Author's Note: Wow! I'm posting really early compared to the last several days!
I probably should have mentioned this before. But, like with "Long Time Comin'," I'm tying in some comic book canon into my own take on the movie canon. There are things that you'll start seeing in this chapter-and the next one-that come straight from the comics.
As always, hope you enjoy, and let me know what you think! Hope all of you are having a wonderful holiday! ~lg
oOo
Natasha woke to the sound of a slamming door and footsteps headed their way. She'd sat on the cold floor all night, curled into Steve's side as his heartbeat soothed the frazzled nerves brought on by the torture session. Her mind repeated her mantra in preparation for what was likely to come, and she resolved not to surrender to these people. She wasn't Natalia Romanova or the Black Widow that they wanted. She was Natasha Romanoff, SHIELD agent and woman who cared for her friends.
When she lifted her head, Steve met her eyes with a resolute gaze of his own and removed his arm from her shoulders. The footsteps grew louder, and he scrambled to get off the floor and onto one of the bunks before their captors saw them. He'd just settled on the thin mattress across the room, his gaze apologetic, as the guards came around the corner. With them came the man from the day before. As it had in the mall, his face caused a raging headache to slam into Natasha's skull, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew him. But she couldn't remember him. Just the sheer terror he stirred in her.
He laughed. "Yes, Natalia, I've returned."
"My name is Romanoff, Natasha A. Senior Special Agent. Serial number 98734520." She murmured the words softly.
He just chuckled again and turned to Steve. "And who do we have here? Your partner? Hawkeye? That is who the rumors say you've recruited into your schemes."
Steve opened his mouth to respond, but Natasha caught his eye. She gave him a firm but quick shake of her head, and he snapped his mouth closed. Better she take the punishment than they discover that he was Captain America. They'd likely dissect him just to get at the serum in his blood.
The man at the door glanced at her again. "Who is he, Natalia?"
"My name is Romanoff, Natasha A. Senior Special Agent. Serial number 98734520." She felt her mind slipping into that calm place where she went when faced with something beyond her ability to manipulate. The Black Widow had been bred to endure torture, but her creators had built in one minor flaw. The color red. She could handle it in small doses, but she rarely wore it and never liked it. Red—particularly that bloody shade—was her undoing. Only one other time had she come so close to it, and Clint had been there to anchor her in reality. It had taken her a month to recover fully from that, though she still had nightmares she couldn't quite place and snippets of conversations she'd never had in her life flicker through her mind at odd times.
The man at the door made a single motion with his head, and the guards opened it and stepped inside. Steve jumped to his feet, but Natasha shook her head again. Their captor chuckled. "You have him trained well, Natalia."
Steve snarled at the man. "I just know how to take orders and what's good for me."
The man laughed. "I will learn all about you, my friend. Do not fear. But, for now, I have other matters to attend."
The guards yanked Natasha to her feet, dragging her from the cell as she tried to prepare herself for what was to come. They were taking her back to that horrid room, the place of her unmaking. Fear unlike any she'd known in years welled up, and she fought the urge to beg for mercy. There would be no mercy where she was going. She just had to resist, had to find a way to stay Natasha Romanoff and the woman that Steve thought he knew. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw him once again behind those bars, staring at her with big blue eyes that looked both angry and heartbroken. He understood what would happen to her, and he hated what it would mean when she was returned to that cell. But their captors also knew that she'd protect him. He had been taken to control her.
Natasha held his gaze until she was dragged out of the corridor, blinking in the bright light around her. Just as she disappeared, Steve began fighting. He'd listened to her while she was there, but his instincts had finally gotten the better of him. If Clint didn't find them soon, he'd do something that would get both of them hurt.
The doors to the room loomed closer, and Natasha closed her eyes as they pushed her through the door. The room was entirely red save for the metal table in the middle of it. The carpet hushed their footsteps, and the walls had been soundproofed. She knew because she'd been through this before. Fighting with everything in her, she managed to break free from her guards and kicked the feet out from under one of them. She couldn't let them strap her to the table! She couldn't go through this! Not again! She couldn't lose another man she loved to the Red Room!
A sharp jab in her neck burned as the sedative entered her bloodstream. She continued to fight but, like in Istanbul, everything shifted out of focus. She felt herself going under and struggled against it. "My name is Romanoff, Natasha A. Senior Special Agent. Serial number 98734520."
Blackness closed in. When she woke again, she was strapped to the table, her body begging for relief from multiple bruises that healed quickly but not fast enough. There were fresh cuts on her face from her short fight, and the blobs that were people quickly defined themselves. They'd given her a much smaller dose this time. She rolled her head away from them. "My name is Romanoff, Natasha A. Senior Special Agent. Serial number 98734520."
A new voice entered the conversation. "Yes, Agent Romanoff, we're aware of SHIELD's training in resisting torture."
