Chapter 10

Alone in the Dark

August 3, 2004

Clint dropped the food and raised his hands. His whole situation had been turned upside down, in the course of only a few seconds.

"Stay still!" Natasha said. She kicked the door shut behind them before she circled around to point the gun at his face. "I have a few questions. You better give me answers."

"I've given you a whole bunch already," Clint said. "What's the matter? Still don't believe me?"

"Oh, I believe you alright. I just don't know what you and SHIELD plan on doing with me now."

"Me and SHIELD?" Clint asked. "You think -"

"You listen to me. I am done being jerked around." She took a step forward, forcing him to back up against the door. "So tell me, how many agents are here?"

"Wait, what?"

"How many?!" Natasha yelled. "You got dogs outside? Snipers? Tell me!"

"There's no one," Clint said. "I saved you from SHIELD. It's just you and me now."

Natasha kept the gun on him as she nervously looked around the room. "Don't you come in here!" she yelled. "I'll kill him!"

Clint could hear her anxious, unsteady breaths as he saw the gun tremble in her hand. Pulling himself together, he looked beyond the gun barrel and into her eyes. There was no malice there, only fear and confusion. He had to take a chance..."You don't wanna do that," he said.

"I'll kill him!" she said again. Natasha kept breathing heavily over the next minute as she waited for a response.

"No one's gonna come," Clint finally said. "I told you before. It's just you and me."

"Oh God," Natasha said. She laid the gun on the desk and sat down on her bed. "I am so sorry for this. That was totally paranoid."

"It's alright," Clint said. He retrieved his gun and holstered it, before he went to the bed and sat down next to her. "People haven't given you much reason to trust." Slowly, he slid his arm around her back.

Natasha jerked away from his touch for a moment, before she settled down. "I'm sorry," she said again as she lowered her head in shame. "Thanks for saving me, Agent Barton. Don't know if I really deserve this. I've done so much wrong in my life."

"Hey, everyone has," Clint said. "My hands aren't completely clean either...By the way, you can call me 'Clint.' Everyone at SHIELD calls me 'Agent Barton' as if that's all I am."

"Okay, Clint."

"You can also call me 'Hawkeye' if you want."

Natasha looked up at him and cracked a smile. "You really go around calling yourself 'Hawkeye?'"

"What, like you don't go around calling yourself the 'Black Widow?'" Clint replied.

Natasha's smile faded as she turned away. "Ivan gave me that nickname...because of all the people I've killed."

"Sorry about that," Clint said. He pulled Natasha in and embraced her. "If it means anything to you, I kind of know what it's like."

"What do you mean?"

"I lost my parents too, when I was young," Clint said. He stopped and sighed before he continued. "But I guess things really started after my brother and I ran off to join the carnival."

Clint sat at the kitchen island with a few MREs cooking in front of him. He had only come down from Natasha's room a little while ago, and already it was dark. The two of them must have sat on her bed talking for hours.

Really should turn on the lights, he thought as he looked out at the darkened rooms and halls of the house. Just as soon as these are done.

He had heard Natasha turning off the shower upstairs just a minute ago. He wanted to have the food ready for her before she came down, served on plates rather than in the cheap plastic bags and cardboard boxes that that they had come in. Don't know why I even wanna bother, he thought. Either way, the food would still taste cheap.

The stairs creaked, drawing Clint's attention as Natasha came down to the kitchen. She was wearing jeans, as well as a white tank top underneath a black leather jacket. The clothes had a casual appeal, and they hugged her body in a very flattering way. Clint found it hard not to stare.

"I found these in the closet," Natasha said. "Hope the owner doesn't mind."

Clint laughed and smiled. "I think we're way past that point." He kept looking her in the eye as she walked inside and took a seat across from him. What is this? he thought. Some kind of reverse Stockholm Syndrome? Just hours ago she had been a captured enemy agent, someone whom he had feared and kept in shackles. Now, he could only think of getting closer to her.

"What's all this?" Natasha asked as she pointed at the cardboard boxes lying all over the kitchen island.

"Meals!" Clint declared. "Ready to eat!" He glanced down at the food as he realized that they would need another minute. "Think they're still heating up though..."

Natasha stared at the MREs with an uneasy look on her face. The idea of food cooking inside a cardboard box clearly seemed strange to her. "Is this an American thing?"

"Uh...yeah. Sort of. I promise you, the food's not as weird as it looks."

