Natasha rinsed her long, dark red curls through the cool water. Her brain was grasping at straws, trying to implant a form of escape into her brain. She had taken the twenty minutes to get in the shower, cleaning up all of the sweat and blood she had accumulated today. She was out in five, dripping wet, but ready to go. She wrapped a towel around her chest, not wanting to change back into her smelly gym clothes. After her short term of brainstorming, she formalized her plan.
As the hand signaled her twenty minutes up on her watch, the door slid open. Thanking Tony silently in her mind, Natasha rushed out, practically sprinting to her dresser, where she pulled on jeans and a purple t-shirt, careful not to harm the silver arrow still around her neck. She went with the zip up boots; the laces would have taken too long. She grabbed a jacket, and slipped a gun into the back of her pants and a knife into her pocket. She grabbed a rope she kept near the window for emergencies, then ran to the elevator. She pried open the doors, tied one end of the rope to part of the railing, then tossed it into the abyss of the empty elevator shaft. Natasha easily climbed into the dark shaft, and just as she was fully inside, the doors shut, leaving her in complete darkness.
She was holding onto the edge, her fingers sweaty, her feet dangling beneath her. She shimmied over to the rope, the looped it snugly around a cable attached to the elevator currently sitting at the bottom floor. She had had just enough time to slip on her utility belt, and rather than injure her hands any farther, she clipped it to the rope to take off some of the wait, then began to slid down. She counted to floors, and when she got 24 floors down, she swung over to the doors, and using the strength she had left, she jimmied the doors open, getting just enough room to slip through.
Her feet hit the lobby of the tower, and she took off running. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the empty room; Tony hadn't really decorated it, due to the fact that they never used that entrance. She slipped off her jacket, wrapped it around her hand, then punched out the large glass window, and escaped into the afternoon sun.
Her head turned left and right, looking for a mode of transportation. The street in front of the tower was devoid of motionless cars, so she set her sights closer. Tony had built a garage on the first underground floor of the tower, and the garage door opened up onto the streets of New York. He kept a portion of his collection of vintage cars there, along with Steve's motorcycle and Clint's standard S.H.I.E.L.D. car.
Natasha sprinted to the garage door, facing a wall of solid metal. She scoffed at it, then pulled out a few charges from her utility belt. She attached them to the weak points of the door, pressed a button on her belt, then stood back, waiting for the explosion sure to come.
Back in the lab, Tony's computer started beeping. The trapped Avengers huddled around the screen, wondering what was going on. Tony pressed a few keys, then cursed aloud, a big smile creeping across his face.
"What happened?" Steve asked, not understanding what the flashing red light on the map meant. Bruce, who realized what had happened, began cracking up. "What is it, my friends? What do you find so amusing?" Thor boomed. Bruce kept laughing, but Tony gave one more laugh, then said "Romanoff blew out the garage door."
A shadow passed over Steve's face. "So she's either that lazy.." "Or she's that desperate. There is definitely something she isn't telling us now," said Tony, cutting in to and finishing Steve's sentence.
Natasha moved to the key rack, and pulled off the set of purple keys. Tony had painted them as a prank, once he found out that Clint's suit when he was in the carnival was purple. Clint retaliated, by having J.A.R.V.I.S. paint one Tony's Iron Man suits purple. After that, Avengers tower was in practical war mode for the next few weeks.
Natasha moved to Clint's black car, staring intently at the S.H.I.E.L.D. emblem on the side. A sudden image passed her mind, of that same symbol on Clint's shoulder, stained red, the wearer no longer moving. She shook her head; she couldn't think like that.
She unlocked the door and got in. She put the key into the ignition and started the engine. Michael Buble blasted into her ears, and though she winced at how loud it was turned up, she smiled. Michael Buble was Clint's favorite singer. After a long, grueling mission, he would retreat into the air vents and lay there for a few hours, listening to his music.
The inside of the car smelled like Clint, and Natasha inhaled deeply. For the first time in a few hours, she felt calm, glad that she was taking action. She pressed down the gas and drove up the ramp, speeding up out of the garage, and onto the streets.