Natasha's head snapped around, and she blinked up into a face she'd seen multiple times around the Helicarrier. The woman smiled. "Now that I have your attention, let's begin again."
oOo
Istanbul was foggy when the Avengers arrived. Clint cringed slightly as he set the Quinjet down through it. He was operating on instruments here, the humidity preventing him from seeing much of anything save vague shapes of warehouses as the plane descended from the sky. After Fury and McNeil expressed such firm trust in him, he'd taken matters into his own hands, dismissing their pilot and announcing that Stark would fly with the jet and not on his own. The billionaire protested loudly with everything that was said until they arrived in Istanbul. Clint smirked once the plane touched down. "Happy now, Stark?"
Stark blinked at the fog. "I had no idea."
"Yeah, and we wouldn't want you to flatten yourself against one of those buildings," Clint muttered as he unbuckled from his seat. "That suit of yours might come in handy."
Thor peered out the windows. "Is it always this. . .dim?"
"In the winter, yeah." Clint waited for the men to back away so he could stand. "The humidity's pretty high today, and the temp's low. Which likely means snow. If that happens, we need to get outta here fast."
Thor frowned. "Why?"
"Because, if you thought the snow in New York was bad, you have no idea what bad really is." Clint pointed outside. "That fog isn't enough to slow down city traffic right now. If it starts snowing, it just might."
None of the other men commented as he walked out the back of the Quinjet and into the cold. It was only about forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit outside, but the mugginess made it a touch colder. At least, to Clint. Of course, that could be because he wore his sleeveless uniform without a jacket. If they got into trouble, he wanted to be able to fight his way out.
The temperature inside the warehouse was quite a bit warmer. Clint looked around, noting the absence of anything save broken crates and an old trash can lid. Dirty windows turned the light a golden color, and shadows only half-hid their secrets. Trash blew through the area as the Avengers entered the room, and Stark sniffed inside his suit. "Nice place."
Clint glared at him. "Let's take a look around."
The four men spread out. Thor, having no idea what to look for, just circled the perimeter and listened for any sign of someone approaching their position. Bruce kept his eyes glued to the ground, flashlight in hand, as Stark obviously scanned the area using his suit. Clint located a rusted ladder leading to a catwalk and quickly climbed it. It felt good to be back in the field, to be doing something even if that was trying to locate their missing agents. Hill had already begun the face trace on the Helicarrier, but, so far, Steve and Natasha's captors had been careful. That worried Clint more than a little. If someone knew enough about SHIELD to avoid any and all cameras. . . .He pushed the thought away.
From the catwalk, he had a good view of the area. He narrowed his eyes as he studied the tire tracks into and out of the warehouse. This place wasn't used for much, and he was grateful for the thick layer of dust. It clearly outlined the movement patterns of those who had come to the meet. Aksoy had brought the vehicle, along with three bodyguards. Natasha had arrived alone, her footsteps clear from the door. Sometime later, three. . .four more people joined the meet, and then someone—likely Steve—ran into the center of the room from the just below the ladder Clint had climbed. Odds were good that it was Steve who used the trash can lid to disarm a few people. The center of the room, where the fight took place, was a hopeless mangle of smudges and footprints.
Bruce suddenly doubled over and picked up a piece of debris. "Hey, guys." He held up his finding, and Clint cursed. Even from this distance, he recognized a hypodermic needle. Bruce looked up to the catwalk and met his gaze. "There's still something in it."
Clint nodded. "Bag it. We'll take it back to the carrier and identify it."
As Bruce produced a plastic bag and dropped the syringe into it, Clint watched Stark duck under the catwalk. A moment later, the billionaire spoke. "Hey, Legolas, get down here."
Clint moved to the ladder and half climbed, half slid down it. He joined Stark and felt his heart sink as he did. The billionaire knelt next to a pool of blood.
oOo
Back on the Helicarrier, Clint left Stark and Bruce in the lab while he reported in to Fury. They'd found the syringe and the blood, took samples of both and detailed photographs of the crime scene. But the entire warehouse complex was abandoned, which was why Natasha had chosen it for the meet. And that worried Clint. Nat had asked for and received the meet with Aksoy. That meant one of two things. Either Aksoy had betrayed her, or someone within SHIELD was working for the enemy. As he voiced these concerns to Fury, the director listened and then promised to get someone working the internal angle right away. Clint walked out of the office, thankful that he didn't have to manage that as well. He wasn't sure he could investigate an internal breach after he'd been so recently compromised.
Instead of hovering, Clint forced himself to head to the target range. He spent the next hour putting arrows into targets while giving Bruce and Stark the room to work. Both men had said they'd contact him as soon as they knew something, and Clint trusted that they'd do their jobs. He emptied a quiver and then, after collecting his arrows, found Thor lounging in the mess hall. Pouring a cup of their strong coffee—almost as strong as he liked it—he joined the Asgardian in the wait.