"If you say so..." Natasha said. She sat down across from him, but she strangely avoided making eye contact.

"What's bothering you?" Clint asked.

"How exactly was my work helping terrorists?"

Clint sighed as he suppressed a selfish desire to eat and chat with her. Right back to business, he thought. "That's what we've been trying to find out. All we've gotten have been little clues here and there. I don't even know where to start. Guess I could ask what you guys were buying in Chemnitz."

"I don't know...My memory's kind of hazy."

"Think," Clint said.

"I'm trying," Natasha said. "They had me drugged. I was only sent there to fight."

"Did you see those things at least?"

"I didn't really get a good look at them," Natasha said. "They were weird though. I think I saw some dim blue lights..."

"Think they could've been missile components?" Clint asked. "Prototypes for a new drone or spy satellite? I don't know...I'm just throwing out ideas here. Whatever those things were, they had to be important. The terrorist I killed was supposed to chip in fifty million euros."

"So that's why we were short," Natasha said. "Wonder why they cost that much though. Murati said he found those things in the woods."

"That's right," Clint replied. "I heard that too. Didn't think he was being serious..." He stopped as he tried to remember more. "Hmm. The terrorists were talking about these things too. They were real annoyed with the way people 'idolized' American power. Said something about bringing on the 'Twilight of the Idols.'"

"What did you say?" Natasha asked.

"Uh, 'Twilight of the Idols?'" Clint asked.

"Idols." Natasha said. "A way of saying 'false gods.' These people are big on religion."

"And?" Clint asked.

"Twilight of the Gods," Natasha said. "That's a popular, if inaccurate interpretation of the word 'Ragnarok.' The prophesied end of the Norse Gods."

"I'm still not following this," Clint said.

"Replace the gods with America," Natasha said. She stopped and looked away for a second, clearly disturbed by her own words. "Ivan has some kind of fascination with the Red Skull. He sees him as some kind of twisted role model."

"Now how the hell did we get to the Red Skull?" Clint asked.

"He praised the Skull for doing things his own way...for almost bringing 'Ragnarok' upon his enemies."

"Yeah, I know my history," Clint said. "He nearly blew up half the world with his own special bombs."

"Bombs powered by the gods themselves."

"Which have been lying around for years..." Clint said, as a realization suddenly dawned on him. "Off the grid. Never picked up and tracked by any government."

"And now he's gonna use those things to destroy America."

"We have to stop him," Clint said.

"I agree," Natasha said. "Call SHIELD. I'll tell you guys where..." She paused and looked out the window as if she had heard something. "...they are."

Clint heard it too. It was the soft whirring of helicopter blades in the distance. "Hey, Natasha..." he said, trailing off as he heard the sounds get louder and louder. The helicopter came in fast, until it seemed to come to a hover right outside the house. "Get down!"

They hit to the kitchen floor as machine gun fire ripped through the walls. The bullets came in long bursts that sailed high over their heads.

"They're just spraying!" Clint yelled.

"It's suppressive fire," Natasha said. "They're coming in!"

"I'll kill the lights," Clint said. He crawled to the light switch on the wall between the kitchen and the hall. Broken glass and wood rained down on him as he went. Clint raised his arm to protect his eyes, before he realized that he had given up several precious seconds. Hurry up! he thought to himself. Looking up, he saw that the switch was just three feet away. He lunged forward and swept his hand down on it.

The kitchen turned black, just like the rest of the house. The only lights they could see now came from several flashlight beams sweeping in through the windows. Outside, someone shouted orders in Russian.

"That's not SHIELD," Clint said.

"No," Natasha said. She crawled to put the kitchen island between her and the door. "We wouldn't be that lucky."

Need to get out of here, Clint thought. "Here!" he said as he tossed his handgun to Natasha. "Hold them off!"

The gun had barely settled in her hands when she saw Clint roll to his feet and disappear into the darkness. Focus, Natasha thought. She assumed a proper grip on the weapon and raised it up by her face. There was no time to stress, even if her wounded shoulder was already hurting again.

With one loud crash, the kitchen door burst open. Natasha snapped up and fired three rounds at the first man coming in. He took it all in the chest and fell back onto the men behind him. Good, Natasha thought. The doorway was a chokepoint and she intended to use it as such.

The next attacker was quick to respond though. Without bothering to get through the door or over his own fallen teammate, he simply sprayed his rifle at her from outside. Natasha dropped back down behind the island and rolled to the other side of it.

"He's okay!" someone yelled.

