Here's the next installment, as promised! I was busy for a while getting some other ideas down but I promise I'm not going to forget about this story!

#

"Wait, what?"

Nat looks at me like I'm stupid. I guess that's warranted. "Karakoff's gone through assistants so fast because none of them were willing to go through with the testing. Ryder was the first to agree."

"What did they do to him?" Clint asks.

"Improved reflexes, vision, sped up healing. He's physically enhanced but he doesn't have much of the training. Just enough to make sure he stays under control and doesn't accidentally throw a chair across a room or something." Nat shrugs. "It's a very rough draft, but impressive given the circumstances." I bet I know the rest of what she's thinking. Still nowhere as good as me.

"So you're saying he's going to be up to walking out of here now?" I just really don't see it. He didn't look like the kind of person to be able to casually rip a car door off its hinges. He seemed so…so normal. But I guess if he hadn't had any training, it makes sense. I'm beginning to rethink assuming he didn't sign up for this craziness.

"I hope so."

"Well, even if he can, that room is surrounded by guards. How are we gonna get him out of there?" Clint raises an eyebrow. "They've probably got someone at his bedside."

"I have a plan. Really, Clint, at this point, how can you not trust me?" She sounds so betrayed. It's good to hear them back at the old banter again. I guess nothing fazes Nat. If I was accused of murder and on the run from my own agency, I don't think I'd have the casual ability to joke around like that. Maybe it's something that comes with time.

"Because the last time I went with one of your plans I was in a hospital for a month and we both almost got kicked out of S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"I promise, this one is better." Nat glances up. She's looking at the air vent, and I know what she's thinking. Oh no. I hate these kind of plans.

Sure enough, Five minutes later I'm standing on Clint's shoulders on one of the beds, with Nat grabbing my wrists to pull me into the air vent. I'm none too fond of the vents, not because I'm particularly claustrophobic, but the dust is a killer. And coughing is a certain giveaway when you're trying to be stealthy. I'm also prone to bashing my head on the low ceilings.

Nat leads the way unerringly through the vents, removing a locked grating between the normal wards and the secure area where Ryder is being kept. She reaches an opening and motions for us to stop. I can hear voices below us with strong British accents, and then Agent Bitch-face's grating tone.

"The hell he can just waltz off whenever he likes. This mission isn't over, and we're no closer to Romanoff. And that idiot thinks he can go spend some "quality time" (I can just see the air quotes in her voice) with his little tagalong."

I must have tensed up, because Clint nudges me and signs, Don't let her bother you. She's just letting off steam. She's just jealous.

She ought to be. I grin at him. Nat shakes her head.

Quit flirting, you idiots.

How are we going to get in there? It looks like Bitch-face (The look on Nat's face is so good. Wish I could get a picture of that; it would be epic blackmail material) isn't planning on leaving anytime soon. And neither are the goons.

I took care of it. Nat glances at her watch. Give me three minutes. I really hope I can last that long without getting the black lung from all this dust. The real hazards of being an agent. Forget getting shot at or jumping across streets on the top of buildings. The way my life is going, I'll die of some weird British plague in the air vent dust.

About three minutes later, there's some kind of muffled thudding and people start shouting. Nat, what was that?

A bomb. Don't look at me like that, it was a very small one. In a truck. On the street. I hear Bitch-face hurrying out in the hall, yelling for Clint. She tries to get him on comms, and he shrugs when we hear her yelling.

"Damnit, Barton, why are you deaf?"

I'm not that deaf. Nat elbows us both and then kicks out the ceiling grate, dropping into the room. I can hear someone yell and the very distinctive sound of Nat dropping them to the floor. I jump down, almost breaking my ankle in the process. These floors are slick. Nat has both the guards on the ground and is already removing the IV from a very out of it and confused Ryder's arm.

"Wha…did you fall out of the ceiling?" He slurs. "Were you up there the whole time? Wow your hair is bright. Who are you?" Nat looks at me. She might be able to charm ballistic missile launch codes out of a drunk Czech rebel leader, but this is not her forte.

"The good guys," I say. I know it's cliché, but when I had my wisdom teeth out in college, and when I was on pain meds after Kirgawe, I couldn't understand much more than a five year old. He's lost a lot of blood and who knows what kind of drug cocktail they give you here in England.

He gestures expansively to the guys on the floor, almost rolling himself out of the bed. "Thought those were the good guys."

"They're not. They want to kill you." I mean, it's not that much of a stretch, they do plan on using him as bait to catch Nat, but I kind of feel guilty. Honestly though, he probably won't remember it later.

"Oh. I don't want to die. I got shot and that hurts. I didn't think it would hurt so much." He's getting louder and more animated as he becomes a little more alert, if no more coherent. Clint catches my attention.

Make him calm down or Nat's gonna knock him out and that won't do us any favors.

"Shhh. If they hear you, they'll find us." I feel like I'm playing one of those games with kids to keep them quiet on a long car ride, or in a funeral home. Not that I've ever done that, but I've seen other parents using some game of 'don't attract attention' to give the kids a good reason to be quiet.

Apparently I'll be a terrible mom. Ryder doesn't calm down one bit. "You're not going to leave me here with them, are you?" I put a hand over his mouth and he jumps, staring at me accusingly.

"No. We're going to help you but you have to be quiet." Nat is very threateningly holding onto the IV stand. I'd prefer not to deal with Ryder both loopy and concussed. He nods, and I pull my hand back. "So just be quiet."

Clint and Nat both get an arm under one of Ryder's. "Can you walk?" Nat asks, and he shakes his head no, dramatically.

"They shot me."

"Yeah, well, you heal fast. Remember?" He looks at her like she said he had three heads.

"Just see," I mutter, losing patience as well. Someone's going to be here any minute.

He nods obediently and stands up as much on his own as he can. He's wincing and gritting his teeth, but he's moving. Unfortunately, at that pace, we won't make it out of the hospital by next weekend.

"Plan F," Nat mutters, grabbing his arm and swinging it over her shoulder again. "Hen, get the bed under the vent."

"No way. I already think I'm gonna get black lung from whatever awful dust mites live in there and you want to take him in with an open wound?" I have an idea. Not a great one, but an idea. "Can we try plan G?"

Ten minutes later the guards are tied up securely, one in the bed in Ryder's hospital gown (I made Clint deal with that; I have no desire to be mentally scarred for life) and the other hidden in the bathroom. Ryder is wearing one of the guard uniforms, the one that fit the least terribly, and leaning on Clint's shoulder. We step out into the hall and I yell, "Man down! The Black Widow is here! She got away from us and she's somewhere in the building!" (Nat is already hotwiring an ambulance for our getaway).

"We've got to get through or this guy's gonna bleed out!" Clint shouts, elbowing his way through the mass of doctors, nurses, and a few MI7 guards rushing in. We're down the hall before anyone discovers we were lying.

Nat, true to her word, is ready in the street below us. I smash a foot through the glass and Clint knocks the rest of it free. Ryder glances down at the roof of the vehicle two stories below us, and his face turns even whiter, which I didn't think was possible.

"We have to jump?"

"Nope." I shove him forward. "You don't. You just have to fall." He lands very ungracefully, but at least we didn't have to argue. My landing from a planned jump wasn't much better, and then Clint has to go and show me up by flawlessly sticking a superhero pose even as Nat's already starting to drive off. Behind us, I can hear someone yelling, and it sounds like a shot ricochet, but we're free. And now, more than likely, all very, very wanted. Yup, this is exactly how I thought today was gonna go.