Thor eyed him. "You are worried."
Clint snorted at the obvious opening. "Yeah." He sipped the lukewarm coffee. "Nat's got some things in her past. . . ." He shook his head. "Let's just say what your brother did to me is actually pretty close to what she's been through. Only our techniques aren't as refined as his were."
Thor narrowed his eyes. "I was unaware that your world had the ability to control another."
"Control, no." Clint shrugged. "And yes. It's called brainwashing here, Thor, and it can be done to someone willingly or unwillingly. In Natasha's case. . . ."
Thor met his eyes. "She is strong. She will fight it."
"I know." Clint decided to be perfectly honest. "And that's what concerns me."
The two men lapsed into silence until Bruce asked them to come to his lab. They found Stark hovering over a computer with a complex chemical compound on the screen, muttering to himself and lamenting the absence of JARVIS. He glanced up when Clint and Thor entered, but he didn't turn from his work.
Bruce met them across the room, at another computer. "I got a preliminary DNA analysis back," he said softly, his focus on Clint.
The archer nodded. "Okay. What's it say?"
Bruce shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, the blood's human, and there's a match in the system. It'll take another day to get definitive results."
Clint shook his head. "We don't have another day, Doc."
Bruce agreed silently and turned the screen so he could see. Clint cursed. The image that stared back to him was one of the agents that Erickson had treated—the man who had gone AWOL after resigning from SHIELD and leaving his wife. A man that Clint had "helped" Loki "recruit" into their cause. He met Bruce's eyes. "You're sure?"
"As sure as I can be," Bruce replied.
Clint cursed a second time. "Doc, you realize this guy's probably dead, right? That there was too much blood left in Istanbul for him to be alive."
Bruce nodded. "I know."
Clint ran a hand over his face, thinking. Why would a former SHIELD agent be in Istanbul, working with whomever had captured Natasha and Steve? Unless he was working for the enemy. Clint turned and reached for a computer. His access code wouldn't work, though, and he nearly growled as he strode from the lab. He went directly to the bridge and walked over to Hill. "I need everything you have on Agent James Saddler." As she began working to compile the file, he frowned. "And get my access reinstated. I need to build a file on this guy myself."
Hill nodded, not taking offense to his growled words as her hands flew over the computer screen. She glanced at him. "Try your access code now."
Clint typed his password in and smiled slightly as he was able to access the computers. "Thanks." He took the empty seat and ignored Hill as she walked away. He needed to track this guy's movements, and he needed to do it now. Somehow, James Saddler knew—or had known—what was about to happen with Natasha, and Clint intended to learn what that was.
oOo
The hours after Natasha was taken dragged by, and Steve took to pacing the cell while resisting the urge to punch the wall. The dim light worked on him, making him wish for sunlight and warmth. But the cold seeped into his bones, slower than average but ever present.
He should have fought! He should have listened to his instincts and taken out the three guards. They were no match for him. His enhanced strength and reflexes allowed him to fight even without his shield. But something had stopped him. Someone had stopped him.
They didn't know who he was. That thought wasn't as much of a comfort as it should have been. He was content to play Hawkeye for a while, making up stuff about a circus he'd never been in, if it helped Natasha get through this. But the reality was that they would eventually get the answers from her. Steve didn't know Natasha like Barton did. He couldn't put together the pieces of her life and keep her from shattering.
Thinking of last night made his heart clench, and he smacked one of the bars with his open palm. It stung, but he ignored it. When Natasha had been thrown into the cell, his heart had broken a little. Her beautiful skin was covered in newly-formed bruises, and her lip bled from a cut on the side. But it was the weak way she'd lifted herself from the ground, as if she had no strength left, that concerned him. Then, when she scrabbled away from him while stating her name, rank, and serial number, he'd wanted to be sick. This wasn't just torture. For a woman as strong as Natasha Romanoff to lose touch with reality. . . .Steve shook his head. He couldn't even imagine what she must be going through.
But he'd learned his lesson from Barton. Instead of asking questions, he simply and quietly assured her of who he was. And he waited. She had invited him into her world after that, and Steve figured out that Natasha responded best when given her own space. It was a powerful lesson, one he wouldn't forget for the rest of his life—however long or short that might be. No matter what happened, he'd be right here, with her, until the Avengers found them.
I know what it's like to have someone override your own will, tell you what to think, what to believe, what to do. And to believe it's your own will, your own thoughts, and your own beliefs. Natasha's words from six months ago, when she'd first found Steve in the Helicarrier's gym and asked him to help Barton, echoed in his mind now. She knew. She realized what was coming and had fought it in the only way that she could. By restating her name, rank, and serial number, she was affirming her identity to herself.