"Get up!" another man yelled. "Out of the way!"

Natasha heard the first man curse as he pushed himself up. Crap, she thought. They're armored. Clint's Glock packed more punch, and more bullets, than the PPK that she was used to. Even so, it would be no match against men with body armor and assault rifles.

Still crouching, she swung out from around the island as she heard the men moving in again. She was too late to prevent their entry this time. They split up as they entered the kitchen, trying to encircle her. Natasha fired several shots into the nearest one. Blood sprayed from his shoulder, but she knew that he wasn't down for good. She couldn't stop and pick her shots though. Not with several others already aiming at her.

She saw several bright muzzle flashes as she jumped sideways toward the kitchen exit. Rolling on the floor, she shot at another man's legs. He screamed and tilted toward the floor as she rolled out into the adjacent hall.

Keep moving, she thought. She turned and ran toward the nearby dining room. At least half a dozen men had come in through the kitchen. She hadn't killed even one. Yet she was down to three, maybe four bullets left. The numbers weren't in her favor...

Where are you, Clint? she thought as she dived into the dining room. She heard the other men coming out into the hallway. Natasha leaned out and shot slightly above the tactical lights mounted on their rifles. Three rounds were all that went off. One man fell and landed with a thud. It was too dark to see where she had hit him. Nor did she have any time to check, as automatic fire forced her to duck back into the room.

With no more ammo to fight with, Natasha tucked her gun into her jeans and looked around. The room was only dimly lit by the moonlight shining in through the window, but it was enough for them to see her. There was nothing to fight with...except for the wooden chairs at the table.

Natasha picked one up, ignoring the strain that it put on her shoulder. It was a useless move. At best, she had killed one attacker and taken another one or two out of the fight. She didn't even know how many more were still coming after her.

Though their exact mission was unknown, it was clear that they weren't playing around like the SHIELD team that had attacked her the night before. How could Clint expect me to hold them off? Natasha thought. Her heart sank as she came to a terrible realization. I'm just his decoy.

She tightened her grip on the chair as she raised it higher like an unwieldy club. Clint had used her. He had betrayed her, just like Ivan, Alexei, and all the rest. Every one of them was the same...

Something suddenly exploded in the hallway. Natasha fell and dropped the chair as she heard her attackers scream.

"Natasha!" she heard Clint say. He kneeled down by her side and helped her up.

"You came back for me," she said in near disbelief. "I thought you -"

"They've got us surrounded," Clint said as he turned and looked behind. "Had to hold off a bunch myself. Come on, let's go!"

The two of them rushed through the wreckage of the hallway. Flashlights swept through the house as they made their way onto the stairs. Clint jumped up two steps at a time, and so did she. Gunfire tore through the walls behind them as they made their way onto the second floor.

"The bedroom," Clint said. He led Natasha toward the room where he had kept her for most of the day. What now? he thought. He had spoken and moved with an air of confidence, but the truth was that he was just making it up as he went along.

Ideas rushed through his mind as they entered the room. Without any hesitation, Clint clicked several buttons on his bow handle. Turning around, he shot an arrow down toward the stairs. A cloud of smoke burst out, making it hard for anyone to follow them.

"We can escape through the window," Natasha said.

"Yeah," Clint replied. "That's the plan."

Looking outside, he saw men and black SUVs in several blocking positions around the house. Clint drew two more smokescreen arrows. My last ones, he thought, before he launched both out the window.

He wrapped his bow around his body and climbed outside, careful to balance himself on the slanted roof. Natasha came out right behind him. Below them, they could hear men coughing through the thick clouds of smoke. The fields beyond were barely visible themselves. Low-hanging clouds had washed over the skies, blotting out the moon and what little light it provided.

"Start running as soon as you hit the ground," he said. "Don't worry if you can't see me." Natasha looked him in the eye and nodded, right before the two of them jumped.

The foul smog slipped into his nostrils as he came down. Clint ignored the smell and held his breath as he sprinted toward the fields. Stay with me, he thought as he heard Natasha's footsteps nearby.

Clint ran as fast as he could, waiting until he had burst out from the smoke before he allowed himself the luxury of breathing again. The night was cool, and it was made colder still by his sweat and the speed at which he cut through the air.

He could see almost nothing, but he could hear a lot. Behind him, men were yelling and spraying their assault rifles. All he could do was run, but he knew that he and Natasha needed to find some cover.

