she cares for others… would risk her life for others… it is sickening." The woman paused for a moment, contemplating him. "But no matter. She will be reeducated." He could sense that she was in close proximity, "They call you Hawkeye… and you use a bow and arrow. Such a medieval weapon." He felt a sudden pressure on his right shoulder. He inhaled quickly, and could almost sense the satisfied smirk that had surely appeared on the woman's face. "What happens I wonder," she continued "when you can no longer use your arm?"

He still couldn't make a sound, but he could feel the rip of pain as he felt his arm being pulled out of it's socket. He cursed the woman in his head and breathed through the pain. The sound of more combat boots reached his ears. "She is on her way. Prepare him for transport." Clint still couldn't move or speak as someone came forward and injected him once again, which he was grateful for the first time as it allowed him to escape the fiery pain in his arm.

Mother-fucking Russians.

The moment Natasha landed in Russia she knew she was being watched. She didn't expect anything less. It didn't stop the small tug of fear from making it's way into her mind. Every fiber of her being was fighting against her continuing to make her way further into Russia. She knew what she was walking into, and she knew she probably wouldn't be walking out of it. But she was also determined; if one of them was going to walk out of this it would be Clint. She would make sure of that. Whatever it was Yelena wanted, Clint would be the one walk out alive and return to his family.

She stood outside of the gated white building that resembled a school. Memories flooded back to her, whether real or not she had no idea.

Her hands grappled with another young girl, nameless, faceless. Natalia got the upper hand, her hands made her way to the girl's head and shoulder and with a quick twist and a loud crack the other girl fell to the floor motionless.

Natasha pulled herself back from the memory. She was breathing sharply through her nose and cursed herself for letting the memory take over. She had a job to do. It was the only thing that could possible matter. She strode forward, walking into the lion's den.

Steve and Sam were now on the quinjet with Bruce and Tony. Tony hadn't bothered with any pleasantries, as soon as both of them were on board they had taken off again and were en route to Russia. Jarvis had relayed most if not all of the pertinent information to them both, and they were also able to read hard copies of the files when they got on board.

Shocked didn't even begin to describe the emotion Steve was feeling when he found out what they were dealing with. While he had known Natasha didn't come from a necessarily happy childhood and you didn't become the woman she had become with happy circumstances, he had been sickened to read about the Red Room and what they had put her through. Sam hadn't spoken since he boarded the quinjet, and actually looked physically sick. Steve wanted to say something but found himself unable to speak. After an hour of silent flying Tony spoke up,

"So we can deduce that after Romanoff made the info dump on the internet this…" he paused searching for a proper description "this place decided they wanted to make a move against her. It would have been difficult to do after the Battle of New York, she started working with you Cap. But… with S.H.I.E.L.D. being exposed as HYDRA there weren't any safety nets in place."

Sam spoke for the first time, his voice scratchy from disuse "Except they didn't go after her." He said solemnly. "They went after Barton."

"Clint was the one who recruited Nat to S.H.I.E.L.D." Steve said, he voice dangerously low. "They would have seen that in the data dump, they would know…" he inhaled sharply "They would know they had a special relationship. Going after Clint would guarantee that Nat would pursue them."

"And she wouldn't seek help." Added Bruce.

Tony bit back a retort he wanted to say about the stubbornness of the redheaded Russian, snarky retorts wouldn't do any of them any good. They rode in silence for a few more moments.

"So what's our play?" asked Sam.

Steve thought for a moment, "We find Barton, get him to safety. Then assist Romanoff in any way possible. Let her take the lead, don't engage unless absolutely necessary. She deserves closure." He looked around at the other men in the jet, "Maybe take out a few bad guys on the way." He looked at Bruce, "I think we need you to stay her. Hulk showing up in Russia would be a dead giveaway. Then again, so would Iron Man, but at least Tony can be in stealth mode. Wait her, we'll bring Barton to you."

Bruce nodded, shoving the anxiety that threatened to overtake him down.

"30 minutes out." Said Tony.

"Let's gear up." Steve said.

Natasha was able to enter the compound easily. Too easily. She didn't encounter a single living person. She didn't know what game Yelena was playing. At this point, the wannabe Widow had to know that Natasha was coming for Clint. So what was the point of hiding?

She headed down the seemingly abandoned hallway, memories threatening to overtake her once again. She shoved these down, and made her way further into the compound. Just ahead she could see a door slightly ajar, a strip of light near the bottom and shadows moving so that she knew there were people in the room. She momentarily contemplated getting into the vents and sneaking up on them—but ultimately decided it would be no use. Better to face this problem head on and get Clint to safety as soon as possible. Even if it meant surrendering herself.

The terrible sense of foreboding was shooting through every nerve of her body by the time she got right up to the door. She pushed it open and what she saw nearly made her lose her footing.

She knew this room.

A chair was in the middle, restrainsts attached to the arms and legs. A circular electronic contraption was at the top, which she knew was used to lower onto it's subjects head. The chair was hooked up to a computer and several scientists stood around the room. None of them looked up as she entered.

The thing that surprised Natasha the most was the woman who was waiting standing next to the chair, her silvery blonde hair as perfect as she last remembered it being. Except, she had thought this woman dead. Obviously she was very much alive.

The woman's ruby red lips split into a smile, and she spoke in accented English, "Welcome home Natalia… my little spider."

Madame B... fuck.