Steve cursed, a rare occurrence for him. But this situation—this completely messed up mission that should have waited until someone more qualified than he was could have been Natasha's backup—certainly warranted a little profanity. The only advantage they had right now was that these guys had no idea who he was. He understood why Natasha ordered him to be quiet, and he resolved not to let that bit of information slip out. It was the only way he could stand by her.
As time crept by, Steve paced and wondered what she was going through. Last night—or yesterday morning, telling time was fluid in a place like this—Natasha said she'd be okay. But he knew the lie for what it was. This wasn't just a tight spot during a mission that Natasha could escape after receiving physical injuries. She faced the absolute destruction of everything she'd known. It frightened him that he could lose yet another woman he'd come to care about so strongly. Clenching his jaw, Steve allowed himself to think of those emotions, of how he felt for Natasha and what he would do if she couldn't resist this new indoctrination. If she became this Natalia that had been mentioned. He would tear the world apart to get her back.
Dropping onto one of the bunks, he leaned his head against the wall. Yes, he loved her. Loved her in a way that he hadn't loved a woman save Peggy. Even then, he couldn't really compare the two. He and Peggy had lost their chance in the war. It stung even now to think that he should be in the final stages of his life, perhaps holding the hand of a woman he'd married seventy years ago. But he'd had no choice but to crash that plane, and that sacrifice meant the end of what he could have shared with Peggy. Then, Natasha entered his life. When they first met, he picked up on the intrigue she had about him but held himself in check. It wasn't until they'd been sent to retrieve Trish Starr that he allowed himself to care. During that week they'd reconned Trish's safe house and had plotted her escape, he and Natasha had come to an understanding about one another. He didn't approve of some of her tactics, and she didn't like his idealism. They were polar opposites. But they were both human, both lonely. He'd seen that loneliness—the woman who wanted to be loved the way Barney Barton loved Trish Starr—underneath the tough exterior that Natasha portrayed. Steve suspected Clint Barton also saw it and loved her in his own way, a way that wasn't the same thing that Natasha wanted. Some people make better friends than lovers. People like Natasha and Barton weren't cut out for the kind of life that Steve wanted. They didn't have children and live happily ever after.
Could Steve give that up? If that was what it took to get Natasha through all of this, could he surrender his own desires for the family he could have had in the forties with Peggy? It wasn't fair to Natasha or himself to hold either of them to expectations from seventy years ago. Back then, women thought differently. A woman like Natasha, who had been trained from a young life to murder and destroy, didn't see children as a blessing. They saw children as tools, leverage to get someone else to do what they wanted. That kind of cold ruthlessness shook Steve as he realized just why Natasha shied away from any of his advances. She knew what his expectations were and couldn't give them to him. So, she'd distanced herself, had resisted anything that would lead herself down that path while still enjoying his company. That he'd put her in that sort of conflict hurt more than he could understand.
He'd been so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't hear footsteps approaching. "Well, well, well." The voice yanked him back to the present. "If it isn't Captain America himself. The idol of the United States."
Steve slowly stood to his feet to study the man standing in front of him. Wearing black turtleneck sweater and black slacks, the man stared back, his dark eyes sparkling with vengeful mirth. His long thin face had sharp features and a salt-and-pepper goatee. Steve stood in front of him with his feet shoulder-width apart and his arms folded across his chest. "How'd you know?"
The man's smirk twisted his features. He glanced over his shoulder as two guards literally drug Natasha between them. "A little spider told me."
Steve stared at Natasha's form, her head hanging and her hair covering her face. She clenched her fists, visibly trembling as she was tossed unceremoniously into the cell. Steve rushed to catch her, not wanting her to be harmed by flopping on the cold ground. As his arms closed around her body and he kept her from falling, the man chuckled. "So honorable," he murmured. "Do not worry, my dear captain. I will get to you soon enough."
Steve glared as the man left, his arms tightening around Natasha as he eased her to the ground in her corner. She muttered under her breath, stating her name, rank, and serial number, as she looked at him. Her eyes were dull, lacking the life that typically sparkled in her beautiful face. That face now sported two black eyes and several cuts, but the bruises from last night looked to be healing quickly. When she met his eyes, tears started trickling down her face. "I'm sorry."
Steve blinked at her. "What?"
"I told them." She let out a shuddering breath as she curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her legs and burying her face in her knees. "I couldn't help it. I told them about you."
Steve truly wanted to give her space to recover, but he couldn't let this go. He settled on the ground next to her and put his arms around the ball she'd made. "It's okay," he whispered into her hair, ignoring the stench of the cell and the inevitable torture she'd gone through. "I understand."
She wept silently, the only evidence the occasional sniffle and the shaking of her shoulders. The entire time, Steve kept her close to his body and vowed to destroy this place. He just needed to get loose, and then Captain America wouldn't be so golden anymore.
~TBC