The ground beneath him began to slant up. Clint worked his legs to climb the slope as several bullets struck nearby. The shots had come so close that he could feel the dirt that they kicked up. Thankfully, the ground evened off before slanting down at a sharp angle. Clint dived forward and rolled several feet down the slope.

"Natasha!" he yelled.

"I'm here," she replied.

Following the sound of her gasps, Clint reached out and felt her arm. She was breathing heavily, even for someone who had just sprinted a couple hundred yards. "You okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said, clearly trying to sound strong. It was quite admirable, coming from someone who was wounded and low on blood.

"Good," Clint said. "Time we started shooting back." He pulled his bow off from around his chest before he reached into his pocket for his shades. He hadn't used them inside the house, for fear of being blinded by lights. But now, with only the faintest sliver of moonlight shining down through the clouds, he would finally be able to use his gear to its potential.

"It's dark enough as it is," Natasha said as he put his shades on. "This is no time to act cool."

"Now you sound like Agent Hill," he replied.

"Who?"

Clint turned on his night vision, before he drew a basic arrow and climbed to look over the top of the slope.

With the stars and the moon blocked out by clouds, there wasn't much light for even his night vision to work with. The Russians had been smart enough to turn off most of their flashlights as well, now that the hunt had shifted outside. Only a couple unfortunate men kept theirs on, spotting for the rest of their team while turning themselves into big bright targets.

Poor guy, Clint thought as he launched his arrow at the nearest spotter. The man's Kevlar vest could stop pistol rounds, but it did nothing to keep Clint's arrow from slicing into his chest. The spotter twisted and fell to the ground, where his rifle-mounted light disappeared into the tall grass. The other spotter panicked and turned his light off. The field and the rest of the squad were consumed by the darkness. Everyone had just been rendered blind.

Everyone but me. Clint activated his bow's infrared illuminator and swept it over the field. The device projected IR energy below the spectrum visible to the naked eye. With his night vision on, it was like a flashlight that only he could see. The infrared revealed a Russian calling out to his teammates as he scrambled through the grass. Clint sent out another arrow that put him down as well.

Scanning the rest of the field, he continued to pick off the others as they ran around in disarray. He was a silent, invisible killer, and everyone else was a target. Shrouded in darkness, he could keep shooting with impunity...

That was the case, until the helicopter's searchlight shined down on him. "Ah!" Clint yelled as he yanked off his shades, blinded by the intensified light that had flooded into his eyes. Gunfire rang out before he could recover.

"Get down!" Natasha yelled. She grabbed him from behind and pulled him back behind cover.

The shooting continued, and not all of it was coming from the men on the ground. The helicopter had joined in as well with its heavy machine gun. Dirt flew over them as it unleashed burst after burst into the ground above.

Clint selected an explosive arrow and went up to attempt a shot. A stream of bullets landed right in front of him, sending him tumbling back. "Damn it!" Clint said. "That thing's got us pinned down!"

"It can circle around as well," Natasha said.

"Won't be long until it has a clear shot," Clint said. He looked down, finding himself at a loss of what to do.

"I can run out there," Natasha said. "Draw its fire so you take a shot."

"No way!" Clint said as he grabbed her by the arm. "You'll get yourself killed!" Bullets ripped into the earth just several feet from them, causing them to huddle up against the slope. The sound of the helicopter blades chopping through the air grew louder and louder.

"You got a better plan?" Natasha asked.

He exhaled in frustration. "No, I don't."

"Then I guess this is it," Natasha said as she turned away.

Let's hope that it's not, Clint thought. He drew an explosive arrow and readied himself for the shot.

"Wait!" Natasha suddenly said. She turned around again and surprised him with a kiss on the cheek. "For luck."

"Was it really?" Clint asked, still taken by the softness of her lips.

"I'll need you to make that shot, won't I?" She gave him a half-smile, before she turned and took off into the field beyond.

Natasha felt her feet pounding against the ground. Clint was right. This was a stupid idea. But she had already committed to it, and there was no choice now but to keep running. Even if it meant pushing her wounded body to its limits.

The helicopter's searchlight followed her. She knew what was coming next. Natasha dug deep for one last bit of untapped speed. Bullets struck behind her, and then immediately to her right.

Any time now, Clint. The guns went off again, sending bullets down in front of her this time. She jumped and found herself rolling on the ground.

As she pushed her face up from the grass, something exploded in the air. She couldn't celebrate for a moment before a broken tail rotor planted itself down in front of her. Natasha's eyes widened as she heard the helicopter spiraling down in her direction.

Move! she thought. Pushing off with both arms, she got up and ran several steps before leaping away. The multi-ton vehicle made impact, shaking the ground before flipping over onto its side. Its main rotor kept going for several more seconds, hacking into the earth to throw up a shower of dirt.

Natasha clutched her left shoulder as she lied nearby, trying hard to catch her breath. She really shouldn't have been out there, fighting and running so much just a day after being shot. With a groan, she rolled over to see the wreckage.

The helicopter lied among a field of its own debris, burning and sending a plume of smoke into the air. Don't see any survivors, she thought.

Someone suddenly kicked her in the face. Natasha felt her brain rattle inside her skull It was a miracle that she was still awake. Lightheaded and short on energy, she staggered to her feet to see who had attacked her. Her opponent was none other than Yelena Belova, her old rival from the Red Room.

"Hello, Natasha," Yelena said. "I was hoping we would meet again." Something was off about the way that she stood there, staring with a look of pure intensity. The blood dripping down Yelena's face didn't even seem to bother her.

"Sorry, but I can't say the same," Natasha replied. She continued to study Yelena's demeanor. Her rival had always been bitter and aggressive, but she had never shown this level of focus before. Yelena's behavior was so odd as to be unnatural. Oh no, Natasha thought, as she realized what had happened.

"Yah!" Yelena yelled. She charged forth and opened with a flying kick.

She's been drugged, Natasha thought as she dodged the attack. Just like I was. Yelena spun around and came at her again. Natasha blocked Yelena's punch with her right, before she used her left elbow to stop a roundhouse kick. She then threw a right hook that found its mark before Yelena could regain her footing.

The blow spun Yelena around and sent her several steps away. Natasha was grateful for the reprieve. As her opponent snapped back in her direction, she found her hand drifting over to massage her left shoulder. Way to send a message, she thought. But there was no hiding the fact that she was hurt. Even if she had "won" that exchange, her body had come out the worse for it.

"The last week has been great," Yelena said. "I'm Uncle Ivan's favorite now."

"He told you that?" Natasha asked. Emotions swirled through her head. She pitied Yelena's ignorance, but a small part of her also felt hurt by those words. Don't be stupid, she thought as she suppressed her lingering feelings for Ivan. Her feelings were wrong. She had to get over them, before they betrayed her again. "Stop this, Yelena! Don't you see he's using you?"

"Die, traitor!" Yelena sprung forward again in a flurry of punches and kicks.

Can't keep up with this, Natasha thought as she defended herself once more. In her current state, it was impossible to match Yelena's energy. Knowing that, she got close and grabbed her opponent as soon as the opportunity arose. But though she had a better chance in the clinch, she had simply traded one bad situation for another. With her messed up arm, she wasn't able to compete with Yelena's strength either.

Yelena screamed like a beast as she powered out of Natasha's grip. Seizing Natasha by her left arm, she turned and threw her to the ground.

Natasha resisted the urge to cry out in pain. Her arm felt like it had been broken, even if it hadn't. Yet. Yelena pulled her arm straight and placed both legs across Natasha's chest, before falling back into an armbar.

Get up, Natasha thought. She couldn't afford to panic. It would be all over for her, if Yelena locked that move in. Natasha bent her legs to plant both feet flat on the ground. Pushing up with all of her strength, she managed to backflip out of Yelena's hold.

"Stay back!" Natasha yelled as she drew her empty Glock. She didn't have the bullets to follow through on her threat, but she also knew more than most that lying had its advantages.

"Drop that or he's dead," a man called out.

Oh no, Natasha thought as she turned and saw him arriving with eight others. Clint was at the front of the group. His arms were bound, and he had clearly been beaten. The squad leader pushed him to his knees, before pressing a rifle against the back of his head.

"Stay out of this," Yelena said. "She's mine."

"This fight is over," the squad leader said. He turned back to Natasha. "Drop it."

"Don't do it, Natasha!" Clint yelled. "Get out of here! Run!"

"Shut up!" the squad leader yelled. He pulled his rifle back and smashed its butt down on Clint's head, knocking him out cold. "Stupid American," he said with a chuckle. He then resumed his death threat by lowering the business end of his rifle again.

The sight of a rifle barrel pressing down into Clint's back sent chills down Natasha's spine.

"It's your choice," the squad leader said.

To be continued in Chapter 11: Homecoming